Polly laughed, but asked Evan to stop while she went on a trip of investigation. “All right,” was her verdict, on returning to the car. And instantly there was a clamor of voices from the back seat.
“Oh, may I go, too!”—“I want to lie on the grass, Miss Dudley!”—“Please, can I go?”—“Do let us, Miss Dudley.”
“We’ll all go,” Polly agreed. And in Evan’s arms the children were carried, from Little Duke to Dolly Merrifield, to bask among the sunny clover-blossoms.
Little Duke sucked the sweet blooms, gazing contentedly up at the white sails on the deep blue sky. Presently he spoke.
“My will stay here all night. My won’t be ’fraid. My will hold you’ hand, Mi’ Duddy.”
“But I shan’t be here,” smiled Polly. “I must go home.”
“My will stay alone. Stars will be here. My will hold Clover’s hand.”
Still, even clover-blossoms lose their attractiveness after awhile, especially when there is a cushioned automobile in waiting; and after a quarter-hour of the sunny couch Little Duke was ready to relinquish present sweets for the swift-rolling car.
“Did you like it?” Polly smiled down into the white little face beside her. She fancied it held a faint reflection of the clover’s own color.
“Oh, it seemed as if it must be heaven!” sighed Dolly Merrifield softly.