"No," said Polly.

"I do," roared Joel, forgetting his distress. "I know, Polly.
She lives in a nice yellow house, and there's a duck-pond, and
cherry trees." He pranced up to Mr. Biggs, smiling through his
tears.

"That's it," cried Mr. Biggs, delighted at being understood.
"This boy knows." He laid his hand heavily on Joel's shoulder.
"Well, he seems to be better now, so I'll take him and t'other
one along of me, marm, if you say so. Ye see, Mis' Pettingill
told me to come up there sometime, 'cause she's got a lot o'
rags--ben a-makin' quilts, she said, all winter, and I laid out
to go to-day, so here I be, on my way."

"Whickets!" shouted Joel, the last tear gone. "Come on, Dave. Oh,
won't we have fun! I'm going to sit in the middle. Let me drive.
Let me, Mr. Biggs." He swarmed all over the big rag-man.

Little David stood perfectly still and clasped his hands in
delight.

[Illustration: "'WHICKETS!' SHOUTED JOEL, THE LAST TEAR GONE"]

Polly drew a long breath, and the rosy color flew out of her
cheek. "You can't go, Joe," she said slowly. "Mamsie wouldn't
like it, after you've been naughty."

Joel's arms fell down at his side, and he stared wildly at her a