“You’re a real good boy,” exclaimed the old woman gratefully. “Now I’ll put the things back.”
“I’ll help,” said Joel, falling to on the work. So together everything was all snug and safe once more in the black silk bag, and the old woman hung it on her arm again, and got up to her feet.
“It’s No. 12,” said Joel, squinting at the little piece of pasteboard. “I’ll find it for you,” and he pranced along, Ben and the old woman following, his black eyes eagerly scanning the seats. “21—20,” he ran on, “15—14—why—it’s next to Mamsie!”
Sure enough. They helped the little old woman, her poke bonnet settling over her eyes on the ascent, up to the middle row, and down she sat by Mrs. Pepper. When she found who it was in the next seat, she leaned forward and said in a loud whisper, “Your boy, the littlest one, is an awful good boy. He helped me consid’able.” She had not then learned that there was a third Pepper boy, still smaller.
Mrs. Pepper beamed on her, and was just saying, “I am so glad,” when Joel, on her other side, burst out, “Oh, I was bad—her bottle flew off—and it smelt bad, and I’m sorry.”
“It was an accident,” said Ben hastily. And the old woman, when she saw Mrs. Pepper’s face, hurried to say, “’Twarn’t much spilt, an’ anyway I’ve got enough left,” and just then, so many people came hurrying in that there was such a great commotion in finding seats, as to absorb all attention. And the first thing Joel knew, a trembling hand was laid across Mrs. Pepper’s lap. “There’s a dime,” said the little old woman, “I brought it for peanuts. And you can buy some for us all.”
Joel hopped to his feet, his eyes sparkling.
“I’ll go with him,” said Ben.
“No, no,” roared Joel, clutching the dime. “She said me—I’m going alone,” and he began to wriggle out of his seat.
Ben looked at Mrs. Pepper in dismay, as she said quietly, “Yes, you may go, Joel, by yourself. I can trust you.”