“No,” said David, edging off. “I don’t want anybody to see ’em.”
“I’m going to,” declared Joel, holding on with both hands to the blouse as David whirled around. “I saw ’em yesterday, and I’m going to see ’em again. Hold still, Dave. Zip!”
“There, now you’ve torn it!” Davie gave a small cry of distress.
Joel’s stubby hands dropped and he stood quite still in dismay.
“’Tisn’t torn—torn—much,” he said quite aghast.
“It’s torn—and now Mamsie will have to work and mend it. O dear!”
With that the tears fell, and Davie threw himself on the floor, and sobbed as if his heart would break.
“What is the matter?” cried Polly, rushing in from the bedroom, where she had been giving Phronsie her breakfast of mush. For once there was some real milk, for Doctor Fisher had set a bottle on the kitchen table after his visit to see how the measles were coming on. “Oh, Davie!” She threw herself down beside him. “Where are you hurt?”
Mrs. Pepper hurried over the steps from the provision room, where she had been looking over the potatoes to see how long they would last.
“I tore—tore—” said Joel, in the middle of the kitchen floor. His face was working dreadfully and he twisted his hands together trying not to cry.