“Well, go and wash it off,” said Polly; “yes, yes, Pet, I’ll get you some mush, but you must have on your eating-apron first.”
“I don’t want to wash my face yet,” grumbled Joel, eating away faster than ever. “It’ll get all dirt again; Dave’ll joggle me some more.”
“Oh, no, I won’t,” declared little Davie, in distress, “and I didn’t mean to before, only I was trying to get the molasses pitcher. Truly, I didn’t, Polly.”
He laid down his spoon, and his blue eyes filled with tears.
“I know, Davie,” Polly stopped to smile at him, as she came back with Phronsie’s eating-apron and tied it under her chin. Then she lifted her up to her high-chair.
“Yes, Joel, for shame to want to sit still and eat with such a sticky face.”
“I’m going to kiss Phronsie, first,” said Joel, dropping his spoon and springing out of his seat.
“No indeed, Joel Pepper,” cried Polly, putting up both hands, “the very idea; you’ll stick her all up.”
“Then I’ll kiss Dave,” declared Joel, bursting into a laugh.
But little David, ducking his head beneath his arm and Polly saying, “Joel Pepper!” in a way that he never remembered disobeying, Joel marched off to the sink, and presently came back, his round face red and shiny, to bestow attention again on his mush-bowl.