“We will put it to vote,” said Polly. “Those in favor of the Ten Little Girls, say ‘I.’”
“That sounds like more than ten little girls,” she smiled, clapping her hands to her ears, as the chorus of shrill voices rang through the woods.
All but two or three settled themselves with content, as the story-teller started in the good old-fashioned way.
“Once upon a time ten little girls were on their way home from school. There were Eunice and Lucy and Jane and Susan and Nancy and Martha and Ruth, besides the three Marys—Mary Fox, Mary Lyon, and Mary Lamb.
“Mary Fox was talking.
“‘Let’s go over in the pasture and see those dear little lambs,’ she said.
“‘Oh, I’m afraid of the sheep!’ gasped Susan.
“‘They won’t hurt you,’ Ruth assured her. ‘Come!’
“The three Marys were already over the fence. The rest followed, timid Susan at the end of the line.
“For an instant the sheep stared at their visitors; then the leader turned suddenly and vaulted a low stone wall into another field, and the rest dashed after him. It was over in a minute, and the sheep pasture was left in sole possession of the ten little girls.