“Never mind,” said Polly merrily; “don’t try.—Oh, where was I?”
“You said Father Kangaroo went off to get some dinner,” said Phronsie, concluding not to cry.
“Oh, yes,—well, you see, they hadn’t any of them had any breakfast. Just think of that, Phronsie, and you’ve had toast and elegant butter;” and Polly’s mouth watered, for she hadn’t tasted any of the little pat that Mrs. Henderson sent.
“Hadn’t they?” asked Phronsie sadly.
“No, not a single bite. Well, Father Kangaroo just stalked off, that is, he hopped with great big hops, for he knew he had to get some dinner, else the little bits of kangarooses would starve to death. And pretty soon he came right into the very middle of the forest; and there under the trees, in the midst of a bramble-bush, lay a little bird,—Oh, such a cunning little bird, you can’t think, Phronsie, so fat and juicy!”
“Oh, don’t let Mr. Father Kangaroo catch the little bird, Polly!” screamed Phronsie in terror; and springing up she seized Polly’s neck with both hands, and burst into tears.
“Oh, dear me, what shall I do?” cried Polly in despair, and cuddling her up. “No, he sha’n’t eat the bird, Phronsie; now stop crying this minute, the kangaroo sha’n’t eat him, I say. I’ll make the little bird go home with him, and sing to the children kangarooses—there—there—now, says I, we’ll lie down again.”
So she patted and tucked Phronsie in again under the clothes, and wiped her face dry with the old soft handkerchief Mamsie had left under the pillow, and then she began once more.