But the next morning Polly Pepper woke up to the fact that it was her birthday. For there was Mamsie leaning over her pillow, the first thing she saw the minute her eyes were opened. And Phronsie was sitting on the end of the bed with her hands folded in her lap.
When she saw Polly's eyes open, she gave a little crow and darted forward. "Oh, I thought you never would wake up, Polly," she said, throwing her arms around Polly's neck.
"Yes, this child has been sitting there a whole hour, Polly." Mother
Fisher gave a merry little laugh, and then she began to drop kisses on
Polly's rosy cheek—ever so many of them.
Polly's dewy eyes opened wide.
"It's your birthday, don't you know!" exclaimed Phronsie, trying to drop as many kisses and as fast, on Polly's other cheek, and to talk at the same time.
"Mamsie Fisher!" cried Polly, springing up straight in the middle of the bed, nearly knocking Phronsie over. "Why, so it is. Oh, how could I forget—and sleep over. And I'm fifteen!"
"You're fifteen," repeated Mother Fisher, setting the last little kiss on Polly's cheek,—"and it's the best thing you could possibly do, to sleep over, child. Now, then, Phronsie, let us help her to get dressed."
Wasn't there a merry time, though, for the next half-hour, till Polly had had her bath, and was arrayed, Mother Fisher and Phronsie here, there, and everywhere, helping to tie and to hook Polly's clothes—Phronsie bringing her little silver button-hook that Auntie Whitney gave her, declaring that she should button Polly's boots.
"Oh, no, child," protested Polly. "I'll button them myself," flying off for the boots.
But Phronsie piped out, hurrying after her, "I have them, Polly," and, sure enough, there they were, one under each arm; "do let me, Polly—do, please!" she begged.