“Now, children,” began Polly, hoping Mamsie would like the story, and racking her brains to make it up as she went along, “I’m going to tell you to-day about an old Tea-Kettle.”
“Hoh! hoh!” jeered Joel, knocking his heels together; “that isn’t any story.”
“That’s funny,” laughed little David, looking over at the Pepper tea-kettle humming away on the stove. “Was it like ours, Polly?”
“Yes,” said Polly, “as like as two peas. Well, this Tea-Kettle lived in a house where there weren’t any children, only an old woman and a cat.”
“It’s Grandma Bascom she means,” shouted Joel, very much disappointed. “Don’t tell about any one we know, Polly; we’ve seen her old tea-kettle lots of times, and”—
“And I sh’d think it would be better to let Polly tell the story in her own way,” said Mother Pepper, “if there is to be any story.”
“Oh, she may—she may!” cried Joel, casting an alarmed glance over his shoulder on the comfortable figure in the old chair, mending away. “Go on, Polly,—do go on.”
“Well, it isn’t Grandma Bascom,” said Polly, “this old woman isn’t. My old woman with the Tea-Kettle and the cat lived on the edge of a wood and”—
“And there were bears and hyenas and dreadful things there,” cried Joel delightedly. “I know now,—and you’re going to have ’em come out nights and bite her.”
“No,” said Polly, “we’ve had so many bears lately, you don’t want any more, Joe.”