“Want to what?” demanded Joel, turning his black eyes on her, since the delights of weighing the rags was over.
“Go into th’ house an’ get another bag o’ rags,” said Em’line, wheedlingly.
“May I bring ’em out,” cried Joel, his black eyes sparkling; “may I?”
“Yes, if you’re a good boy,” said Em’line.
“Oh, whickets!” screamed Joel, springing off; “come on, Dave.”
“At th’ head o’ th’ stairs from th’ kitchen,” screamed Em’line after him, in a jubilant little shriek.
“An’ don’t tetch nothin’ in th’ kitchen,” Mrs. Hinman called shrilly. “You better go with ’em, Em’line,” she advised anxiously.
“There ain’t no need,” said Em’line, yet she went lazily over the grass and disappeared in the kitchen doorway. And presently down came Joel and David carrying between them a bag as much bigger as possible than the first one.
“There, now, I guess you’ll see rags, Mr. Beggs,” said Em’line, triumphantly following them; “them’s mine,” as the boys deposited the bag on the grass, and then stood up to draw a long breath.
“Whew!” whistled the ragman, and then to fill up conversation, he added, “I guess you’re goin’ to git married, Miss Em’line—”