“Oh, yes, I am,” declared Polly. “I’m just as bad as I can be, when Mamsie sent me out here to play with you. O dear me, come on, Pet.” She sprang to her feet so suddenly, she nearly overthrew the little figure, and held out her hands.
“But, I don’t want to play,” said Phronsie, now standing quite still and regarding her gravely. “I want to go into the kitchen, and see what is the matter with Davie; I do, Polly.”
“No,” said Polly, in her most decided fashion. “You can’t do that, Phronsie, and I can’t go in there either, for Mamsie sent us out. O dear me! I’m going to play tag. Come on, Phronsie!” and she dashed around the old apple tree, and in a minute, there was Phronsie, merrily flying after her, little peals of delight sounding all through the dismal old kitchen.
“Now, then.” Mrs. Pepper was wiping off the last tears from Davie’s little cheeks as he sat in her lap. “Mother’s boy is going out to play with Phronsie, and let Polly come in and finish her work.”
David shivered at the word “play” and crouched down lower within her arms. “Must I?” he said.
“Not if you don’t want to,” said Mrs. Pepper, “but you’ll help Polly ever so much, and that will help me.”
David gave a long sigh. “Then I’ll go, Mamsie,” he said, and slid out of her lap.
“Now, that’s Mother’s good boy,” cried Mrs. Pepper, kissing his pale cheek into which a little pink color began to come at her praise. “You can’t think what a comfort you’ll be to me for doing that, Davie.”
“Am I a comfort?” asked little Davie, the pink beginning to get very bright, “am I, truly, Mamsie?”
“Yes, indeed!” declared Mrs. Pepper, in her heartiest fashion, and with another kiss. “You’re just as much help as Joel is. Remember that, Davie.”