“Lawsy, lawsy,” she gasped, as Polly circled around her, dodging the children. “You'se cheeks is red as pineys, honey.”
“Tag! you're it!” Polly cried, as she touched the widow's auburn-haired offspring on the sleeve. There was much wailing when Willie passed the tag to little Jennie, the smallest girl in the crowd.
“I won't play no more,” she sobbed; “'cause I's always it.”
To comfort her, Polly began to sing an old circus song that the children had learned to love; and the little ones huddled about her in a circle to hear of the wonderful “Van Amberg” who used to “walk right into the lion's cage and put his head in the lion's mouth.” The children were in a state of nerves that did credit to Polly as an entertainer, when Hasty broke in upon the song.
“When you get a minute I want ter tell yer somethin'.”
“I have one right now.” And turning to the eager mites at her side, Polly told them to run along into the grove, and that she'd come pretty soon to teach them a new game.
The youngsters went screaming and laughing on their way, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she threw herself down on the rustic seat that encircled the elm tree.
“What is it, Hasty?” she asked, suspecting that he was in trouble with Mandy.
“It's 'bout de circus,” Hasty informed her bluntly.
“The circus?” She rose and crossed to him quickly.