“I know we did,” said Polly humbly, her hand falling to her side; “but that was because we weren’t as smart as you were, to see what a wise thing it was to have the old gray goose. I remember you said, if we can’t have chicken-pie, why we must take the next best, and that’s goose.”
“Well, you all came around finely in a little while, though,” said Ben, smiling at her. “And Mamsie said: ‘I think Ben is right; and the old gray goose is really too cross to be allowed to live, for it isn’t safe to have her around any longer; so she really ought to be killed, anyway, and we can boil her a good while to make her as tender as possible; so you can have your pie, Polly!’”
“Oh, dear me!” said the Whitney children.
“And Polly said: ‘but why couldn’t the old gray goose have run away, I wonder?’ and that made us all laugh,” said Ben, “instead of crying any more.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” screamed Van; and he rolled over and over on the floor in a ball. “Now the old gray goose, the bad, naughty, hateful old thing, is going to be killed, instead of the chicken she scared so.”
“So am I,” cried Percy; but he sat quite straight and dignified in his chair, only clapping his hands by way of approval. “Oh, do tell on, Polly!” he begged.
“And so the old gray goose, huddling in from the rain, and chuckling to herself at the state of affairs, didn’t dream what was coming; and on the next morning, chop—off went her head—and we had our pie.”
“And Polly had some flowers on it, after all,” said Ben; “for, at the last minute, a neighbor ran in with a bunch of posies; and she said: ‘I’m real sorry you had such a time about your pie, children.’ So, you see, the old gray goose was decked up fine after all; for Polly stuck them in her bony, tough old breast.”
“And Mamsie baked us such a beautiful pudding,” cried Polly, looking over at Mrs. Pepper with a bright smile.