Phronsie not to cry; "now, tell me all that's happened."

"I was a-nailing," began Joel; "oh dear! don't cry, Phronsie! do stop
her, Polly."

"Go on," said Polly, hoarsely.

"I was a-nailing," began Joel, slowly; "and--and--Davie's gone to
get the peppermint," he added, brightening up.

"Tell me, Joe," said Polly, "all that's been going on," and she
looked sternly into his face; "or I'll get Davie to," as little Davie
came running back, with a bottle of castor oil, which in his flurry
he had mistaken for peppermint. This he presented with a flourish
to Polly, who was too excited to see it.

"Oh, no!" cried Joel, in intense alarm; "Davie isn't going to! I'll
tell, Polly; I will truly."

"Go on, then," said Polly; "tell at once;" (feeling as if somebody
didn't tell pretty quick, she should tumble over.)

"Well," said Joel, gathering himself up with a fresh effort, "the old
hammer was a-shaking and Phronsie stuck her foot in the
way--and--I couldn't help it, Polly--no, I just couldn't, Polly."

Quick as a flash, Polly tore off the little old shoe, and well-worn
stocking, and brought to light Phronsie's fat little foot. Tenderly
taking hold of the white toes, the boys clustering around in the
greatest anxiety, she worked them back and forth, and up and