“I won’t fall if you’ll get my doll!”
“Will you get down if I do? Really and truly?”
“Yes; if you’ll get my doll, I’ll get down.”
Polly struggled with herself.
“Oh, I can’t,” she panted. “They told me not to let you be here alone. I can’t! Honest, I can’t.”
“I think I see your bag. It’s over there! ’Way over there down behind the roots of that tree,” declared Priscilla, unconcernedly.
“Never mind! Don’t lean over so! Don’t look! You’ll get dizzy! Come away! Let’s play——”
“If you’ll get my doll.”
Polly gasped helplessly. “Well—well——” she stammered, “I—I will—if you’ll solemnly promise to come down, I will.”
Priscilla had won the battle.