“Oh, I’ll pick ’em up,” exclaimed Davie, in a transport, his little hands trembling in his efforts to recover them. Since Joel had come back, the whole world might be upset and it wouldn’t be any matter.
“So will I,” cried Joel, pawing wildly about in the straw scattered on the floor. So the two boys worked like everything, and presently were obliged to say that they had found all that they possibly could. And then setting the big box carefully between them, they set to work sorting out the good nails from the crooked ones.
“They’re ’most all crooked,” observed Joel, shifting a handful in one grimy little palm, and peering into the big box.
“There’s some good ones,” said little Davie, carefully picking out one as he spoke.
“I wish we could have the crooked ones,” said Joel. “P’r’aps Deacon Blodgett’ll give ’em to us. I mean to ask him.”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t, Joe,” cried little David, in alarm; “you know Mamsie told us never to ask for things.”
“Well, I’ll tell him we want ’em,” said Joel, patting a long crooked nail fondly before he laid it aside, “to build our rabbit-house with.” The Pepper boys had never had a rabbit, nor was there any expectation that they ever would possess one, but since Joel had said they ought to get a house ready, and perhaps then a rabbit would come, little Davie had worked as hard as he could to achieve it. Every bit of board was saved, and there were not many, because Polly had to have all that would burn nicely in the stove, of course. But, O joy!—Mr. Atkins, the storekeeper, finding all this out one day, presented the boys with some old boxes. Nails were the hardest things to get, and every stray one that came in their way was hoarded as a great treasure. But they came in very slowly. And now here was the Blodgett big box, and Joel was not to ask for a single crooked one!
“No, no, no!” Little Davie dropped his work to bring his hot face over towards Joel’s. “You mustn’t tell him, Joel; Mamsie wouldn’t like it.”
“That isn’t asking,” said Joel, bobbing his black head obstinately, and picking away furiously at the assortment of nails in his hand.
“Yes, it is,” said little Davie. “Oh, you mustn’t do it, Joe.”