“No, no,” screamed the child in terror; “that's my sick man's 'gingerbread boy,' it is!”
“Joe, put it down,” said Ben. “Yes, Phronsie, you shall have it; there, it's all safe;” and he put it carefully into Phronsie's apron, when she breathed easier.
“And he hasn't but one eye,” still laughed Joel, while little Davie giggled too.
“He did have two,” said Polly, “but she punched the other in with her thumb; don't, boys,” she said, aside, “you'll make her feel bad; do stop laughing. Now, how'll we send the things?”
“Put 'em in a basket,” said Ben; “that's nicest.”
“But we haven't got any basket,” said Polly, “except the potato basket, and they'd be lost in that.”
“Can't we take your work-basket, mamsie?” asked Ben; “they'd look so nice in that.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Pepper, “that wouldn't do; I couldn't spare it, and besides, it's all broken at the side, Ben; that don't look nice.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, sitting down on one of the hard wooden chairs to think, “I do wish we had things nice to send to sick people.” And her forehead puckered up in a little hard knot.
“We'll have to do 'em up in a paper, Polly,” said Ben; “there isn't any other way; they'll look nice in anything, 'cause they are nice,” he added, comfortingly.