“I’m sor-ry, Polly,” panted Joel, stumbling up to fling himself, molasses can and all, in her lap. “O dear me!—Boo—hoo—hoo! I didn’t—didn’t—” He couldn’t get any further, for the tears rained all down his round, hot cheeks.
“Oh, hush—Mamsie will hear you,” warned Polly, in great distress and lifting his stubby black head. “Oh, misery me, Joe, how you look!” For Joe’s face was streaked from top to bottom where his grimy little hands had frantically tried to wipe away the tears, a few drops from the molasses can oozing out as he had bumped it up and down in his mad run, adding themselves to the general effect. “Now you must come right around to the ‘Provision-Room’ door, and I’ll bring out a wet towel and wash you up; for it will worry Mamsie dreadfully to think you didn’t stay with Ben.”
“I don’t want to be washed up,” began Joel, perfectly overcome with all this dreadful accumulation of woe, most of which was now the fear of Mamsie’s being worried.
“Well, you are going to be,” declared Polly, getting off from the door-stone; “the very idea, Joel Pepper; such a sight as you are! Just think of going down to Deacon Blodgett’s in that way.” So Polly hurried into the house, and Joel crept miserably around its corner, and presently out through the “Provision-Room” door, there she was, towel in hand, and in less time than it takes to tell it, there he was, too, his round face all red and shining and spick-span clean.
“Now, Joe,” said Polly, setting a kiss on each red cheek, “you run right straight down to Deacon Blodgett’s like a good boy, and don’t forget to leave the molasses can at Mr. Atkins’s,—and don’t bump it.”
“I’m sorry,” began Joel, beginning again on what he had come back to say.
“Well, you’ve said that ever so many times,” said Polly, “so don’t say it again; only run along, because just think now you’ve been naughty to run away from Ben and Davie.”
So Joel, feeling as if things that he’d got to be sorry for were piling up too fast for his taste, gulped down his sobs, and started off, this time holding the old molasses can up high with both hands.
“O dear me!” cried Polly to herself, “now he’ll tumble on his nose, I know. Joe—don’t do so,” she screamed after him.
But as well try to stop the wind. And at last, Joel had put the molasses can on the counter of Mr. Atkins’s shop, and sped out again, wild to get to the work at Deacon Blodgett’s that now seemed the loveliest thing in the world for a boy to do.