"No, really?"
"Yes, we are," said Phronsie, in grave delight. Then she bobbed up her head to look at him the closer. "We surely are, Grandpapa; and Polly is going to tell about it, she is."
"Well, then we must listen, you and I," said old Mr. King. "So we'll be still as mice, Phronsie," he whispered.
"Well, now," Polly was saying, drawing a long breath and smoothing down her gown; "O dear me! How shall we begin, we've so very much to tell? Ben—"
"Why, just begin," said Joel, impatiently, burrowing deeper in the rug, where he lay nearest to the fire.
"Do be still, Joe," said Alexia, with a little pinch.
"Ow!" said Joel. Then he reached out and took up one of her long braids.
"Whee!" exclaimed Alexia, flying around at him. "Oh, you bad boy, you pulled my hair awfully."
"Well, you pinched me," snorted Joel.
"Such a little nip," said Alexia, pulling both of her braids in front of her; "nothing at all like what you did to me. And you've mussed up my bow," she added, twitching it off to tie it again.