“He won’t hurt you,” whispered Polly, her arms about her.
“And he isn’t half as bad as Polly’s rhododendron,” said Ben, leaning forward to talk across.
Polly turned a cold shoulder to Ben. “See the little elephant, Phronsie—see him!”
“Is there a little one?” said Phronsie, uncovering one blue eye fearfully.
“Yes, indeed,” said Polly, “and he’s such a dear little elephant, Phronsie. Do look!”
“He’s a dear little el’phunt,” cooed Phronsie, bringing both eyes into view. But she sighed after the ponies, now careering on the other side of the big ring, drawing the little chariot gay with ribbons and flags, and a small boy and a smaller girl riding in state.
“I wish they’d come again,” she said, pulling Polly’s head down to whisper in her ear.
“Perhaps they will,” said Polly encouragingly, “and if they don’t, there’ll be something else just as splendid.”
Phronsie folded her hands in her lap and sat quite still. Could anything be as splendid as those sweet little ponies? And she sighed again. But Polly had said so, and it must be true.
Meantime David, who had scarcely dared to breathe through the whole show, screamed right out.