“And I want bears too,” declared Barby from her sofa; “bad, naughty King.”
“You shall have the bears,” cried King radiantly, running up to her; “yes, you shall, Barby; the very first picture Miss Grace draws you shall have it—and Elyot shall have the next,” he said, after a minute’s hard thinking.
Polly sent him a happy little smile that warmed every corner of his small heart.
“Mayn’t Elyot get out now, sister Polly?” he asked pleadingly.
“I’m not sorry,” said Elyot stoutly. “No; I’ve got to stay.”
“You may go out, King, and you too, Barby,” said Polly slowly, “and shut the door.”
“No; I’m going to stay,” said Barby perversely.
“Barbara.”
Barby slipped to the ground and edged out, and King closed the door, feeling that it wasn’t so easy to undo being naughty after all.
In a minute the door was opened slowly, and King’s head appeared. “Sister Polly,” he said, “it truly wasn’t Elyot’s fault, because if I’d let them in, he would have been good.”