"I'll hold the whip," cried the pa.s.senger, eagerly, poking his head out of the stage-coach window.

"No, you won't, either," cried Joel. "You're the pa.s.senger. O dear me, there ain't any fun without th' whip!"

"Then I can drive," said little David. "Do let me, Joel," he pleaded.

"I won't either," declared Joel, flatly. "I'm Mr. Tisbett, and besides, there won't be anybody inside if you get up here."

"Phronsie might be pa.s.senger," said David, reflecting a moment.

"Goody, oh, so she might!" cried Joel, "and Seraphina too. And that'll make more upset. Then you may come up here, Dave," he promised. But when Polly was made acquainted with this fine plan, she refused to allow Phronsie to enter into such a noisy play. And Joel's face dropped so dismally that she was at her wits' end to know how to straighten out the trouble. Just then one of the Henderson boys came up to the door with a little pat of b.u.t.ter in a dish for Mrs. Pepper.

"Here comes Peletiah Henderson," announced Polly, catching sight of him through the window. "Now, p'r'aps he can stop and play with you, Joel."

"He ain't much good to play," answered Joel, who never seemed to be able to wake up the quiet boy to much action.

"Oh, Joel, he'll play real pretty, I guess," said Polly, reprovingly, "and he's such a good boy."

"He might be the pa.s.senger," said Joel, thinking busily, as Polly ran to the door to let the Henderson boy in. "We'll play he's the minister goin' over to preach in Boxford, and we'll upset him just before he gets there. Jump out, Dave, and get up here."

"I don't know as we ought to upset him if he's the minister,"

objected David, doubtfully, as he clambered up to Joel's side.

Still, a perfect thrill of delight seized him at his promotion to the seat of honor, and his little hands trembled as Joel laid the precious whip within them.

"No, I guess I'd rather you had the reins," decided Joel, twitching away the whip to lay the bits of string in David's little brown hands. "You can drive first, 'cause I want to crack the whip awful loud as we start. And then I'll take 'em again."

David, who would much rather have cracked the whip, said nothing, feeling it bliss enough to be up there on the box and doing something, as Peletiah, a light-haired, serious boy, walked slowly into the kitchen.

"You're the pa.s.senger," shouted Joel at him, and cracking his whip, "and you're going over to Boxford. Hurry up and get into the stage-coach. I'm Mr. Tisbett."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'YOU'RE THE Pa.s.sENGER!' SHOUTED JOEL"]

"And I'm helping, Peletiah," cried David, turning a very pink and happy face down toward him.

"I don't want to go to Boxford," said Peletiah, deliberately, and standing quite still, while Polly ran into the pantry to slip the little pat of b.u.t.ter on to another plate.

"Oh, how good it looks!" she said, longing for just one taste.

"Well, you've got to go," said Joel, obstinately, "so get in."

"I don't want to go to Boxford," repeated Peletiah, not stirring.

Joel cracked the whip angrily, and glared down at him.

"P'r'aps he wants to go somewhere else," said little David, leaning forward and clutching the reins carefully, "and that'll be just as good."

"Do you?" asked Joel, crossly. "Want to go anywheres else, Peletiah?"

Peletiah considered so long over this that Joel, drumming with his heels on the dashboard, got tired out, and shouted, "Hurry up and get in--th' stage-coach's goin'!" which had the desired effect, to make the pa.s.senger skip in much livelier than he intended.

"Now we're goin' to Boxford," announced Joel, positively, cracking his whip at its loudest. "Be careful, David; hold the horses up."

"He said he didn't want to go to Boxford," put in little David, trembling all over at the vast responsibility of holding in Mr.

Tisbett's black horses, and the pa.s.senger's being taken where he didn't want to go.

"Well, he didn't tell us where he did want to go," said Joel, "and th' stage is goin' to Boxford. Boxford, Box," he screamed to imaginary people along the road. "Anybody want to go to Boxford?"

"I said I didn't want to go to Boxford," interrupted the pa.s.senger in the general din.

"Well, you've got to," said Joel, "'cause the stage is goin'

there. Boxford--Boxford! Anybody goin' to Boxford? Want to go, Marm?" an imaginary old woman sitting on a stone by the roadside.

"I'm goin' to get out," announced Peletiah, in a tone that convinced Joel that remonstrance was useless.

"No, you mustn't," cried Joel, "and you can't, either, for th'

accident's comin' now," he added cheerfully.

Davie held his breath, and clutched the lines tighter yet, and Joel screamed shrilly, "Look out!" and gave an awful kick with his heels to the back of the top chair, and before anybody could say a word, over it came, knocking Davie with it, and before the pa.s.senger could get out, Mr. Tisbett and his a.s.sistant and the best part of the whole establishment seemed to be on top of him.

Polly heard the noise and came rushing out. "Oh, boys--boys!"

she cried in a fright, "are you hurt?" for everything seemed to be in a heap together, with some small legs kicking wildly about, trying to extricate the persons to whom they belonged.

"I ain't," announced Joel, hopping out of the heaps and shaking the black hair out of his eyes. "Oh, Polly, it was such fun!" he cried.

"Davie! Davie and Peletiah!" cried Polly, an awful dread at her heart, on account of the little guest, as she hung over the wreck, pulling busily at the chairs, "are you all safe?"

Little David tried to speak, but his head ached dreadfully, and the breath seemed to have left his body. Peletiah said slowly, "I barked my shin, and I didn't want to go to Boxford."

"O dear me," exclaimed Polly, fishing him out, "that's too bad!

Joel, you oughtn't to have taken him to Boxford if he didn't want to go."

"That wouldn't 'a' made any difference," declared Joel, "'cause we had to get upset, anyway."

"Well, Davie's hurt, I expect," said Polly, looking Peletiah carefully all over, as in duty bound to a guest, as he stood up before her.

"Oh, no, I ain't, Polly," said little David, trying to speak cheerfully, and crawling out with a big lump on his forehead.

"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, at sight of it. "Well, I'm glad, child, it's no worse," as she rapidly examined the rest of him.

"Now you must have some pieces of wet brown paper on that."

"I'm glad I haven't got to have wet brown paper all over me,"

declared Joel, with a grimace--"old, slippery, shiny brown paper."

"I barked my shin," gravely announced Peletiah, standing quite still.

"Oh, so you did," cried Polly, with a remorseful twinge. "Now you must wait, Davie, till I fix Peletiah up, for he's company, you know."

"I guess Grandma's got some wormwood--the stuff she made for Phronsie's toe when 'twas pounded," suggested Joel, quite oblivious to the black looks which Peletiah was constantly casting on him.

"You may run over and see," said Polly. "O dear me, no, you can't, Joe, just look at your hand!" as she happened to glance up.