“Well, I d’no. Sass is sass, an’ your pa knows how many jars you put up—O dear me, Matilda!” She gazed helplessly off toward the south meadow.
Davie got off from the wooden box. “Oh don’t, Mrs. Peters,” he begged in great distress, “send the jelly to Mamsie.”
“’Tain’t jell—it’s sass,” said Matilda, pushing the jar in further, and flapping the coat till it bulged over the basket. “An’ I guess I ain’t goin’ to let your ma have all them measles to your house, an’ not do nothin’. There—” She jumped to her feet. “You got to carry it careful, Davie. It’s too bad there ain’t no handle.” She twitched the frayed cord that served as one, “I’ll get another string.”
“Come back here, Tilly,” cried her mother. “Ain’t you crazy! Your pa’ll be back. Let Davie go.”
Matilda turned away from the kitchen door. “Ain’t you silly, Ma!” yet she came back. “Well there, run along, Davie, an’ carry it careful.”
“An’ you tell your ma,” said Mrs. Peters, “we’re sorry she’s got all the measles to her house, an’ she c’n mend my coat better’n me, an’ she mustn’t tell no one it’s for Mis Peters, an’—”
“Land, Ma, th’ boy can’t remember all that,” said Matilda, giving David a little push.
“I guess I can—I’ll try to,” said David, grasping the old worn string with both hands.
“You go along,” said Matilda, with another push, “an’ if you see Pa comin’ along anywhere, you set th’ basket in behind th’ bushes till he gits by. Remember, David Pepper!”
“Yes,” said David. “I’ll remember.”