“Mebbe,” said the farmer. “Sometimes when I want him to hoof it real fast, I say ‘By Jingo.’”
“And does he—does he go real fast?” said Joel, trying to climb up on the old white back.
“You get off that horse!” roared the farmer at him, in such an awful voice that Joel lost no time in slipping down on his two small feet. Mr. Brown cast a despairing glance over his shoulder.
“I’m a-goin’ to start,” he said, gathering up the reins.
“Wait a minute, Pa,” Mrs. Brown leaned over Phronsie in her lap. “Be careful o’ th’ custard pie,” she said, in a loud whisper, “it’s kinder soft.”
“I will,” said Polly, her brown eyes dancing at the thought of this splendid addition to Joel’s party. “I put it up on the top shelf of the cupboard, so he can’t see it till the time comes.”
Mrs. Brown’s large face beamed approval.
“G’lang!” cried the farmer, snapping his whip, and they were finally off, Joel clattering down the dusty road a piece to see if he couldn’t beat them to the corner.
The old house at Maybury stood back a good bit from the road. Mrs. Pepper gave a sigh of delight as Jingo turned into the yard, and stopped before the big porch. Honeysuckle rambled all over it, and hollyhocks shot up their tall stocks,—and lilac-bushes and poplars guarded the doorway, the approach being bordered by rows of box, years and years old.
A big dog got slowly up from the flat door-stone, shook himself, and came up to the wagon. Phronsie gave a little cry and sprang over to get into Mother Pepper’s lap.