“No, I suppose not,” said Jasper, stifling his longing; “well, you must tell me about it to-night, the same as always, Polly.”
“Yes, I will, Jasper,” promised Polly. So he turned the corner, to go to his school. But presently he heard rapid footsteps back of him. “Oh Jasper,” cried Polly, flushed and panting, as he whirled about, “tell Phronsie I won't forget the little fern-roots. Be sure, Jasper.”
“All right; I will,” said Jasper. “Dear me! do hurry back, Polly. You'll be late.”
“Oh no, there are oceans of time,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “I've the tin case in my picnic basket, Jasper, so they will keep all fresh and nice.”
“Yes; do hurry back,” begged Jasper. So Polly, with a merry nod, raced off to the corner where the girls were drawn up in a knot, impatiently waiting for her.
Every bit of the fuss and parade in getting the big company started—for all the scholars went to the annual picnic—was a special delight to the girls. The only trouble was that the seats were not all end ones, while the favorite places up by the driver were necessarily few in each vehicle.
“Come on, Polly,” screamed Alexia. Everybody had agreed that she should have one of these choice positions because of her lame arm, which Dr. Fisher had said must be carried in its sling this day. So there she was, calling lustily for Polly Pepper, and beating the cushion impatiently with her well hand. “Oh, do hurry up!”
Polly, down on the ground in a swarm of girls, shook her head. “No,” her lips said softly, so that no one but Alexia, who was leaning over for that purpose, could possibly hear, “ask Cathie.”
“Oh bother!” exclaimed Alexia, with a frown. Then she smothered it up with a “Come, Polly,” very persuasively.
“Can't,” said Polly; “I'm going back here.” And she moved down to the end of the barge.