"Why, you are playing now," said Adela, bursting into a laugh, "or pretending to, Polly Pepper."
"I know it," said Polly, laughing too; "well, that's what I always used to do in the little brown house,—drum on the table."
"In the little brown where?" demanded Adela in astonishment.
"The little brown house," answered Polly, and her eyes lightened as she seemed to see it before her. "That's where we used to live, Adela—oh, the sweetest place, you can't think!" Polly's fingers stopped drumming now, and the colour flew up to her cheek; she forgot all about Adela.
"Oh, I suppose it had everything beautiful about it," said Adela, delighted to make Polly talk, "big gardens, and terraces, and—"
"Oh, no," said Polly, "it didn't have gardens at all, Adela, only a little bit of a green grass-plot in front. But there was an apple tree at the back."
"Apple tree at the back?" echoed Adela, faintly.
"Yes, and we had beautiful plays under it," cried Polly, rushing on in remembrance; "and sometimes when all the work was finished, Mamsie would let us spend the whole afternoon out there. You can't think what perfectly splendid times we had there, Adela Gray!"
Adela by this time was beyond words, but stared up at Polly's face speechlessly. "And what fun it was on baking days, Polly," cried Jasper, unable to keep quiet any longer; "do you remember when I burnt all my cakes around the edges?"
"Well, that was because the old stove acted so," said Polly; "one minute it wouldn't bake at all, and the next it burnt things black."