Polly dragged out “Old Father Dubbin’s” queer little hat, and the rest of his things. Her heart beat dreadfully and one or two tears dropped into the drawer. “I mustn’t cry—anyway, not until the party is over,” she said, shutting the drawer.
Out in the kitchen Joel was prancing about, screaming, “We’re going to play ‘Old Father Dubbin’—we are!” until Ezekiel ran up to him. “I’m going to play it, too.” So Joel seized his arms and they spun around together.
Peletiah fidgeted first on one foot, then on the other. At last he said, “I will play it, too.” And he tried to get in between the two boys. But he was so slow, they only bumped into him, almost knocking him over.
“You don’t know how,” Joel was just going to scream at him, as they spun past him. Then he remembered, “Well, come on,” he said, opening his arms.
Before he knew it, Peletiah was being danced about till he thought his head would fly off. Then he was quite sure it would. He tried to say, “Stop,” but he didn’t get breath enough.
“My goodness!” exclaimed “Old Father Dubbin,” coming out of the bedroom, as they whirled past. The minute they caught sight of the old gentleman, Joel gave a squeal and the dance came to such a sudden stop that Peletiah’s feet flew out from under him and down he sat on the floor. Ezekiel sank panting down beside him.
“Well now,” “Old Father Dubbin” looked through his big spectacles, which were nothing but holes and a pasteboard frame tied around his head, “you must all rest, before we begin the play.”
“Oh, no, no,” roared Joel, “I’m not tired, not a single squinchy bit.”
“But the company is,” said Old Father Dubbin, resting on his staff.
Joel looked down impatiently on the two boys. “You aren’t tired, are you?” he said, “not a bit, are you?”