Meantime the farmer’s wife was having a perfectly dreadful time with David, who stood impatiently off by the door, his hand on the latch.
“For mercy’s sakes!” she exclaimed, “do you set down an’ eat dinner, Jed,” to the young farmer, “an’ p’raps th’ boy will listen to reason an’ eat some too.”
“Now see here, young man,” Farmer Brown stalked over to David, as Jed Hubbard, nothing loath, slipped into his chair to tackle the corned beef and cabbage, “how d’ye s’pose you’re goin’ to git that little gal to your Ma—hey?”
“I’m going to carry her,” said David, “and we must go.” He clasped his hands and turned a pleading face up to the farmer.
“You carry her?” repeated the farmer.
“Hoh—Hoh!” he threw back his head and laughed.
“Don’t laugh at him, Pa,” begged Mrs. Brown, piling on more food to Farmer Hubbard’s plate; “he’s awful distressed,” as Davie begged, “Do let us go—Mamsie will—”
“You’re a-goin’,” Mr. Brown interrupted; “I shall take you an’ th’ leetle gal in th’ wagon, as soon as you’ve et somethin’.”
“Will you really take us to Mamsie?” cried Davie, the color coming quickly into his white cheeks.
“Sure,” promised the farmer heartily, as David flew into the chair that Mrs. Brown had dragged up to the table.