But David burst into tears and flung himself down on the floor of the wagon.
“I’ve got to hurry back and lock up th’ store,” Mrs. Atkins was saying about this time, getting up from the roadside, “an’ then I must get over to Mis Pepper’s an’ tell her all about it. Goodness me—how’ll I ever do it?”
But Mother Pepper had the news before the storekeeper’s wife reached the little brown house, for Davie was there. Farmer Simeon Jones, aghast at the flood of tears, had hurried him home as fast as the old horse could go.
“Your Ma’ll say you done right,” he kept repeating over and over. “Don’t you be afeard. An’ th’ man ain’t goin’ to be hurt. An’ they give real good meals, I’ve heard say, over to Cherryville jail.”
But all this was no comfort to David, and he wailed steadily on.
“Well, I’m blest ef I ain’t glad to see that ’ere little brown house,” declared Mr. Jones, very spry at getting out as the old horse stopped at the gate. David, half blinded by his tears, stumbled out and up to the big green door. Mother Pepper opened it. “I couldn’t help it, Mamsie,” he cried, huddling into her arms.
“I’ll tell ye, Marm,” said Farmer Jones, looking into her black eyes, “fust go-off, so’s you needn’t to worry. This boy o’ yourn has done just fine.”
“I couldn’t help it, Mamsie,” Davie kept saying.
“There—there—Davie—” Mother Pepper held him closely, while one hand patted his soft light hair; then she looked up inquiringly.
“Simeon Jones is my name, Marm,” said the farmer. “Might I come in—it’s kinder a long story.”