“And the little brush.”
“Yes—I will.”
“And the dust-cloth, hanging on the back entry nail,” Mrs. Henderson’s voice trailed down the attic stairs. And Davie, gathering up the various things, hurried up after her.
“Dear me, how hot it is!” exclaimed the parson’s wife, hurrying over to open the window at the end.
“I’ll open it,” cried David, depositing his armful so hastily that down the stairs rattled the little brush and the dust-pan, and only the dust-cloth remained.
“No, no, Davie, I must open it,” said Mrs. Henderson, suiting the action to the word. “And remember, dear,” as he brought back the truant articles, “you must wait patiently till I tell you what to do.”
“I’m so sorry,” said David penitently, still holding the runaway broom and dust-pan.
“I know, dear—and next time, remember to wait until I tell you what I want you to do. Well, the first thing, now that the window is open, and we have some fresh air to work by, is to get these trunks and boxes out from this corner.” She was over there by this time and down on her knees under the eaves.
“I’ll pull ’em out,” began Davie; then he stopped and looked at her, “if you want me to.”
“That’s a good boy,” Mrs. Henderson turned and looked at him. “You’ve no idea what a comfort it is, David Pepper, to have any one who wants to help, wait till he’s told what to do! Well, you mustn’t even attempt to pull these trunks and boxes about. We will each take hold of a handle, then it will be easy to shove them out.” She got up suddenly. Rap! went her head against a low-lying beam.