So Phronsie clambered into her chair, and laid her hands in her lap. But her mind was busy over the naughty old woman, and the absence of the gift in the little basket that was to bring home the fish.
“Well, where was I?” began Polly again. “Oh! I know. Araminta Sophia was hanging up the green umbrella on the golden hook, when suddenly the door of the shed opened wide, and in came her father, the queer little man. ‘What a time you have been away, daughter,’ he squeaked out.
“‘I couldn’t help it, father,’ said Araminta Sophia; and then she told him the reason why and all about it; but the queer little man only said, ‘What a tiresome story; tell me some other time.’”
“I don’t think that was very polite,” began Joel, but Ben took another hold of his jacket collar.
“He was more polite than you are,” whispered Ben.
“‘And you needn’t take the trouble to hang up that green umbrella, daughter,’ said the queer little old man; ‘for I am going out to walk with it myself.’
“‘Father!’ exclaimed Araminta Sophia, turning pale with fright, ‘why, you’ve never done such a thing in all your life;’ and she clasped her hands tightly together around the green umbrella.
“‘Silly chit!’ cried the queer little old man in a terrible passion, ‘do you think you are going to tell me what to do? Give me that umbrella this very second.’
“Araminta Sophia tumbled down to her knees, holding on to the green umbrella, and besought him that he wouldn’t take it from her, but would let her hang it in its place on the golden hook.
“‘The man out there with his gun will shoot you,’ at last she said. ‘He’s most dreadfully big too,’ which was the very worst thing she could have said; for the queer little man always fancied that he was as strong as a lion, and it made him very angry to hear of anybody bigger than he was. So now he squeaked out in what he fancied was a terrible voice, ‘Give me that umbrella this instant, or I’ll put you up in the corner with your face to the wall.’