"No, you're always getting her first. She's going to dance with me,"

announced Clem.

Polly was already over at the piano, trying to be heard, but Miss Mary only laughed and shook her head.

"No use, Polly," said Mr. Dyce, and he put his arm around her, and away they went down the length of the drawing-room.

"Well, at least you haven't got this first dance," said Alexia.

"Nor you, either," retorted Clem. "So come on, let's dance together," and away they went, too.

And at last, when it was time to go home, Mr. Hamilton Dyce, who had absented himself after that first dance, drove up with a flourish to the door in his runabout.

"I've come for Phronsie Pepper," he said.

So Phronsie, half asleep, had her hat tied on, and kissed Miss Mary, and Polly lifted her up and guided her foot over the step, Mr. Dyce, the reins in one hand, helping her with the other.

"Good-bye," he called, his eyes on no one but Miss Mary.

"Oh, my bag, my bag!" cried Phronsie, in a wail of distress, and leaning forward suddenly.

"Take care, child; where are you going?" Mr. Dyce put forth a restraining hand and held her closely.

"My bag!" Phronsie looked back, the tears racing over her round cheeks.

"I'll bring it home," called Polly from the steps, where she was back among the knot of girls.

"My bag!" Phronsie continued to wail.

"Dear me!" cried Polly, "she must have it now." So she ran into the house to get it, where Phronsie had left it on her little cricket, Mr. Dyce meanwhile saying, "There, there, child, you shall have it," while he turned the little mare sharply about.

"We can't ever find the needle," said Alexia, rushing after Polly into the library, and getting down on her knees to prowl over the floor. "Misery me!"--with a jump--"I've found it already, sticking straight into me!"

So Phronsie's "cushion-pin" was thrust into the gay little pink-and-green-striped workbag, and Polly danced out with it and handed it up to her. Mr. Dyce cracked the whip, and this time they were fairly off.

V

"SHE'S MY LITTLE GIRL"

"Oh, I do wish, Polly," cried Phronsie, as they ran along the hollyhock path, "that my poor little girl could go to the country. Can't she, Polly?"

she asked anxiously.

"Oh, yes, of course," a.s.sented Polly, her mind on the garden party, now only three days ahead. "Phronsie, how perfectly elegant those roses are going to be!"--pointing off to the old-fashioned varieties blooming riotously.

"Oh, Polly!" Phronsie stood still a moment in silent bliss, then hopped up and down the narrow path. "I'm so glad she can go! Oh, Polly, I'm so _very_ glad!"

"Who?" cried Polly, in perplexity.

"My little girl, my poor little girl," said Phronsie, hopping away.

"Oh, of course." Polly gave a little laugh. "Well, there are lots of poor little girls who will go, Phronsie," she said, in great satisfaction, "because, you know, we're going to make a great deal of money, I expect.

Why, Grandpapa has told Thomas to buy ever so many flowers. Just think, child, and the oceans we have here!" She waved her hands over to take in not only the old-fashioned garden where they stood, but the smart flower-beds beyond, the pride and joy of the gardeners. "Oh, yes, there will be ever so many children who will be happy in the country in the summer."

"And my poor little girl," persisted Phronsie gleefully, "she will be happy, Polly. Oh, let's go down to the big gate--p'raps she's there now--and tell her. Please, Polly." She seized Polly's hand in great excitement.

Polly sank to her knees in delight over a little bed of daisies.

"I do think these are the very sweetest things, Phronsie Pepper," she said.

"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 gra.s.s, 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 gra.s.s?"

"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. "Here's where I found you the other day, Phronsie, when you were so tired. Heigh-ho!" And Polly threw herself down on the gra.s.s, and drew Phronsie into her lap.

"P'raps she'll come," said Phronsie, and the sorrowful look began to disappear as she cuddled in Polly's arms. "Don't you believe she will, Polly?" She put her face close to Polly's to peer anxiously into her brown eyes.

"Who, child?" asked Polly.

"The poor little girl--my poor little girl," exclaimed Phronsie.

"Oh, there isn't any little girl, at least any particular one," cried Polly. "We're going to send ever so many little girls into the country, Phronsie, but not any special one."

"Oh, yes, there is," contradicted Phronsie, her lip quivering again, and, despite all her efforts, the big tears began to course down her cheeks.

"She's my little girl, and I like her. Please let her go, Polly. And maybe she'll come soon, if we only wait for her." It was a long speech, and by the time it was all out, Phronsie had laid her head in Polly's neck, and was sobbing as if her heart would break.

It was for this reason that Polly did not happen to look up across the gra.s.s to the big gate, so of course she couldn't be expected to see what took place there. And it was not until Phronsie had been persuaded to sit straight and have her tears wiped away, because Mamsie wouldn't like to have her cry, that any one guessed it at all. And in one instant Polly's lap was deserted, Phronsie was flying over the greensward, crying out:

"There she is--my poor little girl!"