“Oh, no, no,” said David, holding the paper fast.
“’Tain’t no good—throw it out, boy.”
“Mamsie wouldn’t like me to throw papers in the road. It scares horses.”
“Sho—now!” Farmer Brown pushed up his cap and scratched his head. “I guess your Ma’s all right,” at last he said.
When the little brown house popped into view, David flew around on his cricket excitedly. “There ’tis—it’s there!”
“I see it,” said Farmer Brown. “Set still—we’ll be there in a minute.”
“It’s my little brown house,” cried Phronsie, trying to slip out from Mrs. Brown’s lap.
“Oh, you lamb—do wait. Little gal, we’ll take you there in a minute. Set still, child.”
“And I see Mamsie—oh, I want my Mamsie!” cried Phronsie, struggling worse than ever, her little legs flying in her efforts to be free.
David stood straight, his head knocking the buggy top. “Polly, we’re coming!” he shouted.