“Then I will stop,” said Phronsie brokenly. “I don’t want you to be sick, Polly. Please don’t be.”
“Now if ever there was a good child, it’s you, Phronsie,” cried Polly, seizing her to smother the little face with kisses. “Well, come on, boys, we must sit around the fireplace, and I’ll tell you a story.”
“There isn’t any fireplace,” said Joel, as Polly led the way over to the stove.
“Well, I’m going to pretend there is,” said Polly, getting down on the floor in front of the stove, “and a splendid fire, too. My! don’t you hear the logs crackle, and isn’t this blaze perfectly beautiful!” and she spread out both hands.
“You’re always pretending there are things that ain’t there,” grumbled Joel.
“Of course,” said Polly gayly, “that’s the way to have them.”
“I think the blaze is beautiful, too,” declared Davie, throwing himself down by her side and spreading his hands.
“Well, I guess I’m going to have some of the blaze,” said Joel, in an injured tone, and he crowded in between Polly and David.
“Well now, Phronsie, put your head in my lap,” said Polly. But she turned a cold shoulder to Joel.
Joel fidgeted about. “Dave, you can sit next to Polly,” he whispered.