“It’s the molasses can,” panted Polly, her brown hair flying, and swinging it at them as she raced up. “Joel forgot it—”
“Oh, Joe, how could you?” began Ben, reproachfully, as the two little boys whirled about on the road.
“I didn’t mean to,” said Joel, digging his rusty little shoe into the dirt, while his fingers worked nervously together, and his face got very red.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Polly, wiping her hot face. “It was good to run;” while Ben took the molasses can with a “Here, Joe.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Joel, over again, and taking the can; “I didn’t, Polly, truly.”
“Oh, I know it,” said Polly, smiling at him.
“Well, come along now,” said Ben, beginning to stride off faster than ever to make up for lost time. So little David, divided between sorrow for Polly having such a long hot walk, and fear that Joel was going to cry, ran by the big brother’s side, doing his best to keep up with him.
Joel, on the other side of Ben, hurried on, clutching the molasses can, to the turn in the road; then he suddenly spun around, and dashed back after Polly’s fleeting footsteps.
“Wait!” he wailed. But Polly, all her thoughts intent on getting back to those waiting dishes,—for Mamsie might stop and do them, oh, dreadful thought!—was going at her best pace. And presently Polly dashed up through the old gateway, up the path and over the flat door-stone, and after her Joel as hard as he could run.
“Oh, my goodness me, Joe!” she cried, and then she sat right down on the big old stone. “What have you come back home for?”