“I didn't mean to complain, Mamsie,” said Polly humbly; and she crept up to her, while Jasper looked very much distressed.
“Mother knows you didn't,” said Mrs. Fisher, putting her arm around her, “but it's a bad habit, Polly, to be impatient when things don't go rightly. Now run away, both of you,” she finished brightly, “and work up your program,” and she set a kiss on Polly's rosy cheek.
“Jasper,” cried Polly, with happiness once more in her heart as they raced off, “I tell you what we can do. We must change the program, and put those things that Phronsie likes, up first.”
“That's so,” cried Jasper, well pleased. “Now, what will they be, Polly?”
“Why, Mr. Dyce's story of the dog,” said Polly, “for one thing; Phronsie thinks that's perfectly lovely, and always asks him for it when he tells her stories.”
“All right,” said Jasper. “What next?”
“Why, Tom must sing one of his funny songs.”
“Yes, of course. That will please her ever so much,” cried Jasper. “Don't you know how she claps her hands when he's rehearsing, Polly?”
“Yes; oh, I wouldn't have her miss that for anything, Jasper,” said Polly.
“No, indeed,” cried Jasper heartily. “Well, Polly, then what ought to come next? Let's come into the den and fix it up now.”