“So Betserilda ran with all her might, and came back dragging the flower-basket after her; and then the two girls took hold of the handle, and went off into the woods after flowers.”
“Polly,” cried Phronsie suddenly, “I very much wish we might go into the woods after flowers;” she gave a long sigh, and every one turned to look at her.
“We can’t,” said Polly; “there aren’t any woods in this big city;” and she sighed too.
“But think what splendid grounds these are, and what monstrous trees,” cried Ben hastily, and pointing to them, as Joel began to kick his heels and loudly wish he could run into the woods too. “Polly, what are you going to say next?” asked Ben, catching her eye.
“What? oh, let me see!” cried Polly, bringing herself back from the delightful vision of a day in the woods; “well, off they trudged, Lucy Ann and Betserilda, and they began to dig and”—
“What did they dig, Polly?” asked Phronsie, very much interested, and laying her little face on Polly’s arm, “the little violets under the moss?”
“Yes,” said Polly, “lots and lots of them, Phronsie.”
“And the red berries?” Phronsie kept on, “and the long green stems, and the cunning little cups in the moss.”
“Yes,” said Polly, “they did; all those, Phronsie.”