The Adventures of Joel Pepper | Page 2

"Tell me what you were going to do, before I can say you are not
naughty," said Polly, dreadfully frightened at his outburst, but not
unfolding her hands.
"I was only going to--going to--going to--" mumbled Joel, trying to
burrow past her hands, and get into the comforting lap.
"Going to do what?" demanded Polly, still not moving.
"I was going to--going to--" said Joel, in smothered tones.
"Stop saying you were going to," commanded Polly, in her firmest
tones.
"You told me to tell you," said Joel. "O dear! I was going to--"
"Well, tell then, at once; what were you going to do? Hurry up, Joe;
now go on."
"I was going to--" began Joel again. "O dear me! I was going to--" he
mumbled, burrowing deeper yet.
"Joel Pepper!" cried Polly, in a tone that brought him bolt upright, his
round face streaked with tears that his dirty little hands had tried to
wipe off, the rest of them trailing over his round nose. "O dear me!
Now you must go into the 'provision room' and stay. Don't you
remember Mamsie said you'd have to go there the next time you
wouldn't tell what you'd done?" And Polly looked as if she were going
to cry at once.

"Oh, no--no!" screamed Joel, in the greatest distress, and clutching
Polly's arm. "I'll tell you, Polly; I'll tell." And he began to rattle off a lot
of words, but Polly stopped him.
"No, it's too late now. I've said it, and you must go; for Mamsie
wouldn't like it if you didn't."
Thereupon Joel gave a terrible howl. Little Davie, in distress, clapped
his hands to his ears. "Oh, Polly, don't make him," he was saying, when
heavy steps came around the corner of the house. "Any ra-ags to sell?"
sang out the voice of a very big man.
Joel took one black eye away from his brown hands, and shot a sharp
look at him. Then he howled worse than ever.
"No," said Polly, "not to-day, Mr. Biggs. There was a bagful Mamsie
said I might sell, but I can't get it now."
"Sho! that's too bad," ejaculated Mr. Biggs. "What's the matter with
him?" pointing a square, dingy thumb at Joel. "Stomach-ache?"
"No," said Polly, sadly, "it's worse than that. Please go away, Mr. Biggs,
and come some other day."
"Worse'n stomach-ache," said Mr. Biggs, in astonishment, and slapping
his big hands together; "then I can't take him with me. But t'other one
might go, if you say so, marm." He always called Polly marm, and she
liked it very much. He now pointed to David.
"Where are you going?" asked Polly, while
David took away his hands from his ears to hear, too.
"Why, you see, marm, Mis' Pettingill, up to th'East Quarter--you know
Mis' Pettingill?"
"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 moment.
Then he flung himself flat on the ground and roared.
"He's worse agin," said Mr. Biggs, in great distress. "I guess he wants
pep'mint. My mother used to give me that when I'd et green apples."
But Polly shook her head. "He can't go, Mr. Biggs," she said; "but
Davie can."
At this little Davie gave a squeal of joy, and took three steps down the
grass plot, but stopped suddenly.
"All right," said Mr. Biggs, heartily. "Come on, boy; I must be off. It's a
good piece down to Mis' Pettingill's. And she always wants me to take
time a-weighin' her rags." And he began to lumber off.
"I don't want to go if Joel