“At least,” she said, clearing her throat, “you’ll come again.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Pepper was about to reply, but David screamed, “There’s Joel—Oh, do let me get out!”
“Whoa!” cried the farmer, and Davie was out, over the wheel in a twinkling, and rushing up to Joel sitting on a big stone by the roadside, and the very picture of woe.
“Oh, Joel!” cried David, flinging himself up against him, “what’s the matter? Mamsie—he’s sick,” flying back to the wagon and wringing his hands.
“Don’t worry your ma. She’ll get out as soon as she can,” said Mrs. Brown.
Mrs. Pepper was already out at her side of the wagon, and reaching Joel on his stone. The happy expectant look had gone from her eyes, but she still smiled.
“He’s sick, Mamsie,” cried Davie frantically, and kneeling down to seize Joel’s hands.
“I’m not,” declared Joel in a dudgeon, “sick one single bit. I didn’t catch him and he’s gone.”
“Who has gone, Joel?” Mrs. Pepper put her hands on his two shoulders. “Look up and tell Mother.”
Joel raised his black eyes and cried wrathfully, “And he took your gold beads, Mamsie.”