She stood and looked at him a moment, thinking what an honest little heart it was, beating under the patched, faded jacket,—thinking of his drunken father and his miserable home,—of how much he wanted to go with the other boys, and how keenly he felt his poverty.
Then she took the eggs to the house, and tying her sunbonnet tighter, started resolutely down the lane to the big road in the direction of Johnny's home. The hand under her gingham apron gripped firmly an old leather purse.
That evening as Jode sat in the twilight, just inside the door, listening to the frogs croaking in the meadow-pond, a dusky little figure came running down the path. It was Johnny.
"Hi! Jode," he cried, "I'm a-goin', too! I'm a-goin', too! I'm too glad to hold still. The money jest rained down like the manna on ole Moses! I don't know who left it, but it was left at our house, and it was left fer me!"
Then, throwing himself on the ground, he turned one somersault after another down the path into the dewy darkness of the warm April night.
JIMMY'S ERRAND
"Well, I declare if Abe isn't the most forgetful boy I ever saw!" exclaimed Mrs. Perkins, as she emptied the contents of a large market-basket upon the kitchen table. "This makes the second time he's been to town and back this week, and he's forgotten that soda both times. Jimmy!" she called out to a freckle-faced boy who was making the old dog walk around the kitchen floor on its hind feet, "climb up to the top pantry shelf and see if there's any spice left in those tin boxes."
"What are you going to make, ma?" languidly inquired a pale girl who sat by the stove shaking with a chill.