Ben ran over to Deacon Brown’s to ask him about the horse and wagon. The answer was all right, for the Deacon wanted him to do an errand in town; so the wildest hilarity reigned in the Pepper household that night.
“Oh, Ben, will they be red-tops, do you think?” whispered little Phronsie, privately.
“Yes, I guess so, Puss,” whispered Ben, back again, inwardly resolving if there was a pair of “red-topped” shoes in the store, that were otherwise just right, Phronsie should have them.
So on the morrow, after they had their early dinner, the old wagon was driven up to the door with a flourish by Ben, who guided the ancient but tough old roadster with a dignity befitting a better horse. Joel and David had already secured reserved seats, having run over ahead to the Deacon’s shed and got in first. And there they sat, dangling their legs over the back of the wagon as they laughed and crowed in utter delight.
Phronsie stood in the doorway holding Polly’s hand. It was a decidedly solemn undertaking to her, this setting out on this great and weighty expedition, and the child’s heart was about as full as it could hold of anticipation and happiness. Oh, the pains that had been taken to get her ready! Ben said that Polly began before they got up in the morning.
At any rate, everything had been brushed, patted and pulled into place on Phronsie a dozen times by each member of the family before they were quite satisfied. But, at last, they had acknowledged that nothing more could be done; and, as Polly tied the waves of yellow hair back with a little blue bow, Mrs. Pepper stepped off, set her head on one side critically, and said:—
“Well, I’m sure, child, if you only behave as well as you look, you’ll do!”
And then Phronsie was told to go and sit in her little chair and not move till it was time to put on her hood and sack. Any other child than Phronsie would have hated all this fuss and trouble, but to her it was only part of the extreme delight; so she stuck out the patched, worn little shoes before her, and thought of the new ones.
“Oh, Ben’s coming, Polly!” called Mrs. Pepper, from the window where she sat sewing. “He’s just driving down the hill! Hurry, child! I’ll put on Phronsie’s things.”
“Yes, Mamsie,” said Polly, from the bedroom, in a great twitter, “I’m coming.”