“’Tisn’t time to go to bed,” grumbled Joel; “and you and Ben are going to whisper and wink your eyes as soon as I go.”

“We sha’n’t have to whisper when you are out of the way, Joe,” said Ben; “come, hurry up and start.” “Now, Joey, you promised,” said Polly reproachfully. She was aching to talk over all the splendid plans with Ben; and there were the bright bits of paper left after they had covered the nuts; and just this very night she was to set about making Phronsie’s paper doll, and Ben was to begin on a windmill for Davie, and Mamsie was to sit down at the big table drawn out from against the wall, and make Seraphina’s bonnet. And Christmas was getting so near!

“O Joe!” exclaimed Polly suddenly, in such a tone of despair that Ben said sharply, “Go along, or she’ll stop telling you stories. You won’t get another one to-morrow—sir!”

“I’ll go,—I’ll go,” cried Joel, clattering over the stairs in a trice—“I’m going, Polly—you’ll tell me another to-morrow, won’t you—won’t you, Polly?” he screamed at the top.

“Yes indeed,” cried Polly merrily, running along to the foot of the stairs leading to the loft. “That’s a good boy, Joey; I’ll tell you a good one to-morrow.”

“It’s got to be a long one,” said Joel; “not such a little squinchy one as ’twas to-day. Hoh! that was no good.”

“Hush up there,” shouted Ben at him, from the kitchen, “or you’ll wake Dave up. Come on, now, Polly.”

So Polly ran back again; and the two pulled out the kitchen table; and Mamsie brought her big basket, and Seraphina’s bonnet was snipped out of the piece of ribbon so long waiting for it; and Polly whisked out the bits of bright paper from the bureau-drawer in the bedroom; and Ben got out his big jack-knife, and commenced to whittle bravely; and everything was as brisk as a bee and as cheery,—and the tongues flew just as fast as the fingers, till the little old kitchen was alive with the work of getting ready for Christmas.

But on the next morning, all the signs of the coming festivity tucked carefully away, and the every-day work done up, then didn’t Polly just have to spin off a story when in marched Joel with a “Come on, Dave, Polly’s sewing; now for the story!” he whooped, and threw himself on the floor at her feet.

“O Joel”—Polly was just ready to cry out, “I can’t think of a thing.” And then she remembered that she had promised. “Dear me, Joe, what do you want?” she asked, and making her needle fly faster than ever.

“Oh, something nice—about having mince-pie,”—Joel smacked his lips, “and bears and wolves and crocodiles. Tell a good one, Polly; and it’s got to be long”—he waved his arms as far as he could—“long as that; now begin.”

“I’ll tell about a mince-pie,” said Polly, wrinkling her brows; “that’s the first thing you asked for; and”—

“And bears and wolves and crocodiles,” said Joel hastily; “I want all those; you’ve got to, Polly, ’cause I go to bed every night, and you said you would.”

“I can’t get all those things into one story,” said Polly.

“Hoh! yes you can,” contradicted Joel; “that’s just as easy. Now begin, Polly.”

“Well, once there was a boy,” said Polly, with a flourish of her needle as she put in a new thread; “and his mother had to hide the mince-pies whenever she baked any, ’cause she was afraid to leave ’em round, and”—

“Don’t tell such a story,” howled Joel in disgust; “tell something nice, Polly.” He winked his black eyes fast, and Polly thought she saw something shine in them; and then he dug his fists in them, and hid his stubby head on her lap in among her sewing.

“So I will, Joey,” she cried, dropping her work to lean over and drop a kiss on his black hair. And then it all came to her what to say; and before she knew it, she had begun again on “The Wonderful Mince-Pie Boy and the Beasts.”

“You see, it was long, long ago,” ran on Polly in her gayest fashion; “and almost anything could have happened then—why, Adolphus lived ages before this time when we are living in Badgertown; so he had all sorts of funny people as his neighbors, and they did all kinds of queer things. And the animals all talked just like boys and girls, and everybody understood them. And it was just the strangest world, you can’t think! And that’s the reason that the story is just as it is.”

“Go on,” said Joel quite himself again, and his mouth opened in an expansive smile. “Come on, Dave. Gee-whickety! Polly’s going to tell an elegant buster of a story.”

“Joel, I sha’n’t tell a single thing if you say such dreadful words,” declared Polly sternly, as little David came in, and sat down on the floor by Joel’s side.

“I won’t,” cried Joel in alarm, “say it again ever, Polly.”

“Think how badly Mamsie would feel to hear it,” said Polly reprovingly. “O Joe! how can you?” Down went Joel’s head on her lap,—

“I—won’t again—Polly,” he burst out, trying not to cry. “O Polly! I won’t—I don’t—want—Mamsie to feel bad”—and he burrowed deep in her lap.

“He won’t, Polly,” said little David anxiously, patting Joel’s stubby head with one hand, and with the other pulling Polly’s gown—“I most know he won’t say any more dreadful words.”

“See that you don’t then, Joe,” said Polly; “and both of you boys must remember that it would make Mamsie sick to hear you say any such things. Well, now for the story,—‘The Wonderful Mince-Pie Boy and the Beasts.’”

“Oh, oh!” cried Davie in a transport, and clasping his hands. Joel sat up quite straight, and held his breath.

“The mince-pie boy lived in an old stone house,” began Polly, “all overgrown with vines. There were big trees that sent their arms clear across the top of his house, and the vines ran all over them, so that it looked for all the world as if it was a great arbor. Well, and just a little ways off, about as far as from here to Grandma Bascom’s, was a gre—at big cave. And that was all grown over with vines too, and funny dangling trees that looked as if they were upside down.”

“Oh!” laughed Joel, “how funny!” And “How funny!” said little David.

“Yes; but it wasn’t half so funny, as it was inside of the house and the cave,” said Polly, sewing away busily; “because you see the man who was Adolphus’s father owned all the wild beasts that were in the cave. And as he had them all brought out of the cave, and up to the big house sometimes, when he had company, and he wanted to amuse them, why, you know everything was made so they might show off, and the people could have a good time.”

“Tell about it,” cried Joel, crowding up to Polly’s work so closely that she couldn’t see where to set her stitches. “Take care, Joe,” she warned; “I sewed that crooked. Mr. Atkins won’t give Mamsie any more sacks to do if they’re done badly. And I want to learn to sew them all for her.” And Polly’s face was very sad as she picked out the poor work.

Joel huddled out of the way in dismay. “There, that’s all right now,” announced Polly in a minute; “you didn’t do any mischief, Joe. Let me see, where was I?”

“You said Adolphus’s father had all the wild beasts brought out of the cave, and into the house, when he had company,” cried Joel. “Oh, make him bring ’em all in now, Polly, do!”

“So he shall,” nodded Polly. “You see, boys, Adolphus’s father had lots and lots of animals in his cave; but he liked the wolves and the bears and the crocodiles the best.”

“Oh, dear me!” said Davie quite overcome.

“Now, Adolphus liked the best thing in the world,—yes, the very best thing in all the world, mince-pie. And he had it for breakfast, dinner, and supper.”

“Whick—oh, dear me!” exploded Joel.

“Yes; all the beasts liked mince-pie too, every single one of all those sixteen hundred beasts.”

“Were there sixteen hundred of ’em?” cried little David with flaming cheeks, and pushing up close to her work.

“Yes,” said Polly recklessly. “Adolphus’s father had sixteen hundred wild beasts in his cave, and”—

“Make it some more,” cried Joel. “Make him have eighteen hundred, Polly, do.”

“No,” said Polly firmly; “he hadn’t a single one more than sixteen hundred, not a single one, Joe.”

“Well, go on,” said Joel.

“But the beasts couldn’t get any mince-pie, ever,” said Polly, hurrying on.

“Why?” broke in both of the boys.

“Because Adolphus’s mother said that she couldn’t spend the time to bake mince-pies for so many beasts and beastesses, because you see, all the animals would have to have a pie apiece. And Adolphus used to go out into the front yard, and eat his pie; and all the creatures would come out of their cave, and stand in their yard, and lick their chops, and wish they had some.”

“And so do I wish I had some, Polly,” declared Joel, licking his mouth. “Did it have plums in, Polly?”

“Gre—at big ones,” declared Polly, “oh, so rich and juicy! My! there never was such a pie as those that Adolphus got every day,—one for breakfast, and one for dinner, and one for supper.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed both boys again, unable to find other words.

“Well, one day there was a great stir in the big house under the vines, and everybody far and near knew that Adolphus’s folks were going to have company. And that very same night the beasts and beastesses got together, and held a meeting. And when everybody in the big house was sound asleep, and nothing was stirring but the mice scampering up and down in the walls, all the creatures in the cave were wide awake, and talking all together.

“‘I’ll tell you what,’ said a big white polar bear”—

“What’s a polar bear?” interrupted Joel, with a shout.

“You mustn’t interrupt,” said Polly; “it’s a bear that lives at the Poles.”

“What Poles? Are they clothes-poles?” asked Joel persistently. “Say, Polly; and did the bear help to hang out the clothes to dry?”

“No, no—don’t ask so many questions, Joe; I never shall get through if you do. This bear came from the North Pole, where it is dreadfully cold. And he loved mince-pie, oh, terribly! And he began, ‘Now, fellow bears and bearesses, and wolves, and—and—wolveresses.’”

“And crocodiles,” said Joel; “don’t forget them.”

“No, I won’t. ‘And crocodiles and croco—crocodilesses and all the rest of you,’ because, you see, he couldn’t mention them all by name, for he wouldn’t have had time for his speech if he had; ‘we must get some of that boy’s mince-pie. It isn’t fair for him to have so much, and we to have none. Now, I have a plan; and if you will all do just as I say, I will get you some mince-pie.’ So they all—the different beasts and beastesses—crowded around the white polar bear, and he spoke out his plan.

“‘You know the company is coming to the big man’s house’—the beasts always called Adolphus’s house by that name—‘and we shall be sent for as usual. Now, when we get there, let us march into the hall as if we were going to perform. But instead of that I shall go right straight up in front of the big man and that dreadful mince-pie boy, and shall roar at them: ‘I will eat off your head and scrunch your bones, unless you give me some mince-pie this minute!’”

Polly roared it out so loud, and looked so very dreadful, that Phronsie came running in from the bedroom where she had been putting on her red-topped shoes which Mamsie let her do sometimes, but not step in them for fear of hurting them. One shoe was half off, and every button of the other was in the wrong button-hole. “O Polly!” she cried scuttling over to her; “what was that dreadful noise?”

“Now you see, Joel,” cried Polly, throwing down her work, and gathering up Phronsie into her lap, “I’ve scared her most to death. ’Tisn’t anything, Phronsie pet, but some bears and things Joel wanted me to tell of”—as Phronsie hid her yellow head on Polly’s arm.

“Polly made that noise with her own mouth,” said Joel; “and ’twas splendid, Phron. Make it again, Polly, do.”

“No, I sha’n’t,” said Polly. “There, there, Phronsie, don’t be scared; it was I made it, and not a truly bear.”

“If it was you, Polly,” said Phronsie, lifting her head, “and not a truly bear, I don’t mind. But please don’t make it again, Polly.”

“I won’t, Pet,” promised Polly. “Dear me! just look at your red-topped shoes. Take ’em off, or you’ll spoil them; Mamsie doesn’t like you to walk in them, you know.”

“I want to go back to the bedroom,” wailed Phronsie, “and show ’em to Seraphina. Oh, dear! can’t I, Polly? I’ll go on the tips of my toes.”

“No, I’ll carry you,” said Polly, preparing to spring up; but Joel jumped to his feet,—

“Let me, Polly; I’ll carry her. Come on, Phron.” He seized her and staggered off, depositing her on the bedroom floor, close to Seraphina lying face downward where she had been dropped in fright.

“Now go on,” he cried, springing back to huddle at Polly’s feet.

“‘I’ll scrunch your head off,’” said Polly in a stage whisper. “I can’t say it loud as I did before, boys, or Phronsie’ll hear. ‘Give me the pantry keys!’

“At hearing these dreadful words, the crocodile began to cry. ‘I’m afraid, I’m afraid,’ he said. But one of the wolves ran up and boxed his ears. ‘Nobody dares to say he is afraid here,’ he cried. ‘Yes, we are going to have those pantry keys.’”

It was impossible to describe the excitement that now seized the two boys as they huddled closer and closer to Polly, as she hurried on,—

“And when all the beasts and beastesses had promised to do just as the white polar bear should tell them, he roared at them in a perfectly dreadful voice: ‘You must all say with me, “I’ll scrunch your heads off if you don’t give me those pantry keys.”’ So they all said it after him, the crocodile weeping great tears that ran over his cheeks as he repeated the words. And then every animal went to bed; and the next night the company came to the big house under the vines, and Adolphus’s father sent for all the beasts and beastesses.”

“And did they scrunch their heads off?” screamed Joel.

“Hush—you’ll scare Phronsie again,” cried Polly.

“Did they, did they?” cried Joel, lowering his voice—“oh, make them, Polly, do, scrunch all their heads, every single one!”

“You must wait and see,” said Polly; “and don’t interrupt, or I never will get a chance to tell the story. Well, all the animals went up to Adolphus’s house, two by two; and there, in the long hall, sat all the company in tall chairs, and Adolphus in the middle. And the first thing that anybody knew, before one of them was asked to perform a single thing, the white cat that lived up at the big house, and always slept on a white satin cushion, and drank from a silver bowl, sprang into the centre of the hall, and made a bow and a curtsey. She had a green ribbon embroidered in silver tied under her chin, and she looked too perfectly splendid for anything.

“‘My master wishes me to say,’ she announced, with another low bow down to the ground, ‘that you are asked over to-night, not to show off, but to eat mince-pies.—Behold!’ And there right at her elbow were twenty-five boys dressed in green and scarlet, and all with big trays full of mince-pies, with plums sticking out all over them, and”—

“Ugh!” grunted Joel, and kicking his heels in great disgust. “Now the white polar bear can’t scrunch those people’s heads off. Hoh! that’s no story, Polly Pepper!”