“And the Little Brown House is never to be ashamed for anything, Joey.”
“I’m going to be good,” declared Joel, with a smart bob of his black head.
“See that you are,” said Mrs. Pepper, firmly. Then she took up the needle again, because that had to fly in and out, or else the wolf would surely get in at the door; and off Joel sped, to whirl around and wave his hand at the turn of the road.
“Don’t feel bad, Davie,” cried Polly, gazing over his head at the little figure disappearing down the thoroughfare. “O dear me! Davie, don’t,” for little David, quite beside himself with grief at this first separation from Joel, threw himself on the old kitchen floor, and burst into a passion of tears.
“Never mind, Polly.” Mrs. Pepper got out of her chair, “you can take Phronsie out of doors to play—there, there, Davie, Mother’s boy,” and she was down on her knees stroking the soft light hair away from his forehead, as Polly took Phronsie’s hand and led her softly out.
“What is the matter with Davie?” asked Phronsie, in a troubled voice. “Oh, Polly, I don’t want to go out and play.”
“Well, you must,” said Polly, in a thick voice, and a desperate feeling at her heart. Supposing David was going to be sick! Oh, it might kill him to be kept away from Joel! And there was Joel going to work for that dreadful hard, cross old man. Oh, how cruel he was to keep Joel and not pay him on that day when Mamsie had sent him with the coat and told him to wait for the money. She sank down on the grass under the old scraggy apple tree, and buried her face in her hands.
Phronsie tugged at her apron. “Polly,” she said gently, but Polly did not hear.
“Polly!” This time the voice was a very grieved little one, so that Polly flung down her hands, and seized her hungrily, covering her face with kisses. “Oh, I’m a bad, selfish old pig, Phronsie,” she cried remorsefully.
“You are not a bad old pig, Polly,” said Phronsie, “and I love you very much, I do.”