Kip could scarcely believe his ears. “Yes sir!” he said with his eyes fairly dancing. “You mean to send it to him, uncle Ralph? guess I can take it!”
He never called his minister “the parson”—it scarcely sounded respectful enough—but of course he knew who was meant and he was far too happy for any criticising thought. That handsome easy chair! Wouldn’t the very sight of it rest poor tired Mrs. Clay? Kip could see just how her pale face would look leaned back against the cushions.
“AND JILL CAME TUMBLING AFTER.”
“It’s pretty heavy for you to carry so far though,” Mr. Mitchel was saying when Kip recalled his wandering wits far enough to understand. “’Jim could take it in the wagon perhaps”—
“I might put it in the hand-cart and wheel it over,” interposed Kip with a sudden inspiration. He could bear no delay, and he wanted to take it himself.
Mr. Mitchel commended that suggestion as “not a bad notion on Kip’s part.”
“And what shall I tell him, uncle Ralph?”
“Tell him—why, he’ll understand; he can see for himself. Tell him I sent it, and he’ll know what to do with it, I suppose.”
Kip supposed so too. He waited for no further directions, but made a partial toilet very expeditiously, and was soon safely out on the road with his treasure. To say that he was pleased and proud is a very faint description of his feelings. He trundled that hand-cart by no out-of-the-way route, and he was not long alone; the village boys hailed him: