“Oh, don’t!” screamed little Davie. “Oh, Mr. Beggs, don’t let him,” he implored.
“You needn’t worry,” said Mr. Beggs, settling Joel back with a big hand; “nobody takes that whip on this cart but Peter Beggs.”
“I don’t want the whip,” said Joel, grasping the reins tighter than ever; “g’lang there—see me drive, Dave!”
“An’ you’re goin’ to drive on th’ way home,” said Mr. Beggs, leaning over to fling the words to little Davie.
“You’re going to drive on the way home—oh, goody!” screamed Joel, as away the old horse jogged, so surprised at such unwonted jollity back of him that he forgot to slow down to his accustomed gait.
It was well along toward noon when Phronsie, who had been watching for a long time in the front yard, scrambled over the flat door-stone. “They’re coming, Polly,” she screamed.
“Oh, no, I guess not, Pet,” said Polly, who had been summoned several times to hurry and welcome the boys—“we shall hear them fast enough. Run out and play, child.”
“But they are, Polly, coming, really and truly,” declared Phronsie, in an injured voice, and her lip trembled. So Polly flung down the broom where she was sweeping and taking Phronsie’s hand, ran out to see. And sure enough, there they were, the old horse coming up in front of the gate in grand style, and Joel waving both hands and hooraying with all his might from the high seat of the red cart, little Davie between him and Mr. Beggs, and—oh, most wonderful sight—holding the reins and driving! Polly and Phronsie ran as fast as they could to the road.
“I drove ’most all the way over there,” screamed Joel, before he clambered over the wheel.
“Did you, Joey?” cried Polly, in a transport, while Mr. Beggs, now out on the ground, helped little David down. “And to think, that Davie drove home!” as he ran up to her, his blue eyes shining with excitement and his cheeks as pink as could be.