"'There was a little girl, And she had a little curl, And it hung right down over her forehead; And when she was good, She was very, very good, And when she was bad, _she was horrid_!'" "And that's you!" chanted Polly Adams in a vigorous crescendo, as she watched the retreating figure of her guest. Then climbing down from her perch on the front gate, she added to herself, "Mean old thing! I s'pose she thinks I care because she's gone home; but I'm glad of it, so there!" And with an emphatic shake of her curly head, she ran into the house.…
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