goin' to drive you out of our house." With that he dashed at the
man with both small brown fists well doubled up, pommelling
right and left, and butting his stubby black head into the
stranger's waistcoat. And the next minute he was caught in the
long hands and tossed with a thump to the old kitchen floor, and
the wicked eyes were over him as he lay there panting.

"What did I tell you!" cried the man. "Now I'm going to make
mincemeat of you."

"We all know the Muffin Man that lives in Crumpet Lane," sang
Polly and Phronsie merrily, out on the grass-plot, as they
danced away.

"Where _is_ Joel?" cried Polly, as they stopped to take
breath.

"Just once more," begged Phronsie, pulling her hand; "please,
Polly." So down to see the Muffin Man again they danced.

Meantime, Joel was tied up tight and fast with the clothes-line
to the table leg, and in order that he should not use his tongue,
Seraphina's clothes, where Phronsie had thrown her on the
floor, were torn off and crammed into his mouth.

"Now I guess you'll keep still," said the man, turning back to
the cupboard with a grin; "and as long as those youngsters are
at their noise out there, I'm safe enough," and he pulled out
Polly's bread she had just baked that day, done up in a clean
old towel.