“Mercy sakes!” the woman screamed,—the boys who had laughed skipped nimbly out of the way,—and nobody thought the case quite so funny as it had been.
“Mamsie, where are you?” screamed Joel. He almost threw Polly over, for he was beyond seeing anything or anybody in his mad rush, and Ben wasn’t quick enough to catch him. It was Jimmy who did it.
“Let me go,” cried Joel frantically, and he kicked Jimmy’s shins. But Jimmy’s hand was just as tight for all that, on Joel’s arm.
“He’s chewed it all up,” cried Joel wildly, as Polly and Ben ran up. “Let me go!”
“No, you don’t,” and Ben got hold of the other arm, “what’s that in your hand, Joe?”
“Dave’s cap,” Joel flung open his hand. There it was, with “—vid Pepper” on what remained of the rim.
“Oh, Mamsie!” and the horrified little group looked up into Mother Pepper’s face. And there was Phronsie, who hadn’t understood anything only that she must leave the dear sweet little monkeys—and Davie, his light hair in soft waves over his forehead, crowded up to Mrs. Pepper’s side. His hands were tightly clasped and he closed his eyes to squeeze back the tears.
“No, no, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, for Polly was just beginning, “Why, Mamsie, what—” “we won’t have the story now, and see—there is Simmons coming for us. It’s time to go home.”
When they were once in Miss Parrott’s big coach, the story all came out. Simmons on his coachman’s box, alternately drew himself up straighter than ever, and then shrank down in a way he couldn’t remember doing when on duty as befitted holding his aristocratic position in the community.
“I won’t tell her—the Missus acts bad enough as ’tis over them poor childern. What if he did lose his cap!” Away he drove in great form down a hundred yards or so. Then he pricked up his ears.