"I like pussies better than pollies," said Olly gravely.

"Why, what do you know about pollies, old man?"

"Pollies bite, I know they do. There was a polly bited Francis once."

"Well, and pussies scratch," said Milly.

"No, they don't, not if you're nicey to them," said Olly; who was just
then very much in love with a white kitten, and thought there were no
creatures so delightful as pussies.

"Well, suppose you don't make up your mind about Aunt Emma's Polly till
you've seen her," said Mrs. Norton. "Now sit down on the rug there and
let us have a talk."

Down squatted the children on the floor opposite their mother, with
their little heads full of plans and their eyes as bright as sparks.

"I'll take my cart and horse," began Olly; "and my big ball, and my
whistle, and my wheelbarrow, and my spade, and all my books, and the big
scrap-book, and--"

"You can't, Olly," exclaimed Milly. "Nurse could never pack all those
up. There'd be no room for our clothes. You can take your whistle, and
the top, and the picture books, and I can take my dolls. That'll be
quite enough, won't it, mother?"

"Quite enough," said Mrs. Norton. "If it's fine weather you'll see--you
won't want any toys. But now, look here, children," and she held up the