VIII
AT THE PETERS FARM
“HALLOA, Joel!” Mr. Atkins left the bundle of brown sugar he was doing up for the Widow Smollett, and hurried around the counter to the door. “Wait a minute.” But Joel was off on the wind.
“I never see such a boy for getting over the ground,” the storekeeper exclaimed, discomfited, turning back to his customers.
“I’m goin’ by the Little Brown House, an’ I’ll tell Mis’ Pepper anythin’,” volunteered a man, waiting his turn to be served.
“Well, you tell her I’ve got a job for Joel,” said the storekeeper, getting nimbly back of the counter again, to resume work on the brown-sugar bundle.
“Pshaw!—what can that little chap do?” said the man, jamming one hand deep in his trousers pocket and laughing.
“He’s little, but he’s smart as a cricket,” said Mr. Atkins.—“No, I hain’t had any eggs brought in to-day, Miss Bassett.—Good land o’ Goshen, Hiram, all them Pepperses have got git up an’ git to ’em.—No, I said I hadn’t had any brought in to-day. I was just a-tellin’ Miss Bassett so.”
“And I sh’d as soon set a cricket to work,” said Hiram, still laughing, “but I’ll take th’ message all right to Mis’ Pepper.”
“An’ them children’ll do more some day for Badgertown ’n all o’ us folks put together. That’s my Bible belief,” declared Mr. Atkins, snapping the string off short.—“There’s your sugar, Mrs. Smollett, four cents a pound; it orter be four an’ a half, but I hain’t riz on it yet.—I’ll wait upon you,” in reply to an irate question, as to how long he was expected to stand there “doin’ nothin’,” from an impatient applicant for saleratus.—“Yes, well, you tell Mrs. Pepper I’ve got a job for Joel; that’s all you’ve got to do, Hiram.—Now, I’ll ’tend to you first; you’ve ben waitin’ some time.” And he turned off to a customer at the end of the counter.
And Hiram’s several bundles having been done up, and deposited in his wagon, Mr. Atkins felt quite relieved in his mind, and very sure that Joel would be down as soon as ever the message got to him.