Polly gave her two or three little pats on her back.
“And don't you think,” cried Polly, flying off to brush her hair, and calling back through the open door, “that the boys are going to have their club meet with ours. Just think of that!”
“Oh Polly!” Alexia came flying in, brush in hand. “You don't really mean it!”
“I do. Jasper just told me so. Well, hurry, Alexia, else we'll be late,” warned Polly, brushing away vigorously. “Yes, Phronsie,”—for Phronsie had gone off for Jane to put on a clean apron,—“we're ready now—that is, almost.”
“When—when?” Polly could hear Alexia frantically asking, as she rushed back into her room, which was next to Polly's own.
“Oh, just as soon as you are able,” called Polly. “Now don't ask any more questions, Alexia,” she begged merrily. “Yes, Mamsie, we're coming!”
That afternoon, Percy and Joel were rushing back to school from an errand down to the village, and hurrying along with an awful feeling that the half-past-five bell in the big tower on the playground would strike in a minute.
“Hold on,” called Percy, considerably in the rear; “how you get over the ground, Joe!”
“And you're such a snail,” observed Joel pleasantly. Nevertheless he paused.
“What's that?” pricking up his ears.