“I got it,” said Joel stoutly.
“Go and hang it up,” said Polly.
“I—I—got—it,” said Joel faintly—“I sh’d think I might keep it, Polly,” he said in an injured tone.
“Go and hang it up this minute,” said Polly, coming entirely out from under her big paper cap and fixing her eyes on him. When Polly looked like that, it always made them think of Mamsie; so Joel turned at once, and went slowly down the steps to the Provision Room, dragging the string-bag after him. He soon came back, twisting his small hands, and trying not to cry. “Now, Davie,” said Polly pleasantly, “will you go and get me the string-bag?”
David started to run on joyful feet; but seeing Joel moping in the corner, he stopped suddenly, “I’d rather Joe went,” he said.
“No, I want you to go,” said Polly firmly; “and if you don’t hurry, I shall have to go and get it myself, and you wouldn’t want me to do that, I’m sure.”
Thus adjured, David ran as fast as his feet could carry him, and soon brought the string-bag to Polly.
“Now says I,” she cried, “somebody must tie my old cap on, and I’m going to ask Joel to do that.” And she pulled out a long string. “Come on, Joey.”
“I—didn’t—mean—to,” sobbed Joel, over in his corner. “Polly, I didn’t.”