“Don't, Alexia,” cried Polly, “she's lost her pin.”
“Misery!” exclaimed Alexia, starting forward, “oh, where, where—”
“It isn't the pin,” said Sally, holding that out, “but the head has flown off.” She jumped off from the step and began to peer anxiously around in the dirt, all the girls crowding around and getting dreadfully in the way.
“What pin was it, Sally?” asked Polly, poking into a tuft of grass beneath the steps, “your blue one?”
“No; it was my best one—oh dear me!” Sally looked ready to cry, and turned away so that the girls couldn't see her face.
“Not the one your aunt gave you, Sally!” exclaimed Clem.
“Yes—yes.” Sally sniffed outright now. “Oh dear! I put it in because—because—we were going to Silvia's—oh dear me!”
She gave up now, and sobbed outright.
“Don't cry, Sally,” begged Polly, deserting her grass-tuft, to run over to her. “We'll find it.” Alexia was alternately picking frantically in all the dust-heaps, and wringing her hands, one eye on the clock all the while.
“Oh, no, you won't,” whimpered Sally. “It flew right out of my hand, and it's gone way off—I know it has—oh dear!” and she sobbed worse than ever.