“Here they come!” piped Phronsie, clapping her hands. Then she threw her arms around Polly’s neck. “Oh, they are coming back,” she cried; “they truly are, Polly.”
“Yes, and they’re here,” said Polly, quickly setting Phronsie down on the ground, “and now we’ve all got to help pick up those rags and put them in the bags, just as soon as Mr. Beggs gets back and ties up his horse, so he can’t run away some more.”
“I’m going to pick ’em up now,” declared Phronsie, running into the middle of the road and sitting down in the dirt among the pieces of Em’line’s wedding gowns.
“Oh, Phronsie!” exclaimed Polly, hurrying after. And just then up came Mr. Beggs holding the bridle, with Joel on the other side of the horse trying to be big enough to do the same thing, and little Davie following the red cart.
“Oh, we’ll help, Dave and me,” cried Joel, when the old horse tied to the gate post couldn’t run any more, and seeing Phronsie and Polly busy over the rags scattered in the road, the two boys scampered off to the scene of action. And presently when Mr. Beggs got there, every one of the four pairs of hands was gathering up the pieces, oh, so fast—that there really didn’t seem as if there would be anything for him to do.
“We’ll pick ’em all up,” screamed Joel at him, as he stood in the road, and flying up to cram both fists full into the bag as it flopped half empty where it had tumbled.
“Take care, Joe,” warned Polly, “don’t let any dirt get in—”
“I guess a little dirt ain’t a-goin’ to hurt ’em,” said the ragman and very much pleased to think he didn’t have to get his fat body down to pick up the snips.
Phronsie, who was busy as a bee, picking up the smallest pieces and carrying them one at a time to tuck in the bag, was suddenly interrupted by Joel calling out, “Look at Phron!” Then he burst out into a laugh.
“Hush!” said Polly, warningly; “oh, Joey, how could you?” for Phronsie suddenly deserted her snip of cloth and ran to hide herself in Polly’s arms,—“there, Pet—”