"I'm going clear back," she announced, running her fat little arm as far as
it would go, to bring it out with something round in the middle of her
palm.
"What is it?" asked Rachel curiously. "Whatever in all this world,
Phronsie?"--at the queer little wad in Phronsie's hand.
"Oh, that?" said little Dick, before Phronsie could answer; "that's what
the squirrel gave us, a lo--ong time ago, Rachel."
"The squirrel gave you?" she cried. "I suppose it's a nut," she added
carelessly.
"No, 'tisn't a nut," said Phronsie, still keeping it in her hand, and
shaking her head decidedly, "and he was a naughty squirrel; he was in a
bird's nest."
"In a bird's nest? What do you mean, and how could you see him?" demanded
Rachel, all three questions in one breath.
"We looked up," said little Dick, throwing his head back to illustrate his
speech, "and he was right there "--pointing up to the highest branches of
the apple tree--"way up on top."
"And the poor bird was screaming," said Phronsie, snuggling up to Rachel's
side, but still not offering to give up the little green wad. "Poor little
bird!--she made a new house, she added sorrowfully.
"And the naughty squirrel was pulling out all the things in her house,"
said little Dick, breaking in with gusto, "and flinging them down; and he
threw us this. Show her, Phronsie.
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