“So I believe,” cried Mrs. Pepper, in a pleased way; “I’ll look in the woodshed, Joe and Davie,” and she beamed at them both.
“And I read to Grandma,” said Phronsie, bobbing her yellow head over her mush-bowl at her mother. “I did; and Grandma, she liked it, she did.”
“That’s a good child,” cried Mrs. Pepper, going over to her baby.
“Well, now you may all have the afternoon to play in, for I am going to take care of Grandma myself.”
“Oh, whoopity!” screamed Joel, making for the door.
X
THE STAGE RIDE
“G ’LANG there, whoa!” Mr. Tisbett brought up in fine style with one of his best flourishes in front of the well-worn gate to the Little Brown House, and swept it with a confident gaze.
But instead of seeing Joel and David, nearly overcome with joy, rush out of the house and run wildly down the pathway, there was absolutely nobody stirring that he could see, and all was quiet except the droning of the bees in the meadow across the road.
“Beats all natur where they be.” The stage-driver, unable to get any satisfaction by staring, took off his old straw hat and violently scratched his head. This afforded him some peace of mind, but the silence continuing, except for the bees and the twitters of an inquisitive bird or two hopping to a near-by branch by the roadside to see what it was all about, he sat back on the old leather-covered seat and drew a long breath.
“Whew!” Then he laid the well-worn reins down and clambered from his perch to the ground, and with a “Stand still there,” to his horses,—a command they were always perfectly willing to obey,—he slouched up to the old green door and gave two emphatic raps, but nobody answered them.