chanted Mr. Matthews.
“Well, that's a good thing,” said Grandma Padgett. “If you could pull a whole furnished house out of that cart 'twouldn't surprise me.”
The pedler opened the door and dragged his cart in over the low sill. They then bolted the door with such rusty fastenings as remained to it.
As soon as he felt the familiar handle on his palms, J. D. Matthews forgot that his ankle had been twisted. He was again upon the road, as free as the small wild creatures that whisked along the fence. Grandma Padgett's grown-up strength of mind failed to restrain him from acting the horse. He neighed, and rattled the cart wildly over the empty room. Now he ran away and pretended to kick everything to pieces; and now he put himself up at a manger, and ground his feed. He broke out of his stable and careened wildly around a pasture, refusing to be hitched, and expressing his contempt for the cart by kicking up at it.
“I guess your sprain wasn't as bad as you let on,” observed Grandma Padgett.
The observation, or a twinge, reminded Mr. Matthews to double himself down and groan again.
With painful limps, and Robert Day's assistance, he got the cart before the fireplace. It looked like a narrow, high green box on wheels. The pedler blocked the wheels behind, and propped the handle level. Then he crept with great contentment to the top, and stretched himself to sleep.
“He's a kind of a fowl of the air,” said Grandma Padgett.
“Oh, but I hope he's going our road!” said Bobaday, as they re-ascended the stairs. “He's more fun than a drove of turkeys!”
“And I'm not a bit afraid of him,” said aunt Corinne. “He ain't like the old man with a bag on his back.”