[XI.]
[THE OLD STAGE-COACH.]
“G’lang!” shouted Joel; “’twas just like Mr. Tisbett’s, I know, Polly—wasn’t it?” he screamed, coming up bright and shining after a race around the kitchen, in which he cracked an imaginary whip, and called to a make-believe pair of horses that were prancing this way and that and causing him no end of trouble.
“Yes,” said Polly; “it was something like Mr. Tisbett’s.”
“Make it just exactly like his,” begged Joel, crowding up to Polly.
[“Take care, Joe,” she warned;] “you most made me upset that dish of potatoes. Go away now like a good boy, until I get ready to tell the story;” and she bustled off into the pantry again.
[“Take care, Joe,” she warned.]
Joel set up another prancing around the kitchen. This time little Davie joined in; and Phronsie came flying up in the rear, with very red cheeks and Seraphina upside down in her arms.
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Polly, coming out again with both hands full. “What a racket!”