It always seemed remarkably like getting candy for nothing, and “egg-candy,” as they called it, was certainly much more delicious than that for which one paid just ordinary, every-day pennies.
There were many errands to be done in so large a family, and as mamma believed that every child should be brought up to be useful, Cricket and Eunice were very apt to be the “leggers,” as they called it. They usually sold their services for an egg or two apiece.
“Well, young women,” said Dr. Ward, one morning, “I am in search of a pair of messengers of just about your size.”
“All right, papa. You can have them on the usual terms,” answered Cricket, importantly.
“You’re a regular pair of Jews, you two,” laughed papa, teasingly. “You do nothing for nothing. Don’t you think you ought to run on errands for love? I work for your board and clothes, and certainly you should do errands for me.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” returned Cricket, hugging him. “I love you in return for that, and I cut your magazines for you, too. That’s plenty of pay. The errands are my persquisites. Cook says everybody ought to have persquisites.”
“Oh, that’s it. On the ground of persquisites, then, I’m perfectly willing to pay.”
“And then, of course,” went on Cricket, “I would be willing to do an errand for nothing, very socionally”—she meant occasionally—“just to be obliging, you know.”
“That’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” laughed papa. “Now, then, I want you to go to Mr. Henry Barnes, and give him this note, and wait for an answer. It’s important. Then, when you come back, you can go to the barns and get two eggs apiece, and go to the store if you want to. When you come back, mind. I want the note carried directly.”
“All right, sir,” answered Cricket, taking the note, and away scampered the little “leggers” for their broad-brimmed hats.