So Joel tore himself away from the pie, and dashed out and down to the gate, Davie at his heels.
“Ef we can help you, Mis Pepper,” said the farmer, “we’ll stay—but ef so be there’s nothin’ my wife an’ me can do, why, we must be streakin’ it for home.”
“We don’t need to start jest yet, Pa,” objected his wife, all her eyes following Phronsie.
“Now, Ma, you won’t be a bit spryer to go, ef you set for another hour. I’m a-goin’ ef we can’t help Mis Pepper.”
“Maybe we can help her,” said Mrs. Brown, clinging to any straw that might delay the setting out for home.
But Mrs. Pepper shook her head—so far as any assistance was concerned. “I wish you could stay,” she said. But this Mr. Brown wouldn’t do, so the farmer’s wife, seeing that there was no help for it, got slowly out of her chair, and the leave-taking began. And just as they were finally in the big wagon, up rushed Polly and Ben and Joel.
“Anybody seen th’ feller?” asked the farmer of Ben.
“No, sir,” said Ben, setting his teeth together hard.
“Sho now, that’s too bad,” said Mr. Brown sympathetically, and flicking his whip over Jingo’s back. “Well, I s’pose th’ Badgertown folks’ll keep on th’ lookout for him.”
“Don’t say any more, Pa,” said his wife with a nudge, “for mercy’s sake!”