“No, I sha’n’t,” said Polly. “There, there, Phronsie, don’t be scared; it was I made it, and not a truly bear.”
“If it was you, Polly,” said Phronsie, lifting her head, “and not a truly bear, I don’t mind. But please don’t make it again, Polly.”
“I won’t, Pet,” promised Polly. “Dear me! just look at your red-topped shoes. Take ’em off, or you’ll spoil them; Mamsie doesn’t like you to walk in them, you know.”
“I want to go back to the bedroom,” wailed Phronsie, “and show ’em to Seraphina. Oh, dear! can’t I, Polly? I’ll go on the tips of my toes.”
“No, I’ll carry you,” said Polly, preparing to spring up; but Joel jumped to his feet,—
“Let me, Polly; I’ll carry her. Come on, Phron.” He seized her and staggered off, depositing her on the bedroom floor, close to Seraphina lying face downward where she had been dropped in fright.
“Now go on,” he cried, springing back to huddle at Polly’s feet.
“‘I’ll scrunch your head off,’” said Polly in a stage whisper. “I can’t say it loud as I did before, boys, or Phronsie’ll hear. ‘Give me the pantry keys!’
“At hearing these dreadful words, the crocodile began to cry. ‘I’m afraid, I’m afraid,’ he said. But one of the wolves ran up and boxed his ears. ‘Nobody dares to say he is afraid here,’ he cried. ‘Yes, we are going to have those pantry keys.’”
It was impossible to describe the excitement that now seized the two boys as they huddled closer and closer to Polly, as she hurried on,—