“Yes,” said Polly gayly, “it was, and our Little Brown House was made into ; and now I’m going to tell you about it. Well, when Mamsie said that, I just put my arms around her, and she held me close for a minute, for, you see, we didn’t know what to do. And then I said ‘I’m going to call Ben.’”
“But Polly didn’t call us then,” said Joel in an injured tone; “and Dave and I slept over till ever so late.”
“And so did Phronsie,” said Ben. “And I wish we could have kept you all in bed the rest of that day.”
“But you couldn’t,” said Joel, bobbing his head; “and just as soon as we did wake up, we found out all about it.”
“Well keep still now, Joe,” said Ben, “and let Polly finish the story.”
“It was just as dark,” Polly was saying, “oh! you can’t think how dreadfully dark it was, till Mamsie lighted her candle; for when we tried to look out of the window, why we couldn’t, because, you see, there was the white snow piled up against it tight; and we couldn’t open the door.”
“Why not?” asked little Dick.
“Because we’d go right into a big snowbank if we did, oh! ever and ever so much higher than our heads; and, besides, the snow would tumble in the house, and then we couldn’t shut the door again; so Mamsie told us not to touch it. Oh, dear, dear, it was perfectly dreadful!”