The temptation to go barefooted was too strong for Frankie, so down he plumped on the grass, and off came the copper-toed boots and clean white stockings. In a few minutes all four boys were running along the dusty road in their bare feet. It seemed very new and funny for a while, but after they had gone half a mile, Frankie began to wish for the cool shade and moist greensward of home. The sun burned his head, and the sand of the road his feet.
“Oh dear!” he said, “ain’t we most there?”
“Tired a’ready!” laughed Ben. “You’re a great boy. Better go home and sit in mammy’s lap.”
In his sorrowful little heart, poor, tired Frankie wished most heartily that he was on his mother’s lap that very minute, but he thought it wouldn’t be manly to say so. He was too tired even to resent what Ben had said, so he kept still and trudged on.
“I know what we’ll do,” said Joe. “Will and I’ll make a chair and carry you. And you, Ben Field, had better keep mighty still, or I’ll settle your case in a hurry.” For some reason, just then Ben thought best to start off in pursuit of a butterfly.
Joe and Willie made a chair of their crossed hands, on which Frankie seated himself, and put an arm around each of the boys’ necks. This mode of traveling pleased him very much, and it seemed but a little while before they reached the creek.
“WILL AND I’LL MAKE A CHAIR AND CARRY YOU.” [Page 14.]
“Ain’t it jolly?” said Joe, as he led Frankie into the clear, cool water.
“Oh! oh! see the fishes! the dear little fishes!” said Frankie, stooping to pick them up. But the gay little shiners knew better than to allow themselves to be picked up, even by such a nice little boy. Losing his balance in his attempts to seize one of them, Frankie had a sudden bath in the creek.