"You most dropped that dish, Polly," said little Davie, looking at her in amazement.
"I forgot--Phronsie--O dear!" gasped Polly, setting the dish in her hand suddenly on the table, and plunging out of the room.
There sat Phronsie in the woodshed on the little bench, her rusty little shoes placed patiently before her, and her hands folded in her lap. "I'm so tired, Polly," she said plaintively.
"So you must be!" cried Polly, in a spasm of remorse, and lifting her up. "Well, now we'll have such a nice time, Phronsie, you can't think," covering her with kisses.
"You never came, Polly," said Phronsie, mournfully shaking her yellow head, "never at all."
"Don't, Phronsie," cried Polly, almost smothering her as she hugged her tightly.
"Oh, Polly, you hurt me!" cried Phronsie.
"Did I, Pet? well, I won't do so any more. Now, says I, one, two--three, here we go into the kitchen!" and Polly set her down on the floor.
"It is nice to walk with my feet," said Phronsie, giving a long stretch to her fat little legs. "Little things kept sticking into 'em, Polly, most all the time."
"The prickles, from sitting still," said Polly. "Oh, Phronsie dear, I never shall forgive myself for forgetting you," as Phronsie pattered across the kitchen, to clamber into Mother Pepper's lap.