“Well, that’s full,” said Polly, peering back over her armful. “If you put any more in, you’d splash over the molasses.”
“I wouldn’t splash molasses,” declared Joel, on a high key, “and I’m awful hungry.”
“Do say ‘awfully,’ Joe,” corrected Polly, with a little wrinkle in her brow.
“And you’ve just got to come along,” said Ben, with a pat on his shoulder that meant it. “See Davie! Aren’t you ashamed, Joe!”
Little David had laid down his spoon on hearing Ben, and, slipping off from his chair, was now over by the door, waiting.
“Oh, Davie,” cried Polly, with a glance at his saucer of mush, as she set down her load by the waiting dish-pan, “you haven’t finished your breakfast. Wait a minute for him, Ben.” And she ran over to the door. “Come, Davie.”
“I don’t want it,” said little Davie; “truly, I don’t, Polly.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” contradicted Polly, taking hold of his jacket. “Come back and finish your mush.”
“I wish I could have some more,” said Joel, enviously, as David, with one eye on Ben, who stood cap in hand, sat down again and made his spoon fly briskly.
“Don’t eat so fast,” said Polly; “misery me! You’ll choke yourself. No, no, Davie,” as David pushed his saucer over toward Joel. “Joey’s had enough.”