“No, dear,” said Polly hastily.
Then she got out of her chair, and ran around to drop a kiss on Phronsie’s yellow hair; but Phronsie moving just then, the kiss fell on the little bunch of brown flowers on the top of her bonnet. “Dear me!” said Polly with a laugh, “well, I’m sure I’m willing to kiss your bonnet, Phronsie, as it isn’t all decked up with birds’ wings. I knew, of course, you’d tell Grandpapa everything, Phronsie.”
“Oh, I couldn’t wear a bird’s wings on my bonnet; you know I couldn’t, Polly!” exclaimed Phronsie in horror.
“No more could I,” declared Polly. “I should feel as if I’d murdered the sweetest thing on earth, to perk a bird up on my bonnet. Oh, dear me!” aghast at the thought. “Jasper, what shall we do,” as Phronsie got up and went over to the sideboard to get an orange for her bag, “to keep Phronsie from going to town?”
“I don’t believe we better try any more, Polly,” said Jasper, going over to take his wife’s hand. “I really believe it’s best to let Phronsie alone, for she thinks that she ought to go.”
“But that old thing!” began Polly impulsively, “and our Phronsie.”
“It won’t hurt Phronsie,” said Jasper wisely, putting his arm around Polly’s waist, to look into her eyes. “No, Polly, I don’t believe we ought to say any more. Come, Phronsie, are you ready?”
“Yes, I am,” said Phronsie, patting her little bag; “all ready, Jasper. Polly, I’ll get your red wool; you said you didn’t have time yesterday.”
“Oh, you dear!” cried Polly, comforted by Jasper’s words. “But don’t tire yourself, Phronsie; it’s no matter; I can wait.”
“If anybody is going to town with me, she must hurry up; that’s all I say,” called Jasper, giving Polly a kiss and, running off.