quick as a shot he dropped Polly's hand and skipped off on the
tips of his toes over the grass and around the back of the house.

"Dear me!" cried Polly, "whatever can have happened to Joel?"

"Do come on, Polly," begged Phronsie, pulling at her other hand,
and lifting her flushed face pleadingly, "and let us see the
Muffin Man once more."

"So we will, dear," said Polly. "Now then!" So they danced off
gayly. "We all know the Muffin Man--the Muffin Man--the Muffin
Man. We all know the Muffin Man, that lives in Crumpet Lane."

Meantime, Joel rushed in over the back doorstep and into the
kitchen before the man he had seen through the kitchen window
could hear him and turn away from the old cupboard. When he did,
he said something that wouldn't have sounded nice had Joel
stopped to hear it. As it was, he bounded in. "What are you
doing in our house?" he cried, doubling up his fists. "Hey?"
said the man. He wasn't very nice to look at either, and he
peered over and around Joel's sturdy figure, to see if more of
the children were coming after. When he saw that Joel was alone,
and could hear the gay voices out on the grass-plot, he looked
perfectly wicked, and he laughed as he pointed a long and dirty
hand at him.

"You scream, or stir from your tracks, and I'll make mincemeat
of you!" he hissed.

"I ain't a-goin' to scream," declared Joel, scornfully, "an' I'm