And as he said it, she turned the corner of the nearest street, in a provokingly leisurely manner, leading her baby boy by the hand. Johnny dropped the bundle and ball on the step, rushed to meet her, poured out his message, and was gone before the bewildered little woman quite realized who he was. On he sped, as if he had wings on his heels, to be suddenly and most unexpectedly stopped by a violent collision with a very small girl, who had toddled across his path just in time to be knocked down.
Very much frightened—for, “Suppose anybody did that to Polly!” he thought—he picked up the baby girl, petted, coaxed and cuddled her, until she laughed before her tears were dry. He found, to his great relief, that she was much more frightened than hurt, and was trying to make her tell him where she lived when her mother appeared, and carried her off, scolding and kissing her all at once.
“I declare,” thought Johnny, “those old fellows who talked about the Fates would say I’d better give up this base-ball business! It’s a little too provoking! I wonder what kind of a trap I’ll find in this field.”
For he had at last come to the open space from which the base-ball ground had been fenced off; one of those left-out regions consisting of several fields, which one often finds on the edge of a town or city. It was covered with high grass and coarse weeds, and in a far distant corner two or three cows were feeding.
But, as Johnny neared the high fence, thinking that his troubles were certainly over now, and wondering why he had never before taken this short cut, something bright caught his eye; a little scarlet hood, not so very much above the tops of the rank grasses and weeds, and there was another baby! One hand was full of the ragged purple asters, which grew among the grass, and her little face was grave and intent. Nobody else was near, and once more Johnny thought, “Suppose it was Polly!”
The child looked fearlessly up at him as he advanced, and nodded.
“What are you doing, baby, all by yourself, in this big field?” asked Johnny, in the kind, hearty voice which made him more friends than he knew of, and the baby answered, gravely,—
“Picking f’owers for my mamma! And I’m not baby. Baby at home.”
“Come on, then, let’s go see him;” and Johnny took the little hand, groaning to himself,—
“I can’t leave this mite all alone in a field with cows,—suppose it was Polly!”