“I think I will come down and visit you in snow-time,” returned Benedicta.
“Do!” cried Polly. “And be sure to bring your recipe book along!”
“I certainly shall—when I come,” chuckled Benedicta.
“You’ll come,” returned Polly authoritatively. “I shan’t give you any peace until you do.”
Out on the veranda the children amused themselves in quiet ways. It was too hot for much liveliness, although an animated argument was going on between Grissel and Clementina as to which was the “nicest,” Polly or Lilith or the White Nurse or Benedicta. Finally Polly’s stories appeared to offset—even with the opposite party—Benedicta’s cookies and tarts, while Lilith’s picture plays weighed heavily against Mrs. Daybill’s word games which could be indulged in at any time, even in the midst of a bath. The battle was not over when Polly appeared with a pitcher of lemonade and a tray of glasses.
The little folks shrieked with delight, and several of the boldest clamored for a story to attend their refreshment.
So Polly, always bent on pleasing and glad of a brief respite from her duties, told them a long tale of the “Golden Horse,” who, weary of his work as a whirling weathervane, became envious of the birds and longed to fly, but who, after a short journey through the air on the wings of a thunder-storm, was content to return to the duty for which he was fitted and thereafter lived in happiness, the beloved of a little boy in the house below.
“I should rather be a vane than to ride on the wings of a thunder-storm,” shuddered Jozy. “Ugh! wouldn’t I be afraid!”
“Aw, I wouldn’t!” boasted Timmy. “I love to hear it thunder.”
“Guess you wouldn’t if you had to ride up in the air right along with it,” retorted Jozy. “Anyway, you don’t like the lightning, ’cause you said you didn’t last time it did!”