“There, Pa, I guess I wouldn’t urge no more,” said Mrs. Blodgett, at last. “Yes, you must go,” to Joel, loosening his hold on her apron, “and some other time, maybe, I’ll ask your Ma beforehand to let you stay.”
The Deacon jabbed a potato with his fork from the big dish of smoking hot ones, and carried it to his plate without another word.
“And you can stay and eat dinner, Ben,” said Mrs. Blodgett.
“No,” said Ben, “thank you, Mrs. Blodgett, I’ve got my dinner same’s ever; Polly put it up for me. It’s in the barn.” He kept talking, hoping the Deacon would say something, but he didn’t even look up, and Ben stifled a sigh, and went out after the two boys.
And after they had started for the “Little Brown House,” Mother Pepper, not wishing them to work but half a day at a time helping Ben, he sat down on a log of wood and ate his dinner. But he didn’t enjoy it very much, for thinking of them with every mouthful.
“Well, dear me, what did make you so late?” cried Polly, as the two boys walked into the kitchen. Then she hopped out of her chair, where she sat over in the west window, pulling out basting-threads from one of the coats Mrs. Pepper had finished that morning before she went down to the parsonage to help the minister’s wife, and hurried to take out the potatoes she was keeping hot in the oven. In that way she didn’t see the two dismal little faces.
“Now, then, says I, haven’t they got hot little jackets, though!” sang Polly, running over with the two baked potatoes wrapped in an old towel; “hurry, and get into your chairs, boys, and I’ll cut you some bread.”
And she flew into the pantry. “That’s fine,” she sang, rushing out with it, when, catching sight of Joel’s face, “What is the matter?” And she set the plate of bread down hard on the table, and stared at them.
“We couldn’t stay to dinner,” said Davie, as Joel, contrary to his usual custom, didn’t answer.
“Couldn’t stay to dinner!” echoed Polly.