“For me?” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper.
“Yes’m. Ef you don’t stop, Joel Pepper, scrougin’ for my whip, I’ll—” Mr. Tisbett didn’t finish, but he looked so very fierce that they all fell back.
“Hoh!” exclaimed Joel, “I ain’t afraid of him,” and he swarmed all over the big stage-driver. “I’m going on the stage. Let me sit up in front with you, Mr. Tisbett,” he begged.
“Yes’m,” Mr. Tisbett tucked the big whip under his arm, and turned his twinkling eyes toward Mrs. Pepper. “Old Miss Babbitt has broke her hip, and—”
“O dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, dropping her work to her lap.
“Fact; fell down th’ cellar stairs; stepped on th’ cat, an’ away she went.”
“Did she kill the cat?” cried Joel, tearing off his attention from the whip.
“Land o’ Goshen! You can’t kill a cat,” declared the stage-driver; “never heard o’ such a thing in all my born days. Well, she set up a screechin’ for you, Mis Pepper.” He whirled around again to Mother Pepper’s chair.
A look of dismay spread over Mother Pepper’s face.
“She’s in an awful bad fix,” said Mr. Tisbett solemnly, “an’ there ain’t a neighbor that’ll go nigh her. An’ she keeps a-screamin’ for you,” and Mr. Tisbett leaned against the table.