"Go on, Polly, and tell every word," said Mr. Hamilton Dyce. "I'm to be
told the whole story; from the very beginning, now mind. You said, 'One day
in Sunday-school.' Now go on."
"Yes," said Polly, her cheeks like a rose for fear her dear Miss Mary might
not like it, "Miss Mary said we ought to be doing things, not always
talking about them and learning how to be good; and she said there were so
many poor children who were waiting for us to help them. And----"
"Polly, you don't need to tell that. He wants to know about the fair," Miss
Taylor broke in suddenly.
"Oh, dear!" said poor Polly, blushing rosier than ever and moving her
cricket so that she need not see Miss Mary's face, while Mr. Dyce,
protesting that he was not to be cheated out of a single word of the
narration, made her go back and tell over the last thing she said. This was
so much worse that Miss Mary decided she would let the story go on at all
hazards, so she leaned back in her chair resignedly, while Polly went on:
"Well, and so we said, 'Yes, Miss Mary, we'd like to' and what could we do,
for we didn't know how to help poor children."
"And I said I didn't want to," broke in Alexia suddenly.
"But you did, Alexia!" cried Polly, whirling around on her cricket to
regard her affectionately. "Oh, Mr. Dyce, she did help"--looking over at
him anxiously.
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