“‘I believe it’s because it’s green,’ said another, who wanted to be just as bright too.
“‘Sure enough,’ said the boot-man who had said so before. ‘Now we must get him to throw away that dreadful green umbrella, for we can’t be beaten you know.’
“‘We must get him to throw away that dreadful green umbrella,’ repeated every one of the boot-men. Then they all got up, and”—
“And did they get the queer little man to throw away the green umbrella?” cried little Davie impulsively. “Oh! I didn’t mean to interrupt, Polly,” he cried as soon as he thought.
“I know, Davie, you’ve been real good,” said Polly, smiling approvingly at him. “Well, now you’ll see; so off they all stepped, with their dreadfully long steps, after the queer little old man with the green umbrella, and pretty soon one of the boot-men, who was a little ahead, called out, ‘I spy him; he isn’t more than seven miles off.’”
“Oh, my!” screamed Joel.
“And sure enough; there he was—running along—the green umbrella just flying through the air, and the little sticks of arms and legs under it twinkling in and out.
“‘Hurry! hurry! hurry now for your lives!’ roared all the boot-men at each other; and they raced as they had never in all their lives raced before. And at last when they were nearly ready to drop, they came so near to the queer little man that they could hear him faintly squeal out, ‘Oh, do stop me! I’m running away, and I can’t stop.’
“‘Throw down that dreadful green umbrella,’ roared all the boot-men at him together.
“‘I can’t,’ squealed the queer little man, running on faster than ever. ‘It won’t let go of my neck;’ for you must know, I forgot to tell you, that the crooked handle that used to hang on the golden peg in the woodshed, where Araminta Sophia hung it up, had hooked itself, after he got to running fast, around the neck of the queer little old man, and there he was fast and tight.”