Phronsie trembled with excitement, and she put out her little hands as if she had the duck between them. “But please fix his leg, Polly,” she breathed.
“Yes, yes, child,” said Polly quickly. “Oh, dear me! I’ve sewed that seam wrong; now that has all to come out.”
“But please fix that little duck’s leg first, Polly,” begged Phronsie, her lip quivering, “before you pick out those wrong stitches.”
“Oh, dear me, was there ever such a peck of trouble!” cried poor Polly, picking frantically at the bad stitches. Then her old paper cap, with its deep border, slid down over her eyes, and her scissors tumbled on the floor.
“Look at Polly’s cap! Look at Polly’s cap!” screamed Joel.
“It’s grandma,” said little Davie, who dearly loved to carry out all Polly’s make-believes, while Phronsie still insisted that the little duck’s leg should be fixed before anything else was done.
In the midst of all this confusion the door opened suddenly, and there was dear old Mrs. Beebe, her round face smiling over a big basket.
“Well, well, my pretty dears!” she exclaimed. “Why, what’s the matter? Polly got hurt? Oh, you poor creeters!” seeing the big paper flapping over Polly’s brown head, and all the children crowded around her chair.
“No’m,” said Polly, twitching off her big cap. And “She’s playing grandma,” said Joel and David.