“I used it for anything that especially pleased me,” Polly replied.
“All right,” returned Benedicta. “I think, then, that you are superbondonjical.”
Clementina came to see what they were laughing at, and Polly took the opportunity to escape into the ward.
She found Rosalind crying softly because a little toy dog which she had wound up refused to bark.
Polly looked it over. “It is out of order,” she concluded. “That is the reason it doesn’t work.”
Rosalind was thoughtful.
“Daddy doesn’t work on Sunday,” she said. “Is he out of order?”
Polly was about to explain, when the little one wailed out, “I want my daddy! I want to see my daddy!” It was the first time she had shown any sign of homesickness.
For a moment Polly was at a loss for comforting words. She well knew that it would be a hard matter to persuade Mr. Wheatley to come up to the house. She was spared from speaking, however, for Clementina and Benedicta walked in.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the latter.