“O Joel”—Polly was just ready to cry out, “I can’t think of a thing.” And then she remembered that she had promised. “Dear me, Joe, what do you want?” she asked, and making her needle fly faster than ever.
“Oh, something nice—about having mince-pie,”—Joel smacked his lips, “and bears and wolves and crocodiles. Tell a good one, Polly; and it’s got to be long”—he waved his arms as far as he could—“long as that; now begin.”
“I’ll tell about a mince-pie,” said Polly, wrinkling her brows; “that’s the first thing you asked for; and”—
“And bears and wolves and crocodiles,” said Joel hastily; “I want all those; you’ve got to, Polly, ’cause I go to bed every night, and you said you would.”
“I can’t get all those things into one story,” said Polly.
“Hoh! yes you can,” contradicted Joel; “that’s just as easy. Now begin, Polly.”
“Well, once there was a boy,” said Polly, with a flourish of her needle as she put in a new thread; “and his mother had to hide the mince-pies whenever she baked any, ’cause she was afraid to leave ’em round, and”—
“Don’t tell such a story,” howled Joel in disgust; “tell something nice, Polly.” He winked his black eyes fast, and Polly thought she saw something shine in them; and then he dug his fists in them, and hid his stubby head on her lap in among her sewing.
“So I will, Joey,” she cried, dropping her work to lean over and drop a kiss on his black hair. And then it all came to her what to say; and before she knew it, she had begun again on “The Wonderful Mince-Pie Boy and the Beasts.”