“There, you see,” said Joel triumphantly.
“No,” said Mother Pepper, “you mustn’t send him over the stairs so much, Joey. He’s very tired.”
“I’m not much tired,” said David, wishing that Mamsie wouldn’t keep him from waiting on Joel.
“Yes, you are, Davie child. You’ve been mother’s boy all these weeks, and worked so hard.”
A pink flush crept all over David’s pale little face. He folded his hands, and stood quite still.
“I’m mother’s boy, too,” declared Joel, “ain’t I, Mamsie?” He rolled over in the shake-down, and fastened his black eyes on her.
“Indeed you are,” declared Mrs. Pepper warmly, “both of you. But, Joel, I want you to remember how hard Davie has worked all the time that Ben and you have been sick. You must never forget that, Joey.”
“I won’t forget,” said Joel, “and I want to get up.” With that he gave his legs a fling, and ran his toes out of bed.
“Oh, Joel,” cried Mother Pepper in alarm, “you mustn’t do that. It is the very worst thing that could happen to a boy with the measles—to get his feet cold.” And she tucked him in again snug and tight.
“My toes are hot,” said Joel, wriggling worse than ever, and making the old comforter bulge up at the side.