Rachel looked at him, and put up both hands. The only thing proper to do under such circumstances was to shake him smartly, but it seemed so like attacking a granite post, and besides, he was the minister's son, and she was going to be good, else they must send her away (so Mrs. Fisher had said), so her arms flopped down to her side, and hung there dismally. And she burst out:
"Where did you lose it, you nin—? I mean—oh, dear me!—where, I say?"—frowning impatiently.
"Back there," said Peletiah, pointing down the road. "You pulled me along so, it flew out of my hand."
Rachel set her teeth together hard.
"Come on!"
She seized a hand of each boy, Ezekiel being a silent spectator all the time; and if they went fast before, this time, in retracing their steps, it might be called flying, till a little spot on the roadside grass showed the object of their search. Peletiah's breath was gone entirely by this time, and he sank down by its side without a word, his brother following suit.
"I shall carry it now," announced Rachel, gathering up the little pat, safe in its white cloth. "My! 'tain't hurt a bit" She brushed off a few marauding ants. "Come on, now!"
Peletiah struggled to his feet and gasped, "I shall carry it," and put out his hands.
"No such thing." Rachel held the butter-pat firmly in her slender, brown hand. "My! you ain't fit to carry no butter-pats—let 'em drop out of your hands. Come on!"
"I shall carry it," declared Peletiah doggedly, and bringing his pale eyes to bear on her face, while he stood still in his tracks.