"Yes, we're all going to give Grandpapa presents," cried Joel, before Ben had time to put in a word. "I am, and I won't tell what I'm going to buy, either. You can't make me, Dave." He slapped the pocket containing his purse, but encountering the big pin, drew off his fingers. "Ow!"
"There, who's hurt now?" cried Ben, with a laugh as he looked down at the rueful face.
"Pooh—it didn't hurt any," said Joel, pulling off his glove to suck the drop of blood that came up to meet him.
David, who never could bear to see Joel hurt, pressed up to see the extent of his injury, and turned pale. Perhaps it went clear through his finger, for it was Mamsie's big shawl-pin!
"Oh, don't, Joel," cried Polly, with a grimace; "take your handkerchief, do!"
"No, I'm not going to," said Joel, squirming away, and repeating the process as another little drop appeared; "I can spit it out, and my handkerchief'll stay bad."
"Joel," said Polly, sternly, "you must not do that. Do you hear me?"
"Well, that's the last drop, anyway," declared Joel, "so I haven't got to do anything."
"Let me see," said Polly, feeling quite motherly with all her brood to look after. So the whole row stopped and Joel leaned over and thrust out his finger for Polly to examine it.
"Yes, that's all right," she said with a sigh of relief. "Well, now, we must hurry, for we have so much to do. And, Ben, do go on."