“You must know,” said Polly, “that they had cake every day, little cunning ones, and Sundays they had pink on top of ’em.”

Nobody spoke. At last Joel managed to ask, sitting on the edge of his chair, “On every single one of the cakes, Polly Pepper?”

“Yes,” said Polly decidedly; “every single one of ’em Joey.”

“Not every Sunday?” asked Joel incredulously.

“Yes, every single Sunday; as surely as Sunday came around,” declared Polly in her most decisive fashion. “They didn’t miss once.”

“Now, I know you aren’t telling us true things,” cried Joel in a loud, insistent tone; “’cause no one ever has cake every day, and pink on top every Sunday. So there, Polly Pepper!”

“Of course I’m not telling you true, live things,” retorted Polly in her gayest tone; “I’m making ’em up out of my head as I go along. And a person could have cake every day with pink on top of ’em, if there was enough to go around.”

“Oh!” sighed little Davie, clasping his hands with a long sigh.

Phronsie never took her eyes from Polly’s face, but she said not a word.

“If you keep interrupting all the while, Joe, Polly can’t get on with her story,” said Ben, who was mending Mother Pepper’s washboard over in the corner, with one ear out for the narration proceeding under such difficulties.

“Well, go on,” said Joel ungraciously, his mouth watering for the cake with pink on top; “but I don’t b’lieve Johnny ever had all that, every day and Sunday.”

“Well, you must believe it,” said Polly, shaking her brown head at him; “or I’m not going to sit here telling you stories. Joey Pepper, you must act as if you believed every single word I say, else you won’t be polite.”

“Oh, I’ll believe it,” exclaimed Joel in alarm at the thought of Polly’s stories ceasing. “I wish I had some of the cake with the pink on top, now, I do. Tell on, Polly.”

“And I,” said Phronsie putting out a little hand; “I wish I had some too, Polly, I do.”

“Well, we haven’t any of us got any,” said Polly. “But I’ll tell you all about Johnny’s. Sit still, Pet, you joggle me so I can’t sew straight; and these seams must be done before Mamsie gets home, else she’ll sit up to-night to do ’em.”

Polly was stitching away on one of the sacks that Mrs. Pepper had promised Mr. Atkins she would take down to the store on the morrow, her needle rushing in and out briskly; and she glanced up at the old clock. “Oh, dear me! if I don’t hurry, I sha’n’t get to the time when Johnny’s little tin soldiers ran.”

“Oh—whoppity—la!” screamed Joel in a transport, forgetting how his mouth watered for the pink-topped cakes; “tell about the soldiers, Polly; tell about them.”

“Well, I can’t if you keep interrupting me all the time, Joel,” said Polly; “I was just going to, when you stopped me about the cakes.”

“That’s just it,” said Ben over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t tell him a single thing, if he goes on like that. Take my advice, Polly, and don’t promise him another story.”

But Polly was already launched into her gayest and best narration; and Joel slipped off from his chair-edge to the floor, where he snuggled up against her feet, his head on her knees, Phronsie longing to do the same thing; but remembering what Polly had said about sewing Mamsie’s seams, she sat up very straight in her chair, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Did Johnny have tin soldiers too?” asked David, in an awe-struck tone.

“Of course, child,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “Why, he had a big house full of just everything.”

“Make Dave stop talking,” said Joel irritably; “we can’t hear anything. Do go on about the soldiers, Polly; you said you would.”

“Now, the first one of you children that says a word,” said Polly merrily, “will have to go out into the Provision Room and stay till I finish this story. I never shall get through at this rate; now remember.”

“Good for you, Polly.” Ben bobbed his approval, and set in two or three nails with smart little taps of his hammer.

“Well, Johnny made up his mind that his tin soldiers had too easy a time, because there hadn’t been anybody to fight, you know, for one thing, Johnny being off for three days fishing with the Mullen boy who lived next door, and too busy to get up a battle with any one; and so things had got to be pretty easy. And the tin soldiers were just as lazy as could be; and some of them, don’t you think, were lying on their backs on the closet shelf; and one had even rolled off, and was having a nap down in the corner where he thought nobody could see him.”

“‘Wake up there!’ hallooed Johnny, flinging wide the closet door very suddenly. ‘There’s going to be a big battle. Attention—Get ready—Form!’”

“Ugh—ugh!”—grunted Joel, starting up. Then he clapped his two brown hands over his mouth and sat down again.

Polly ran on, with an approving smile at him. “And then Johnny saw the poor little fellow fast asleep in the corner.” Here she caught sight of Phronsie opening her mouth; and she hastened to add, “And he picked him up and set him straight. ‘Now, fall into line, my men!’ he shouted at them; and before anybody knew just how, there they were, every single little tin soldier out in the garden under the grape-vine arbor and”—

“Ugh—ugh—ee!” cried Joel explosively. Then he ducked, and came up red and shining, his lips tightly pressed together.

“You’re such a good boy, Josey!” exclaimed Polly. “Now, you see how perfectly elegant it is to tell stories without having to stop every minute to explain things. Well, and there were Jack Mullen’s wooden soldiers all standing up to fight, with Jack as proud and stiff as he could be, back of them. They weren’t as nice as Johnny’s, because, you see, Jack had left his out in the rain the night his mother gave a party—he forgot to take ’em in—and the paint was all washed off, and one soldier had his legs chipped off a bit where Jack’s little cousin had tried his new knife on it, so he went lame; and another one had his gun smashed where it got stepped on by the hired man when Jack dropped it in the barn one day. But they were brave as they could be, and there they were all ranged up in battle-array when Johnny brought out his soldiers.

“‘Hoh-hoh-hoh!’ cried Johnny, prancing along, driving his soldiers down the path; their swords and guns were clanking, and they looked so smart in their scarlet coats and caps with the nodding plumes. ‘My men can beat yours any day, Jack Mullen!’

“‘You’ll see,’ cried Jack, firing up. ‘Let’s get ’em to work, that’s all I say;’ and he stuck his hands in his pockets, and laughed long and loud.

“Johnny went around among his men, and whispered something in each ear. It sounded like ‘cakes;’ and then every soldier nodded real pleased, and smacked his lips, and”—

Here there was tremendous excitement among the children, but Polly pretended not to see it; and only stopping to bite off her thread, she hurried on, “And suddenly Johnny screamed, ‘Wait a minute,’ and off he dashed and ran into the kitchen. ‘Jane—Jane! I must have sixteen—no, seventeen cakes to-day. Make ’em big, Jane, and put pink on top, same as my Sunday ones.’”

“Gee!” screamed Joel. But Davie, in alarm lest Joe should be sent off to the Provision Room and just in the most splendid part of the story, jumped off from his chair, and flung his arms around him in distress.

“‘Hurry up!’ roared Jack after him; ‘else I’ll begin the battle, and shoot every one of your men’s heads off. Bang—Bang!’” Here Polly put down the big sack a minute, and thrust up an imaginary gun to her shoulder to show exactly how Jack Mullen looked. Ben dropped the washboard, and came out of his corner to look at her.

“And sure enough,” said Polly, with kindling eyes, “he was at it when Johnny got back, red and breathless, from his run from the kitchen. So of course his tin soldiers had a perfectly awful time from the very beginning. Oh, you can’t think, children, how they did have to fight! And don’t you believe they were crowded off inch by inch down that perfectly beautiful garden-path under the grape-vine arbor, until there was only one little corner to stand on for a place of defence. And the guns banged, and the cannon roared, and the smoke was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and in and through it all were the scarlet coats and caps with the nodding plumes of the little tin soldiers. And every one of ’em was as brave as could be, and saying ‘cakes’ to himself. But there must come an end, and”—

Joel was just going to scream “No—no!—don’t let it come to an end, Polly,” when he remembered in time; and she ran on gayly, “And Johnny was hopping up and down, feeling dreadfully but trying to get up a last charge, and Jack was screaming, ‘We’ve beaten you—hurrah for my men!’ when a dozen boys jumped over the fence, and dashed right into the battle-field.

“‘The circus-carts are coming down this street,’ screamed every single one of ’em; ‘come on!’

“The tin soldiers, of course, supposed, in the din of battle and all that dreadful smoke, that a terrible charge from the wooden soldiers had come, set on by those perfectly dreadful boys; and the wooden soldiers thought that the boys were helping the tin soldiers; so each side started to run away from the other; and the tin soldiers ran the fastest because they were thinner and lighter, so they didn’t find out their mistake until too late, and they all fell into the fish-pond at the bottom of the garden. Meanwhile, after Johnny and Jack had climbed the fence and were off at the corner of the street with the twelve boys, Jane came out with seventeen little cakes with pink on top, and not finding any one, she placed the tray on the seat under the grape-vine. And the black cat, the largest one at Johnny’s house, you know, the one with the green eyes, came stepping softly up, and smelt them all over. Then she yowed for the neighbor’s gray cat, with whom she was quite sociable, and they ate them all up, every crumb.”