In about half an hour, “tap,—tap,” on one of the little window panes. There was Mrs. Pepper rapping with her thimble.
“Hi—yi!” screamed Joel, catching sight of her face in the midst of a merry game of tag. “She says, come in!” and off he plunged for the house.
“We must wait for Phronsie,” said little David. But Joel was already in the old kitchen, and at last David found Phronsie on her knees watching the progress of a fuzzy yellow caterpillar in the middle of the grass-plot. She had forgotten all about “tag,” in which she was supposed to be an active participant.
“See, Davie, one of his legs is sick,” she cried, “poor little thing.”
“Oh, no, he isn’t sick,” said David; “he’s only slow. Come, Phronsie, and leave the old woolly boy alone.”
“No, he’s sick, the poor little woolly boy,” persisted Phronsie, “and I’m going to take him in to Mamsie.”
“Well, Mamsie wants us to come in,” said David, impatiently; “so do hurry, Phronsie.”
“Does Mamsie want us to come in?” asked Phronsie.
“Yes, she does. She called us from the window.”
“Then I shall go in,” declared Phronsie, getting up from her knees and patting her hands clean, “but I’m going to take my little woolly boy in, Davie.” So she picked him off gently from the grass, and setting him on her other hand, came slowly after David, who was running on before.