"Well, I guess he'd have been in a tight fix if we hadn't—" began Larry, recovering the ammonia bottle. Then he stopped short.
"Hadn't what? Go on," said Polly.
"Hadn't—hadn't—" Larry, not looking at Joel, floundered miserably.
"I'll tell you," said Van, wishing so much of the ammonia hadn't gone into his mouth, and up his nose, and stopping to cough and splutter. "O dear, wait a minute, Polly, I'll tell you!"
But Polly was fixing her brown eyes sternly on Larry and Joel, who stood with his head cast down, and wringing his hands together miserably.
"Now, you two boys must just stay in this room," at last she said decidedly, feeling quite sure there was nothing more to be gotten out of them, "and sit there," pointing to the wide sofa, "till Mamsie comes home, and—"
"No, no," howled Joel; "I'll tell, I'll tell, Polly. Don't make us sit there."
"Yes, you must," said Polly, firmly, feeling that the responsibility that had fallen upon her in Mother Fisher's absence quite weighed her down, "and when Mamsie comes, she will have to know it all," and her mouth drooped sorrowfully.
"'Tisn't any matter," said Van, getting up to his feet and giving a final shake, so that the little drops flew far and wide, "I don't mind it,—I'm all dry now."
"No, you are not," said Polly, guilty of contradicting, "Vannie, you're just as wet as you can be," feeling of his jacket; "run off and get into dry things as soon as you can. Yes, you two boys must sit there; at least Joel, you must," pointing to the sofa again.