So Polly told Phronsie all about what seven-league boots were, and how the people who wore them could take great big steps, longer than anybody else in all the world, and how they could jump from the top of a mountain to another one just as easily as anything, and nothing could catch them. “And so you see,” said Polly, winding up her description, “when these tall, thin people heard the little queer man with the green umbrella coming up, they all burst out laughing. ‘We’ll show him what running is. Get on your boots,’ said every one to each other.
“And every single one of them hurried and pulled on his seven-league boots.”
“Oh, goody!” howled Joel, slipping away from Ben’s hand.
“Now, the queer little old man tried to stop when he got up to them; but instead of that he whisked along by them, and there he was way ahead, and going at a perfectly dreadful rate.
“‘Ho, ho!’ cried the seven-league boot-men, ‘you little upstart, you, what do you mean by going by us without a word;’ for you see they didn’t like it to see such a very little person treat them so coolly, and there he was way off ahead of them. ‘We’ll teach you better manners;’ and off after him they raced.”
“And did they catch him?” cried Van. “And what did they do to him?” asked Percy. Little Dick, who hadn’t spoken, but had been lost in thought, now got out of his chair, and stumbled into the centre of the group.
“Ha, ha, ha!” he screamed suddenly, as loud as he could.
“Goodness me, Dicky, how you scared me!” exclaimed Polly with a jump.
“He scared us all, I guess,” said Ben.