“I won’t wake her up,” promised Phronsie, in a soft little whisper, “and I shall sit down and watch her.”
“Do,” said Polly, in great satisfaction, dragging up a chair to the bedside. Then she went out into the kitchen and shut the door.
When Ben and Joel and David came home to dinner (they had all been to work at Deacon Blodgett’s), there was the little old calico gown and torn petticoat of the Granniss baby’s hanging on a line of string behind the stove and drying nicely.
“Oh, Ben!” exclaimed Polly, rushing at him tumultuously with hands uplifted, “we’ve got a baby.”
“A baby!” ejaculated Ben, in surprise. Joel and David who, in their joy at getting home, hadn’t heard anything of all this, were capering around and crying: “Isn’t dinner ready, Polly? Oh, we’re so hungry.”
“Hush!” warned Polly, flying over to the stove to get the hot baked potatoes. “You mustn’t make such a noise. Yes, I’ll get the dinner in just a minute, boys.”
“Polly,” Ben went over to her, and seized her arm, “what do you mean about the baby?”
“I—oh—yes, there truly is, Ben,” said Polly, getting down to pull the potatoes out of the oven; “I’ll tell you about it in a minute.” But Ben, although he dearly loved to have Polly tell him things, in this instance couldn’t wait; so he started to find Mrs. Pepper, for she had gone into the bedroom and shut the door just a minute or two before the boys came home.
“Oh, you mustn’t go in there,” cried Polly, whirling around so quickly that two potatoes jumped from the dish she was carrying and spun off on the floor.
“Why not?” demanded Ben, stopping a minute and staring at her.