“Deary me, where was I?—Oh, I know, I was going to have the little bird go home with Mr. Father Kangaroo.”
“Yes,” said Phronsie happily; “you were going to, Polly.”
“So [Mr. Father Kangaroo] looked sharply at the fat little bird lying there in the middle of the bramble-bush; and he [asked, ‘What’s the matter down there], little bird?’
[“What’s the matter down there?” asked Mr. Kangaroo.]
“And the little bird cocked up one eye at him just like this,” said Polly, suiting the action to the word.
Phronsie poked up her yellow head to see, and smiled gleefully.
“And the little bird piped out, ‘Oh Mr. big Kangaroo-man, I can’t get out.’”
“Oh, make him help him, Polly,” cried Phronsie very much excited, and pulling her hands out of Polly’s to clasp them together tightly. “Do, Polly, quick!”
“Yes; indeed I will, Pet. So Mr. Father Kangaroo leaned over the bramble-bush, and roared in a big voice, ‘Here, I’ll hold the brambles away with my paws, and you can jump into my bag.’”