"It's Mrs. Beebe; oh, it's Mrs. Beebe!" cried Davie; "see, Polly."

Polly scrambled up to her feet, ashamed to be caught thus, and
whisked away the tears; the others explaining to their new visitor
the sad disappointment that had befallen them; and she was soon
oh-ing, and ah-ing enough to suit even their distressed little souls.

"You poor creeters, you!" she exclaimed at last, for about the
fiftieth time. "Here, Polly, here's some posies for you, and"-- "Oh,
thank you!" cried Polly, with a radiant face, "why, Mrs. Beebe, we
can put them in here, can't we? the very thing!"

And she set the little knot of flowers in the hollow of the cake, and
there they stood and nodded away to the delighted children, like
brave little comforters, as they were.

"The very thing!" echoed Mrs. Beebe, tickled to death to see their
delight; "it looks beautiful, I declare! and now, I must run right
along, or pa'll be worrying;" and so the good woman trotted out to
her waiting husband, who was impatient to be off. Mr. Beebe kept
a little shoe shop in town; and always being of the impression if he
left it for ten minutes that crowds of customers would visit it. He
was the most restless of companions on any pleasure excursion.

"And Phronsie's got hurt," said Mrs. Beebe, telling him the news,
as he finished tucking her up, and started the old horse.

"Ho? you don't say so!" he cried; "whoa!"

"Dear me!" said Mrs. Beebe; "how you scat me, pal what's the