The next John saw of Pollio he was dangling from the hub of one of the new carriage-wheels, like a young monkey.
“Come away from there, youngster! you mustn’t meddle with that carriage,” said John rather sharply, trying not to laugh.
Pollio had never heard the word “youngster” before, and thought it did not sound very respectful as addressed to the son of Judge Pitcher. Perhaps it had something to do with his laughing in meeting. Oh, of course! He dropped lightly on the barn-floor; but his lip curled, and there was a spark in his eye that meant mischief. The moment John’s back was turned, he was climbing the wheel, “hand over hand,” into the carriage.
“O Pollio, get right down!” cried Posy. “You know what John said.”
“Who’s John? He’s no business with me!” said Pollio, turning a somerset on the back-seat.
“O Hop-clover! mustn’t he get down?”
“Of course he must,” replied Hop-clover, chewing some wheat she had found in a barrel.
“Tell you what it is!” said Pollio, dancing up and down, “if Mr. Littlefield had a boy, my father’d let him play in our carriage as easy as nothing.”
“Well, Ike wouldn’t,” returned Posy.