“Well, I could get her,” declared Joel, in a loud, wrathful tone, “if Polly’d let me; just as easy as pie—”
“Well, I’m not going to have you tumbling off from that chair on top of the table,” declared Polly, firmly. “Besides, Joe, the kitty wouldn’t be there when you’d climbed up.”
“Then I’d jump down and catch her here—gee—whiz!” said Joel, slapping his little brown hands smartly together and stalking up and down in front of the old cupboard.
“Well, you mustn’t try,” said Polly. “Now, Davie, you and I will play with Phronsie, if Joel doesn’t want to. Come on, Pet. Oh, wait a minute; you must take off Mamsie’s shawl.”
“Oh, I don’t want to take it off, Polly,” cried Phronsie, edging off and clutching the little plaid shawl with both hands.
“Yes, you must,” said Polly; “you’ll get so hot.” So the little shawl was unpinned and laid carefully on the table. “Now, then, come on,” said Polly.
“I don’t want to play, Polly,” said Phronsie again, and surveying her with very disapproving eyes.
“Oh, yes, come on, Pet,” said Polly, cheerily, holding out her hands, “and you too, Davie.”
So Phronsie, who never really thought of disobeying Polly, went slowly over to Polly; and having Davie on her other side with a very solemn face, as he much preferred to see how things were coming out with Joel, Polly spun out with the two children into the middle of the kitchen floor.
“Now let’s play ‘Ring—around a rosy,’” she said, gayly; “come on.”