Jessie stood for a moment looking at the prostrate Polly and then she turned and walked slowly to the house, carrying with her the three spoons and the little scarlet-coated Peter Pan. She went into the sitting-room and laid the things on the table. “Mother,” she said solemnly, “Playmate Polly is dead.”
Mrs. Loomis looked up from her sewing. “What on earth do you mean, daughter?” she said.
Jessie picked up the things she had laid on the table. “Sam has felled her to the earth,” she said, “and he found these.”
Mrs. Loomis tried to hide a smile at Jessie’s tragic manner. “What did he find?” she asked.
Jessie handed her the spoons and the doll.
“Then the crow did hide them, and it was you who found him out.”
“Yes, I did it,” returned Jessie. “Poor Polly! I did it.”
“My dear little girl,” said Mrs. Loomis, “you mustn’t feel badly about an old hollow tree. I suppose Sam had to cut it down in order to get at the things.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” returned Jessie, “but I did like her so much. Will she have to be chopped up for fire-wood, mother? Sam was going to do it, but I stopped him, and he said I must settle it with father. Do you suppose he will care if she isn’t?”
“I don’t imagine he will care at all, for a little old tree like that would be small loss.”