all a-fire."

"Never say that, Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, looking up sternly; "it's
biting your own nose off to wish that wood was a-fire-- and
besides it's dreadfully wicked."

Joel hung his head, for his mother never spoke in that way unless
she was strongly moved; but he soon recovered, and hastened off
for his jacket.

"I'm sorry I can't help you do the dishes, Polly," said David,
running after Joel.

"I'm going to help her," said Phronsie; "I am."

So Polly got the little wooden tub that she always used, gave
Phronsie the well-worn cup-napkin, and allowed her to wipe the
handleless cups and cracked saucers, which afforded the little one
intense delight.

"Don't you wish, Polly," said little Phronsie, bustling around with a
very important air, nearly smothered in the depths of a big brown
apron that Polly had carefully tied under her chin, "that you didn't
ever-an'-ever have so many dishes to do?"

"Urn--maybe," said Polly, thoughtlessly. She was thinking of
something else besides cups and saucers just then; of how nice it
would be to go off for just one day, and do exactly as she had a
mind to in everything. She even envied Ben and the boys who were
going to work hard at Deacon Blodgett's woodpile.