On getting the vehicle righted, they found that one wheel was broken so badly as to need repairs before the journey could be continued, and Mr. Trafton surveyed the damage with grave concern.
The boy gave a low whistle, and murmured:
“Here’s a state of things!”
“I don’t see what I’m going to do,” remarked the gentleman. “There’s nobody in this region who could mend that wheel, I suppose?”
“Oh yes there is!” cried the boy, brightening up. “Doran’s blacksmith shop is only a little ways down the road; you can get the wheel fixed there. I’ll go along and hold up this side of the buggy; and I’ll pay the bill, sir, as I caused the damage.”
Mr. Trafton looked at him approvingly, but answered:
“You need not do that, my boy. The bill won’t amount to much; but the job may take some time—and where can I leave my little girl? I suppose you would not care to wait in the blacksmith shop, Linda?”
Before Linda could reply, the boy said, looking at her frankly, and not at all abashed:
“She can stay with my grandma while you’re having the wheel fixed. Mrs. Deacon Burbank is my grandma; she lives right here, sir,” pointing out the house.
“And where do you live?” asked Mr. Trafton, who took a liking to Mrs. Deacon Burbank’s grandson, for all his annoyance at the trouble which that lively youth had caused him.