“‘Now let’s all hop into the stage-coach,’ cried the little thin man—Why, here’s Mamsie!”
[XII.]
MR. NUTCRACKER; THE STORY THAT WASN’T A STORY.
“Come on!” whooped Joel, rushing into the kitchen, and tossing his cap in the corner; “my chores are all done; now tell the story, Polly, tell the story!” he clamored.
“Oh, dear me!” began Polly in a vexed tone, and looking up at the old clock in the corner. Then she remembered what Mamsie had said once, “If you promise anything, do it cheerfully.” “I will, Joey,” she finished, a smile running over her face; “just wait one minute;” and she flew into the buttery.
“I can’t wait a single bit of a minute,” grumbled Joel.
But Polly was back almost before he could say another word. “Now, says I,” she cried, “we’ll have the story, Joe.”
“It’s got to be a long one,” declared Joel, a remark he never failed to make on like occasions.
“All right,” said Polly gayly. “Now, I thought up something you’ll like, I guess, for this story; it’s about Mr. Nutcracker!”