“No. He can’t come in. I just been scrubbin’ my floor and I can’t ‘low no dog trackin’ it up. You drop your arctics there on the porch, Miss Aggie, and then you can run in to Mrs. Buckham.”
“If Tom Jonah only wore arctics!” sighed the Corner House girl.
“Well, he don’t—more’s the pity,” agreed Posey.
Agnes ran into the invalid’s room, all breathless, but full of her adventure. There sat Mrs. Buckham in her wheel-chair, surrounded by bright worsteds and fancywork, as busy and smiling as though she had not spent twenty years between that chair and her bed.
“Here’s our Corner House girl at last. And why not to dinner?” cried Mrs. Buckham.
“Oh, mercy me! I didn’t even re-mem-ber dinner till just this minute!” Agnes confessed.
“Your poor child! No dinner? Quick, Posey! here’s a starving child—”
“Dear Mrs. Buckham—wait! Never mind me. I sha’n’t starve yet,” declared the plump Agnes, laughing. “Look at me. Do I seem so frail? And I’ve had the greatest adventure!”
“Well, well!”
“Where is Mr. Buckham? I must tell him all about it, too,” Agnes said, excitedly.