“Perhaps so—a little wee bit. But he didn’t cry any more; for as soon as he heard Mr. Father Kangaroo say that, he chirped out, ‘Thank you, Mr. Kangaroo-man, and I’ll sing for you all the day long.’”
“That was nice in the little bird, wasn’t it, Polly?” cried Phronsie, wiggling her toes in a satisfied way.
“Yes, indeed. Well, so away they trudged—I mean Mr. Father Kangaroo trudged, and hopped, and skipped, with great long steps, and pretty soon he came to his home. And the little kangarooses saw him coming; and they all ran and hopped out to meet him, screaming, ‘O pappy! have you brought us our dinner?’”
“Oh, dear!” said Phronsie, very much troubled; “he hadn’t any dinner.”
“But just think what a dear sweet little fat bird he had brought them, who was going to sing all day long, Phronsie!”
“Yes,” said Phronsie, but she sighed. “Tell me some more, Polly, do.”
“Well, so Mr. Father Kangaroo didn’t say anything about dinner; for he thought if they saw the little bird first, and heard him sing, they would forget all about that they were hungry.”
“And did they?” asked Phronsie.
“Yes, indeed; they never thought of it again. And they hopped and danced all around the fat little bird; and he told them of good Father Kangaroo, who had saved him when he got caught in the bramble-bush, where he fell when he flew away from the cruel squirrel; and then he sang—oh, it was just lovely to hear him sing, Phronsie.” Polly lay back upon the pillow and folded her hands, lost in thought.
“Tell me some more, Polly,” cried Phronsie, pulling her sleeve.