Despite thrusting her little hand forward for almost the entire parade, she was entirely overlooked.
Whether she was too little to be seen or just not pushy enough, I don't know, but as she missed out time and time again she became more and more disillusioned.
"I want a lollipop," she said, chirpily at first and then with progressively more desperation in her voice.
Thanks to her dad's cricketing skills, we won a brief reprieve when he managed to pluck one out of the air.
The chewy toffee was soft enough to break in half, keeping Miss Three and Miss Five momentarily pacified. (To clarify, it was by no means a lolly scramble, just a few sweets thrown individually into the crowd.)
But when Miss Five finally managed to get her hands on a lollipop and Miss Three didn't, things took a turn for the worse.
"Where's my lollipop?" she wailed.
Each time a lolly-bearer came past all four of us thrust our hands forward (Miss Five being on a promise to hand over any winnings to her sister), but to no avail.
As the last float made its way past and Miss Three's little hand was still empty, her bottom lip started to tremble.
Because she'd done remarkably well to endure such a string of disappointments, we marched her down to the nearest dairy and bought her a little reward. A lollipop of course.