“I can’t, oh, I can’t, Ben,” said poor Polly, huddling up against his neck.
“Yes, you can,” said Ben, hating dreadfully to be cross, but obliged to stand his ground, “for you’ll make Mamsie sick if you don’t stop, Polly.”
“Oh, Ben!” Polly gave a convulsive start and clutched him firmer than ever. But the sobs stopped. “You surely will,” said Ben, more decidedly than ever, and seeing his advantage, “make our Mamsie sick, Polly Pepper.”
“Oh, I won’t, I won’t,” exclaimed Polly, wildly, and raising her brown head. Ben was aghast to see her face with the tears from her brown eyes streaming over it, and he had an awful feeling to think he had been cross to her. But the next minute she brushed them all off with her hand and sprang across the old kitchen and into the bedroom.
“Now, then, boys,” said Ben, going over to the little figures squirming on the floor. “You must get up this very minute. Stop screaming, Joe.”
Joel at that rolled over on his back to look at Ben out of streaming eyes. “We can’t—can’t see—the el’funt,” he cried, waving frantic little hands.
“Stop this minute!” said Ben, sternly. Little David at the sound of his voice so perfectly awful, wriggled himself loose from Joel and got up to his feet to look tremblingly at Ben.
“Never mind if we can’t,” said Ben, stoutly; “that’s nothing.”
Joel, in the greatest surprise, wiped away the tears from his black eyes with the back of a grimy hand,—“that was nothing, not to be able to see the elephant, oh!”—and he got up to his feet to stare into Ben’s face.
“We can’t see the el’funt,” he repeated, as loud as he could, supposing that Ben hadn’t heard.