together, Polly, by that time a mere heap of dimples, asked in a
wheedling manner:

"What are we going to do, you dear old thing?"

"Why, I was thinking," said Barbox Brothers, "--but are you fond of
horses, Polly?"

"Ponies, I am," said Polly, "especially when their tails are long. But
horses--n-no--too big, you know."

"Well," pursued Barbox Brothers, in a spirit of grave mysterious
confidence adapted to the importance of the consultation, "I did see
yesterday, Polly, on the walls, pictures of two long-tailed ponies,
speckled all over--"

"No, no, NO!" cried Polly, in an ecstatic desire to linger on the
charming details. "Not speckled all over!"

"Speckled all over. Which ponies jump through hoops--"

"No, no, NO!" cried Polly as before. "They never jump through hoops!"

"Yes, they do. Oh, I assure you they do! And eat pie in pinafores--"

"Ponies eating pie in pinafores!" said Polly. "What a story-teller you
are, ain't you?"

"Upon my honour.--And fire off guns."