David, who would much rather have cracked the whip, said nothing, feeling it bliss enough to be up there on the box and doing something, as Peletiah, a light-haired, serious boy, walked slowly into the kitchen.
"You're the passenger," shouted Joel at him, and cracking his whip, "and you're going over to Boxford. Hurry up and get into the stage-coach. I'm Mr. Tisbett."
"'YOU'RE THE PASSENGER!' SHOUTED JOEL"
"And I'm helping, Peletiah," cried David, turning a very pink and happy face down toward him.
"I don't want to go to Boxford," said Peletiah, deliberately, and standing quite still, while Polly ran into the pantry to slip the little pat of butter on to another plate.
"Oh, how good it looks!" she said, longing for just one taste.
"Well, you've got to go," said Joel, obstinately, "so get in."
"I don't want to go to Boxford," repeated Peletiah, not stirring.
Joel cracked the whip angrily, and glared down at him.