“Just one little, teeney, weeney piece,” pleaded Ray.
“No, dear, not any more to-day.”
When Aunt Polly said these last words in her firm, pleasant voice, Ray’s sunny face clouded. I am sorry to say that he pouted and did not look at all like the kind of boy he really was.
You must know that he was visiting dear Aunt Polly again, and he was very fond of her delicious plum-cake. But like many other little boys and a great many big ones he wanted more than was good for him, and Aunt Polly gently and wisely refused. I would not like to tell you how he hung his head, thrust his hands into his pocket and scuffled out of the room, because I do not like to draw disagreeable pictures. And yet, that is just what he did, and muttered to himself as he went, “stingy.”
Aunt Polly heard him, and looked very much hurt, but Ray did not seem to mind. He walked out of the house, into the beautiful June sunlight and wandered off, all by himself.
He had walked quite a distance before he decided to sit on the warm grass and rest a minute.
“When I’m a man, I’ll have all the plum-cake I want,” said Ray to himself, “and I shan’t be stingy like Aunt Polly.”
“Poor Aunt Polly!” whispered a wee voice in Ray’s ear.
Ray jumped to his feet to see who had spoken, but he could not see anybody.
“Who said ‘poor Aunt Polly’?” asked Ray, looking all around him. No one answered, so he sat on the grass again.