“Work isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a body,” observed Mrs. Pepper. “But to sit in a chair with nothing to do—oh, Polly!”
Her look of dismay as she said, “Oh, Polly!” was so funny that Polly burst out laughing, and Mamsie laughed, too, till the old kitchen became cheery at once, and the sun breaking out suddenly two bright little spots danced out on the floor to have fun by themselves.
Davie hurried down the lane to Grandma’s and turned into the small patch before the kitchen door. The hens had found an old beef-bone and were making an awful noise fighting bill and claw for its possession.
Davie hurried on over the sill into the bedroom. There was Grandma in bed, the gay patched bedquilt drawn up nearly to the big frill of her cap, showing eyes that were not in the least expressive of comfort. When she saw Davie, she pushed off the coverlet. “O my Land!” she said. “Grandma’s glad to see you!”
By the side of the bed, sitting stiffly on the edge of a cane-bottom chair, sat the parson’s elder son.
“My mother told me to ask how she is,” he said.
Grandma beckoned to Davie, and patting the coverlet, he climbed up. “He’s ben a-settin’ there an’ a-settin’ there by the bed,” she said.
“My mother told me to ask how she is,” came from Peletiah in his chair, “and she won’t tell me. My mother told me—” he began again.
“He won’t go home,” said Grandma, drawing Davie’s ear close to her mouth. “O dear me! an’ he’s th’ parson’s son.”
“My mother told me—” began Peletiah once more.