Elyot tried to still his throbbing heart and hang to the basket, craning his neck to watch the Beebe shop, while Billy leisurely picked his way over the cobble-stones.
“There, here you be!” exclaimed Miss Sally, as at last they drew up in front of the little shop, “to home; and, my land, I’m thankful enough!”
Elyot was out over the wheel long before she finished, and holding up his arms for Barby.
“That boy can’t carry her,” cried Miss Belinda nervously from the depths of the gig; “let me get out, Sally, and take her in.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Miss Sally, who knew very well what settling Miss Belinda in again would be; “she’ll wake up soon’s she’s on the ground. And her folks’ll come out and get her. Give her to me.”
With that she bundled Barby out, a sleepy little heap, into Elyot’s outstretched arms. “Now, run right along in to home,” she commanded; and slapping the reins over Billy’s back, the gig passed slowly down the street, Miss Belinda working her spare figure around to apply her eye to the square of dingy glass at the back.
“I hope they’ll get in safe,” she breathed anxiously.
“Nonsense!” said Miss Sally again. “Well, now, Belindy,” and she took up the interrupted thread of their morning’s business, “I b’lieve we better not take up this jell to Mrs. Jasper King’s till afternoon. Seein’ we’re here, we better do a mite o’ tradin’.”
“Very well,” said Miss Belindy meekly, who would have said, “Very well” if the other way had been proposed.
Meanwhile Elyot, not taking one blissful moment to stretch his legs, staggered over the uneven pavement, and set Barby on the broad, flat doorstone. Then he doubled up his little fist, being too short to reach the old knocker, and too polite to enter the shop without any summons at all, and rapped with all his force on the green door. Nobody coming, he propped Barby safely up against the upper step so that she would not fall over on her nose, and ran and peered into the little window strung with shoes and boots and rubbers of every description.