“Did she really, now?” cried Ben, his ruddy cheeks putting on, if possible, a deeper glow than the spin had caused.
Polly nodded her head delightedly, gripping his jacket tighter than ever.
“Oh, now, see!” exclaimed Joel, glancing over at them from his corner, “they’re having secrets, Polly and Ben are,” and he sprang up to his feet and plunged across the kitchen to them. “Tell me, what is it,—tell me,” he clamored.
“That’s prime!” Ben was saying as Joel plunged up to them, and then, of course, little David and Phronsie followed fast.
“Oh, I think that’s mean,” protested Joel, loudly, “not to tell us. You’re always having secrets. What is it?” Then he laid hold of Ben’s jacket, too. “I should think you might tell Dave and me,” he whined.
“And Phronsie,” added little David. But Ben didn’t hear this, as Joel was making such a to-do.
“Well, you make so much noise, Joe,” said Ben, coolly, “that we can’t tell you.”
“Oh, I won’t,—I won’t,” promised Joel, in a great state of excitement and hanging tightly to Ben. “Tell us,—tell us, what is it, Ben?” he screamed as much louder as possible than he had teased before.
But Ben burst into a hearty laugh, Joel revolving about him anxiously and teasing all the while.
“O dear me! Do be still,” cried Polly, seizing Joel’s arm; “don’t you see, Joel, we can’t possibly tell you anything while you’re screaming so, and you couldn’t hear it if we did.” She shook his little arm. “Now, stop, and we’ll tell you.”