"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper, approvingly; "it takes you, Polly." So
Polly trotted first to Ben, up the crooked, low stairs to the loft; and
while she regaled him with the brown toast and butter, she kept her
tongue flying on the subject of the little chicks, and all that she
saw on the famous Henderson visit. Poor Ben pretended hard to
eat, but ate nothing really; and Polly saw it all, and it cut her to the
heart--so she talked faster than ever.

"Now," she said, starting to go back to Phronsie; "Ben Pepper, just
as soon as you get well, we'll have some chickens--so there!"

"Guess we sha'n't get 'em very soon," said Ben, despondently, "if
I've got to lie here; and, besides, Polly, you know every bit we can
save has got to go for the new stove."

"Oh, dear," said Polly, "I forgot that; so it has; seems to me
everything's giving out!"

"You can't bake any longer in the old thing," said Ben, turning over
and looking at her; "poor girl, I don't see how you've stood it so
long."

"And we've been stuffing it," cried Polly merrily, "till 'twon't stuff
any more."

"No," said Ben, turning back again, "that's all worn out."

"Well, you must go to sleep," said Polly, "or mammy'll be up here;
and Phronsie hasn't had her breakfast either."