But Sunny Boy was already out of the room and down at the gate where Jimmie stood holding Peter and Paul already harnessed to the carryall.
“Let me feed ’em sugar,” teased Sunny Boy. “Hold me up, Jimmie, I’m not ’fraid of their teeth now.”
“You pile in,” said Jimmie good-naturedly. “If you’re going to meet that train, you want to start in a few minutes. Say, Sunny, what ails you this morning?” for Sunny Boy had gone around to the back of the carriage, scrambled up over the top of the second seat, and was now tumbling head first into the cushions of the front seat.
Grandpa came out in a more leisurely fashion and took the reins.
“All right, Jimmie, we’re off. In case anything happens to the team, Sunny has enough push in him this morning to pull the carriage there and back.”
Peter and Paul trotted briskly, and Sunny’s tongue kept pace with their heels. His shrill little voice was the first thing Mr. Horton heard, for the train had beaten them to the station after all, and as the carriage turned the corner of the street a familiar figure stood on the platform waving to them. Grandpa had to keep one hand on his grandson to prevent him from falling out over the wheels.
“Well, well, Son, isn’t this fine!” Daddy had him in his arms almost before the horses stopped. “How brown you are! and yes, you’ve grown, too. I’ll put the suitcase in—don’t try to lift it.”
Daddy put Sunny Boy down and turned and kissed Grandpa.
“You’re his little boy!” Sunny thought out loud. It was the first time he had thought about it at all.
“I’m his daddy,” said Grandpa proudly. “Pretty fine boy, all things considered, isn’t he?”