"Joel's dreaming all about the fire, most likely," said Polly to herself. So she slipped on Mamsie's old wrapper, picking it up so that she would not trip and tumble on her nose, as she sped softly over the stairs.
"Joel, hush!" she said reprovingly, "you'll wake Mamsie and Phronsie! Ben, do make him keep still!"
"I can't," said Ben, only half awake. "Hush up there, Joe!" and he turned over a very sleepy face, and tried to look at Polly.
"'Tisn't me," said Joel, in high dudgeon; "I ain't a 'fraid-cat." And Polly stared to see David sitting on the edge of the bed he shared with Joel, and tucking up his feet well under him, while he shook with terror as he cried shrilly, "They're running all up my legs!"
"Poor little thing!" exclaimed Polly, sitting down on the other edge of the bed, at the risk of getting on Joel's toes. "He's frightened," to the others. "I s'pose you've been dreaming, Davie."
"No, no!" cried Davie, huddling up worse than ever. "There goes one of 'em now!" he exclaimed suddenly, and pointed toward Polly; "he's just running under Mamsie's wrapper!"
Polly hopped off the bed in her liveliest fashion, while from under Mamsie's wrapper scuttled a black object over the bedquilt in the opposite direction. "What is it?" she cried, beginning to shake violently herself; "O dear me! are there any more of them?"
"Yes," said Davie, "there are lots and lots, Polly. O dear me!" He couldn't twist himself into a smaller knot than he was, so there he sat, as miserable as possible, with the tears rolling down his face.
"Joel!" cried Polly, giving that individual a little poke in the back, as he appeared to be going off to sleep again, "you can tell about these black things! I must know; so what is it?"
"Let me go to sleep," grunted Joel, twisting away from her fingers.