“No, I didn’t,” said Ben, getting into the nearest chair. “I put out both arms, and I screamed, ‘Hi, there!’ and the old woman and basket and all walked right into them.”
“That was nice,” observed Phronsie in great satisfaction, “then she didn’t tumble;” and she went back to her chair, and mounted it to fold her hands in her lap.
“Polly Pepper is to tell a special story by request,” announced Jasper with a grandiloquent air as if addressing a large assembly, “and if the audience will be so good as to come to order, she will begin it at once. If you don’t stop talking and be quiet, I’ll pitch you all out of the window,” he added in his natural voice.
“That’s a great way to address an audience, I should think,” said Ben in pretended indignation.
“I can’t help it,” said Jasper recklessly. “Now then, Polly, they’re still for just a minute, so you would better begin.”
“I promised to tell you the story,” began Polly brightly, “of the Green Umbrella and the Queer Little Man, and how it danced away with him.”
“Yes, yes!” cried all the roomful. Phronsie smoothed down her white apron in great satisfaction.
“Well, so here it is. Now, you know Araminta Sophia got the green umbrella all safely back again when the man with the big gun”—
“Scared the old woman in the”—began Joel, but Ben plucked him by the jacket collar. “Go on, Polly,” he said coolly; “I’ll hold this chap still through this story.”
“Well, she hung it up on the big golden key when she got home,” ran on Polly; “you know she had to buy the fish for her father’s breakfast before she could go home, and”—