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"Olly's spoilt my doll," sobbed Milly, "and it will go on raining and I feel so so dull." "I didn't spoil her doll, mother," cried Olly, eagerly. "I only rubbed some jam on its cheeks to make them a nicey pink only some of it would sticky her dress I didn't mean to." "How would you like some jam rubbed on your cheeks, sir?" said Mrs.
Sometimes in the river Thora, where Milly and Olly's stepping-stones were, when it rained very much, the water rose so high that it dashed right over the stepping-stones and nobody could go across.
"Well, I suppose it's best to like what we've got," said Aunt Emma, laughing. Indoors, Olly's muddy stockings were given to Aunt Emma's maid, who promised to have them washed and dried by the time they had to go home, and then, when Mrs. Norton had covered up the black spots on his frock with a clean pinafore she had brought with her, Olly looked quite respectable again.
"Why doesn't Tiza come down?" asked Olly, looking hard up into the tree. "I want to see her." Thump! What was that rattling down on Olly's head? He looked down at his feet very much astonished, and saw a bunch of green cherries which Tiza had just thrown at him. "Throw some more!
"I don't want her to forgive me," he sobbed. "I only want my agates, my pretty, pretty agates!" "Surely you will forgive him?" pleaded Halloway, looking up at Gerald over Olly's head, and holding out one of the boy's hands in his own. "He was really penitent when you came up. Let me ask for him." Gerald moved a step away, ignoring the hand. "Certainly, if you wish it," she said, coldly.
Where, indeed, was Olly going? Just the moment before the little man had spied a lovely flower growing a little way off the path, in the middle of some bright yellow-green moss. And without thinking of anything but getting it, off he rushed. But oh! splish, splash, splish, down went Olly's feet, up splashed the muddy water, and there was Olly stuck in a bog.
Master Trench doubted, and shook his head with an air of much sagacity, a method of expressing an opinion which is eminently unassailable. Paul Burns condescended on reasons for his belief which, like Olly's, was favourable. "You see," he said, wiping his uncommonly greasy fingers on the grass, "we have enough of pork and cakes here for several days on short allowance.
Now good-night." Phebe kissed her very quietly, and then crept into Olly's room, and sat down on his bed. "Olly, dear," she murmured, "are you asleep?" The little fellow sprang up and flung his arms closely around her neck, embracing collar, ruffles, and ribbon in one all-comprehensive destruction. "Do you love me? Do you love me?
"I daresay we should, Olly, for I don't think I could carry mother, and Aunt Emma, and Milly, and you on my back, safe home again, and you see none of you can swim but me." "Then I hope a big stone won't come," said Milly, feeling just a little bit frightened at Olly's suggestion. "Well, big stones don't grow in the sky generally, Milly, if that's any comfort to you.
Marie was, no doubt, pondering over her frigid Olly's proposal, and making up her mind how to proceed, when another letter reached her. It was written in a bold, clear, round hand. It bore no date or superscription, but the envelope is stamped: "New York, Feb. 12, 12 o'c." The letter might have been written by a love-crazed Cassandra. It was as follows: "You imagine me in Philadelphia. Not so.
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