“Yes I do too,” contradicted Joel flatly; “we can’t have too many bears. I sh’d think you might give ’em to us, Polly,” he added wheedlingly.
“Well, there aren’t any in this story,” declared Polly firmly. “Wait till I get through; you’ll like it, I guess.”
“Yes; wait till she gets through,” echoed Davie. “Go on, Polly, please.”
Phronsie patted her pink pinafore, and pulled it into shape patiently. Polly hurried on.
“Well, this old woman who lived on the edge of the wood used to go out every single day, and pick up pieces of branches of trees to burn. You see, she didn’t have any children to go for her. And the cat stayed home to mind the house, and there was nobody to talk to but the old Tea-Kettle.”
“Oh, dear me!” said David.
“Now, the old Tea-Kettle was cross sometimes,” said Polly; “she was so very old.”
“How old?” interrupted Joel.
“Oh! I don’t know. Fifty years, I guess,” said Polly at a venture.