“Oh, Miss Parrott,” Polly broke out, “Davie cannot bear to talk about it. He only did what he ought to.” She forgot that she was talking to the aristocratic lady, whose comings and goings in this same stately coach to the little church on Badgertown green were eagerly watched for of a Sunday. She raised her brown eyes pleadingly.
“That is where you are very wrong to encourage your little brother in refusing to answer my questions. And I must insist on knowing all about what happened.” The tall aristocratic figure on the seat opposite loomed up so forbiddingly that Polly had all she could do to keep from joining in Davie’s distress. But this would never do. Besides, Miss Parrott was saying, “I am sure your mother, whom I have heard brings you children up most excellently, would wish your little brother to answer my questions.”
“Davie,” said Polly desperately, bending her head down to his ear, “you must sit up and tell Miss Parrott about it. Mamsie would want you to.”
She had to say it over three times, “Mamsie would want you to,” for instead of sitting up, Davie burrowed deeper against her shoulder. At last her tone was so decided, that anything being more desirable than to lose Polly’s approval, David somehow got up into a sitting posture; and before he quite knew what he was going to say, there he was doing his best to let Miss Parrott understand just what happened in Mr. Atkins’ store. He must please Mamsie.
And to his great surprise and relief, Miss Parrott never said one word of praise for anything that he did, and as for petting him, she still sat bolt upright at the conclusion of the tale, and only said, “Thank you for telling me.”
David drew himself up, and began to enjoy himself. As for Polly, her brown eyes danced and the color came back in her cheeks.
“I am going to take you home with me,” said Miss Parrott suddenly.
“Oh,” cried Polly, wrenched away from the bliss of actually driving in the Parrott coach, “we can’t go. Mamsie doesn’t know where we are, and we ought to go home now.”
“I suppose,” said Miss Parrott reflectively, “that I ought to drive around and ask your mother.” But she bit her lip, being accustomed to do all things as she chose without leave or license from anybody. Still a woman should be asked about the movements of her own children. So she gave the order to the old coachman, and the horses were soon turned in the direction of the little brown house.
Davie forgot himself and sprang out without a word of thanks, and rushed up to the old green door.