Phronsie showed her little white teeth in a merry gurgle. “I do want to play it ever so much, Polly,” she said, smiling through her tears.
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” screamed Joel, hopping about. “Come on, Dave, we’re going to play ‘Old Father Dubbin!’ We haven’t played it for ever and ever so long,” he added in an injured tone.
“Of course not,” said Polly, bustling about. “Now, boys, come and help me get ready.”
No need to tell them this, as they scampered after her.
“Old Father Dubbin” was saved, since Polly made up the game, for very special occasions like the present when it was absolutely necessary for the children to be diverted. So now the kitchen rang with the noise, and they all spun around till tired out, for of course the one idea was to keep everybody from a chance to cry.
At last Polly looked up at the old clock. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, brushing her brown hair out of her eyes. “We’ve got to stop. We can’t play all the time. Dear me! I haven’t got a bit of breath left.”
“I have,” declared Joel, “and we haven’t played more’n half of all the time. Don’t stop, Polly—don’t stop!” He came whirling up to her.
“Don’t stop,” echoed Phronsie, dancing up. “I want ‘Old Father Dubbin’ some more.”
“I very much wish,” said Davie with red cheeks, “we could play it again, Polly.”
“No,” said Polly decidedly, “it’s five o’clock, and we must all set to work now. Besides, Ben will get home soon.”