“Oh, just one more turn for me!” Flossie begged, jumping up and down faster than ever.
“Oh, all right! Let her have it!” agreed Freddie, good-naturedly. “I’ll wait.”
“That’s kind of you,” said Nan. “All right, Flossie, you may have this next toss! Get ready!”
“One more turn for me!” sang Flossie gaily. “One more turn for me! Hurry up, Nan, please!”
Flossie stopped her jumping-jack movements, and with outstretched hands and shining eyes awaited the ball, which Nan tossed across an old flower bed. In the past summer bright blossoms had made this part of the garden very gay. But now, with winter coming on, the flowers had been killed by Jack Frost and the stalks were sear and brown.
“I got it!” cried Flossie. But she spoke a moment too soon, for the ball just touched the tips of her fingers, bounced off, and rolled across the frozen ground of the flower garden right to Freddie’s feet. He picked it up.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Flossie. She had so much wanted to catch the ball this last time, but she had missed it.
“You muffed!” cried Freddie. He had heard his older brother Bert speak like that when, in a real ball game, some boy failed to hold the ball. “You muffed it, Flossie!”
Then, seeing that there were tears in his twin sister’s eyes, Freddie did a very manly and generous thing.
“You can have another turn,” he said. “Toss it to Flossie again, Nan. I don’t mind waiting.”