“Jolly!” exclaimed Joel, hugely pleased; “I guess I shall, Polly;” and ripples of satisfaction ran over his round cheeks. “Well, do hurry!”
“I’ve got to do some work,” said Polly, pausing a moment to think; “I can’t ever sit down to tell stories in the daytime without I’m working,—ever in all this world, Joe Pepper. And Mamsie has just taken all the sacks home to Mr. Atkins; she finished ’em last night. Whatever’ll I do?” she wrinkled her brows, and stood lost in thought.
“You might mend our stockings,” said Joel, knocking one set of toes impatiently against the other. “Do hurry, Polly, and think of something,” he implored, his face falling.
“Mamsie’s done those,” said Polly. “I peeked into the mending-basket after breakfast; and they’re all finished and rolled up into little balls.”
“Well, come on, then,” said Joel, thoroughly out of patience; “if there isn’t any work, do tell the story, Polly.”
“It doesn’t seem right to be sitting down in the morning, without I am working,” said Polly slowly; “I don’t know when I’ve done it. But there really isn’t any sewing; and the biscuits I was going to make can be done just as well by and by; so I s’pose I can tell you the story now, Joey.”
“Come on, then!” shouted Joel, throwing himself flat on the floor, and drumming with his heels. “Do hurry up, Polly Pepper!”
So Polly sat down on the floor, feeling still very queer to be telling stories in the daytime without a needle in her fingers, and Joel squirmed along and laid his head in her lap. “I’m glad you ain’t sewing,” he declared in great satisfaction; “’cause now you can smooth my hair.”
[So Polly smoothed and patted his stubby head in a way that Joel liked] to have Mamsie do, and presently she began: