In the muddy back yard Polly was strutting, proud as a peacock, in her
scarlet sash. The ends swept the ground, and she glanced back over her
shoulder at them every step. Roberta burst out laughing, Polly looked so
ridiculous.

"O, Mamma!" she said, "do call Polly in and sing to her about--

"The little girl that was so vain,
Strutting up a dirty lane,
With mamma's best dress for a train,
O, fie, fie, fie! O, fie, fie, fie!
She'd better sweep cob-webs from the sky;
She'd better bake, she'd better stew,
She'd better knit, she'd better sew;
O, fie, fie, fie! O, fie, fie, fie!
The little girl put her finger in her eye,
Looked down at her shoe, and said 'boo-oo.'"

Now I am going to tell you how the soldier boy kept his promise.

Old Squire had loaded a wagon with pumpkins, golden-brown russet apples,
and splendid potatoes to take into town, a few miles off. He promised to
give the children a lift as far as the forks of the road. Roberta coaxed
Aunt Judy to fix her a nice lunch. They wanted to gather wild grapes and
nuts in the woods and have a tea-party besides. Aunt Judy fried her some
spiced apple turnovers, made beaten biscuits, crisp and brown, split them
while they were hot, buttered them, and put thin slices of pink ham
between. Then she got at least one half of an iced white mountain cake,
left from Sunday, and packed that in with the other things. Little did