“It does not show much, does it?” said poor Polly anxiously, as Minnie returned with the blue-bag.
“It is swelling!” cried Tom—“swelling higher and higher!—’twill be just like the turkey-cock’s comb!”
“Then I can’t go to-night!—I will not go!” exclaimed Polly, sitting down and bursting into tears.
Tom laughed louder, Minnie in vain tried to comfort,—all Polly’s happiness was for the time overthrown by a bee! It rested but on trifles, and a trifle was enough to make her wretched for the rest of that day.
CHAPTER VII.
A WONDERFUL BORE.
