“Then you are the boy who got first into Boston this morning, are you, sir?”
“I believe I did, sir.”
“Go on.”
The oxen went on.
“Now, Jeremy, down with you and wait here for me. You haven’t had small-pox,” said Aunt Hannah.
“But the oxen won’t mind you,” said Jeremy.
Aunt Hannah was troubled. She never had driven oxen.
At the moment who should appear but Mr. Wooster. He gladly offered to take the basket and deliver it at Mrs. Jagger’s door.
“Don’t go in, mind! Mother’s had small-pox,” called Jeremy, as he started.
“I’m tired,” gasped Aunt Hannah, who had done baking enough for a small army that day, as she sat down to rest on the broad seat of the cart, and the two started for home. The soldier at the gate scarcely heeded them as they went out, for roasted chicken “tasted so good.”