“Yes; tell about the big black dog,” begged the other two.
“Well, I will. Now, the big black dog smelt the chicken-pie, you see, before the stage-coach had rattled on many miles.”
“Oh, dear!” cried the children.
“Yes; you see all these passengers were going down to Bayberry, and it was an awfully cold day, and everybody was all wrapped up in big woolen shawls, and they had their caps pulled down over their ears, and they all had mittens on. Oh! and the chicken-pie dish was hot when the boys’ mother gave it to them to carry to their grandmother. It was just out of the oven, you know; so they took turns in carrying the basket on their knees. It kept their hands warmer, you know.”
“That was nice,” said little Davie reflectively.
“Wasn’t it? Well, they were all going along as fine as you please,” cried Polly, racing on in the story, “when all of a sudden,—Whoa!—Gee—whoop—whoa-a!” called Polly in a very loud voice; and she pulled hard on an imaginary pair of reins, and held in two pairs of fiery steeds.
“I can stop ’em better’n that,” screamed Joel, springing to his feet. “Here, give me the reins.” So he whoaed, and pulled, and roared, and at last announced that the horses were brought up standing, and the big stage-coach was quite still.
“Thank you, Joel,” said Polly; “well, then, down jumps the fat little cross stage-driver from his box, and he comes up to the door. ‘Fly out of here,’ he says, ‘every one of you.’
“‘What must we get out for?’ asked the woman with the parrot. You see, she was very fat and she didn’t wish to be hurried out in this way.