"I didn't," cried Joel, stoutly; "I did't touch him a single bit!
But he shan't scare Phronsie, or I'll pitch into him. Yes, sir-ree!"
"Joel!" cried Polly, in great distress, across the table.
"Well, he shan't scare Phronsie," cried Joel, "this boy shan't,
or I will pitch into him," and his black eyes blazed, and he
doubled up his little brown fists.
"Joel," commanded Polly, "do you stop, this very minute," and,
"Oh, sir!" looking up at Mr. Beebe, and, "Oh, marm!" and her
brown eyes were fixed imploringly on Mrs. Beebe's round
countenance, "I do feel so ashamed, and Mamsie will be so sorry.
But please will you let us go home?" And poor Polly could say no
more.
"An' I sh'd think you'd better go home," said Ab'm's mother,
with asperity; "a-comin' to a birthday party and abusin' the boy
it's give for. I never see th' like. An' to think how I driv'
you clear over here, an' that horse most runnin' away all the
time."
Polly got out of her chair and sorrowfully went up to Joel.
"We'll sit out in the shop, if you please, dear Mr. and Mrs.
Beebe, till you get through the party. And then, if you please,
we'd like to go home." Joel's head dropped, and his little brown
fists fell down.
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