“But I dare not give it to you, my child. Won’t you try to be happy without it?”
“Yes, mamma,” sighed Pollio. “I’ll be happy if I can see my Posy. But, if I don’t see her pretty soon, I’m afraid I’ll die!”
This touched his mother’s heart, and she called Nunky to send for Posy. The little girl entered the room with a look of the deepest grief on her little face; but Pollio said bravely, as Nunky lifted her up to kiss him,—
“Poh, I’d twice as rather get hurt than have you, Posy! I’m a boy!”
Posy’s only answer was to stroke his cheek softly, and sob.
“That wolf stepped on me, that’s all. Don’t cry, Posy! No, ’twas Billy Barstow—I mean the colt.”
“Naughty fing! I don’t like Fourfs of July!” said the gentle sister, not quite sure whether to blame the colt, the wolf, or Billy.
“O Nunky! won’t you set her up on the bed side o’ me?” said Pollio, who found her remarks very consoling.
“I’ve lost my b’loon Posy: where’s yours?”