No one quite knew how they got her back again—but the stage at last, with Polly inside, rolled off, and Mother Pepper and the four little Peppers went into the little brown house and shut the green door.
Davie ran as fast as he could, for the first time in his life not wanting Joel, his mind intent on reaching the spot where the day in the woods had been spent. There, under a clump of oaks on a little mossy bank, were bits of leaves and flowers, the remains of the wreath Polly had made to carry home to Mother. When David saw them, he threw himself down and buried his face, in an agony of tears. “I want Polly!” he cried.
A little bird hopped along the branch over his head to turn a sharp eye down at him. The sun shone, and he had eaten several worms and was perfectly comfortable. What any one could cry about, he couldn’t understand. For his part, he felt much more like singing. And accordingly he did, and such a lively air, all trills and high notes, as quite astonished himself. But that only made Davie cry worse, for it brought back the story that Polly had told them as they all sat around her while she made the wreath, of a little bird—why, it must have been that very one now singing over his head.
So of course the little bird, very much hurt in his feelings, at last stopped his song and flew away. And the wood became quite still.
All of a sudden, a whoop and a shout—and a boy’s feet came tearing through the bushes, and between the trees.
“Joel!” gasped David to himself. There was no time to run, and besides Joel would see him. The only thing to be done was to burrow deeper in the mossy bank.
“You ran away,” cried Joel, in great displeasure, and precipitating himself on him.
David couldn’t very well say he hadn’t, so he said nothing.
“And it was mean of you,” cried Joel wrathfully, and rolling him over to stare into his face. “Oh—oh—you’ve been crying!”
“Let me alone,” cried David crossly, and twitching away, he rolled back again. “Go right home, and let me alone.”