“John!” An old yellow wagon, drawn by an older horse, rattled around a curve. “I say, John, stop, will ye?”
“I’m a-stoppin’ as fast’s I kin with my horses,” said Mr. Tisbett, pulling up his pair with a superior air. “What d’ye want, Mr. Potter?”
Mr. Potter guided his old horse up against the stage-driver’s pair, and bawled out, “Say, those folks ain’t a-comin’ to-morrow.”
“Them city ones?” asked the stage-driver.
“Yes,—a-comin’ Friday; just had a tel’gram.” Mr. Potter drew himself up with dignity to see the effect on the stage-driver. “’Twas brought by Hiram Pendleton’s son, an’ he come lickety-split—thought some one was dead, an’—”
“I don’t care about that,” said Mr. Tisbett, dismissing the narration by a wave of his hand as of no consequence whatever. “I’ll fetch ’em from Cherryville deepo Friday insted of to-morrow; that’s the idee, ain’t it?”
“Yes, ye see—” Mr. Potter stood up in his wagon, he was so anxious to get all the details of this change of plans in his city boarders well before the stage-driver’s mind, but that individual was already a good piece of his journey down the road, his horses kicking up a great dust while he cheered them on, for his spirits had risen very much indeed.
“Now I’ll take the Pepper boys to-morrow to Cherryville,” he declared, “an’ I’ve got to go round there to-night when I come home, so I’ll tell Mis’ Pepper.” This new plan almost made him forget his worry that otherwise would have seized him when he thought of the Little Brown House all so shut up and silent.
So all this is the reason why Joel and little David didn’t hear before that night that they were really and truly going to Cherryville on the morrow. Then the Little Brown House more than made up for being silent in the early morning!
“Oh, I wish you were going, Polly!” said Ben the next morning, when she ran out to the woodpile where he had to work that day to get some ready for Mamsie, and he rested his busy saw a moment.