“Which do you love best, Posy,—Nunky, or the thee-and-thou man?”
“Which gave me the b’loon?”
“Mr. Littlefield.”
“Then I love him best.”
As the gay toys rose higher and higher, she thought how her angel sister Alice would like them, and wondered if this wasn’t a good time to send her a present.
Pollio thought not. He didn’t believe they could find a string in town long enough to reach to heaven.
“Why Posy,” said he with some contempt for her ignorance, “heaven’s the other side the moon: it’s more’n twenty miles off.”
Posy gave it up then: twenty miles was too far. And she was rather glad she need not part with her balloon, even to the “heaven-folks.”
In talking, Pollio, who always flourished his arms a great deal, had let go the string; and now his balloon had flown up, up, out of reach. Oh, dear! It seemed so glad to go, like a bird let out of a cage! How far would it fly? Pollio forgot entirely that he was forbidden to leave the yard, and darted out, leaving little Posy gazing up, half hoping the baby would get a present, after all.