“Make Dave stop talking,” said Joel irritably; “we can’t hear anything. Do go on about the soldiers, Polly; you said you would.”
“Now, the first one of you children that says a word,” said Polly merrily, “will have to go out into the Provision Room and stay till I finish this story. I never shall get through at this rate; now remember.”
“Good for you, Polly.” Ben bobbed his approval, and set in two or three nails with smart little taps of his hammer.
“Well, Johnny made up his mind that his tin soldiers had too easy a time, because there hadn’t been anybody to fight, you know, for one thing, Johnny being off for three days fishing with the Mullen boy who lived next door, and too busy to get up a battle with any one; and so things had got to be pretty easy. And the tin soldiers were just as lazy as could be; and some of them, don’t you think, were lying on their backs on the closet shelf; and one had even rolled off, and was having a nap down in the corner where he thought nobody could see him.”
“‘Wake up there!’ hallooed Johnny, flinging wide the closet door very suddenly. ‘There’s going to be a big battle. Attention—Get ready—Form!’”
“Ugh—ugh!”—grunted Joel, starting up. Then he clapped his two brown hands over his mouth and sat down again.
Polly ran on, with an approving smile at him. “And then Johnny saw the poor little fellow fast asleep in the corner.” Here she caught sight of Phronsie opening her mouth; and she hastened to add, “And he picked him up and set him straight. ‘Now, fall into line, my men!’ he shouted at them; and before anybody knew just how, there they were, every single little tin soldier out in the garden under the grape-vine arbor and”—
