“Go back, Joe, do,” said Ben, “play tag—anything,” he implored, “we'll be through in a few minutes.”
“It takes forever!” said Joel, disappearing within the bedroom door. Luckily for the secret, Phronsie just then ran a pin sticking up on the arm of the old chair, into her finger; and Polly, while comforting her, forgot to question Joel. And then the mother came in, and though she had ill-concealed hilarity in her voice, she kept chattering and bustling around with Polly's supper to such an extent that there was no chance for a word to be got in.
Next morning it seemed as if the “little brown house,” would turn inside out with joy.
“Oh, mammy!” cried Polly, jumping into her arms the first thing, as Dr. Fisher untied the bandage, “my eyes are new! just the same as if I'd just got 'em! Don't they look different?” she asked, earnestly, running to the cracked glass to see for herself.
“No,” said Ben, “I hope not; the same brown ones, Polly.”
“Well,” said Polly, hugging first one and then another, “everybody looks different through them, anyway.”
“Oh,” cried Joel, “come out into the kitchen, Polly; it's a great deal better out there.”
“May I?” asked Polly, who was in such a twitter looking at everything that she didn't know which way to turn.
“Yes,” said the doctor, smiling at her.
“Well, then,” sang Polly, “come mammy, we'll go first; isn't it just lovely—oh, MAMMY!” and Polly turned so very pale, and looked as if she were going to tumble right over, that Mrs. Pepper grasped her arm in dismay.