Percy hung his head; and Van cried out in alarm, “Oh, don’t tell her, Jappy, don’t tell her!”
“As if I’d want to tell her,” exclaimed Jasper in greater scorn than ever.
Meantime Polly, who had taken her recreation hour the day before to plan out this story of “The Green Umbrella and the Queer Little Man,” was sitting down on the floor, her head in Mother Pepper’s lap, while Mamsie’s hands softly smoothed the brown hair.
“I don’t see how I came to say it,” she mourned for about the fortieth time; “the words seemed to slip out, Mamsie, without my saying them; and then I couldn’t stop.”
“No, that is generally the way,” observed Mother Pepper; “when any one lets ill temper say the first word, good-by to all peace of mind. So watch the first word, Polly.”
Down went Polly’s head lower than ever in Mother Pepper’s lap.
“I know you were tired of telling stories to the children,” went on Mrs. Pepper, “but that’s no excuse; and besides, you had promised.”
“I know it,” mumbled poor Polly into Mother Pepper’s stuff gown.
“And if a body is going to do a kindness for another, it’s best to do it cheerfully, remember that, Polly.”