“Oh, Mamsie!” Little David was so surprised, he stared at her in wonder. “Joel’s earning money,” at last he said.
“Well, and you’re helping me to earn money,” said Mrs. Pepper, cheerily; “so run along and play prettily with Phronsie, so that Polly can come back to her work,” and she dismissed him with a little pat on his shoulder.
“Dear me, I ought to fly off to mine.” And she burst into a merry little laugh, so like to Polly’s own, that Davie felt his heart grow light at once, and he laughed, too, and ran off as fast as his feet would carry him.
Meantime, Joel, who had trudged on happily, every step of the way feeling big and important, the minute he saw the big, rambling, old red house, known as the Peters farm, felt his feet begin to lag, and when he really reached the gate hanging, by one hinge, why, he almost turned right straight around to fly home to Mamsie! But there sat Old Man Peters on the porch.
“Hey, so you’re here at last, you Pepper boy,” he called out, “a quarter of an hour late.”
“I’m not late,” said Joel, in a loud voice, and trudging in at the gate feeling big at once, and able to defend himself. “Mamsie said I had half an hour, and if I didn’t stop, I could get here in plenty of time. And I didn’t stop a single bit, but I walked on and on.” Joel brought this out wrathfully, and sank down hot and red on the lower step.
“Don’t you contradict me, you Pepper boy,” snarled Old Man Peters, knocking with his cane the well-worn piazza floor, “and I don’t care what your mother says. My time’s what I go by.”
“My mother is always right,” said Joel, proudly, and fixing the wizened face above him with his black eyes.
“Pa, don’t badger the boy when he’s first come,” said Miss Miranda, making her appearance in the doorway. “Look how red his face is; he’s awful tired.”
“You go in an’ ’tend to your work,” commanded her father, shaking his stick at her, “an’ I’ll see to my business. Now then, boy,” he got out of his chair, “I’ll set you to doin’ somethin’. Mebbe that’ll stop your sassy tongue.”