“O dear me!” cried Polly, turning pale with fright.
“And I shut my eyes, I was so scared. And Jane said,—the little girl’s name was Jane,—‘There, now, that’s because you wouldn’t give it to me.’ Oh, I remember it just as if it were yesterday, Polly Pepper.”
“And did it go down into the well?” cried Polly, in her distress, forgetting what her hand held tightly clasped in her lap, and leaning forward eagerly to scan Mrs. Henderson’s face.
“No, indeed,” cried the parson’s wife, with a merry laugh; “look in your lap, Polly.”
“Oh, I forgot,” cried Polly, drawing a long breath of relief, and opening her hand; “wasn’t I silly? But I’m so very glad it didn’t go down into the well, dear Mrs. Henderson.”
“No, it caught on a little green weed growing out between the cracks of the curbstone, and I screamed and my big brother came running, and he picked it out. But I was not allowed even to touch the little piece of ivory for a whole year.”
“O dear me!” said Polly, sympathetically, and fumbling the small bit.
“Well, now, we must get to the other things,” said Mrs. Henderson, briskly. “I’m so glad you could come over and help me, Polly.”
And Polly, feeling very happy at the thought of helping the minister’s wife, laid down the little piece of carved ivory carefully against the other old treasures, and bent all her energies to doing what Mrs. Henderson told her.
“You see, Polly,” said the parson’s wife, when all the articles were drawn out of the chest, “we better turn it up on the side, and then we can brush it out.”