“No, you can’t, Joel,” said Polly, decidedly; “that is Phronsie’s place. Come the other side.”
“I’ll let him take my place,” said little Davie, swallowing very hard, for he very much wanted to hold Phronsie’s hand, but he dropped it at once, to let Joel slip into the ring.
“Oh, Davie, that is so good of you!” exclaimed Polly, beaming at him, but she didn’t look at Joel, as he seized Phronsie’s hand. “Well, now, come on,” sang Polly. “Ring—a—round—a rosy.” And off they skipped.
“I don’t like it—stop!” roared Joel. “Polly, I don’t—I say—”
But Polly, not heeding, pulled them around and around till everything in the old kitchen spun before their eyes, and Phronsie couldn’t even see the little white cat sitting stiffly up on top of the old cupboard.
“Stop!” roared Joel, and “Oh, do stop, Polly,” implored little David, tugging at her hand.
“Why, what’s the matter?” Polly brought the little circle up suddenly with a laugh. “O dear me, wasn’t that a fine spin!” And she brushed her brown hair off from her hot face.
“I’m not going to take hold of Phronsie’s hand,” said Joel, dropping her fat little fingers, and running over to squeeze in between Polly and David. “Dave can have the place.”
“Oh, I’d rather you’d have it,” said little Davie, but his heart gave a happy little throb.
“Now, that’s so nice of you, Joey,” said Polly, approvingly, and she dropped a kiss on his stubby black hair. “Well, if you don’t want to play ‘Ring a—round—a—rosy’ any more, why, we won’t.”