"You must not," cried Polly, bounding up to sit straight. "You mustn't and you can't, because—"
"Because what?" demanded Joel, coming back to the sofa to fasten his black eyes on her face.
"Oh, because—" began Polly, again casting frantically about in her mind what to say and twisting her handkerchief with nervous fingers.
"Now I know that my Mamsie is sick and you're keeping it from me," cried Joel, in a loud, insistent voice, "and I shall go and find her; so there, Polly Pepper."
"Joel, if you do," began Polly, desperately, seizing his jacket-end; then she knew he would have to be told when she saw his face, for nothing could be worse than to let him think anything had happened to Mamsie. "I'll tell you all about it," she promised; "do sit down," and she pulled him into the corner of the big sofa by her side; "you see it's about Ben."
Joel whirled around and fixed wide eyes of astonishment upon her.
"And I don't know in the least," said Polly, brokenly, "what's the matter with him. He acts so funny, Joel, you can't think," she brought up, mournfully, while she twisted her poor handkerchief worse than ever.
Joel pushed his face up to scan her thoughtfully to see if there were anything more forthcoming.
"And to think of it—Ben—" went on Polly in a fresh gust, "he's never acted so. O dear me! What can it be, Joel?"
In her distress she forgot that she was to comfort him, and she seized his arm and clung to it.