“Oh, deary me!” cried Polly at sight of her. “Well, I s’pose it’s no use to wash her up till it’s all gone. Well, I am thankful I didn’t have to tell all the rest about that dreadful little duck.”
[IX.]
THE OLD TEA-KETTLE.
The rain dripped most dismally on the roof of the Little Brown House. It had rained just so, without any appearance of stopping, for three days, and Phronsie held a sad little face against the window-pane.
“Won’t it ever stop, Polly?” she asked.
“Yes, I s’pose so,” said Polly dismally; “though I don’t know when. Mamsie, did you ever see it rain so long?”
[“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Pepper], looking up from her stocking-mending over in the corner, “plenty of times, Polly. If folks don’t worry over the weather and talk about it, it’s all right. Fly at your baking, child, and let the rain take care of itself.”
