“I’d rather have had six pink ones,” said little Davie reflectively.
“Well, I’ll change them,” said Polly accommodatingly, “and let the white ones be five. Yes, that’s best after all,—there were six pink ones, children. Well, and so”—
“I’d rather have the white ones be six,” cried Joel in a roar, and dropping his fists; “they’re best, any way. Mrs. Beebe’s white ones were bigger’n the pink ones, and lots sweeter. Let the white ones be six, Polly, do!”
Thereupon an animated discussion began, as to which should be six, and which should be five, between the two boys, little David taking an unusually firm stand, as he insisted on the pink ones. So at last Polly broke in: “I’ll tell you, children, what we will do; there shall be twelve sticks, six pink and six white ones; now, that’s fine.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” cried Joel and David together. “Well, go on, Polly.”
“Now, where do you suppose those pink and white sticks could have gone to?” cried Polly, clasping her hands. “Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle hadn’t sold them—what could have become of them?”
The little Peppers shook their heads. “And the little Periwinkleses hadn’t touched them—oh, no indeed!” declared Polly in a tone of horror—“so what could really have become of them?”
“What?” It was Phronsie who asked this, and [she crept into Polly’s lap, and put her little hand up on Polly’s neck.]
