“Oh, now, tell us a story, Mrs. Pepper,” cried Van; “please, please do!”
“No, no;” exclaimed Percy, scuttling out of his chair, and coming up, “let's talk of the little brown house. Do tell us what you used to do there—that's best.”
“So 'tis!” cried Van; “ALL the nice times you used to have in it! Wait just a minute, do.” And he ran back for a cricket which he placed at Mrs. Pepper's feet; and then sitting down on it, he leaned on her comfortable lap, in order to hear better.
“Wait for me too, till I get a chair,” called Percy, starting. “Don't begin till I get there.”
“Here, let me, Percy,” said Ben; and he drew forward a big easy-chair that the boy was tugging at with all his might.
“Now I'm ready, too,” said Polly, setting small finishing stitches quickly with a merry little flourish, and drawing her chair nearer her mother's as she spoke.
“Now begin, please,” said Van, “all the nice times you know.”
“She couldn't tell all the nice times if she had ten years to tell them in, could she, Polly?” said Jasper.
“Well, in the first place then,” said Mrs. Pepper, clearing her throat, “the little brown house had got to be, you know, so we made up our minds to make it just the nicest brown house that ever was!”
“And it was!” declared Jasper, with an emphatic ring to his voice. “The very nicest place in the whole world!”