“You’re right as a trivet. Run along, now, and weed that garden. And say—take half a peck of peas over to old Mrs. Johnson. I almost forgot about it. Here’s a quarter to pay for them. Tell her a friend sent them around. I believe it was old Nelson, but I can’t remember now.”
Then the doctor picked up the little case in which he carried medicines and strode away down the road, the end of his stout cane ringing on the hard earth at every step.
CHAPTER III.
MR. JORDAN BECOMES MYSTERIOUS.
Little Flo heard Will’s merry whistle as he drew near, and gave, a sigh of relief. It was dreary work weeding the radishes in the hot sun, without a soul to talk to. Egbert was fixing slender poles in the ground for the young beans to climb; but Egbert didn’t count much as a companion, because he could neither talk nor hear, although he was wonderfully quick to understand signs, or even a movement of the lips; so the child was glad her brother Will had returned.
He only paused to toss his basket into the open door of the barn, and then came straight to the radish bed.
“Working, sis?” he cried, cheerily.
“Mother said I must weed ’til noon,” she answered. “She’s baking, so she can’t help.”