“But it was bad,” said Polly, “for him to forget, and not obey you.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Henderson.
“And I’m sorry,” said Davie, his hands twisting together.
“And you’ll come to-morrow, and help me, and that will show that you are sorry,” said the parson’s wife.
“I’ll go to-morrow,” said David, with a crooked little smile.
“And Peletiah and Ezekiel are going away to their grandmother’s again to-morrow,” said Mrs. Henderson, “just as they did to-day. So, you see, I shall need you very much, Davie.”
“Now, how in the world can I find any one to take Mrs. Pepper’s place nursing Miss Babbitt?” The parson’s wife puckered up her forehead all the way down the road with anxious thought. “If here doesn’t come Dr. Fisher!” as the old gig swung into view at the turn of the road.
Dr. Fisher pulled up suddenly. But she didn’t wait for the old horse to stop. “Dr. Fisher,” she began, hurrying up to the side of the gig, “can’t we find some one to take Mrs. Pepper’s place over at Miss Babbitt’s?”
Dr. Fisher looked out at her gloomily. “I’d give a good deal if we could,” he said. “That idiot of a Bunce woman—she was there when Miss Babbitt fell down the cellar stairs, and she began to scream for Mrs. Pepper. And she rushed out—the Bunce woman—and caught Mr. Tisbett going by on the stage, and sent him for Mrs. Pepper. And now Mrs. Pepper won’t desert Miss Babbitt.” He switched the whip gloomily from side to side, his face getting more and more sober every moment.
“But she must desert Miss Babbitt,” declared the parson’s wife frantically.