“Oh, no,—no!” cried Phronsie, the tears beginning to come into her brown eyes; “poor little brown mousies. Please, Polly don’t let him hurt them.”
“Well, he sha’n’t hurt them,” said Polly, relenting. Davie twisted about very uncomfortably, longing for Polly to make the naughty little brown mice give back Mr. Periwinkle’s pink and white sticks for Mrs. Periwinkle and the little Periwinkleses. But he couldn’t go against Phronsie; so he swallowed his disappointment, and said, “Do let the little brown mice go, Polly.”
“Well, I will,” said Polly, amid howls of disapproval by Joel. “Well, when Mr. Periwinkle said that, out jumped Mr. Father Brown Mouse, and Mrs. Mother Brown Mouse, and the two little brown mice, and each had a pink or a white stick in his mouth, and away they ran for their hole under the counter.”
Phronsie leaned back in Polly’s lap quite satisfied.
“Was it a white stick Mr. Father Brown Mouse had in his mouth?” asked Joel, smothering his disappointment as best he could.
“Yes, he had the white one,” said Polly, smiling at him.
“Well, Mrs. Mother Brown Mouse got the best anyway,” said Davie; “she got the pink one.”
“Hulloa!” cried Ben rushing in, his face all aglow. “Well, I declare, if you are not all up in a bunch in this dark corner. Aren’t you going to light a candle?”
Phronsie jumped out of Polly’s lap, where she was nestling like a little bird, and rushed tumultuously up to him. “O Bensie!” she screamed, clasping her hands; “we’ve had pink and white sticks, and poor, sweet little brown mousies, and I liked ’em, I did,” she cried.