So the monkey went through all the antics that belonged to one, and a good many more that hadn’t anything to do with a monkey at all.
At last Ben looked up at the old clock. “Whew! Well, Polly Pepper, I should say it was time for supper!”
At that they all jumped up, and in the scuffle to get to the table first, Polly drew Ben aside. “Mamsie’s gone to old Miss Babbitt’s,” she whispered. “Mr. Tisbett came for her. Miss Babbitt has broken her hip.”
“Whew!” said Ben again.
“And how shall ever we get the children to bed,” said Polly, in a distressed little voice, “without Mamsie?”
Ben looked all around the old kitchen with a sober face. “Same’s you’ve done all the afternoon—keep ’em busy.”
“We can’t play ‘Old Father Dubbin’ again,” said Polly. “We must save that for next times when things are bad.”
“That’s so,” said Ben; “then it must be blind man’s buff, or puss-in-the-corner, I suppose.”
“What are you whispering about?” cried Joel, coming up curiously. “You’re always getting off into a corner and whispering things.”
“Well, that’s because we can’t talk unless we do get into a corner. You’re always poking around so, Joe,” said Ben. “Come on now, all hands to supper!”