“Well, you’re goin’ to stay here a spell, ain’t you?” asked Bill, regarding the small figure curiously.
“Oh, no, no,” declared Davie in terror. All his glow was gone, and he looked so very miserable that Bill hastened to reassure him.
“We get awful good things to eat. Ever seen any o’ Mis Brown’s pies?” And he smacked his lips.
But David’s thoughts were away off from Mrs. Brown’s pies, or any other pies, and he shook all over and folded his hands tightly together.
“He’d set by you,” Bill pointed with his big thumb to Farmer Brown and the hired men following to help unload the hay, “he said you was a-comin’ an’ he meant to keep you.”
“I can’t stay—I can’t!” exclaimed Davie wildly, and springing up, he stood as straight as he could for the jolting cart.
“Take care!” Bill put out a big hand and grasped the little calico sleeve. “You better set,” and he put him back in the hollow of the hay. “Thunder! You needn’t feel so bad about stayin’ here,” he added in a dudgeon, “it’s a bang-up good farm,—’tain’t every boy would get a chance at it, I can tell you.”
But Davie shivered, and didn’t half hear while Bill rattled on about Mr. Brown, and Tom, Dick and Harry, Mr. Brown’s hired men, and how they all hoped to spend their days there. At last he got talked out, and stopped and looked at David.
“Say, youngster, where’d you come from, anyway?” he asked.
“The little brown house,” said David faintly, without looking up.