Polly is the Winner

One day, Polly came home from school very excited. When she entered the room, Mrs. Dale saw that the girl had some news.

“What's the matter with you, dear?” Mrs. Dale asked.

“Oh, Mother, our school newspaper is going to give a prize for the best poem written by our pupils,” Polly said.

“Are you going to win that prize?” Mrs. Dale asked, smiling.

“Of course I am, Mother! I'm going to write the poem right now. Will you give me a new copybook? May I sit at the table in your bedroom? Don't tell Jimmy that I'm at home! Don't let him bother me!” Polly chattered.

“Stop chattering, dear! It isn't nice to speak so fast. People may call you a chatterbox,” her mother said.

“But, Mother, only listen! Hugh tried to write a poem last night. I saw it — it isn't good at all. I'll write a much better one, you'll see, Mother! Quick, quick, give me a new copybook! I have no time to lose!” Polly chattered.

“Do stop talking nonsense! We shall see who will write the best poem. It isn't nice to boast. You must have your dinner first,” Mrs. Dale said.

“I won't, Mother! I'm not hungry! I have no time, really I have no time,” Polly cried.

“Nonsense, Polly, you have plenty of time. We have pancakes today,” Mrs. Dale said.

“Oh, pancakes! I do love pancakes and honey! All right, Mother, I'll eat just a little,” Polly said, sitting down at the table.

“Polly, for shame! Why do you always forget to wash your hands before dinner?” Mrs. Dale asked angrily.

“But my hands are clean, Mother — look at them! Aren't they clean?” Polly said, showing her hands.

“Maybe they look clean,” her mother said, “but it is better to go and wash them.”

“All right!” Polly said and ran to the bathroom to wash her hands.

After dinner, Mrs. Dale allowed Polly to sit at her table. She gave her a new copybook, and Polly wrote a poem.