“What was in the basket, Polly?” asked Phronsie suddenly, stopping the smoothing process to look at Polly.
“Why, the fish,” said Polly, “of course. I just told you that, child.”
“No, no,” said Phronsie, shaking her head, “I don’t mean the fish. I mean the other thing, Polly.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Phronsie,” said Polly, looking around on the group in a puzzled way.
“The other thing,” persisted Phronsie, clambering down from her chair to come to Polly’s side. “What the old woman said she put in, Polly.”
“Oh!” said Polly; then she burst into a merry laugh. “None of you boys remembered to ask me that, and I forgot it myself. Oh! ’twas just her fingers, Phronsie; that was all.”
“Whose fingers?” asked Phronsie very much mystified.
“Why, the long skinny ones that belonged to the old woman,” said Polly. “She put them in the basket, and just pulled them out again.”
“But she said she put in a gift for Ara—what did you call her, Polly?” said Phronsie.
“Araminta Sophia,” said Polly; “well, she said that because she was a naughty old woman, Phronsie. There wasn’t any gift at all. Now go and sit in your chair again, that’s a good girl, then I’ll go on with the story.”