“O Phronsie!” cried Mrs. Fargo, turning a pink, distressed face to her, “it’s perfectly lovely to see you; but you’re not going to work, dear. It’s bad enough for me. Joanna, the nails aren’t out of that box of books. You’ll have to go down, and tell Mr. Brown to come and draw them.”
“I’ll draw them,” cried Johnny, springing out from behind a trunk he was trying with all his might to move. “I’ve got my own hammer; yes, sir-ee! Now get out of the way; I’m coming.”
“O Johnny! you can’t,” remonstrated Mrs. Fargo quickly. “You’re not big enough; it needs a strong man.”
“I’m ’most a man,” said Johnny, twitching away from her. “I’m going to do it.”
“But your hammer is in the box of your playthings,” said Mrs. Fargo, glad to remember this.
“I don’t care; I’ll get Mr. Brown’s, then,” declared Johnny, prancing off.
“Oh, dear me! Phronsie, do stop that boy,” begged Mrs. Fargo, tired and distressed.
“Johnny,” called Phronsie softly. She did not offer to go after him. “Come here, dear.”
“Am going for Mr. Brown’s hammer,” said Johnny, edging off.
“I want you, dear.”