“Well, well, Davie,” said Mr. Atkins, as David went up to the counter, “so you came to help me keep store, did you? Why, I didn’t ’xpect you to-day, as it rains. Well, I’m glad you’ve come though.”
“I can sweep up the ell,” said Davie, “that you said yesterday I was to do this morning,” and he hurried off for the broom.
“So I did—so I did,” replied the storekeeper, “an’ that made you come in the rain?”
“Yes,” said David, his mind intent on the broom and the dust-pan.
“Well, see here—hold on a bit,” called Mr. Atkins. “Come here, David. Now—” as David hurried back, “I want you to tell us how the stove Dr. Fisher gave Polly got to the little brown house as a surprise. Set up on th’ sugar-barrel an’ tell us, Davie.”
All the color in David’s body seemed to rush into his little round cheek, as he stood there holding the broom. He looked helplessly around, and his eyes fastened on Deacon Blodgett pleadingly.
“I would, Davie,” said the Deacon kindly. “It’s a rainy day an’ we’d like to hear it—an’ ’twould make us like th’ Doctor better.”
To make everybody “like th’ Doctor better” seemed to Davie a thing to do. Every bit of the color went out of his cheeks. He set down the broom, and with a catch in his breath, he mounted the sugar-barrel and folded his hands in his lap.
“Dr. Fisher gave Polly the stove,” he began solemnly.
“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Atkins quickly. “We all know that, Davie. Now tell us all about how it got into the little brown house an’ was set up. Begin at th’ very beginnin’, Davie.”