“Down to th’ east paster,” said the Deacon, not turning his head. “I can’t stand still no longer an’ think o’ nothin’ but that boy.”
“Well, I ain’t a-goin’ to stay to home,” declared Mrs. Blodgett. “Nobody to talk to but Mary Ann, an’ she keeps harpin’ on the Pepperses. I’ll go down an’ see Grandma Bascom.”
So she tied on her bonnet with trembling fingers and hurried off. When she left the main road and struck the little lane that led down to Grandma’s house, she stopped abruptly. “O dear me! that’s almost as bad as to go to Mis Pepper’s, for Mis Bascom’ll take on somethin’ dreadful. My! what’s that in th’ bushes!”
A little crackling noise struck her ears, and one or two small branches stirred in the shrubbery alongside the road. There wasn’t any wind to speak of, and Mrs. Blodgett paused in fright, her fingers on her lips; but being no coward, she marched up and shook the nearest bush.
“We don’t want no tramps in Badgertown,” she began. Then she burst out, “Why, David Pepper!”
There on the ground, his face grubbing into the grass, lay David squirming back and forth, his little hands clenched.
“You poor little creeter, you!” Mrs. Blodgett got down on the ground beside him, and fairly gathered him up to her ample bosom. “You couldn’t cry in the little brown house, an’ so you’ve come out here. Poor lamb!”
“Joel!” ’Twas all that Davie was capable of.
“There—there—now you jest stop!” Mrs. Blodgett spoke sharply, she was so scared, for the sobs were shaking David from top to toe; but to stop was beyond him, so she laid him down on the grass.
“Now I’m jest goin’ to your house an’ see how things is, Davie. Then I’ll come back an’ tell you.” She got up with difficulty and shook her calico gown free from the dirt and mold.