“No, I shall do it,” said Phronsie, standing on tiptoe and fumbling at the black strings. “My Mamsie wants me to do it all by my own self.”
“You better let her, Polly,” whispered Mrs. Pepper, over Phronsie’s yellow hair.
“Then I’m going to make you a cup of tea,” declared Polly, springing over to the stove.
“Yes, do,” said Mrs. Pepper, brightly; “how good it is to get home to you, children,” she said, with a happy glance around the old kitchen.
“I’m going to do something for Mamsie,” said Joel, pulling his head out from the depths of Mrs. Pepper’s gown. “I’m going to get her a chair.” So he went over and pulled out one of the “Going-to-Jerusalem-in-a-stage-coach” line. “There, now, Mamsie, it’s for you,” he announced, dragging it up with a flourish.
“Oh, Joey, that’s so good,” she exclaimed, sitting down in it and drawing Phronsie to her lap where she could fumble among the black strings to her heart’s content.
At this, little David’s face became very sorrowful, and he was just going to hurry over to Polly, busy by the stove, for her to tell him what he could do for Mamsie, when Mrs. Pepper said suddenly, “Davie, you can take Mother’s bag, and hang it on the nail.” For when Mrs. Pepper went to help any Badgertown people with their sewing, as she had been doing on this day, she always carried on her arm a stout brown calico bag to hold her sewing things.
David laughed right out, he was so pleased, as Mrs. Pepper slipped off the strings of the brown calico bag from her arm, and he strutted across the kitchen to hang it on the nail by the window.
“Yes, I’m glad to see you, Peletiah,” said Mrs. Pepper, very heartily.
“My—mother—wants—Mrs.—Pepper—to—let—Polly—and—Phronsie—come—to—the—parsonage—to-morrow—morning—and—help—her—and—stay—to—dinner,—” said Peletiah, all in one breath.