And as Mrs. Beebe was a great authority in sickness, the old, sunny cheeriness began to creep into the brown house once more, and to bubble over as of yore.
“Seems as if 'twas just good to live,” said Mrs. Pepper, thankfully once, when her thoughts were too much for her. “I don't believe I shall ever care how poor we are,” she continued, “as long as we're together.”
“And that's just what the Lord meant, maybe,” replied good Mrs. Beebe, who was preparing to go home.
Joel kept the house in a perfect uproar all through his getting well. Mrs. Pepper observed one day, when he had been more turbulent than usual, that she was “almost worn to a thread.”
“Twasn't anything to take care of you, Joe,” she added, “when you were real sick, because then I knew where you were; but—well, you won't ever have the measles again, I s'pose, and that's some comfort!”
Little David, who had been nearly stunned by the sickness that had laid aside his almost constant companion, could express his satisfaction and joy in no other way than by running every third minute and begging to do something for him. And Joel, who loved dearly to be waited on, improved every opportunity that offered; which Mrs. Pepper observing, soon put a stop to.
“You'll run his legs off, Joel,” at last she said, when he sent David the third time down to the wood-pile for a stick of just the exact thickness, and which the little messenger declared wasn't to be found. “Haven't you any mercy? You've kept him going all day, too,” she added, glancing at David's pale face.
“Oh, mammy,” panted David, “don't; I love to go. Here Joe, is the best I could find,” handing him a nice smooth stick.
“I know you do,” said his mother; “but Joe's getting better now, and he must learn to spare you.”
“I don't want to spare folks,” grumbled Joel, whittling away with energy; “I've been sick—real sick,” he added, lifting his chubby face to his mother to impress the fact.