“You did, Polly,” corrected Ben. “I couldn’t; but you told some splendid stories.”
“Oh! will you tell us some of those splendid stories, Polly Pepper?” cried Percy radiantly. “Will you? that you told that rainy afternoon, when the black chicken ran away?”
“She’s going to tell us how the old gray goose bit Sally Brown, too,” declared Van positively, not losing sight of this future bliss.
“And so I will, Van,” promised Polly; “and I’ll tell you one of the stories I told the children on that dreadful afternoon when it rained, and the black chicken ran away. But not now; I must finish about the chicken-pie.”
“Tell more than one, Polly,” begged the children; “please tell us all the stories you told then.”
“We’ll see,” said Polly brightly; “I’ll tell you some, but I don’t know as I could tell you all the stories I told that dreadful afternoon. I had to tell a good many, you know; it was so very hard to get over. Well, now we must hurry. Where was I? Oh”—
“You said you were telling stories,” shouted Van, first of all.
“Yes, I know. Well, it was Ben who first proposed the best thing you could think of in all this world. All of a sudden he jumped up, and waved his hand like this.” Polly sprang to her feet. “See here, children, why not let’s have the old gray goose?” she shouted.
“And you all screamed at me ‘The goose,’ in great scorn,” said Ben.