Part 9 (1/2)

”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, rus.h.i.+ng 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 ”cus.h.i.+on-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-fas.h.i.+oned 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.