“No, it isn’t either,” contradicted Joel, “and I shall tell him all about our rabbit-house, Dave. So there, now.”
“Then I don’t want any rabbit,” declared Davie, slipping back to his place on the floor, and wringing his hands.
“Not want any rabbit!” reiterated Joel, in amazement, and letting the nails stream through his fingers.
“No, I don’t,” said Davie, quite pale and sitting very still, “want any rabbit at all, Joel.”
“Then I don’t want any nails,” roared Joel,—“not a single smitch of a one.”
“Oh, I am so glad,” said little Davie, his pale face breaking into a smile, “’cause then, Mamsie won’t be sorry, Joel. She won’t, really.”
“And you’ll want a rabbit?” cried Joel, hanging on Davie’s lips.
“Yes, I will,” nodded David, “very much, if you won’t want the nails, Joel.”
“I won’t want one of the old nails,” said Joel, diving vigorously into the box-depths for a fresh handful.
“Boys!” called Ben, from below, “are you working up there?”