“Ben,” said Polly, and she threw her arms around his neck, “we must think up some more ways to help Mamsie. We must, Ben.”
Ben held Polly closely, but he said nothing, for he couldn’t for his life think of a word of comfort, and his face worked dreadfully.
“O dear me!” cried Polly in dismay when she saw that; “don’t look so, Ben. And you mustn’t feel bad.”
“Polly,” said Ben, drawing a long breath, “we’ll both think hard, and meantime, you and I mustn’t stop our work. We ought to be at it this very minute.”
“That’s so,” said Polly, breaking away from him, “and Mamsie told me to send Davie down to the store for some Indian meal.”
At that Davie ducked behind the wood-pile, and then ran after Polly into the little brown house. And now here he was in all his misery, standing before the counter, with Mr. Atkins asking this dreadful question!
“Hem!” said the storekeeper again. Seeing Davie’s face, he couldn’t keep eating cheese all day, so he threw down the knife, and before he knew it, he was saying, “How would you like to come here an’ help me keep store a little while every now and then?”
Davie’s blue eyes flew open at their widest, and he had all he could do to hang to the paper bag of Indian meal.
“You could set here an’ watch things,” Mr. Atkins ran on, surprised to find how very much he needed a small boy for that very thing, that hadn’t occurred to him before. “An’ then when I want to go to dinner, I’d admire to have th’ store kep’ open.” At last he stopped suddenly. “What d’ye say, Davie?”
Davie found his voice after swallowing very hard.