“Oh, Joe, what is it?” Polly was pinching up a remarkable hat on which she was tacking a rooster feather. An old newspaper was at her feet that Davie was cutting up according to her directions. Phronsie was busy with the snips of paper and bits of the feathers that Polly broke off, under the belief that she was making for Seraphina the most beautiful bonnet in all the world.
“Umph, I guess I’ve got something you haven’t got,” screamed Joel, waving the box high, whereat some little things, very tiny, flew out of the box, making him sprawl immediately on the floor to hunt after them, when the rest of the contents promptly went out to join the first lot.
“O dear me!” exclaimed Joel, in the greatest vexation.
“I’ll help you find them,” cried David, throwing down Mamsie’s big scissors and deserting the newspaper. Phronsie carefully laid down her paper snips and the bits of feathers. “I’ll help you, Joey,” she said, going over to get down and prowl by his side.
“Oh, they’re pins,” exclaimed little David, his blue eyes very big.
“Take care,” said Joel, irritably, “you’re covering ’em all up.”
“Where’d you get them?” asked David, picking up two or three; “why, they’re all crooked.”
“She wouldn’t give me any but crooked ones,” said Joel, pawing the floor on every side.
Polly heard these words. “Joel,” and she dropped the wonderful hat, “where did you get those pins? You haven’t asked anybody for them,—oh, Joel!” and she was over by the other children, consternation all over her face.
“Grandma Bascom gave them to me,” said Joel, prowling away, “and now they’re all spilled—”