Jessie drew a long sigh. “Oh, Sam,” she said tremulously, “why did you have to cut it down?”
“It wasn’t no good,” said Sam. “Hollow all through. Your father said it had best come down, and then we could see what that rascal had hid there.”
“But I liked her,” said Jessie sadly, feeling that she had been the cause of Playmate Polly’s downfall.
Sam looked at her curiously. “First time I ever heard a tree called her,” he said.
Jessie looked at the chips scattered around, at Polly’s head from which her wreath had fallen. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” she sighed.
“What’s the matter?” asked Sam. “Ain’t you glad to get your doll baby back?”
“It isn’t mine; it’s Adele’s,” said Jessie. “Yes, I am very glad to get that. Oh, Sam!” she cried in alarm as she saw him with axe again uplifted, “you’re not going to chop her to pieces!”
Sam lowered the axe. “I thought I might as well,” he said. “Make a little fire-wood.”
“Please don’t! Please don’t!” she cried.
“Well, you’re a funny one all right,” said Sam shouldering his axe. “Settle it with your father; ’tain’t no odds to me.”