“Hulloa! So you’ve got a rhododendron, Polly.”
“Oh, Ben!” every one of the children jumped to their feet. Polly got to him first and threw wild arms around his neck.
“We’ve been playing ‘Old Father Dubbin’,” announced Davie.
Ben choked off what he was going to ask, “Where’s Mamsie?” If “Old Father Dubbin” had been played, something pretty bad must have happened, for Polly to rescue the little brown house from gloom with that game. “Well, now,” he said, “I suppose we’ve got to have that story finished.”
“Yes, yes, we have,” howled Joel, dancing about. “Go on, Polly, do,” and he flopped down in front of the stove and thrust out his hands. “There’s a big fire on the hearth,” he said to Ben.
“And hear the logs crackle,” said Davie, sitting down by his side and spreading his hands, too.
“Oh, I see,” said Ben gravely. “Now come on, Phronsie, and we’ll hear the rest about that wonderful rhinoceros,” and he sat down, pulling her into his lap.
“No, no, that wasn’t his name,” contradicted Joel; “’twas—oh, what was it, Polly?” and he wrinkled up his face.
“’Twas what Ben said,” Polly hung her head.
“Your name is prettier than mine, anyway, Polly,” said Ben. “Well now let’s hear the rest of the story.”