“No, no, NO!” cried Polly, in an ecstatic desire to linger on the charming details. “Not speckled all over!” “Speckled all over. Which ponies jump through hoops—” “No, no, NO!” cried Polly, as before. “They never jump through hoops!” “Yes, they do. O I assure you, they do. And eat pie in pinafores—” “Ponies eating pie in pinafores!” said Polly. “What a story-teller you are, ain’t you?” “Upon my honour.—And fire off guns.” (Polly hardly seemed to see the force of the ponies resorting to fire-arms.) “And I was thinking,” pursued the exemplary Barbox, “that if you and I were to go to the Circus where these ponies are, it would do our constitutions good.” “Does that mean, amuse us?” inquired Polly. “What long words you do use, don’t you?” Apologetic for having wandered out of his depth, he replied: “That means, amuse us. That is exactly what it means. There are many other wonders besides the ponies, and we shall see them all. Ladies and gentlemen in spangled dresses, and elephants and lions and tigers.” Polly became observant of the teapot, with a curled-up nose indicating some uneasiness of mind. “They never get out, of course,” she remarked as a mere truism. “The elephants and lions and tigers? O dear no!” “O dear no!” said Polly. “And of course nobody’s afraid of the ponies shooting anybody.” “Not the least in the world.” “No, no, not the least in the world,” said Polly. “I was also thinking,” proceeded Barbox, “that if we were to look in at the toy-shop, to choose a doll—” “Not dressed!” cried Polly, with a clap of her hands. “No, no, NO, not dressed!” “Full dressed. Together with a house, and all things necessary for housekeeping—” Polly gave a little scream, and seemed in danger of falling into a swoon of bliss. “What a darling you are!” she languidly exclaimed, leaning back in her chair. “Come and be hugged, or I must come and hug you!”