"
Which she accordingly did, with such a hearty goodwill that Nurse
Bundle and several others of the household came out to see what was
the matter. My father laughed loudly, but Mrs. Bundle was seriously
displeased.
"Master Reginald would never have thought of no such thing on a Sunday
afternoon but for you, Miss Polly," she said, with a partiality for
her "own boy" which offended my sense of justice.
"I climbed a tree too, Nurse," I said, emphatically.
"And it was only a Sunday kind of climbing," Polly pleaded. But Nurse
Bundle refused to see the force of Polly's idea; we were ignominiously
dismissed to the nursery, and thenceforward were obliged, as before,
to confine our tree-climbing exploits to the six working days of the
week.
And these Portugal laurels bore the names of the Pulpit and the Pew
ever afterwards.
* * * * *
I showed my flat iron to Polly, and she was so much pleased with it
that I greatly regretted that I had only brought away this one from
Oakford. I should have given it to her, but for its connection with
the little white-beavered lady.
We both played with it; and at a suggestion of Polly's, we gave quite
a new character to our "wash" (or rather "ironing," for we omitted the
earlier processes of the laundry).
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