THE MUFFIN 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 grass 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.