It was some time before the boys could settle down from the excitement of showing their treasures, to the work of digging the worms. Polly came out and helped them with an old iron spoon. She couldn’t work fast and her hand trembled, all her healthy young body longing for the fun of the expedition. But there was no hope that she could go—for she must help Mamsie to finish the coats brought home from the store the day before. And there were the Henderson boys waiting, Mrs. Pepper being willing, since the parson’s sons could go, to let Joel and David have this pleasure.
At last they were off—all four of them—the worms wriggling about in an old tin can that Joel shook up and down at every step.
Polly hung over the old gate with Phronsie by her side, to watch them off.
“Oh, I wish I could ever have any fun,” she said to herself. “The little path in the woods is just lovely, and the dear brook! O dear!—why can’t I ever go anywhere!”
“Polly,” asked Phronsie, giving a little twitch to Polly’s blue checked apron, “what is the matter?”
“I’m not crying,” said Polly, turning her face away.
“But your mouth looks like crying,” said Phronsie, peering around anxiously at her.
“Oh, never mind, Pet,” said Polly. Then she drew a long breath. “Let me alone, Phronsie. I’m bad this morning.”
“You’re never bad,” said Phronsie decidedly. “Do let me see your face, Polly,” she begged.
Polly swallowed hard. “I’ll tell you, Phronsie, what let’s do—we’ll race down the road to the corner and then turn and race back. Catch me now.”