"No, no, I want to do wid Willy, and he won't let me. Do 'way,
Tarley, I don't lite you," cried little Blue-bonnet, casting down her
ermine muff and sobbing in a microscopic handkerchief, the
thread-lace edging on which could n't mitigate her woe, as it might
have done that of an older sufferer.
"Willy likes Flossy best, so stop crying and come right along, you
naughty child."
As poor little Dido was jerked away by the unsympathetic maid,
and Purple-gaiters essayed in vain to plead his cause, Polly said to
herself, with a smile and a sigh; "How early the old story begins!"
It seemed as if the spring weather had brought out all manner of
tender things beside fresh grass and the first dandelions, for as she
went down the street Polly kept seeing different phases of the
sweet old story which she was trying to forget.
At a street corner, a black-eyed school-boy was parting from a
rosy-faced school-girl, whose music roll he was reluctantly
surrendering.
"Don't you forget, now," said the boy, looking bashfully into the
bright eyes that danced with pleasure as the girl blushed and
smiled, and answered reproachfully; "Why, of course I shan't!"
"That little romance runs smoothly so far; I hope it may to the
end," said Polly heartily as she watched the lad tramp away,
whistling as blithely as if his pleasurable emotions must find a
vent, or endanger the buttons on the round jacket; while the girl
pranced on her own doorstep, as if practising for the joyful dance
which she had promised not to forget.
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