The farmer’s wife held to her. “He wouldn’t hurt you,” she said; “why, you’ll be playin’ with him as soon as you get out o’ th’ wagon.”
Phronsie looked doubtfully out of her blue eyes—but she settled back into the good lap.
“Won’t he bite me?” she asked.
“Land, no!—he hain’t got any teeth to bite with, neither,” said Mrs. Brown.
“There now,” Farmer Brown having got down to the ground, came around to his wife’s side of the wagon. “Come here, little gal,” putting up his long arms.
Phronsie, one eye on the big dog, confidently held out her hands, and he swung her down, her small pink calico skirt puffing out in her descent.
“He won’t hurt you, Phronsie,” cried David, clambering over the wheel. “See,” he patted the big dog’s head.
“He won’t hurt me,” repeated Phronsie, but her little hand trembled on the shaggy head as she said it.
“I told you so,” said Mrs. Brown, getting heavily out of the wagon. “Now you an’ Towser is a-goin’ to be reel comf’table together.” She glanced at Mother Pepper standing quite still, drinking in the sweet air in long deep breaths as she gazed about her, and the farmer’s wife smiled. “I’m reel pleased you like it,” she said, quite gratified. “Well, come in an’ take your bunnit off, Mis Pepper,” she cried hospitably, as she ducked under the honeysuckle branches that drooped over the doorway.
But Mother Pepper stood quite still.