“Pepper? What a name!” interrupted the little old woman with a snort.
Davie’s face got very red.
Luckily Joel didn’t hear; all his mind was bent on getting along faster as he beat his hands together aching to pull the little old woman on by her rusty shawl.
“Joel is a good-enough name,” said the little old woman. “My husband’s father was Joel, but Pepper is a perfectly dreadful name.”
“Pepper is just a perfectly splendid name!” David stopped short by her side, and looked at her out of flashing blue eyes.
“My sakes alive!” exclaimed the little old woman, stopping aghast, “I sh’d as soon ’xpect a hummin’ bird to dare me, as you. Now ef it had ’a’ ben him,” she shook her black silk bag at Joel, who was marching on. Joel looked back and screamed, “Come on!” which they did, redoubling their speed.
“Now, my name is a sensible one,” said the little old woman, “Jones. But Pepper—I sh’d as soon think of salt and mustard.”
David, finding it harder and harder to escort a person determined to find fault with his name, had all he could do to keep himself from deserting altogether. But knowing that Mamsie would feel badly if he did, and remembering how he had made them all ashamed, he marched on, by her side; but his head was tossed up, and his cheeks were very red.
But in the excitement of getting into the corner of the field around the big lunch-basket that Simmons put in their midst, no one noticed him but Mother Pepper.
“Tell Mother,” whispered Mrs. Pepper, under cover of getting the good things unpacked.