“Well, where is the house?” cried Joel, struggling to get a sight of it. “I can’t see it.”
“You will in a minnit—there, now, look.”
It wasn’t necessary to advise this as Joel’s black eyes were doing their best to acquaint their owner with an idea as to how soon the little brown hands could hold those reins. And at last he squealed right out, “Oh, there ’tis—oh, goody! I’m going to drive, Dave, I am, soon’s we git up to that house,” pointing to a red farm-house set back from the road and in between two tall poplars.
When they arrived, he was in great excitement, not caring in the least for the pleasure of hearing Mr. Beggs calling out, “Ra-ags—Ra-ags,” in a tone that began in a sort of a roar, and ended in a little fine squeal that seemed to vanish into thin air; but it always brought every farmer’s wife and daughter to the window or door, eager to turn the last year’s or half year’s supply of carefully hoarded rags and old bottles to good account. For sometimes, if Mr. Beggs could not dispose of his tinware and brooms and pails which, of course, he much preferred to do, he would count out pennies and five-cent pieces, so that new ribbons or a bit of lace would be possible for such as cared for finery.
But little Davie, if it were possible to add to his bliss as he sat there clinging to the edge of his seat on the top of the red cart, now experienced that increase of delight, and he hung entranced as Mr. Beggs bawled again impressively, “Ra-ags—Ra-ags!” as they came almost up to the poplars.
A woman thrust her head in a sweeping-cap out of the side door. “The ragman’s here, Em’line!” she screamed. Then she ran out to the grass-plot. “Here, stop, Mr. Beggs,” she called frantically, waving both hands.
“All right, marm,” said the ragman, pulling up his old horse. “I’m a-stoppin’; you needn’t screech so.”
“You said I might drive when we got here.” Joel turned on him perfectly furious, his black eyes flashing.
“Well, an’ so you may,” replied Mr. Beggs, composedly, preparing to get down over the wheel. “But we ain’t a-goin’ to run over Mis’ Hinman. When we start from here, Joel, you can have them lines. Now, then, both o’ you boys can git down an’ stretch your legs, while I dicker with th’ women folks.”
Joel, seeing that this was all he could get, suffered himself to be helped down from the cart, and little Davie followed, for both of them hung absorbed over the exciting bargaining and exchange that now took place.