apapiu/simple_text_files · Datasets at Hugging Face

At last Polly said, "Peter likes red and I like red. May we paint it red, father?"

"Red is a good color," said father. "We will paint it red. See that your brushes are soft. You must help on the work, you know."

The next day the painting began. Each child had a part to do all alone. Of course, Peter got paint on his hands. And there were large, red spots on his clothes. But they were old, and no one cared.

The first coat of paint dried quickly in the warm room. Then another was put on, and the work was done.

Peter and Polly went to the workshop many times a day to look at the sled. They touched the paint with their fingers. Surely it must be dry.

At last father said, "The paint is hard now. The sled is ready for use. We will harness Brownie to it to-morrow."

Brownie

"Now may we harness Brownie?" asked Polly.

"Now you may," said father.

He drew out the new, red sled. He put on Brownie's little harness. He helped the children harness her to the sled.

They jumped in. Polly had the reins. She said, "Get up, Brownie," and Brownie walked out of the yard.

"First, we will show grandmother," said Polly. "Brownie is grandmother's present. She must see us driving her."

They stopped in front of grandmother's house. Peter went in to call her to the door. Polly held Brownie.

"Well, well," said grandmother, "that is nice. What a pretty sled you have. I like the color."

"We helped to make it," said Polly. "We wished you to see us first. We are going to show the children now. Hear our pretty sleigh bells. Good-by."

Down the hill Brownie trotted. Her bells jingled softly. She went across the railroad track and into the bridge.

Some of the village children were looking over the railing. They were watching men cutting ice.

When they saw Peter and Polly, they cried, "Here comes the pony! See Peter and Polly! Look at the red sled! Give us a ride! Oh, give us a ride!"

"Yes, we will," said Polly. "Come up on the street, where it is smooth. Two of you get in with us. We will take two more by and by."

Polly could drive quite well. She had often driven father's horse, when father took her with him. She let each child hold Brownie's reins.

"Let more ride at once," said one of the girls. "There is room in the sled."

"No," said Polly. "The pony is strong, but she is little. I will not let her drag more than four. And two are enough, going uphill."

So they trotted up and down the street. Sometimes the boys and girls who were not riding ran by Brownie's side. Brownie seemed to enjoy the fun as much as any of them.

At last it was time to go home. The children all patted the pony. This was to thank her for the good time she had given them. Then Peter and Polly drove away, up the hill.

Mother came out of the house. She said, "Do you think you can do an errand for me? Can you drive to the creamery? I wish some buttermilk. Here is a pail for it."

"What fun," said Polly. "Yes, of course, we can do that. You hold the pail, Peter."

Down the hill they trotted again. At the creamery, Polly took the pail. She went inside.

She said, "Have you some buttermilk for me?"

"Plenty," said the creamery man. "Just hold your pail under the faucet."

"See our new pony," said Polly. "See our new sled."

"Are you driving your pony? I saw her the day she came. She is a fine pony. If you tip over going home, come back for more buttermilk."

"Thank you," said Polly. "We have not tipped over yet."

"There always has to be a first time," said the man.

Going up the hill, Polly said, "We are nearly home. Perhaps we shall not tip over to-day. Why does every one think that we shall?"

But, as they turned into their driveway, Polly pulled the wrong rein. Brownie stepped to the side of the road. One of the sled runners struck a bank of snow.

Over went sled, children, and buttermilk. Brownie stopped and looked around. Polly was standing on her head in the soft snow. Peter was covered with buttermilk. No one was hurt.

Polly scrambled up. She pulled Peter to his feet. She said, "Don't cry, Peter. Buttermilk will not hurt you. You like it."

"Yes, I do," said Peter. "But that is inside, not outside. How would you like it down your neck?"

"Well," said Polly, "you get into the sled again. We must go back for more buttermilk. You may drive all the way. Perhaps you won't tip us over."

Dish-Pan Sleds

"Peter and Polly," said mother, "should you like to play a new game?"

"Oh, yes, oh, yes! Tell us fast!" cried both children.

"I cannot tell you," said mother. "But I will show you. Get ready to go out of doors. Here comes Tim. That is good. He may play, too."

"How many can be in this game, mother?"

"Ever so many, Polly. Please take this dish pan. Peter, carry this pan. Tim, here is one for you. Now follow me."

Mrs. Howe went through the open gate into the hayfield. A hard crust was on the top of the snow.