"I'll go over and get 'em," said Grandma; "you come along with me," looking admiringly up at the tall boy; so the two, Joel laughing and hopping by her side as if he were five years younger, disappeared, well-pleased with each other.
"Now I shall take his dough," declared Dick, rushing around the end of the table to Joel's deserted place.
"No such thing," declared Van, flying out of his chair. "Leave your hands off, youngster! that's to be mine."
Polly looked up from the little cookies she was cutting with the top of a tin baking powder box and their eyes met.
"I didn't promise not to have it out with Dicky," said Van stoutly. "He's a perfect plague, and always under foot. I never thought of such a thing as not making him stand around, Polly."
But the brown eyes did not return to their task, as Polly mechanically stamped another cooky.
"I only promised not to have a bout with Percy," Van proceeded uncomfortably. And in the same breath, "Go ahead, If you want it, Dicky, I don't care."
"I do want it," declared Dick, clambering into Van's chair, while Van returned to his own, "and I'm going to have it too. I guess you think you'd better give it up now, sir; I'm getting so big."
"Softly there, Dicky," said Mrs. Whitney, over in the window-seat with her fancy work; "if Van gives up, you should thank him; I think he is very good to do it." And the bigger boy's heart warmed with the radiant smile she sent him.
Dick gave several vicious thrusts to his dough, and looked up at last to say very much against his will, "Thank you," and adding brightly, "but you know I'm getting big, sir, and you'd better give up."