“Yes, indeed; so sit down, child, and pull on th’ shoe.”
So Phronsie got down on the old shop floor again, and Marianna in a perfect tremor of bliss tore off her old shoe, and stuck out her very much darned brown cotton stocking. And Phronsie, with both hands trembling in delight and with a great deal of fear lest the terrible lady staring at her from above might not like it after all, pulled on the new shoe, old Mr. Beebe only having to give a helping hand once when it stuck on the heel.
“It fits—it fits!” screamed Marianna, her black eyes protruding. Joel joined her in a crow, but that was at Phronsie’s success in helping dear Mr. Beebe so well.
“Keep still; you can’t tell nothin’ till it’s tied on,” said Marianna’s mother. So Phronsie began on the long strings. This was greater enjoyment even than to fit the shoes.
“Here, let me help you,” Joel dropped to the floor by her side.
“No—no,” protested Phronsie, “I must do ’em all myself, Joey.”
“You let her be,” said the old gentleman, “an’ get me a chair, Joel.”
“She’s doing ’em all in the wrong holes,” said Joel, running for the chair which he dragged up to the scene of operations.
“Never mind; there, Phronsie,” old Mr. Beebe seated himself in the chair, and leaning over Marianna’s foot, somehow or other each little hole soon had the right string in it, and a bow was neatly tied, and Phronsie, with very pink cheeks, was regarding her work. “I did do it,” she cried in a joyful little voice.
“’Taint done yet,” announced Mrs. Phipps—“not till she stamps in it.” So Marianna stamped up and down in front of them all till even her mother had to be satisfied, and then the other shoe was put on and tied up, and everything was done but paying for them. At last the old pocket-book was drawn out of the black crocheted bag. “I suppose you’ll mend these up for nothin’, seein’ I’ve bought a new pair,” said Mrs. Phipps, suddenly, pausing before opening the pocket-book flap, and pointing to the old shoes on the floor.