“Can’t we drive out the hens first?” asked Davie, slipping off from the bed.
“Mercy no—th’ hens can wait—they’re comf’table under th’ bed. You run an’ get that bottle.”
So Davie ran out into the kitchen while Peletiah, leaning on the broom, waited by the side of the bed.
“You’ll have to git up on a chair,” called Grandma from the bed, “it’s on th’ upper shelf.”
So David pulled up a chair and climbed up on it. But even on his tiptoes he couldn’t reach, although he tried and tried until his face got very red.
“I can reach with a box—there’s one,” he said. And jumping down he ran over to the corner, and emptied out a few apples and deposited the box on the chair.
“Maybe it’s back of th’ teapot,” said Grandma. “I remember now that teapot got cracked, and I put it up there. Look behind it, Davie.”
So Davie looked behind it, holding on to the edge of the shelf with one hand, and feeling around with the other. But no bottle was in sight. There were some papers of herbs, and, as they got stirred about, the little fine particles coming out of various holes made him sneeze.
“You’re ketchin’ cold,” said Grandma, who was getting dreadfully nervous. “Mercy me! what will your ma say ef you got sick over here, an’ she’s had sech trouble with th’ measles. O dear—deary me!”
David by this time was in great distress at not being able to find what he was sent for. And to think of Grandma sick and worried—that was the worst of it—so he worked on.