“Oh! we weren’t tied up,” said Polly with a little laugh; “I mean our fingers and toes were tied up when they got cut and pounded.”
“Oh!” said Van.
“Why, it’s cleared off!” screamed Joel, springing up and pointing to the window; “see the rainbow! Come on Dave, now let’s run ’cross lots out-doors!”
[XIX.]
THE GREEN UMBRELLA.
Polly was at her wits’ end to think of anything to make a story out of. She was longing to run out into the conservatory and be with Turner in his work among the flowers, and it seemed as if her feet must carry her off in spite of herself. But there were all four of the boys standing in a row before her, and Phronsie’s little face expectantly lifted waiting for Polly to begin.
“Oh, dear me!” she exclaimed with an impatient little flounce, “I do wish”—
“Is that the story, Polly?” asked Phronsie wonderingly.