Come on, Dave! It was Joel's voice, and Polly pricked up her ears. "'Tisn't going to hurt you. Hoh! you're a 'fraid-cat-old 'fraid-cat!" "No, I'm not 'fraid-cat," declared little Davie, trying to speak stoutly; "I'm coming, Joel," and his little rusty shoes pattered unevenly down the rickety board walk. "Jo-el!" called Polly, thinking it quite time now to interfere. Joel scuttled behind the old woodshed, and several smothered grunts proclaimed his disapproval at the interruption. "Now I know you're up to some mischief," declared Polly, "so you just come into the house, Joel Pepper, and tell me what it is." "'Tisn't," said Joel, loudly insisting. "Don't go, Dave," in a loud whisper. Thereupon ensued a lively scuffle, evidently, by the noise they made. "I must," said little Davie; "Polly called us."