"And now you must get up," said Mother Fisher, "and get ready, for I am going to let you and Ben take the children; that's decided."
"Oh, Mamsie!" Polly found her feet somehow, and flung her arms again around her mother's neck; "you won't trust me ever again. O dear me!"
"Yes, I will," said Mrs. Fisher, quickly, and, seizing Polly's hands, she made the brown eyes look at her; "why, Polly child, did you suppose Mother would let you go and help Ben take care of the children if she didn't know you would do everything just right? Never say such a word as that again, Polly!" and the black eyes shone with love and pride. "And now hurry, child, for here's Ben coming," as steps sounded in the hall, and then his voice asking, "Where's Mamsie?"
Polly flew up to her feet and stumbled over to the washstand. "O dear me!" she gasped, catching sight of her face in the long mirror on the way, "I can't—oh, I mean my eyes are so red, and my nose, Mamsie! Just look at it!"
"That's the trouble of crying and giving way to fits of passion," observed Mrs. Fisher, quietly; "it makes a good deal of trouble, first and last," as Ben came hurrying in.
Polly splashed the water all over her hot face with such a hasty hand that a little stream ran down the pretty brown waist, which only served to increase her dismay.
"Oh, Mamsie!" Ben was saying, "we're not to go, after all. What a pity! Polly'll be so sorry." His blue eyes looked very much troubled. To have anything make Polly sorry hurt him dreadfully.
"Oh, yes, you are going, Ben," Mrs. Fisher made haste to say.
"Why, Aunty Whitney can't go," said Ben, in surprise. "Grandpapa just said she is going out with him."
"You didn't say anything of the shopping plan, Ben?" ejaculated Mrs. Fisher, involuntarily, yet she knew she didn't need to ask the question.