“He lets me ride sometimes when I don’t pay any money,” said little Davie reflectively.
“And once,” said Phronsie, pushing back her yellow hair to gaze into Polly’s face, “he let Mamsie and me ride oh—away far off—up to the store, I guess.”
“I know,” said Polly, “he did, Pet. Oh! our Mr. Tisbett is just as dear as he can be. Well, this stage-driver was sometimes just like a snapping-turtle. I guess he had the tooth-ache, maybe.”
“Oh, dear me!” said David, with a lively remembrance of his experience in that direction.
“Anyway, he was cross sometimes,” said Polly; “so, you see, people didn’t say much to him; but they just paid down their money into his hands, and hopped in as soon as ever they could.”
“How do you know two of the horses were black?” demanded Joel abruptly, and coming up behind her.
“Oh! goodness me, Joe, how you scared me!” exclaimed Polly with a jump. “Why, because I make ’em so in the story.”
“Were they big? and did they dance and prance like this?” demanded Joel, kicking out behind, and then going through as wonderful evolutions as he thought his steeds could accomplish if he held the reins.
“Yes, I s’pose they could do everything,” said Polly; “but I want to tell the story now.”