“She’s tired to death,” cried Polly, to herself; “well, now she shall have a good nap. And Grandma is asleep, too, so that’s a comfort.”
And she went out softly and closed the door; then ran around to the woodshed where the boys were.
“Oh, Polly!” cried Joel, pitching a stick of kindling over on the pile. “See what we’ve done!” and his round cheeks glowed with delight. Little drops of perspiration were rolling down Davie’s face.
“Oh, I never saw such a pile!” exclaimed Polly, “and Grandma’ll be so pleased. Now you two boys may stop working.”
“Goody!” cried Joel, picking up another stick to give it a good fling, and prancing off to the door, “Come on, Dave.—Oh, Polly, I’m so hungry.”
“So you must be,” said Polly, sympathetically. “Stop, Davie, didn’t you hear me say you needn’t work any more? Dear me, how hot you are!”
“I just want to finish this stick, Polly,” said little Davie, holding it up, while Joel kept calling: “Oh, come along, Dave,” ending with, “I’m so hungry, Polly.”
“Well, just that one,” said Polly, relenting; “then you two boys are to go home and wash your hands and faces, and you’ll find the bread and the mush and molasses in the pantry, Mamsie said.”
“Have we got to come over here afterward?” asked Joel, with impatient black eyes.
“Yes, of course,” said Polly, “but you are not to split kindlings any more. Mamsie said only do that once. And you’ve such a nice pile, boys.”