“Why, they do the skin over with some stuff to preserve it, and you’ll have to get it at the chemist’s.”
“Yes, uncle.”
“And I don’t know, Natty,” he said, “but I think you might try and put poor old Polly together again, for I don’t feel quite comfortable about her; you have made her in such a dreadful mess.”
“Yes, I have, indeed, uncle,” I said dolefully, for the eagerness was beginning to evaporate.
“And your aunt was very fond of her, my boy, and she wouldn’t like it if she knew.”
“But I’m afraid I couldn’t put her together again now, uncle;” and then I began to tremble, and my uncle leaped off his stool, and broke his pipe: for there was my aunt’s well-known step on the gravel, and directly after we heard her cry:
“Joseph! Nathaniel! What are you both doing?” And I knew that I should have to confess.