[So Polly smoothed and patted his stubby head in a way that Joel liked.]
“Mr. Nutcracker had a house”—
Rap—rap—came somebody’s fingers on the old green door.
“Oh, bother!” cried Joel, jumping up. And Polly skipped, too, in surprise; for visitors didn’t come very often to the little brown house door, and they both ran as fast as they could to open it.
An old man stood on the flat door-stone, leaning both hands on a knobby old stick; and his head, underneath his torn hat, was bobbing as he trembled with age. The children stared at him in dismay. “I’m very hungry,” he said, looking at Polly; “I haven’t eaten anything to-day; can’t you give me a bite?”
Oh, dear! Polly looked at Joel in dismay. There wasn’t anything in the house, except some cold potatoes that Mrs. Pepper was going to fry for dinner, and Polly’s biscuits, as she called them by courtesy, that were still to be made, as the bread had given out.
“We haven’t anything”—she began, in a faltering voice.
“Why, Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Joel loudly, and crowding past her to get a better view of their visitor; “we have too—lots and lots;” for Joel never could bear to have people think they were poor.