"See the cunning baby ones coming out."
"Please, Polly," begged Phronsie, clinging to her hand.
"Why, Phronsie!" Polly looked up in amazement. Not to pay attention to the
baby daisies was certainly astonishing, when Phronsie was always so rapt
over the new flowers. "What is it you want, child?"
"Please come down to the big gate, Polly," pleaded Phronsie, her lip
quivering, for Polly was not usually so hard to understand.
"Yes, I will," said Polly, reluctantly tearing herself away from the
fascinating daisies. "Now then, we'll go there right away; one, two, three,
and away!"
"I guess--she'll--be--there," panted Phronsie, but she was running so fast
to keep up with Polly's longer steps that her words died away on the air;
and Polly, who dearly loved a race over the grass, was letting her mind
travel to the delights of the garden party, and what it was going to
accomplish, so she didn't hear.
At last there was the big gate.
"Dear me!" cried Polly, with a gay little laugh, "what a fine race! No
wonder you wanted me to try it with you! Why, Pet, have I run too fast?"
She looked with remorse at the flushed little face.
"No," gasped Phronsie, "but oh, Polly, will you sit down on the grass?"
"To be sure I will," said Polly very remorsefully, "you're all tired out.
There, let's come over here," and she led her over to the very tree under
which Phronsie had fallen asleep.
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