“No, he really didn’t mean to contradict, I believe, Jasper,” said Polly. “But what did make you think I was going to tell you a poetry story, Vanny? Why I couldn’t if I wanted to. Tell me”—
“Why, you said the animals talked, and the pumpkins walked.”
“Oh, dear me!” cried Polly, almost tumbling over on the rug, and laughing merrily, in which they all joined; “I didn’t know I made a rhyme. So I did say that, didn’t I? Well, you needn’t be frightened, I won’t do so any more. I don’t believe I could if I wanted to. Now, then,” and she sat straight, and wiped her eyes, “I’ll begin again.”
“And if you interrupt another time, old fellow,” said Jasper in his fiercest fashion, and he pretended to make a dive for Van’s coat-collar, “out you go, sir, neck and heels. Go on, Polly; I’ll keep this chap straight.”
“Well, pumpkins did walk and talk too,” said Polly, plunging on in her gayest mood, “in those days I’m telling you about. Now, Farmer Stebbins had a big field of them,—oh! it was as big as this house and the grounds, and way, way off,—I don’t know how far; and every single bit of it was full and running over with pumpkins.”
“How many?” cried Van thoughtlessly.
“Sh!” Jasper held up his hand, and made a great show of springing in Van’s direction, which made that individual duck suddenly behind Percy’s back.
“You see, he had to have a great many pumpkins to take to market, because there were such lots of children at his house, and that was all they had to live on.”
“Did they eat pumpkins?” cried Percy in a tone of disgust.