“What do you want to build?”
“I don’t know. We could build a sort of covered seat, like the one in Polly’s yard, where folks could rest and look on. Take about six of these posts and some of the strips, and some boards for the seat—”
“Who’d dig the post-holes?” inquired Bob, coldly.
“Oh, we could get a couple of the others to help. Honest, Bob, it would be a lot of fun. Maybe we couldn’t do it before spring, though.”
“I might leave the stuff here,” said Bob. “Thomas could sort of pile it a little neater, you know. I love to carpenter. Sometime we’ll draw a plan of it, Nod.”
“Right-o! How about those other posts? No use trying to do anything with ’em to-day, is there?”
“No; we’ll have to have another crowbar.”
Laurie looked relieved. “Well, let’s go over and see whether the Widow’s got any of those little cakes with the chocolate on top,” he suggested. “Hard work always makes a fellow hungry.”
There was a rousing football meeting in the auditorium that evening, with speeches and music, songs and cheers; and the enthusiasm spilled over to the yard afterward, and threatened to become unruly until Dan Whipple mounted the steps of School Hall and spoke with all the authority of eighteen years and the senior class presidency. Whereupon someone suggested a cheer for the Doctor, and the joyous crowd thronged to the west end of the building and gave nine long “Hillman’s,” with a “Doctor Hillman” on the end. And then suddenly the lights flashed on on the porch, and there were the Doctor and Miss Tabitha, the former looking very much as if he had awakened very recently from a nap—which was, in fact, the case. But he was smiling as he stepped to the doorway and near-sightedly surveyed the throng.
“This—er—testimonial would appear to demand some sort of a response,” he announced, as the applause that had greeted his appearance died away. “But I find myself singularly devoid of words, boys. Perhaps some of you recall the story of the visitor in Sunday-school who was unexpectedly called on by the superintendent to address the children. He hemmed and hawed and said, finally, that it gave him much pleasure to see so many smiling, happy faces. And he hoped they were all good little boys and girls and knew their lessons. And then his eloquence failed him, and after an unhappy interim he asked: ‘And now, children, what shall I say?’ And a little girl in the front row lisped: ‘Pleathe, Mithter, thay “Amen” and thit down!’