“I’m real sorry you told ’Gustus John that you wasn’t goin’ to stop to have a bite of victuals with us, for here he comes now with the team. Must you go?”
“It’s after five,” answered Marjorie, “and it will be nearly seven before we got home now. Yes, we must go. Well, we are so much obliged, ’Manda.”
“Well now, I’m sure you’ve no call to be. You dunno how I’m goin’ to miss yer all this summer. Don’t know what we’ll do without you an’ Cricket an’ all your pranks,” added ’Manda, turning to Eunice.
’Gustus John and his big wagon came round from the barn just then.
“Pile in, young folks,” he said, cheerily. “Tain’t a very handsome kerridge, but I guess you’ll find it considerable better than walkin’ over to Porter’s Inn, when you’re dead beat out. All in? Oh, ’Mandy, give us some ginger-cakes or sumthin’ to eat goin’ along, bein’ as they won’t stay to set by.”
“Yes, I’ve a basket full all ready,” said ’Manda, producing one, amid the protests of the children—even the “accordion” boys—that they couldn’t eat another mouthful of anything.
“But I can’t go without seeing Cricket,” exclaimed Marjorie, suddenly stopping.
“Now, then, Miss Marjorie, I ain’t a-goin to hev you disturbin’ the child,” said ’Manda, hastily, who down in her heart was dreadfully afraid that Cricket might wake up and want to go home with the others, when she had set her heart on having her stay. “She’ll sleep a good spell yet, if she’s let to. You couldn’t do her no good ef you did see her, an’ it might jest spile her nap.”
“Perhaps it’s better not,” Marjorie said, reluctantly. “I suppose that she will be all right to-night anyway, though she scarcely ever had a headache before in her life. And you’ll bring her in to-morrow, ’Gustus John? I do hope that she won’t mind being left.”
“Now don’t you fuss about that,” said ’Gustus John. “’Manda, she thinks it’s a real Godsend, bein’ as Mamie’s away. ’Mandy sets great store by Cricket, you know. All ready now? Off we go!”