“Perhaps,” Davie ran over to Mother Pepper’s chair, “Mr. Atkins would let Joey come and help him instead of me,” he said.
“No, Davie,” said Mother Pepper, shaking her head worse than ever, “Mr. Atkins asked you, and you have promised. Always remember a promise once given must be kept,” and she patted his flushed cheek. “Joel, come here!” It was impossible for Joel to stay on the floor kicking his heels and screaming when Mamsie spoke in that tone, so he got up and drew slowly near to her, digging his knuckles into his streaming eyes.
“Davie couldn’t ask Mr. Atkins to let you take his place, even if he hadn’t promised, for you are so much bigger than Davie, that he isn’t strong enough to help Ben pile wood as you do. Why, you are my big boy, Joey!” She patted his stubby black hair affectionately.
“So I am,” said Joel, as if a wholly new idea had struck him, and wiping off the last tear on the back of his little brown hand. “You see, I couldn’t go, Dave, instead of you, to help Mr. Atkins in the store, for I am so much bigger than you, and I’ve got to pile wood and help Mamsie.”
Davie drew a long breath of relief.
“So you have,” he said. Then he laughed gleefully.
“And I’m so hungry,” announced Joel, the matter all settled now comfortably. “O dear, isn’t dinner ready?”
“Yes,” said Polly, running over to the stove, “and we’ve got mush to-day—Indian meal mush—just think. Do get the molasses pitcher, Ben!”
“No, let me,” begged Davie, all aglow with the delightful visions of molasses jugs being filled by his hands from the big barrel in Mr. Atkins’ store.
“So you may, Davie,” said Polly, putting the big dish of mush on the table.