Jasper laughed. “I hope I'll live through plenty more of them,” he said merrily. “We're going to sister Marian's again, father and I; we always spend our Christmas there, you know, and she's to have all the cousins, and I don't know how many more; and a tree—but the best of all, there's going to be a German carol sung by choir boys—I shall like that best of all.”
“What are choir boys?” asked Polly who was intensely fond of music.
“In some of the churches,” explained Jasper, “the choir is all boys; and they do chant, and sing anthems perfectly beautifully, Polly!”
“Do you play on the piano, and sing?” asked Polly, looking at him in awe.
“Yes,” said the boy simply; “I've played ever since I was a little fellow, no bigger'n Phronsie.”
“Oh, Jasper!” cried Polly, clasping her hands, her cheeks all aflame—“do you mean to say you do really and truly play on the piano?”
“Why yes,” said the boy, looking into her flashing eyes. “Polly's always crazy about music,” explained Ben; “she'll drum on the table, and anywhere, to make believe it's a piano.”
“There's Dr. Fisher going by,” said Joel, who, now that they had gotten on the subject of music, began to find prickles running up and down his legs from sitting so still. “I wish he'd stop.”
“Is he the one that cured your measles—and Polly's eyes?” asked Jasper running to the window. “I want to see him.”
“Well there he is,” cried Ben, as the doctor put his head out of the gig and bowed and smiled to the little group in the window.