"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.