When this was really explained to Phronsie by Joel’s screaming it out several times, and Davie’s repeating it carefully to her, she sat right down on the floor, quite overcome.
“Look at Phron!” laughed Joel, pointing at her.
“You let her alone,” said old Mr. Beebe. “Now, I tell you what you can do, Joel, if you really want to help me.”
“I do; I do!” cried Joel. If he couldn’t fit on shoes to possible customers, he could at least be of some importance in that delightful shop, and maybe sometime, if he were very good, old Mr. Beebe would really let him wait on folks fortunate enough to have money to buy shoes with.
“That’s good,” said the little shopkeeper, rubbing his hands in great satisfaction. “Now then, I guess I can find some work for a boy of your size to do. Yes, just the very thing.” He went over to the further side of the little shop and lifted the chintz valance hanging down from the lowest shelf. “See those boxes, Joel?”
“Yes, I do,” said Joel, getting down on his knees and peering under the valance, little Davie doing the same thing in confidence that something was going to be found for him to help, too.
“Well, I want those all taken out and piled on that shelf.” Old Mr. Beebe, who, after all, much preferred them where they were, pointed off to the side of the shop he had left. “Think you can do it, Joey?”
“Yes, sir—ee!” cried Joel, decidedly, and beginning at once.
“See here,” said old Mr. Beebe, in alarm, lest his hard work in finding something for Joel to do should result in injury to his beloved goods, “you mustn’t knock off the covers so.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Joel, his cheeks in a blaze, and speedily clapping the cover of the green box fast again.