“Have ’ee, now?” returned Reed kindly but dispassionately. “Well done! Where did ’ee get that?”
“Gran’ma gived it me. Dada!”—here Johnny got off the block—“Dada, do ’ee take me to the fair to-morrow, and let me ’pend it.”
“Why, I never!” cried the father, half puzzled and half admiring. “You be too little, Johnny—you’d be tired out afore the day was half done.”
“Nay, nay” and the little head was shaken until the golden mop was in full display. “Nay, I’d not be tired. I can walk so far as Rosie, an’ I do want to go in the roundabouts.”
“Want to go in the roundabouts, do ’ee? That’s a tale.” Here John Reed laughed, scratched his head, and contemplated his small sturdy son. “I d’ ’low you’d enjoy the roundabouts, and the shows and that—jist about. But we shan’t be home till late. And whatever ’ud Mother say? Ye’d best stop an’ take care of Mother, I reckon, Sonny.”
“Nay,” said Johnny junior. “I be goin’ with ’ee; Mammy have got Puss!”
And thereupon the red-haired giant laughed long and loud, and the imp beside him knew the victory was his.
The sun was sinking when they came indoors, both looking extremely important, albeit somewhat sheepish, as became a pair of conspirators.
Mrs. Reed stood by the window mending the coat which her master was to wear on the morrow; Maggie, a tall, shapely girl of seventeen, was ironing a starched white petticoat; while Rosie, the younger daughter, busily stitched a lace frill on the neck of her Sunday dress. An air of joyful bustle and excitement pervaded the place, for, although Mrs. Reed herself had ceased to join in the annual outing, she was good-natured enough to share the others’ pleasure at the prospect.
“There, Missus, I’ve cut ye enough wood to do ye for a week,” announced John, “an’ me and the little chap ’ull feed chicken jist now.”