“No; not if they don’t want to,” said Polly. “Now, you must let go of the broom.”
When Polly said “must” in that tone, the little Peppers knew that it was time to obey; So Joel’s brown hands dropped from the broom-handle, and down to his side.
“Then they’ll be very mad—the folks who don’t get asked,” he said slowly.
“Of course,” said Polly lightly, and making some of the scraps from Mamsie’s sewing on the coats, fly neatly away from the broom, “but what good would that do, Joey—they couldn’t go, all the same.”
Joel stood quite still and swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Don’t you want to go, Polly?” he blurted out.
Polly turned her head, and tried to laugh. “Maybe,” she said.
“You do,” cried Joel triumphantly, “want to go awfully. There’s pigs and chickens there, and lots and lots of things, Polly Pepper! I’m going! I’ll get on behind the wagon, when Mr. Brown doesn’t know it. Oh, Polly, you come, too—I’ll help you!” He spun round and round her, broom and all.
“Joel Pepper!” cried Polly, quite aghast, and whirling with him, to lay hold of his jacket-sleeve. “Stop! Oh, Joel, aren’t you ashamed to want to go when you’re not invited?”
“You said you wanted to,” cried Joel, trying to get away. But she held him fast.