Joel’s sharp black eyes followed her closely. “I’d rather have the real sticks,” he said slowly.
“Of course,” said Polly; “but if you can’t have real ones, it’s better to have make-believe story ones. Well, now I’m going to begin.”
“Yes, go on,” said Joel, bringing down his gaze as Polly’s hands fell to her lap. “You said they were in the big candy-jar, Polly;” smacking his lips.
“Yes—oh! and it stood on the shelf that ran along inside the window; and there was a little bit of a man who kept the shop, and he had a little bit of a wife who helped him, and”—
“Why ain’t they big as Mr. Beebe, and big as Mrs. Beebe?” cried Joel, putting his hands out as far as he could reach in front of him; “I like ’em big. Why ain’t they, Polly?”
“Because they aren’t Mr. and Mrs. Beebe,” said Polly. “Now, if you are going to interrupt every minute, I can’t tell the story.”
“I wish we could hear about those pink and white sticks,” said little Davie patiently, and drawing a long sigh.
“Yes, you see the others want to hear about it, Joel,” said Polly; “and it keeps us all back when you stop me so much.”
“I want the pink and white sticks,” said Phronsie, stretching out her feet. “Please hurry, Polly.”
So Joel clapped one hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting Polly again, and she began once more.