"I want Polly," Phronsie was saying, wholly lost now to the fact that the "really truly cat" for Grandpapa had not been found. "Bensie, I do!"
"Yes, Phronsie," Ben made out to say, holding her hand fast; "we'll see her pretty soon."
"She's lost!" cried Joel, wildly, who up to this time had been so diverted by the bewildering array of tin soldiers, drums, and express wagons displayed on all sides as they threaded their way in among the crowds that surrounded the counters and shelves, that he hadn't given his mind to anything else. "She's lost, Polly is!" he ended with a howl.
At this direful announcement Phronsie gave one cry, then she sat right down on the floor and lifted up her voice, "I want Polly!"
It was impossible to quiet her, and everybody in the immediate vicinity turned and stared. A small girl, trying to decide between a woolly dog and a pig, both of whose charms had held her for the past ten minutes, laid them down on the counter and ran over to the place where the cry came from. When she saw the little group she pushed in between them. "O dear me!" she cried to Phronsie, sitting there in a small heap and sobbing pitifully, "how'd she get hurt?"
Little David made way for her instantly, but Joel, who had stopped his wails in surprise at her appearance, stood his ground. "Go away," he said, his black eyes shining through his tears.
The small girl paid no attention to him. "How'd she get hurt?" she kept on asking.
"She isn't hurt," said Ben, not looking up as he knelt on the floor and wiped Phronsie's streaming tears with his handkerchief. "There, there, Phronsie, stop crying."
"O dear me!" exclaimed the girl; "what a little goose to cry!" and she laughed derisively.
"She isn't a goose," cried Joel, in a loud, injured tone; "my sister isn't a goose; so now you just take that back, you girl, you!"