As this was the book Phronsie invariably chose when asked what she wanted read, Alexia laughed and spun off, perfectly astonished to find that the world was not all as blue as an indigo bag. And when she came back two steps at a time up the stairs, Phronsie was smiling away, and humming softly to herself, while the hair-brushing was going on.
“She had a blue ribbon on yesterday—Almira did,” said Phronsie, reflecting. “Now, wouldn't you put on a pink one to-day, Alexia?”
“I surely should,” decided Alexia—“that pretty pale pink one that Polly gave you last, Phronsie.”
“I am so very glad you said that one,” said Phronsie, running over on happy feet for her ribbon-basket, “because I do love that ribbon very much, Alexia.”
“Well, now then,” said Alexia, as Phronsie began to tie up the pink bow laboriously, “we must hurry and begin, or we never shall see what happened to this 'Little Yellow Duck.'”
“Oh, do hurry, Alexia,” begged Phronsie, as if she hadn't heard the story on an average of half a dozen times a week. So Alexia propped herself up against the wall, and began, and presently it was so still that all any one could hear was the turning of the leaves and the ticking of the little French clock on the mantel.
“Well, dear me, how funny!” and Polly rushed in; then burst into a merry laugh.
“Polly Pepper—you home!” Alexia tossed “The Little Yellow Duck” half across the room, flew to her feet again, and spun Polly round and round with her well hand.
“Yes,” said Polly, “I am, and I've been searching for you two all over this house.”
“Take me, Polly, do.” Phronsie laid down Almira carefully on the carpet, and hurried over to Polly.