and Joel pranced with his imaginary steeds all around the room,
making about as much noise as any other four boys, as he brought
up occasionally against the four-poster or the high old bureau.

"Well!" said a voice close up by Polly's chair, that made her skip
with apprehension, it was so like Miss Jerusha Henderson's--Joel
was whooping away behind the bedstead to his horses that had
become seriously entangled, so he didn't hear anything. But when
Polly said, bashfully, "I can't see anything, ma'am," he came up red
and shining to the surface, and stared with all his might.

"I came to see you, little girl," said Miss Jerusha severely, seating
herself stiffly by Polly's side.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Polly, faintly.

"Who's this boy?" asked the lady, turning around squarely on Joel,
and eying him from head to foot.

"He's my brother Joel," said Polly.

Joel still stared.

"Which brother?" pursued Miss Jerusha, like a census-taker.

"He is next to me," said Polly, wishing her mother was home; "he's
nine, Joel is."

"He's big enough to do something to help his mother," said Miss
Jerusha, looking him through and through. "Don't you think you