“Yes; old Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle were little and dried up, just like two little withered nuts; and they had ever so many little Periwinkleses, and so they had to work very hard to keep shoes and stockings on their feet, and to get them enough to eat. So Mrs. Periwinkle used to make candy and doughnuts and”—
“Oo!” exploded Joel, forgetting himself. Then he clapped the other hand, too, upon his mouth.
“And then Mrs. Periwinkle would run out into the shop, and say to Mr. Periwinkle, ‘Here’s another batch of candy, my dear;’ or ‘Look what I’ve brought you,’ sliding a pan of doughnuts on the counter just in time for the folks opening the green door and coming into the shop to buy things. Well, one day a perfectly dreadful thing happened!” Polly drew a long breath, and gazed at her audience.
“What was it?” cried little Davie breathlessly. Phronsie sat quite still with clasped hands, and wide eyes fixed on Polly’s face. Joel was cramming his fists up against his mouth in great distress.
“Why, the pink and white candy sticks were gone, and there was the big jar all tumbled down on its side!” said Polly, with a very impressive air; “just think of that, children!”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the two little Peppers, while Joel nodded his stubbly black head.
“Yes, they were,” said Polly, still more impressively; “every single one of all those pink and white sticks.”
“How many were there—ugh!” cried Joel, forgetting himself. Then he clapped his hands up to his mouth again.
“Oh! I don’t know—yes, there were six—no, I guess eleven of those pink and white sticks,” said Polly thoughtfully; “six white ones and five pink ones.”