Pretty soon they came to little Tommy Brooks’s house, and there was Tommy at the front door fussing with his mother. “I don’t need any overcoat!” cried he, “and I can’t wear rubbers,—they hurt my feet,—and I left my mittens at school! I hate to be bundled up just like a girl, anyway, and I wish people would let little boys alone!”
“Thomas Brooks!” called out the dame, severely, “you put on that overcoat and those rubbers at once and get behind the doctor’s cook—you’re the boy for me! Step lively, now, all of you!” And off started Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, and little Tommy Brooks.
A little farther up the street the shoemaker’s wife was grumbling to a neighbor, as she shook out her duster on the porch. “I’ve no patience with housekeeping!” declared the sharp voice. “I don’t do anything but chase dirt from morning till night, and yet the place is never clean—and my work is never done. Yes, it is a comfortable and pretty house, but I’m tired of the sight of it! I have to go and sweep the dining-room this very minute!”
“Oh no! not at all!” cried Dame Quimp. “That nice home of yours won’t get any more cleaning this day! You can fall right in line behind Tommy Brooks, and no remarks, if you please!”
So off they went again—Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, and the shoemaker’s wife.
At the turn of the road there was the sound of excited talking and high words, and there stood the minister’s twin grandchildren quarreling over a sled and a pair of skates.
“I don’t want the old sled!” cried the boy. “I do nothing but give you rides on it! You can just let me have the skates, and drag the sled, yourself, for a while!”
“Take the old skates!” answered the little girl, angrily. “I can’t stand up on them, anyway, and I’m tired of trying, and I don’t want the sled, either. I wish people would give us some nice presents. What’s the use of being twins if you can’t have a good time?”
“Sure enough!” cried Dame Quimp. “Two nice little children who can’t be happy with a fine sled and a pair of new skates—I never heard of such a thing! Come right here and take places behind the shoemaker’s wife; and don’t cry about it, either, for there’s no time to lose!” And away hurried Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, and the minister’s twin grandchildren.
Before long they came to the beautiful big house where the banker lived, and there, just coming out of the gate, they met the governess, looking much distressed and almost in tears. “What can I do for you, my dear?” asked Dame Quimp, anxiously; “you seem to be in trouble. I’m the Grumble Collector, and perhaps I can help you.”