So Ben tried again, getting it worse than before. “The flowers won’t come straight,” he said, “and I can’t make ’em.” So Polly was forced to stifle a sigh and bear it as best she could.
“Now, children,” said Polly, standing in front of the row,—Ben had taken his seat at the head of the line,—“I’m going into the bedroom and—”
“What for?” cried Joel.
“Never mind,” said Polly, all in a twitter, for she had a little secret kept carefully from all the others except Ben. It was impossible to keep it from him, for Polly and Ben told everything to each other. Mamsie had told her she might take her dark green silk parasol owned for many years and carefully kept rolled in tissue paper. And because no one was to carry it but Polly, and only once by her, the children must not be told, so Polly couldn’t get it from the bureau drawer in the bedroom until the last minute.
“Now you must shut your eyes,” said Polly, for there was no other way to get out of doors, after getting the parasol, than to come through the kitchen, and then they would of course see her, “and don’t look until I say, ‘How do you do!’”
“I don’t want to shut my eyes,” said Joel. “I want to see what you’re going into the bedroom for.”
“Shut your eyes, Joe,” said Ben, leaning past Phronsie to give him a small nudge. So Joel shut his, especially as Ben, to set a good example, did the same. And little David, afraid he might see, put his two hands up over his face. When Phronsie saw that, she did the same thing, and then Joel, to be in the fashion, followed suit, and so did Ben, to keep the children in countenance.
But Polly couldn’t find the parasol, for Mother Pepper took it out to mend a little break in the well-worn silk,—afraid it might pull away more while doing duty for the company,—and then she set the roll of tissue paper out on the counterpane of the big four-poster, telling Polly so. But Polly hadn’t heard, being in such a fluster over the preparations; so she fumbled away, first in one drawer, and then in another, of the old bureau; even searching all through the lowest one where Phronsie always came to look at, and pat, her red-topped shoes.
“She’s coming!” cried Joel, having a dreadful time not to take down his hands, but remembering Polly’s command just in time.
“Well, you’re not to look till she says, ‘How do you do,’” warned Ben, as a small noise sounded over by the door. Then all was quiet.