“The first day,” said Polly, hurrying on, “the birds came to see the Silly Little Brook; and they sang sweet songs over her head, and they told her pretty stories, and they dipped their beaks in her clear little pool of water in the hollow; and the Silly Little Brook said to herself, ‘Oh, what a lovely time this is! How good it was for me that I didn’t mind what the cross old Sun said to me when he told me not to stop. Forsooth! I shall stop here as long as I want to.’”
“What does for—what is it, Polly,—mean?” asked Phronsie who always asked this question at this particular stage of the story.
“Oh, it doesn’t mean anything!” said Polly carelessly.
“Then, why did she say it?” persisted Phronsie.
“Oh, because it sounded nice!” said Polly, twitching her pink silk thread out to replace it with a green one to begin on the calyx; “people have to say things sometimes that don’t mean anything—in a story.”
“Do they?” said Phronsie with wondering eyes.
“Well, she did any way,” said Polly; “so she said ‘Forsooth!’ and tossed her head, and immediately she felt very big and grand. And the next day the birds came, and everything was lovely, and the Silly Little Brook went to sleep at night, and dreamed of all sorts of beautiful things. But the day after, she looked up, and saw to her astonishment a flock of birds, that was whirring along over the tip of the mountain-side, pause when they got to her, and look down; then they whispered together, and presently off they flew, chattering, ‘Oh, no—no; we’ll not stop there!’
“What to make of it the Silly Little Brook did not know; she only tossed her head, and grew angrier and angrier, and said she didn’t care. But she went to sleep sobbing as hard as she could that night; and her pillow, a clump of moss, was wet with tears.”
Phronsie moved uneasily, but said not a word.
“At last, as morning broke, the Silly Little Brook heard a voice close to her ear say, ‘O dear Brook, wake up! I have something to say to you;’ and there was Robin Redbreast.”