"I believe I am perfectly happy," said Florence, with a sigh of
content, as she leaned back and surveyed the meadows.
"I should be, if I could have some of those daisies," said Polly,
pointing to a great bunch of them close by.
"Want 'em? All right, here goes!" And before Mrs. Adams could
bring Job to a halt, Alan was out over the wheel.
"Don't stop; I can catch up with you," he called. "It's too hard
work to get Job under way again."
He was as good as his word; for he hastily pulled up the flowers
by the roots, came running after the carriage, and tossed them
into Polly's lap.
"There! Now aren't you glad you brought me?" he exclaimed
triumphantly, as he scrambled up the back of the carriage, like a
monkey, and worked his way along to the front seat again. "You're
a daisy, yourself, Alan," answered Polly, leaning out over the
wheel to break off the roots. "These are lovely. Want some,
girls?"
"It's going to rain to-morrow, I just know," said Molly,
disregarding the daisies. "If it does, it will spoil our picnic,
and that will be a shame."
"Oh, it won't rain," said Jean. "What makes you think so, Molly?"
"It always does," said Molly wisely, "when the hills look such a
lovely dark blue.
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