The Adventures of Joel Pepper | Page 8

and the color
flew over her cheek.
"Tell me, Polly," begged little Phronsie, holding the apron tight.
"Well, now, Pet, there's a snarl of thread in the work-basket. Don't you
remember, the spool rolled under the table, and nobody saw it go, and
the boys kicked it up and made it into a mess, an' Mamsie put it into the
little bag, an' I was to pick it out when I got time? If you only could do
that, Phronsie, just think how it would help."
Phronsie gave a long sigh. She dropped the apron, and folded her hands.
"Would it help so very much, Polly?" she asked.
"Ever an' ever so much," said Polly. "You needn't do but a little now,
an' some other day p'raps you could do some more."
"I'm going to do it all," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head
determinedly. So she got her little wooden chair from against the wall,
and set it in the middle of the kitchen floor, and then brought the little

cotton bag out of the old work-basket. "I shall do it all this very one
minute," she declared softly, as she sat down and drew out the snarl of
thread.
"Now, boys," called Polly, as she took one look at her, and just stopped
to drop a kiss on the yellow hair, "you must just come downstairs this
very minute. If you don't, you can't have any breakfast."
"Coming," sang Joel, and presently down he tumbled, two steps at a
time, pulling on his jacket as he went.
"Such a long time to stay abed," reproved Polly; "just think of it, it's
after seven o'clock, Joel Pepper, and Mamsie's been gone half an hour!"
"An' I'm working," said Phronsie, twitching at the end of the thread
with an important air. "I'm going to pick out the whole of this, I am, for
Mamsie. See, Joey!" She held up the snarl, and away the spool raced,
as if glad to get off once more.
"Hoh!" said Joel, "you're making it worse'n ever, Phron."
"No, I'm not," cried Phronsie, clutching the snarl with both little fists.
"Oh, no, I'm not; am I, Polly?" And the big tears began to race over her
round cheeks.
"No," said Polly. "Oh, for shame, Joel, to make Phronsie cry!"
"I didn't make her cry," denied Joel, stoutly, his face working badly.
"I'll get the spool--I'll get the spool. See, Polly, here 'tis," and he dived
under the table, and came up bright and shining with it in his hand.
"There now, Phronsie; see, Joel's got it for you," said Polly, beaming at
him. "Now, Pet, I'll tell you what, let's put Mamsie's basket on the floor,
and old Mr. Spool in it. There, Joey, drop him in, then he can't run
away again. Now, then!"
"Mr. Spool can't run away again," smiled Phronsie through her tears,
and leaning out of her little wooden chair to see Joel drop the spool in.
"That's nice, Polly, isn't it? Now he can't run away again," she hummed.
"Indeed, it is," sang Polly, delighted; "he's fast now, so fly at your snarl,
Pet, Mamsie'll be so pleased to think you've picked out some of it."
"I'm going to pick it all out," declared Phronsie in a tone of
determination. And wiping off the tears on the back of her fat little
hand, she set to work, humming away again to herself.
"Now, whatever keeps David!" cried Polly, dishing out Joel's mush
from the kettle on the stove, and setting the bowl on the table.
"He's coming," said Joel, hastily. "O dear me, I wish we ever had

anything, Polly Pepper, but mush and molasses for breakfast!"
"Some people don't have anything half as good," said Polly, starting for
the stairs.
"What don't they have?" asked Joel in alarm, as he watched her go.
"Oh, I don't know; different things. Da-_vid!_" she called.
"You said they didn't have things half as good," said Joel, stopping with
a spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth. "So you know what they
are, now, Polly Pepper."
"Oh, well, they don't. Plenty and plenty of people don't get near as good
things as we have every day for breakfast."
"What are they, the things the plenty and plenty of people get?"
persisted Joel, beginning on his breakfast comfortably, since Polly was
going to talk.
"Oh--let me see," said Polly, pausing at the foot of the stairs. "Old
bread, for one thing."
"Is it mouldy?" asked Joel.
"Um--yes, I s'pose so," answered Polly, wrinkling up her face. "Eat
your own breakfast, Joe, and not stop to think of what other people
have. Da-_vid!_'"
"You said 'things,'" said Joel, severely, "and you only told me mouldy
old bread, Polly Pepper! What else?"
"O dear, I don't know."
"You