Mamsie wouldn't like it if you didn't."

Thereupon Joel gave a terrible howl. Little Davie, in distress,
clapped his hands to his ears. "Oh, Polly, don't make him," he
was saying, when heavy steps came around the corner of the house.
"Any ra-ags to sell?" sang out the voice of a very big man.

Joel took one black eye away from his brown hands, and shot a
sharp look at him. Then he howled worse than ever.

"No," said Polly, "not to-day, Mr. Biggs. There was a bagful
Mamsie said I might sell, but I can't get it now."

"Sho! that's too bad," ejaculated Mr. Biggs. "What's the matter
with him?" pointing a square, dingy thumb at Joel. "Stomach-ache?"

"No," said Polly, sadly, "it's worse than that. Please go away,
Mr. Biggs, and come some other day."

"Worse'n stomach-ache," said Mr. Biggs, in astonishment, and
slapping his big hands together; "then I can't take him with me.
But t'other one might go, if you say so, marm." He always called
Polly marm, and she liked it very much. He now pointed to David.

"Where are you going?" asked Polly, while

David took away his hands from his ears to hear, too.

"Why, you see, marm, Mis' Pettingill, up to th'East Quarter--you
know Mis' Pettingill?"