“Let's have a concert,” put in Ben; Polly was so out of breath that she couldn't speak. “Come, now, each take a whistle, and we'll march round and round and see which can make the biggest noise.”
In the rattle and laughter which this procession made all mystery was forgotten, and the two conspirators began to breathe freer.
Five o'clock! The small ones of the Pepper flock, being pretty well tired out with noise and excitement, all gathered around Polly and Ben, and clamored for a story.
“Do, Polly, do,” begged Joel. “It's Christmas, and 'twon't come again for a year.”
“I can't,” said Polly, in such a twitter that she could hardly stand still, and for the first time in her life refusing, “I can't think of a thing.”
“I will then,” said Ben; “we must do something,” he whispered to Polly.
“Tell it good,” said Joel, settling himself.
So for an hour the small tyrants kept their entertainers well employed.
“Isn't it growing awful dark?” said Davie, rousing himself at last, as Ben paused to take breath.
Polly pinched Ben.