“Haven’t you ever had one?” gasped Davie.
“Never!” declared Mr. Brown. His face twitched, and if ever a big man did cry, he looked as if he were going to that very minute.
At seeing that, Davie began to lose his fright in his distress over the farmer.
“Seem’s as ef you could now—” began Mr. Brown. “Hem!” he brought up suddenly at sight of the little face. “Well, we can pretend you’re my boy jest while you’re here to-day,” he begged.
“I’m Mamsie’s boy,” said Davie stoutly.
“I know—I know,” said the farmer reassuringly, “but jest while you’re a-visitin’ me to-day, you can make b’lieve you live here on the farm.”
“I’m going home when Mamsie goes, and Phronsie,” said Davie.
“Of course,” said Mr. Brown, slapping his big hands together. “Well now, you an’ me’ll keep together, Davie, to-day. Mis’ Brown’s got th’ little gal, an’ I’ve got you. Come on, they’re hayin’ down in the medder, an’ you can ride on th’ cart ef you want to.”
Davie slipped his hand into the big one extended, and snuggled up to the farmer.
“I’m sorry you haven’t ever had any little boy,” he said, a worried look spreading all over his round face.