“Are they my very own, Uncle Will,” he asked, as that gentleman turned to look at his load, “to use just as I want to?”
“Your very own,” said the doctor, “to do what you please with. If you wish, you may throw them in the cistern. But what are they for?”
“I would rather not tell, Uncle Will.”
“Very well, sir. Success to your project, whatever it is.”
Down the steps bumped the wheelbarrow, with its owner behind, and down the street they went again, though this time on the other side of the block. There were not many pedestrians on the street, but the few Robbie met smiled at him and his load of bricks. He looked at all the houses attentively, and finally mounted the steps of one with difficulty, all the time afraid his bricks would fall out, and rang the bell a little more gently than he had at his uncle’s.
The Rev. Dr. Sullivan came to the door. He knew Robbie. “Good-morning, young man!” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” said Robbie. “I’ve brought you the first load of bricks for the new church.”
“The new church!” said the doctor.
“Yes, sir. You said yesterday you wanted one, and papa said you wanted a brick one. So I’ve brought the first load. They’re my very own, sir, to use just as I want to.”
“Well, well!” said Dr. Sullivan, “I am very much obliged to you,” and Robbie thought his voice sounded almost as his did when he had the croup. Moreover, he took out his handkerchief and rubbed his eyes. Then he took the wheelbarrow in his arms, and having deposited the contents in his backyard, returned it to the owner. “The bricks shall be used, young man,” he said, “every one of them, for the new church. Thank you very much for your help.”