“You do as I say,” commanded the old gentleman, fiercely. If he could have reached his crutch, he would have pounded the floor with it, but it was left in the corner of the big dining room. So Lavinia went off with the little key in her hand, and presently she came back with a brand new black cloth cap in the other hand.
“Now stick that on that boy’s head,” said the old gentleman. “Now, says I, whatever your—name—is, boy, you take Ben, whoever—he—is, that cap. He’ll like it a great deal better because it’s a new one. And then come back and finish your dinner, Lavinia.”
So Lavinia stuck the new black cap on Joel’s head as she went by his chair, and was just slipping into her own, when out jumped the stage-driver from his seat and picked it off, going up to the old gentleman at the head of the table. “Thank ye, sir, kindly, but all th’ same, it’s me that’s goin’ to get a new cap fer Ben Pepper, seein’ his’n has blew off from Joel’s head while he’s my comp’ny,” and he was just going back to his place when a frowsy-headed stable boy walked right into the dining room without waiting to ask any one’s leave.
“He said,” pointing with his thumb out toward the road, “I was to give you this to once’t. You dropped it when you was chasin’ th’ cat, and him an’ his dog found it,” and he held out Ben’s cap.
XI
A LITTLE YELLOW CHICKEN
“POLLY,” said Phronsie, “I wish we could have cake every day.” She held carefully, a small bit saved after nibbling slowly around the edge of the piece in her hand, “Why can’t we, Polly?”
“Why can’t we what, Phronsie?” Polly, rushing around the old kitchen, the dish-cloth, which she had forgotten to put down, still in her hand, picked up a small bowl from the table and, knocking off a spoon that it had concealed, sent it clattering to the floor. “O dear me, I do wish Joel would ever put his things up,” she exclaimed in vexation.
“I’ll pick it up,” cried Phronsie, forgetting her cake-crumb so that it went flying off to the floor, too. “Let me, Polly, do,” she begged, running over to the table.
“Oh, no, never mind, Pet,” exclaimed Polly, very much ashamed of her impatience; “there, I have it,—well, oh, what did you want, Phronsie? O dear me,” she cried again, “I wonder when these old dishes will ever be done!”
“I’ll do them,” cried Phronsie, running after her eagerly as she bore them off to the big pan of water waiting for them, the dish-towel flapping from Polly’s arm; “please, Polly, I’m so big; do let me.”