“Can’t I tell a story?” said David, coming close. “I will, Joey.”
“Phoh!” Joel bent his black eyes on him. “You can’t tell a story, Dave Pepper.”
“Now I think Davie could tell a story very nicely,” said Mother Pepper with a smile for David.
“I can try,” said Davie, his heart beating dreadfully at the mere thought. But something had to be done to keep Joel from finding out that Polly’s eyes were so bad.
“All right,” said Joel ungraciously, “but I know it won’t be good for anything.”
“Now that’s very nice of you, Davie, and I know it will be a good story, Joel.” Mrs. Pepper gave a final tuck-in to the old comforter, and went quickly down-stairs.
“Get up on the bed, Dave,” said Joel, beginning to feel better about the story, since Mamsie thought it would be a good one. So David hopped on the foot of the shake-down and folded his hands, and wondered how in the world he was ever going to begin.
“Well, begin,” said Joel impatiently.
“Well once,” said David, “there was—”
“Yes,” said Joel, “go on.”