"So he has, Ben," Mother Pepper was guilty of interrupting.
"And he's been bothered to death to get the right time to work on that old bonfire, and today the men said the rubbish ought to be got off, 'cause two of 'em can come only a day more, and they want to get the ground ready for planting. So all of a sudden Mr. Blodgett comes over to the south meadow and calls out, 'Come, boys, we're going to set to on that bonfire!' And then I begged him to let me just run home and tell you all, and he couldn't, and that's all," said Ben, calmly finishing the account.
"I don't see how you could help it, Ben," said his mother, "nor Mr. Blodgett either, for that matter."
Polly stood quite still, the waves of color spreading over her face. Then she took a step forward, and threw her arms around Ben's neck.
"Oh, Ben!" she cried convulsively, "I'm so sorry I was cross."
"All right, Polly," said Ben, reassuringly, and patting her cheek, "and I guess next time you'll wait and hear about things."
"I surely will," promised poor Polly.
So no one saw the wonderful Blodgett bonfire, after all, except Peletiah Henderson, who was going past that farm when the excitement was at its height. But Ben comforted them all, and Polly helped out wonderfully, by repeating everything he said. "Now, children, I'll watch; there'll be other bonfires, I expect. Maybe before long; so I shouldn't wonder if we got another chance to see a big fire." It came sooner than they expected, but it wasn't a bonfire.
It was one night about a week after. The little brown house was as still as a mouse, everybody abed and asleep. Suddenly Phronsie woke up with a fretful little cry. "I want a drink of water," she wailed, sitting straight in the trundle bed.
"Oh, no, you don't," said Polly, sleepily. "Hush, Phronsie, and lie down again. You'll wake Mamsie."