"Why can't we wait for Polly?" asked Fanny, not catching the last words, and pausing to look back.
"Because you can't, that's why. And never say a word about that Polly Pepper or any of the rest of that crowd," commanded her mother, trying to hurry on.
"Polly Pepper is the sweetest girl—the very dearest," declared Fanny, in a passion, over her mother's shoulder, "and you know it, Mamma."
"Well, I won't have you going with her, anyway, nor with any of them," answered her mother, shortly.
"Because you can't," echoed Fanny, in her turn, and with a malicious little laugh. "Don't I know? it's the same old story—those you chase after, run away from you. You've been chasing, Mamma; you needn't tell me."
"Oh, Jasper," Polly was saying, "did you really speak to me?"
"Three times," said Jasper, with a laugh, "but you couldn't answer, for you didn't hear me."
"No," said Polly, "I didn't, Jasper."
"And I shouldn't have spoken, for it isn't, of course, allowed. But I couldn't help it, Polly, it was so splendid," and his eyes kindled. "And you didn't seem to breathe or to move."
"I don't feel as if I had done much of either," said Polly, laughing. "Isn't it good to take a long stretch? And oh, don't you wish we could run, Jasper?"