"Nothing," said Ben, answering her question, and his face grew red, "only I thought you'd better have the parcel sent to you," for he remembered just in time how dearly Polly loved to receive bundles addressed to her own self.
"Oh, Ben!" exclaimed Polly, in dismay, "you shouldn't have done so. I'm going back to tell them to change it."
"Indeed you won't," declared Ben, bursting into a laugh, "I guess changing it once is enough. Come on, Polly."
But once outside they couldn't get along for the throng.
"What is it?" cried David, who happened to be first, Joel hanging back to look at the things on the last counter. "A fire. Oh, Polly, it must be!"
"A fire!" Joel caught the last word. "Oh, good, that's prime!" He cleared the steps with a bound. But Ben was after him and had him fast.
It was impossible to see what the commotion was about, the people pressing up to the curbstone in such a throng.
"It isn't any fire at all," declared Joel, with a sniff, quite willing to be led back by Ben. "There aren't any fire-engines or anything! Come on, let's go to Gallagher's."
"Gallagher's" was the best all-round shop in town, and it was the children's perfect delight whenever allowed to go there.
"But something has happened," said Polly, standing on her tiptoes, and craning her neck to look up the street where the group was the thickest. "O dear me! It's a woman, and she's hurt!"