“Was that really Polly Pepper?” asked Van in an awe-struck whisper, after a long silence.
“Who did you think it could be if it wasn’t Polly?” demanded Percy crossly, and turning on him.
“Some old witch dressed up in Polly’s clothes,” said Van stoutly. Little Davie laid his head down on the stair above him, “Nobody could get into Pol—Polly’s clothes,” he sobbed convulsively.
“Of course not,” said Percy gloomily; “it’s only because Van is such a silly, that he says so.”
“And if you say that again about an old witch getting our Polly’s clothes, I’ll pitch into you,” cried Joel with a very red face; and doubling up his stout little fists, he made a lunge at Van.
Van pretended not to be afraid, but managed to get on the other side of Percy.
“Oh, dear—dear!” wailed David steadily.
“And you’ve made Dave cry,” cried Joel; “and I’ll pound and bang you for that.” This time he managed to reach Van; but in the same moment, “Hoity-toity!” exclaimed a voice above them; and there at the top of the stairs, and looking down at them, was Grandpapa.
“What are you all doing?” he asked, regarding them fixedly.