"N-no--not exactly," said Joel, digging his bare toes into the sand; "but I might--might--p'r'aps get a letter, Polly," he added, as a bright idea struck him. Mr. Atkins, besides being the storekeeper, was also postmaster.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Polly; "why, Mamsie never has any letters, Joel. There isn't anybody to write to her."
"She may, p'r'aps," said Joel, confidently "there may be one this afternoon. I'm goin' to see," and he darted off before Polly had time to stop him.
"Joel!" she called, running after him. But as well try to stop the north wind. Joel raced up over the steps and disappeared within the store. Polly, endeavoring to reach him before he saw the yellow and red posters again, put forth all her effort, but stubbed her toe against a big stone, and fell flat. Away flew her bundle of flour--thud went the paper bag, and off came the string, and there it was all spilled on the ground.
Joel didn't ask about the letter for Mamsie, but the minute his black eyes fell on those horses careering and prancing and dancing, he was nearly beside himself. And pushing in between the men and boys of the largest group, he stared, spellbound, and lost to everything else.
"Now that's too bad!" said a voice that Polly loved dearly to hear, and some one lifted her up out of the sandy road. The dust was all in her eyes, so she couldn't see for a minute, but she knew 'twas Parson Henderson. "Well, Polly, I don't believe you are much hurt," he said kindly. "A tumble in the dirt isn't the worst thing in the world, is it?"
Polly looked around for her bundle, anxiously. All the while she was saying, "Oh, thank you, sir. I'm not hurt a bit." But all the money for the rye flour gone! She could get no more, for Mamsie never had things charged, although Mr. Atkins was quite willing to do so. "'Tisn't safe," Mrs. Pepper always said; "if I do it once, I may again, so I'll pay as I go."
Parson Henderson looked off the road over his spectacles and saw the rye flour all sprinkled on every side, just where it had flown. "Now that's too bad!" he said. "Well, Polly, they say it's no use to cry over spilt milk, and I suppose spilt flour is just as bad," and he took her hand. "Let us see if Mr. Atkins hasn't some more." But Polly hung back; still, she must go into the store and get Joel. So she started forward again, and said impulsively, "I won't get any more flour, please, Mr. Henderson, but Joel's there, and he must come home with me."
"I'm intending to get some flour to send to Mrs. Pepper," said Parson Henderson, "and you don't have anything to do about it, but to carry the bundle, Polly," he added lightly. So they were presently in the centre of the store. When Mr. Atkins saw the minister, he got away from the red and yellow poster as soon as he could, and came forward, rubbing his hands. So Mr. Henderson, not saying a word about Polly's accident, bought some rye flour, and several other things for the parsonage, chatting pleasantly all the time. But the storekeeper didn't say a word about the circus.
Polly was up by Joel, where he stood, his round face plastered up to the flaming sheet. "Come home, Joey," she whispered, trying to draw him off.