“Oh, I don’t want Ben to take care of me!” Joel howled and squirmed to get free, but as Ben’s fingers only gripped the tighter, it wasn’t much use.
“Joel is going to be a good boy, I’m sure,” said Mother Pepper, smiling down at him.
Joel drew himself up. “I’m going to be good,” he said proudly.
“Well, in the first place, we must think what we will do with the lunch-basket,” said Mrs. Pepper. “Ben can’t carry it around until it is time to eat.”
“Let’s eat the things now, Mamsie,” begged Joel, tearing off his gaze from the beautiful red carts and other entrancing equipment of the show scattered over the big field.
“Why, Joel Pepper!” exclaimed Polly, with a little laugh, “we haven’t hardly begun the day. The idea of eating!”
“I can eat,” said Joel in an injured tone. “I’m awful hungry.”
Just then up came Simmons. He even touched his hat to Mrs. Pepper, a courtesy he was just beginning to observe, for little-brown-house people didn’t at all appeal to him. He scraped his throat, “Miss Parrott said I was to take care of the lunch-basket.” He was about to say, “I forgot to tell you,” but he couldn’t quite make up his mind to utter such a story, although he had planned it all out, intending to keep the whole day to himself without the bother of such people on his mind. Instead, here he was saying, “She said I was to bring it to you when you were ready for it.”
So there was that trouble settled. And the tickets being in Mother Pepper’s hand, up she went with all her brood to the little narrow walk between the stakes of the tent, where a big man, his hat on the back of his head, sat in a chair.
“Seven,” he said, taking them to count, and he tore off the numbers, and pushed them into her hand, “that’s right. Step in, mar’m.” And into the tent they all stepped, Joel and Ben crowding together, for the small calico sleeve still had to be held, of course.