“Well, I,—and if they do come they say they haven’t got it that day, and so it goes.”
“It’s too bad,” the mother sighed. “I suppose you keep leaving the paper.”
“Of course. If I didn’t they’d get it of some other feller, and it’s my only chance.”
“I’d go an’ sit on the steps and wait till the man came,” put in Doodles. “Maybe he’d pay it. If he didn’t, I’d stay there all day long, an’ if they said to go away I’d tell ’em I was going to sit there till they paid me. And I’d stay an’ stay an’ stay. By ’n’ by the neighbors would begin to ask what I was there for, and, of course, I’d have to tell ’em, an’ then the folks would be so ’shamed they’d give me the money right off!” He ended with a chuckle.
Mrs. Stickney’s face relaxed into a smile, and Blue ran downstairs laughing.
On the boy’s return from his paper delivery he found excitement in the kitchen. His mother was crying, Granny O’Donnell was endeavoring to comfort her, and Doodles met his brother’s questioning eyes with a frightened face.
“Now, honey,” Granny was crooning, “ther’ ain’t annything to throuble about—it’ll all coome right!”
“What’s up?” demanded Blue, striding across the room.
“Sure, th’ p’lice ar-re afther ye,” began Granny, but broke off abruptly, as Mrs. Stickney sprang to her feet, and squaring her boy’s shoulders with her hands gazed steadily into the clear eyes.
“You haven’t—haven’t—” she faltered, and then hid her face against his rough coat, and ended her query with a sob.