“O dear me!” it wasn’t in the least like a brave “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” that the big rooster now emitted, as Joel roared out something, and flew for Polly.
“Take care, Joe!” she warned, with her hands full of the dishes she was just going to pile on the shelves. “You ’most knocked off Mamsie’s cup!” and she turned pale with fright.
“I’ve eat it up!” wailed Joel, burying his black, stubby head in Polly’s apron.
“No, you haven’t broken it,” cried Polly, “don’t worry, Joe, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s eat, and I can’t give it back,” screamed Joel, burrowing deeper into her apron, thereby making all the dishes in Polly’s hands tremble violently.
“Joe Pepper,” cried Polly; “stop this minute. O dear me, every single thing will be smashed! What will Mamsie say?” At mention of Mamsie, Joel, although he still wailed on, stopped his struggling so that she was able to set the dishes safely on the table. “Now, see here.” She grasped his two shoulders and made him turn his face. “O dear me, what is the matter?” she cried aghast.
“I’ve eat it,” cried Joel, breaking into a roar, and not looking up, his black eyes raining tears.
“Eat what?” cried Polly, in great distress. “Stop screaming, Joe, and tell me this minute. What have you done?” She gave a great gasp, and instinctively turned a quick eye over to the corner where she could see David and Phronsie moving about, probably still as chickens, and not disturbed by Joel’s roars, supposing it a new phase of his playing at being a rooster.
“Oh, I’ve eat it,—don’t you understand, Polly?” screamed Joel, in a fresh burst, and stamping in his impatience; “and I can’t give it back.”
“Eat what?” demanded Polly, in bewilderment.