"Never mind, Davie dear," said Polly, soothingly. "We can pick the nails up."

"I'll pick 'em up," cried Joel, delighted to find something to do, and he sprang up and went scrambling around and sweeping them into a pile with his fingers, while the big tears trailed down his round cheeks.

"See, now," said Polly, trying to speak gayly, "how the old nails have to hop into the box again."

"So they do," said David, with a wan little smile. Then he shut his eyes.

"Run as fast as you can, Joe," said Polly, "and ask Grandma Bascom to come over." Then she lifted Davie and struggled with him to a pile of grain bags in the corner. "I can't get him into the bedroom till Joel helps me, and besides, I must get Phronsie out of the kitchen first," she thought. "Oh, G.o.d! _please_ don't let Davie die," she cried deep in her heart.

Joel flew on the wings of the wind, his heart beating like a trip-hammer, over down across the lane to Grandma Bascom's little cottage. Grandma, with a tin pan full of wet corn meal, was just going out to feed her hens, when he dashed up behind her. "Please come!" he shouted, his trembling mouth close to her cap-border. "Polly wants you!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'PLEASE COME!' HE SHOUTED CLOSE TO HER CAP-BORDER"]

"Polly's here, now that's nice!" said Grandma, well pleased.

"You just wait a minute, and I'll be ready to see her. Come, Biddy-Biddy," she called, and waddling off, she gathered up a handful of the wet corn meal.

"Oh, come now!" roared Joe, and seizing her hand, he pulled her back toward the kitchen. "Dear Grandma Bascom, please come; Dave's killed, I guess," and before she knew it, she was halfway to the little brown house, and in a minute or two more there she was before Davie lying on the pile of grain bags, and Polly holding his hand, and fanning him with an old newspaper.

"He's all right," said Grandma, with a practised eye; "only just fainted a bit. Now 'tisn't anything to what my son John's Abram did one summer he spent with me. Used to tumble over most every day."

"He fell," said Polly. She could say no more, but pointed up to the beam. Then she found her voice. "The box of nails--I didn't know 'twas up there, see!" and she pointed to them, where Joel had tried to gather them up.

"He fell down from there?" asked Grandma, looking up at the beam.

Polly nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Joel wrung his hands together, and stood quite still.

"In that case," said Grandma, "this boy must go for Dr. Fisher just as soon as he can."

"Run, Joe, as hard as ever you can," gasped Polly.

No need to tell Joel that. Over the fields and across lots he ran like a deer, scaling stone walls in a flash, only to reach the doctor's house to be told that he was away twenty miles into the country. Then Joel sat down on the gra.s.s by the roadside, and burying his face in his hands, cried as if his heart would break.

He didn't mind that a pair of spirited black horses were coming down the road, the bright horses all a-jingle, and the carriage all a-bloom with gay colors, and merry with cheery voices.

"What's the matter?" called somebody to him, but he cried on as hard as he could.

Then his little shoulder in his homespun jacket was shaken smartly. "See here, my boy, either you tell me what you're screaming for, or I'll pick you up and carry you off."

Joel looked up, the streams of tears making muddy paths along his face, where he had rubbed it with his grimy hands. "Dave's killed," he burst out, "and the--the doctor's gone away!"

"Come on." It was a kind face that was over him, and in a minute Joel felt himself lifted by a pair of strong arms that presently tossed him into the carriage, in amongst the occupants, while the owner of the arms jumped in beside him. "Do you know the way home?" he asked.

"Of course," said Joel; "it's the little brown house--" then he began to cry again.

"See here, my lad, look at me." Joel rolled his eyes up at the man, the rest of the people keeping quite still to listen. "You are a brave boy, I know. Now I'm a doctor, and if you'll just take me to your house, I'll have a look at that Dave of yours. Which way?"

Joel sat bolt upright as well as he could, being crammed in between a big fat man and his kind friend, and directed this way and that way, his tears all gone, and before any one could hardly think twice, the pair of black horses and the jingling harness and big carriage had stopped before the little brown house, and the doctor was springing over the stepping-stones in such a lively fashion that Joel had to run to keep up with him, until there they were, with Grandma Bascom waddling around in search of some herbs that were drying in the corner of the woodshed, and Polly still holding David's hand as he lay on the pile of grain bags. And in five minutes the new doctor had all the examination made, and Davie was sitting up, his head on Polly's shoulder; and no bones were broken, and all the trouble was the fright produced by the shock of the fall. And the color flew back into Polly's cheek, and Grandma Bascom kept saying, "Praise the Lord--and who be ye, anyway?" bobbing her cap-border at the new doctor. And he laughed and didn't tell her.

But he did tell some funny stories. And little Davie laughed; and when they saw that, they all laughed, and the people out in the carriage said, "Just like Dr. Herman," and one tall girl, with her hat all covered with red roses, said, "Uncle John is always doing such queer things. I do wish he would hurry and come. It is too bad to have our driving tour interrupted like that." And pretty soon down the stepping-stones he came, as light and quick as could be, Grandma Bascom lifting both hands and calling after him, "Well, you're an angel of the Lord, anyway," and the new doctor was laughing. But he had stopped to look into Polly's brown eyes. "Don't worry, little girl, he's all right," he said.

Joel squeezed past them through the doorway, and ran after him.

"Please stop just a minute," he begged.

"Hey?" said the doctor, turning his foot on the step. The tall girl in the hat with big red roses looked impatient enough, and beat her foot on the carriage floor, but Joel kept on.

"I like you," he burst out, "ever'n ever so much."

The doctor put one hand on Joel's stubby black hair, and turned his grimy face up. "You've got to be a man," he said; "now look out for it while you're a boy. I guess you'll do." He jumped into the carriage and drove the black pair of horses off at a smart gait down the road, while Joel stood on the roadside gra.s.s to see him go.

IV

THE m.u.f.fIN MAN AND THE TRAMP

So when the time came that was to bring Mamsie home that night, tired, but happy to fold her baby to her heart, for Phronsie always climbed into her lap to untie her bonnet-strings, there was David, running around brisk as a bee, his cheeks pink as a rose, and Joel, who had stuck to the old box of nails all day, despite Polly's pleadings to stop and rest, gave a shout that the last was done, and stretched his tired legs. Then he gave a hop and skip and jump around and around the gra.s.s before the little brown house.

"Whickets! that feels good!" he cried, stopping for a long breath by the old green door; then away again, kicking up his heels like a colt.

"He's done 'em almost every one," said Davie, mournfully, standing on the doorstone to see him go; "he wouldn't let me help only a teenty bit, and he's so tired, Polly."

"Joel wanted to do 'em, Davie dear," said Polly, coming to the door, on hearing that, and giving him a loving little pat. "I know all about it, why he wanted to do it"--for Joel had told her the whole story--"and Mamsie'll be glad he did it. How I wish she'd come!" peering down the dusty road.

"How I wish she'd come!" echoed Phronsie, poking her head in between Polly's gown and the door jamb.

"Dear me," cried Polly, whirling around, "are you there, Pet?

Well, Mamsie's coming pretty soon. I think I see--No, 'tisn't,"

as David started to scamper over the stepping-stones--"it's a man turning the road. Anyway, she'll be here before we hardly know it, I guess. Now let's play something, and that'll make the time go faster."

"Oh, hooray!" cried little Davie, and, "Hooray!" piped Phronsie.

"_Joel--Joel!_" screamed David; and Phronsie clapped her hands and screamed too, and Polly laughed and called as hard as she could, for Joel, imagining himself a gay trotting horse, was slapping his legs with a switch, and careering around the back of the little brown house in a great state of excitement. Now hearing the calls, he came whooping around, making all the noise he possibly could, so there was a perfectly dreadful din, and no wonder that the man Polly had seen turning the road came nearer without any one noticing him.

He thought it was so convenient for him that all the children in the house should be out in the front yard, that perhaps he had better hop over the stone wall and go quietly in at the back door; for really he was very hungry, and there must be as much as a piece of bread, although the little brown house didn't look as if it held much meat and pie and cake. So over the wall he went, and slunk in through the tall gra.s.s, just as Polly was marshalling her forces on the greensward in front and saying, "Now, children, what shall we play?"

"Tag--tag!" screamed Joel, crowding up in front. "Now begin, Polly, do, and let me be it."

"I'd rather have the m.u.f.fin Man," said Davie, wistfully.

"m.u.f.fin--Man--m.u.f.fin--Man," echoed Phronsie, beating her small hands. "Oh, Polly, please do let us have the m.u.f.fin Man," she cried, her yellow hair flying over her flushed face as she hopped up and down. "Please, Polly!"

"Pshaw!" Joel exclaimed, contemptuously, "that old m.u.f.fin Man, he's no fun. I say 'Tag.' Do begin, Polly," he pulled her sleeve impatiently.

"The m.u.f.fin Man is so very nice," said Davie, reflectively, "and we haven't played it in so long."

"That old--" began Joel, crossly. Then he caught Polly's eye.