“Mamsie,” said David desperately, “that lady is a bad old lady. Don’t make me sit next to her,” he begged.
“Why, Davie boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper in surprise. “I think she is quite a nice little woman.”
“Oh, no,” Davie shook his head. “She’s been saying awful things. She doesn’t like us to be called Pepper.”
Mrs. Pepper burst into a cheery laugh. “Well, that’s not being bad,” she said. “Now perhaps I shouldn’t like her name, if I knew what it was.”
“I know it,” said Davie, “she told me—it’s Jones.”
“Well, I don’t like it. I never did like it,” said Mrs. Pepper, “so you see, Davie, it isn’t so much matter if people’s names don’t suit other folks. But the people themselves have got to be just right. Now run along and be nice to her. She is poor and old. Remember that, Davie boy.”
There was everything in that fine big lunch-basket. First came a table-cloth and napkins as fresh and sweet as if they had been packed away in lavender, as indeed was the case. Then seven little cups—and a big jar of lemonade, piles of bread and butter and cold chicken, cake, and biscuits. Was ever such a feast spread out for hungry people at a circus!
Jimmy, who hadn’t said a word all through the show, but had absorbed it with all his eyes and ears, now hung back from the group and leaned up against the wall of a shed a little distance away. He was watching the merry party with longing.
Ben, helping Polly to spread the table-cloth on the grass, looked off and saw him.
“Give us a hand, Jimmy,” he said.