“I do,” said Davie, clasping the slate hungrily. “Is it mine—all mine?”
“It’s yours to keep always,” said Miss Parrott decidedly, “and I am so glad that you like it. Well now, Polly, I’m going to give you a little plant to carry home. I hope you like flowers.”
For answer Polly clasped her hands. It was all she could do to keep from hopping up and down in delight. Seeing this, Miss Parrott took her hand. “We will go down and choose it,” she said.
David, hanging to his red-bordered slate, followed them down-stairs and out through the little green lattice door.
When they reached the little green plot with the stone seats, Miss Parrott sat down, for all the unusual happenings of this day made a little rest seem very sweet. But she looked at Polly’s and David’s dancing feet, and said, “You run about, children, and I will come presently, and pick out a plant for Polly.”
No need for a second invitation. Like little wild things, they were off up to the big green trees, David hanging to his red-bordered slate for dear life.
“Put it down, Davie, do,” begged Polly, “under that tree. We can’t play tag with any fun if you hold the slate.”
“No—no,” cried Davie in alarm, and grasping it tighter.
“Oh, well, never mind,” said Polly. “Now, come on,” with a pat on his shoulder, “you’re it.”
“She’s all tired out,” declared the housemaid, peering out of the green lattice door, “look at her a-settin’ there. I sh’d think she would be with them childern round her all day.”