And now, Polly's cake was done, and ready for the oven. With many admiring glances from herself, and Phronsie, who with Seraphina, an extremely old but greatly revered doll, tightly hugged in her arms was watching everything with the biggest of eyes from the depths of the old chair, it was placed in the oven, the door shut to with a happy little bang, then Polly gathered Phronsie up in her arms, and sat down in the chair to have a good time with her and to watch the process of cooking.
There was a bumping noise that came from the “Provision Room” that sounded ominous, and then a smothered sound of words, followed by a scuffling over the old floor.
“Boys!” called Polly. No answer; everything was just as still as a mouse. “Joel and David!” called Polly again, in her loudest tones.
“Yes,” came up the crooked stairs, in Davie's voice.
“Come up here, right away!” went back again from Polly. So up the stairs trudged the two boys, and presented themselves rather sheepishly before the big chair.
“What was that noise?” she asked; “what have you been doing?”
“Twasn't anything but the pail,” answered Joel, not looking at her.
“We had something to eat,” said Davie, by way of explanation; “you always let us.”
“I know,” said Polly; “that's right, you can have as much bread as you want to; but what you been doing with the pail?”
“Nothing,” said Joel; “'twouldn't hangup, that's all.”