“G’lang!” shouted Joel; “’twas just like Mr. Tisbett’s, I know, Polly—wasn’t it?” he screamed, coming up bright and shining after a race around the kitchen, in which he cracked an imaginary whip, and called to a make-believe pair of horses that were prancing this way and that and causing him no end of trouble.

“Yes,” said Polly; “it was something like Mr. Tisbett’s.”

“Make it just exactly like his,” begged Joel, crowding up to Polly.

“Take care, Joe,” she warned; “you most made me upset that dish of potatoes. Go away now like a good boy, until I get ready to tell the story;” and she bustled off into the pantry again.

Joel set up another prancing around the kitchen. This time little Davie joined in; and Phronsie came flying up in the rear, with very red cheeks and Seraphina upside down in her arms.

“Goodness me!” exclaimed Polly, coming out again with both hands full. “What a racket!”

“It’s Mr. Tisbett’s stage-coach,” announced Joel with a flourish, and cracking his whip. “Hooray, there—get out of the way or you’ll be run over! Any passengers?—want to get in, ma’am?”—with a bow to Polly.

“No,” said Polly; “thank you, I’m not going away anywhere to-day, Mr. Tisbett.”

“G’lang then!” and away they swept off rattling and lumbering along, and Polly was left in peace to get supper; for Mamsie would come home tired and hungry before long.

But at last everything was ready; and the children, tired of play, began to tease Polly for the story she had promised them; and Joel drove Mr. Tisbett’s big stage-coach into the corner, and tied the horses fast.

So Polly had to begin it right away. “Well, you know I told you it was a big stage-coach.”

“Yes, yes, we know,” said Joel, flopping down on a cricket, and folding his chubby hands. “Now go on.”

“You see, there were four horses to this stage-coach,” announced Polly, watching to see the effect of this on Joel.

“Whickets!” cried Joel, springing off from his cricket. “O Polly—four horses!”

“Yes, there were,” declared Polly, “four horses,—two black ones and two white ones.”

Joel stood perfectly still, and did not speak a word for several minutes, quite overcome at this. So Polly seized the opportunity to rush along as fast as she could in the story. “Well, and there was a funny old man who drove the stage-coach. He wasn’t in the least like our Mr. Tisbett; he was little and round, and he had a squeaky voice; and he always said, ‘Pay me your money before you get in, ma’am,’ like this,” said Polly, her voice going up in a funny little squeal, “which isn’t the leastest bit in the world like our nice, good Mr. Tisbett.”

“He lets me ride sometimes when I don’t pay any money,” said little Davie reflectively.

“And once,” said Phronsie, pushing back her yellow hair to gaze into Polly’s face, “he let Mamsie and me ride oh—away far off—up to the store, I guess.”

“I know,” said Polly, “he did, Pet. Oh! our Mr. Tisbett is just as dear as he can be. Well, this stage-driver was sometimes just like a snapping-turtle. I guess he had the tooth-ache, maybe.”

“Oh, dear me!” said David, with a lively remembrance of his experience in that direction.

“Anyway, he was cross sometimes,” said Polly; “so, you see, people didn’t say much to him; but they just paid down their money into his hands, and hopped in as soon as ever they could.”

“How do you know two of the horses were black?” demanded Joel abruptly, and coming up behind her.

“Oh! goodness me, Joe, how you scared me!” exclaimed Polly with a jump. “Why, because I make ’em so in the story.”

“Were they big? and did they dance and prance like this?” demanded Joel, kicking out behind, and then going through as wonderful evolutions as he thought his steeds could accomplish if he held the reins.

“Yes, I s’pose they could do everything,” said Polly; “but I want to tell the story now.”

“When I’m a big man I’m going to be a stage-driver,” announced Joel in a loud voice, “and I shall have six horses; so there, Polly Pepper.”

“Well, one day this great big stage-coach I’m telling you about,” said Polly, hurrying on with the story, as it was almost time for Mamsie to come, “was just as full as it could be, and there were two people upon the box with the funny old driver.”

“That’s me—one of ’em is,” declared Joel; “and you—you may sit up there too, Dave.”

“Yes, I’m going to sit there too,” said little David, hugging himself in great satisfaction.

“There was a fat old woman who took up most of one whole seat; and she had a parrot in a big cage, tied over with a newspaper, all except a hole at the top so she could breathe. And the old woman kept leaning over and peeping into this hole, and asking, ‘Hey, pretty Polly; how are you now?’ and Polly Parrot always screamed back, ‘Polly wants a cracker,—Polly wants a cracker.’”

“And didn’t anybody give her a cracker, Polly?” asked Phronsie.

“No,” said Polly, “they didn’t. Well, and”—

“Why didn’t somebody give her a cracker?” persisted Phronsie gravely.

“Oh! because they didn’t have any, and then—besides, oh, she had plenty of seeds in her cage. Well, so”—

“Did she like seeds?” asked Phronsie, pulling Polly’s arm gently to make her pay attention.

“Yes, I guess so,” said Polly absently. “Well, so you see”—

“Please let somebody give her a cracker, Polly,” said Phronsie in a grieved little voice that made Polly stop at once.

“Oh! I will, Pet,” cried Polly at sight of her face. “Yes indeed, that old green parrot shall have a cracker. The little thin man in the corner of the stage-coach felt in his pocket, and he found one, and he gave it to her.”

“I think he was nice,” said Phronsie, in great relief.

“Well, let me see—where was I?” said Polly, wrinkling her brows. “Oh! well, in the other side of the stage-coach, sitting with their backs to the horses”—

“Two of them were black and two were white,” said Joel.

“Yes;” Polly hurried on to get him off from the horses; “well, there were three boys crowded into the seat; and they had a basket they were carrying to their grandmother, and there was a chicken-pie in it.”

“Oh, my!” exclaimed all the little Peppers together.

“Yes; and it was rich, and fat, and juicy,” said Polly, for her life not being able to keep from saying it.

“O Polly! I want some, I do,” broke in little David imploringly. Joel was just going to say so himself, but he caught Polly’s eye.

“Well, you can’t have any,” she said grimly. And she set her teeth together hard. How splendidly she could make a chicken-pie if she ever had the chance! Why couldn’t the little brown house ever have anything? And for a moment she drooped her shoulders in a sorry little fashion, and all the brightness went out of her round face.

“We never have anything,” said little Davie plaintively.

“Never,” said Phronsie sadly, shaking her yellow head. And there they sat, two sorry little figures, just ready to cry.

“Be still,” said Joel, with a savage pinch on Davie’s arm.

“Ow!”

“Well, you’re making Polly sick.”

At the word “sick” Phronsie raised her head. “Are you sick, Polly?” she cried, getting into her lap.

“No; that is—I was naughty,” said Polly, waking out of her dream.

“Oh, you’re not naughty, Polly,” cried Phronsie, kissing her. “You couldn’t be.”

“Yes, I was,” declared Polly; “just as naughty as I could be, and I ought to be put in the corner.”

The idea of Polly’s being put in the corner so astonished the children that no one spoke, so she plunged into the story as fast as she could. “Well, now, you know the little thin man I told you about over in the other corner, who gave Polly parrot a cracker, had a”—

“Yes, I know,” said Phronsie, patting her pinafore in a satisfied way. “He was a nice man, Polly, and I like him.”

“Well, he had a big black dog with him, and it was under his seat.”

“Oh, dear!” cried all the children together.

“Yes; well, there were some other passengers in the stage-coach, and”—

“Never mind about them, tell about the big black dog,” begged Joel.

“Yes; tell about the big black dog,” begged the other two.

“Well, I will. Now, the big black dog smelt the chicken-pie, you see, before the stage-coach had rattled on many miles.”

“Oh, dear!” cried the children.

“Yes; you see all these passengers were going down to Bayberry, and it was an awfully cold day, and everybody was all wrapped up in big woolen shawls, and they had their caps pulled down over their ears, and they all had mittens on. Oh! and the chicken-pie dish was hot when the boys’ mother gave it to them to carry to their grandmother. It was just out of the oven, you know; so they took turns in carrying the basket on their knees. It kept their hands warmer, you know.”

“That was nice,” said little Davie reflectively.

“Wasn’t it? Well, they were all going along as fine as you please,” cried Polly, racing on in the story, “when all of a sudden,—Whoa!—Gee—whoop—whoa-a!” called Polly in a very loud voice; and she pulled hard on an imaginary pair of reins, and held in two pairs of fiery steeds.

“I can stop ’em better’n that,” screamed Joel, springing to his feet. “Here, give me the reins.” So he whoaed, and pulled, and roared, and at last announced that the horses were brought up standing, and the big stage-coach was quite still.

“Thank you, Joel,” said Polly; “well, then, down jumps the fat little cross stage-driver from his box, and he comes up to the door. ‘Fly out of here,’ he says, ‘every one of you.’

“‘What must we get out for?’ asked the woman with the parrot. You see, she was very fat and she didn’t wish to be hurried out in this way.

“‘Get out this minute,’ roared the little cross old driver, ‘or I’ll tumble the stage over, ma’am.’

“So she got out with a great deal of trouble, and set her cage, with the parrot in it, all tied up in a newspaper, except a hole in the top for him to breathe by”—

“Please don’t let them spill out his cracker, Polly,” said Phronsie anxiously.

“No, I won’t, Pet. You see, the little thin man stuck it in very tight in the bars over the seed-cup, Phronsie.”

“Polly, I like that little thin man very much, I do,” declared Phronsie in a burst of enthusiasm.

“So do I, Phronsie. Well, and then the other passengers all got out; they had to, you see, because the cross little stage-driver was screaming and roaring at them, you know, and last of all the three boys with the chicken-pie-basket got out. And they set it on the grass, very carefully under a bush by the roadside; and then they ran with all the rest of the people to see what the matter was with the stage-coach. Everybody ran but the big black dog.”

“Now I know that he is going to eat up the boys’ grandmother’s chicken-pie,” cried Joel—“oh, dear me!”

“Hush,—don’t tell things till I get to ’em, Joe,” cried Polly, who dearly loved to announce all the startling surprises in her stories with as much of a flourish as possible.

“Well, I most know he is,” said Joel, subsiding into a loud whisper. “Ain’t he, Polly?”

“Maybe. Well, now, you know everybody was peering and looking this way and that, all over the big stage-coach. ‘I don’t see anything broken,’ said the little thin man, getting down on his knees on the hard frozen ground to examine it underneath.

“‘And neither do I,’ said the big fat woman very angrily; ‘and I’m just going to get in again.’

“‘No you won’t, either, ma’am,’ declared the cross little stage-driver; ‘for this is my stage-coach, and I tell you I heard something crack.’

“‘’Twas a piece of a stone in the road, I guess,’ said the thin little man, getting up from his knees, and brushing the dirt off.

“‘Or a stick you ran over most likely,’ said another.

“But the little old stage-driver said, ‘No,’ very crossly; ‘it wasn’t either of these things.’ It sounded just like the bottom of his stage-coach cracking, and he wasn’t going to have it smashed. And he kept them all out there in the cold, till he looked over and under and around it very carefully. At last, as he couldn’t find anything, not even the smallest, tiniest bit of a crack, he let them get in again. So the big fat woman picked up her parrot in the cage, with the newspaper tied over it, all except a hole in the top for it to breathe through, and everybody else got their things and clambered in,—all but the three boys, who couldn’t find the chicken-pie they were carrying to their grandmother, that was under the bush by the roadside.”

“Oh, dear me!” they all exclaimed, while Phronsie clasped her small hands in despair, and sat quite still.

“No, it wasn’t there,” declared Polly, shaking her brown head,—“not so much as a scrap of the crust, nor a bit of the dish, nor a single speck of the basket. And oh, how those boys did feel!”

“What did they do?” cried Joel, feeling such a calamity not to be borne.

“They just couldn’t do anything,” said Polly. “And down they sat on three stones by the roadside. And everybody had stopped getting in, and turned to help look for the pie. And pretty soon they all heard a dreadful noise.”

“What was it?” asked Phronsie fearfully.

“Oh! now I know it is the chicken-pie coming back; and those three boys can take it to their grandmother,” exclaimed little David joyfully.

“Hoh—hoh—a chicken-pie can’t come back like that,” said Joel, with a snort.

“And the little thin man came skurrying out of the bushes, and dragging after him his big black dog,” said Polly with a fine flourish, “who smelt of chicken-pie all over his face; and he wouldn’t look at anybody, and especially the three boys sitting on their stones by the roadside; but he rolled his eyes up like this,” Polly looked off sideways, and up at an imaginary sky; “and his master, the thin little man, said, and he dragged him by his collar up in front of those boys, ‘Now, sir, say you’re sorry you’ve eaten up all that pie;’ and that dog said, ‘Bark—bark!’ just as loud, oh, you can’t think!”

Phronsie screamed in great excitement, and clapped her hands together to think of the big dog. Then she grew very sober. “But what will the boys do, Polly?”

“And the grandmother?” finished Joel and David together.

“Oh! the little thin man said, ‘Hold your hands, boys;’ and then he dropped one—two—three—four—five—six gold pieces into them.”

“Gold?” screamed Joel excitedly.

“Yes, real, true shiny gold,” cried Polly, nodding away; “enough to buy two dozen chicken-pies, all richer and juicier and better than the one the boys were carrying to their grandmother.”

“‘Now let’s all hop into the stage-coach,’ cried the little thin man—Why, here’s Mamsie!”