“You don't need any light to see these threads,” said Mrs. Pepper, winding up hers carefully, as she spoke, on an old spool. “Take care, Polly, you broke that; thread's dear now.”
“I couldn't help it,” said Polly, vexedly; “it snapped; everything's dear now, it seems to me! I wish we could have—oh! ever an' ever so many candles; as many as we wanted. I'd light 'em all, so there! and have it light here one night, anyway!”
“Yes, and go dark all the rest of the year, like as anyway,” observed Mrs. Pepper, stopping to untie a knot. “Folks who do so never have any candles,” she added, sententiously.
“How many'd you have, Polly?” asked Joel, curiously, laying down his hammer, and regarding her with the utmost anxiety.
“Oh, two hundred!” said Polly, decidedly. “I'd have two hundred, all in a row!”
“Two hundred candles!” echoed Joel, in amazement. “My whockety! what a lot!”
“Don't say such dreadful words, Joel,” put in Polly, nervously, stopping to pick up her spool of basting thread that was racing away all by itself; “tisn't nice.”
“Tisn't worse than to wish you'd got things you haven't,” retorted Joel. “I don't believe you'd light 'em all at once,” he added, incredulously.
“Yes, I would too!” replied Polly, reckessly; “two hundred of 'em, if I had a chance; all at once, so there, Joey Pepper!”
“Oh,” said little Davie, drawing a long sigh. “Why, 'twould be just like heaven, Polly! but wouldn't it cost money, though!”