"No," said Polly, sadly, "it's worse than that. Please go away, Mr. Biggs, and come some other day."
"Worse'n stomach-ache," said Mr. Biggs, in astonishment, and slapping his big hands together; "then I can't take him with me. But t'other one might go, if you say so, marm." He always called Polly marm, and she liked it very much. He now pointed to David.
"Where are you going?" asked Polly, while David took away his hands from his ears to hear, too.
"Why, you see, marm, Mis' Pettingill, up to th'East Quarter--you know Mis' Pettingill?"
"No," said Polly.
"I do," roared Joel, forgetting his distress. "I know, Polly. She lives in a nice yellow house, and there's a duck-pond, and cherry trees." He pranced up to Mr. Biggs, smiling through his tears.
"That's it," cried Mr. Biggs, delighted at being understood. "This boy knows." He laid his hand heavily on Joel's shoulder. "Well, he seems to be better now, so I'll take him and t'other one along of me, marm, if you say so. Ye see, Mis' Pettingill told me to come up there sometime, 'cause she's got a lot o' rags--ben a-makin' quilts, she said, all winter, and I laid out to go to-day, so here I be, on my way."
"Whickets!" shouted Joel, the last tear gone. "Come on, Dave. Oh, won't we have fun! I'm going to sit in the middle. Let me drive. Let me, Mr. Biggs." He swarmed all over the big rag-man.
Little David stood perfectly still and clasped his hands in delight.
