“Don’t try to think,” said Ben, who threw himself on the grass by her side. “Joe’s a mean little beggar to ask it, Polly,” he whispered in her ear.
But Polly tossed him a scrap of a whisper back again, and then she began. “Now, it’s so hot to-day, and the middle of summer, it doesn’t seem as if it ever had been winter with the snow on the ground; and it will make us cool, with nice little creeps all down our backs, if I tell you about our little snow-house, and”—
Joel jumped to his feet with howls of delight. “O Polly!” he screamed, “do tell about it. That’s the most splendid story of all!” Then he suddenly became very grave, and stood quite still.
“Come along and sit down, then, Joel,” said Polly, “and I’ll begin.” But Joel didn’t move.
“Come along,” cried Ben, quite out of sorts, “and get into your seat, and don’t stand there like a stick.” But still Joel stood very still. “I don’t want any story,” he blurted out suddenly.
“Don’t want any story,” repeated Percy and Van in surprise; while little Dick began to cry piteously, and laid his head in Polly’s lap.
“Polly doesn’t want to tell it,” began Joel in a gasp, and wishing very much that he had stayed at the big gate where he won the race.
“Oh, yes I do!” cried Polly brightly. “I want to tell it, Joey, I do truly; so sit down like a good boy, and I’ll begin right off.”
“Do you really?” asked Joel, edging up, with both black eyes fixed on her face.