“Seems to me, they was mighty little childern for all of ’em to be workin’,” broke in Mrs. Goodsell, incredulously.
“Th’ Peppers warn’t never too little to work,” the little shoemaker said quickly. “They was up an’ at it, I tell you, ’nstead o’ playin’.”
“Well, go on,” said Mrs. Goodsell.
“Oh, I can’t, hardly,” gasped little Mrs. Beebe, clasping her fat hands, “it brings it all back. You see, she—she didn’t come back, an’ then we all knew she was lost.” With that, Mrs. Beebe threw her apron over her head and burst out crying.
The little shoemaker deserted the parson’s shoe, and skipped over to her. “There, there, Ma,” he patted her cap with a soothing hand. “You know she didn’t stay lost. We got her back.”
“Well, I think you’re th’ queerest folks,” exclaimed Mrs. Goodsell, “to carry on so over somethin’ that never happened, an’ besides ’twarn’t to your folks, neither.”
“’Twas our folks, I keep tellin’ you.” Little Mrs. Beebe brought her flushed face out from the apron and wiped off the tears. “They was ‘our folks’ to all Badgertown. An’ ef Phronsie had ’a’—” and her mouth trembled.
“You see,” the little shoemaker hastened to say, “we was all a-lookin’ through th’ whole o’ Badgertown for her—an’ then to think ’twas an out-of-town one who found her, after all.”
“Who?” cried the big woman.
“A boy, an’ he didn’t live in these parts, neither—him an’ his big black dog got her away from th’ organ grinder an’ th’ monkey.”