; "I'd have roast beef and
fixings--and oysters--and huckleberry pie."

"Oh, dear," cried Polly; "how nice, Ben! you always do think of the very
best things."

But Joel phoohed and declared he wouldn't waste his time "over old beef;
he'd have something like!" And then he cried:

"Come on, Dave, what'd you choose?"

Little Davie had been quietly eating his breakfast amid all this
chatter, and somehow thinking it might make the mother feel badly, he
had refrained from saying just how tiresome he had really found this
"everlasting breakfast" as Joel called it. But now he looked up eagerly,
his answer all ready. "Oh, I know," he cried, "what would be most
beautiful! toasted bread--white bread--and candy."

"What's candy?" asked Phronsie.

"Oh, don't you know, Phronsie," cried Polly, "what Mrs. Beebe gave you
the day you got your shoes--the pink sticks; and--"

"And the peppermint stick Mr. Beebe gave you, Phronsie," finished Joel,
his mouth watering at the remembrance.

"That day, when you got your toe pounded," added Davie, looking at Joel.

"Oh!" cried Phronsie; "I want some now, I do!"

"Well, Davie," said Polly, "you shall have that for breakfast when our
ship comes in then."

"Your ships aren't ever coming," broke in Mrs. Pepper, wisely, "if you
sit there talking--folks don't ever make any fortunes by wishing."

"True enough," laughed Ben, jumping up and setting back his chair. "Come
on, Joe; you've got to pile to-day."

"Oh, dear," said Joel, dismally; "I wish Mr. Blodgett's wood was all
a-fire."

"Never say that, Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, looking up sternly; "it's
biting your own nose off to wish that wood was a-fire--and besides it's
dreadfully wicked."

Joel hung his head, for his mother never spoke in that way unless she
was strongly moved; but he soon recovered, and hastened off for his
jacket.

"I'm sorry I can't help you do the dishes, Polly," said David, running
after Joel.

"I'm going to help her," said Phronsie; "I am."

So Polly got the little wooden tub that she always used, gave Phronsie
the well-worn cup-napkin, and allowed her to wipe the handleless cups
and cracked saucers, which afforded the little one intense delight.

"Don't you wish, Polly," said little Phronsie, bustling around with a
very important air, nearly smothered in the depths of a big brown
apron that Polly had carefully tied under her chin, "that you didn't
ever-an'-ever have so many dishes to do?"

"Um--maybe,"