"Oh, yes!" panted Mittie May. "I ran all the way, for fear I wouldn't get here before you went by. Will you come and see Miss Fidely, Mr. Candy Man?"
"Well!" said Calvin, "that depends, little gal. There's three p'ints I'd like to consider in this connection and as touchin' this matter, as old parson used to say. First, is Miss Fidely good-lookin' and agreeable to see? Second, does she anyways want to see me? Third, how far off does she live? It's gettin' on towards sundown, and hossy and me have a good ways to go before we get our oats."
"It's not far," said the child. "And she wants to see you terrible bad. Her goods ain't come that she ordered, and the tree's all up, and the boys and girls all comin' to-morrow, and no candy. And I told her about you, and how you mostly came along this road Wednesdays, and she said run and catch you if I could, and I run!"
"I should say you did!" said Calvin. "Now you hop right in here with me, little gal! Hopsy upsy—there she comes! Let me tuck you in good—so! now you tell me which way to go, and hossy and me'll git there. That's a fair division, ain't it?"
Still panting, the child pointed down a narrow cross-road, on which at some distance stood a solitary house.
"That the house?" asked Calvin. Mittie May nodded.
"I hope Miss Fidely ain't large for her size," said Calvin; "she might fit rayther snug if she was."
It was a tiny house, gray and weather-beaten; but the windows were trim with white curtains and gay with flowers; on the stone wall a row of milk-pans flashed back the afternoon sun; the whole air of the place was cheerful and friendly.
"I expect Miss Fidely's all right!" said Calvin with emphasis. "Smart woman, to judge by the looks of her pans, and there's nothing better to go by as I know of. Them's as bright as Miss Hands's, and more than that I can't say. Now you hop out, Mittie May, and ask her will she step out and see the goods, or shall I bring in any special line?"
The child stared. "She can't come out!" she said. "Miss Fidely can't walk."