“Oh, Polly!” Little Davie, finding it hard to keep up this one-sided conversation any longer, and not willing to show Joel’s part in the matter, now rushed to her, wailing, “Mamsie wouldn’t have wanted us to,” and throwing his arms about her, he burst out crying as hard as he could.
Now, all this time, Phronsie, who had come in tired from play, had eaten her dinner very early, and Polly had tucked her into the trundle bed for a long nap. So all was quite free in the old kitchen for the good talk that Polly now set up with the two boys. And she soon had one each side of her, and leaning over her lap, when, the whole story once out, she comforted and coddled them quite as much as Mother Pepper herself could have done, which is really saying a good deal. And so, although the baked potatoes, waiting on the table got very cold, the three little Peppers were bubbling over with happiness, and Joel really forgot he was hungry, until Polly sprang up, nearly upsetting the two small figures.
“Oh, my goodness me!” running over to the table and beginning to pinch the brown jackets of the potatoes, “they’re as cold as two stones.”
“I like ’em cold,” declared Joel, rushing after her, and seizing one of the potatoes. “Oh, ain’t they good!” tearing off the skin to scoop out a mouthful.
“Put in some salt, Joe, do,” said Polly. But Joel couldn’t wait for such small matters as salt, and he dug his spoon violently back and forth in the potato jacket. “I’m going to eat it, every scrap,” suiting the action to the word.
“No, no, Joe, you mustn’t,” commanded Polly, just in time, as the whole of the potato skin showed signs of rapidly disappearing.
“I’m so hungry,” cried Joel.
“Well, if you are very hungry, you can eat some bread,” said Polly, wisely, and wishing she had something nice for them after their terrible disappointment about the beautiful dinner Mrs. Blodgett had wanted to give them. But what was there? O dear me! Polly knew quite well, without looking into the cupboard, just exactly how bare she should find it.
“Now, I tell you, Joel and Davie, what I’ll do. There isn’t anything else to eat, you know, but bread. You may have as much as you want of that. I’ll tell you a story, if you’ll be good boys and eat it.—Mamsie would let me, I know,” said Polly to herself, thinking of the basting-threads not yet pulled out.
“Why, it’s the middle of the day, Polly,” said little Davie, in astonishment, for Polly never was able to leave the work that always seemed clamoring to be done, to tell stories to the children. That enjoyment had to be put off till the twilight hour, when it was too dark to see to do anything else.