“What did you do, Joe?” cried Polly, running over to him.
“Mamsie,” cried Davie, throwing his arms around her, “he didn’t mean to.”
“There—there,” said Mrs. Pepper, taking him up to her lap. “Joel, come here and tell Mother all about it.”
“He didn’t mean to,” began Davie again, wiping up his tears.
“I don’t believe Joey did mean to, Mamsie, whatever it is,” said Polly, pulling him along. He was digging one small fist into first one eye and then the other, and saying at every step, “I didn’t mean to, Mamsie,” and he threw himself down and burrowed his face on top of Davie’s legs in Mrs. Pepper’s lap.
“Stop saying you didn’t mean to, Joel, and tell Mother what you did to Davie,” said Mrs. Pepper firmly.
Joel put out a shaking hand and felt for the torn place in the little calico blouse, Polly hanging over them in great anxiety. “There,” he said, “I didn’t mean to do it, Mamsie.”
“He means he’s torn Davie’s jacket,” said Polly with a little gasp. “O dear me, Joel, you’ve scared us almost to death!”
“Mamsie will have to work and mend it,” howled Joel. With that Davie began again to cry, and to burrow deeper against Mrs. Pepper’s neck.
“For shame, Joel!” cried Polly. “It’s ever so much worse to cry now than it was to tear Davie’s jacket.”