“Mr. Beebe!” he cried in a shrill little voice, and plastering his face against the small panes of glass, “oh, my dear Mr. Beebe, please let me in!”
“Open the door, and go in, child,” said a good-natured woman coming along; “folks don’t knock when they’re going to th’ shop. Th’ knocker’s for Sundays, when you’re goin’ to call.” With that she reached over Barby, and threw wide the door. “Mr. Beebe,” she called, “here’s somebody wants to see you.”
“Oh, let me tell ’em first!” screamed Elyot, running past her, and precipitating himself into a fat old lady in a white cap with a good deal of pink ribbon. “We’ve come all this way to see you!”
“Oh, my good gracious me!” exclaimed Mrs. Beebe, raising both hands in astonishment, then clasping him close. “Pa! pa!” she screamed, “here’s the little King boy come to see us! Is your ma out there in the carriage?” all in the same breath.
“Oh, no!” cried Elyot, in the greatest pride; “we came all alone by ourselfs—and Barby’s out on the step;” and he dragged Mrs. Beebe along by the apron.
Old Mr. Beebe, a good deal slower than he used to be, came leaning on his cane, out from the little room at the back, and over to the green front door.
He propped Barby up against the upper step, and ran and peered into the little window strung with shoes.
“Well, now, my little dear,” he kept saying all the way with a pleased smile, and beaming kindly over his big silver spectacles, “that’s nice to see you to-day.”
“You poor lamb, you,” Mrs. Beebe was saying to Barby, and trying to lean over to lift her up, “there, there, oh, you pretty creeter, you! Pa, I don’t s’pose you can carry her. Oh, dear, I’m such a stout old woman, an’ good for nothin’!”