III. The Carpenter
On the way home the little party talked about their adventures.
“Mr. Emerson must have had help to build a house like that,” remarked Ruth after a pause.
“Oh, he didn’t build it, goosey,” said Wallace.
“Who did, then, Mr. Know-it-all?”
“Why, the carpenter, of course,” Wallace replied.
“Oh, I see,” exclaimed Ruth. “The carpenter builds the house for Mr. Emerson, and Mr. Emerson has time to teach you boys.”
“That is exactly right, little girl,” said her father.
“Besides, no one person can do many things well. Perhaps Mr. Emerson is a better teacher for not trying to do too many things,” Mrs. Duwell added.
“I think a carpenter is wonderful, don’t you?” said Wallace.
“The greatest man that ever lived was a carpenter,” said his mother.
“Whoa, boy!” exclaimed Mr. Duwell, drawing up the reins sharply. “Don’t get frightened at a piece of paper, when you’ve done so well. Whoa, there, boy!”
The horse seemed to understand the quiet gentle voice, and settled down to an even trot.
“He will go well enough now,” said Mrs. Duwell. “He knows we are headed for home.”
“So we are! I wish we were headed the other way,” said Wallace. “What makes a good time so short?” he asked, so seriously that everybody laughed.