“Joel, come here.” When Mother Pepper spoke in that tone there could be no delay. So up to her chair he marched, yet he had a backward eye on that old farmer who sat in that chair laughing at him.
“You’re pretty smart, Joel,” said the storekeeper’s wife, “but Davie did the best after all.”
“But I could ’a’ smashed him,” declared Joel, transferring his attention to her, “if I’d only been there. Why ain’t I ever there when a burglar comes,” he cried in anguish. “Why ain’t I, Mamsie?”
“Well, I must be a-goin’,” said Farmer Jones, getting out of his chair. “You’ve got two smart likely boys, Mis Pepper, but the little un is the most to my taste. Ef you’re goin’ home, Mis Atkins, I’ll take you back.”
“I’m obliged enough, I can tell you,” said Mrs. Atkins, “for I hain’t run an’ ben scared to death in a long spell like I’ve ben to-day. Good-by, David. You’ve took care of our store every bit as good as a man.”
Davie kept in the little brown house for days after that; nothing could persuade him to venture on Badgertown streets, where the folks were likely to waylay him, and want to know all about his adventure in Mr. Atkins’ store. And when any one came to the little brown house, as many did, to hear all about it, Davie would run out and hide behind the wood-pile until they had gone.
“You can’t do that all the time, Davie,” said Polly one day, finding him there. “I’m going down to Mr. Beebe to get him to mend Mamsie’s shoes, and you come with me.”
“Oh, I can’t, Polly,” said Davie, shrinking back; yet his blue eyes were full of longing.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Polly gayly. “Come along, I’ll race you to the gate.”
That was beyond Davie’s resistance. To race Polly was the children’s great delight. So off they ran, and as luck would have it, David got to the gate first.