“now, david, it’s your turn.” mr. atkins leaned both hands on the counter. “what did you want?”
“three pounds of indian meal, if you please.”
“that’s easy got, an’ it’s fresh an’ sweet.” the storekeeper went over to the big box in the corner.
“thought i never should get round to wait on you. beats all how some women trade. that miss pride
’ud finger everything in the place, an’ finally buy a lemon. well, here you be!” he twisted up the
paper bag with an extra twirl and handed it over the counter. “well now, how’s things over to the
little brown house?”
david reached up with a shaking hand for the paper bag.
mr. atkins picked up the knife and cut off a snip from the big yellow cheese, and began to chew it.
“he’s too little,” he said to himself; “no, i’ve got to find some other way to help ’em. hem! well—”
and he cut off another snip, “i s’pose polly finds it pretty easy to keep the little brown house goin’
these days, don’t she?”
david’s face turned quite white. if he could only forget how he had run out that very morning to get
the kindlings behind the wood-pile, and ben and polly were talking!
“it’s every bit,” said ben, turning his old leather purse upside down, “ten cents, polly.”
“o dear—dear! what shall we do, ben? the potatoes are ’most gone and everything is so much
worse!”
“don’t feel so bad, polly. things will get better, i guess,” said ben.
and then davie, peering around the wood-pile, saw him pat polly’s shoulder.
“ben,” said polly, and she threw her arms around his neck, “we must think up some more ways to
help mamsie. we must, ben.”
ben held polly closely, but he said nothing, for he couldn’t for his life think of a word of comfort,
and his face worked dreadfully.
“o dear me!” cried polly in dismay when she saw that; “don’t look so, ben. and you mustn’t feel
bad.”
“polly,” said ben, drawing a long breath, “we’ll both think hard, and meantime, you and i mustn’t
stop our work. we ought to be at it this very minute.”
“that’s so,” said polly, breaking away from him, “and mamsie told me to send davie down to the
store for some indian meal.”
at that davie ducked behind the wood-pile, and then ran after polly into the little brown house. and
now here he was in all his misery, standing before the counter, with mr. atkins asking this dreadful
question!
“hem!” said the storekeeper again. seeing davie’s face, he couldn’t keep eating cheese all day, so he
threw down the knife, and before he knew it, he was saying, “how would you like to come here an’
help me keep store a little while every now and then?”
davie’s blue eyes flew open at their widest, and he had all he could do to hang to the paper bag of
indian meal.
“you could set here an’ watch things,” mr. atkins ran on, surprised to find how very much he needed
a small boy for that very thing, that hadn’t occurred to him before. “an’ then when i want to go to
dinner, i’d admire to have th’ store kep’ open.” at last he stopped suddenly. “what d’ye say, davie?”
davie found his voice after swallowing very hard.
“could i really help you, mr. atkins?” he burst out, standing on his tiptoes, the very idea making him
quite tall.
“sure!” declared the storekeeper, slapping his thigh. “beats all why i didn’t think of it before. well,
what d’ye say, david?”
the color rushed all over david’s face till it became rosy red. “oh, mr. atkins,” and he dropped the
bag, “can i come here and help keep the store?” and he clasped his hands.
“that’s what i been a-sayin’ to you,” cried the storekeeper, his pale green eyes sparkling.
“can i really?”
“sure as shootin’—i’d like it first rate. you’d be an awful help. you see, you could find out what
folks wanted, an’ come an’ call me when i’m in th’ house.” mr. atkins pointed his big thumb over to
the door that shut off the place where he ate and slept.
“yes,” cried davie, eagerly, “i could, mr. atkins.”
“an’ then you—you could hand me th’ string when i wanted to tie up th’ bundles.”
“yes, i could.”
“an’ then,” said mr. atkins, casting about in his mind for the other things that now loomed up as
most important in which he was to be helped, “why then, you could hand me th’ paper.”
“yes,” said davie, “an’ couldn’t i sometimes tie up bundles, mr. atkins?” he asked anxiously.
“i shouldn’t wonder if you could,” cried mr. atkins; “you’re so smart, davie pepper, you’d learn real
easy,” and he slapped his thigh again.
“i’d try to learn,” cried david in a glow, “and then i could help you, couldn’t i, mr. atkins, keep
store when i could tie up bundles?”
“you’d help me splendid before you learn to tie up bundles,” declared mr. atkins just as excited,
“just bein’ here an’ waitin’ on me.”
“and i’m going to learn to tie up bundles,” cried david in a transport. then he looked down at the
paper bag of indian meal at his feet, and he hung his head. “i’m so sorry,” he faltered. oh, now mr.
atkins wouldn’t want him, of course. a boy who dropped bundles all over the place wasn’t to be
trusted; and this splendid chance to help mamsie was gone.
“’tain’t such a dreadful thing to do,” observed the storekeeper, leaning his long figure over the
counter to take note of the trouble. “i dropped bundles when i was a boy, davie.”
“did you?” said david, greatly relieved that a boy who grew up to be such a smart man as the village
storekeeper did such a thing; and he picked up the paper bag with hope once more springing in his
heart.
“sure!” declared mr. atkins, “i was a great deal bigger than you be.”
“how much bigger, mr. atkins?” asked david, clutching his bag.
“oh, i guess ’most a foot taller,” said mr. atkins, scratching his head, “an’ once i dropped a ’lasses
jug.”
“oh, mr. atkins!” exclaimed david, quite overwhelmed.
“yes, i did,” said the storekeeper, delighted to see the comfort this revelation gave. “an’ ’twas in th’
dusty road. just think of that, david pepper!”
“can i help fill molasses jugs when people want them?” asked davie suddenly. if that could ever be
allowed, his happiness would be complete indeed.
mr. atkins whirled around. “well—p’raps,” he began slowly. then he saw david’s face. “now i
shouldn’t wonder ef you could before long learn to fill them jugs. an’ that would be a most dreadful
help, david, for it’s slow work as stock still, i tell you. now run along an’ ask your ma ef you can
come an’ help me in th’ store a little now and then. you never must go into anythin’, you know,
without askin’ her.”
“an’ ef ever i see a boy run,” reported mr. atkins that day at dinner to his wife, “’twas davie pepper,
ma; when i said that, his legs jest twinkled.” and the storekeeper sat back in his chair to laugh. he
even forgot to ask for a second helping of pie.
“mamsie!” davie sprang into the little brown house, swinging his bag of indian meal, nearly
upsetting phronsie coming to meet him, seraphina upside down in her arms.
“goodness me, davie!” exclaimed polly, coming out of the provision room, the tin pail of bread in
her hand, “what is the matter?”
“where’s mamsie?” cried davie, his blue eyes shining, and turning a very red face on her.
“she’s gone to grandma bascom’s,” said polly, dropping the pail to seize his little calico blouse,
“and do give me that bag, davie.”
davie gave up the bag and tore himself away from polly’s hold. “i must ask mamsie,” he shouted,
running to the door.
“my senses!” cried polly, “what is the matter?” she wanted to rub her eyes to see if it really was
davie who stood before her. “wait! mamsie’s coming home in a few minutes. why, here she is
now!” glancing out of the window.
david sprang out. “oh, mamsie,” he precipitated himself upon mother pepper half-way up the path.
“he wants me to help him, and i’m going to learn to tie up bundles, and he said he thought some time
i could fill molasses jugs, if you’d say yes. can’t i, mamsie?”
“dear me!” mrs. pepper held him by both little shoulders. “what is it all about, davie? no, no, don’t
try to speak now,” she added, seeing his face. “come in and tell mother.”
and pretty soon, over by her big old calico-covered rocker, the story got out, polly hanging over
them both, and phronsie, who had dropped seraphina on the way, leaning, perfectly absorbed, against
mother pepper’s knee.
“to think of my boy being wanted to help mr. atkins!” cried mrs. pepper with shining eyes. “oh,
davie!”
“can i—can i?” cried david, feeling as if he couldn’t wait another minute for the “yes” that all his
hopes were hanging upon.
“can you? yes, yes, davie.” mrs. pepper gathered him up into her lap. “oh, what a help you’ll be to
mother, if you are a good boy and learn to do everything in the store that mr. atkins tells you!”
polly ran down the road a good piece to meet ben when he came home from deacon blodgett’s. joel
had scampered on ahead. “where are you going?” he had screamed as polly flew past.
“going to walk home with ben,” she had shouted, flying along.
“my goodness, polly,” cried ben, as she rushed up to him, “is the house afire?”
“mercy no!” polly gasped for breath. “you can’t think,” she panted.
“hold on!” ben pounded her on the back. “you’re going like a steam engine, polly.”
“well, i feel like a steam engine,” said polly, with another gasp. “oh, ben, you—can’t ever guess—
what’s happened.”
“come on over here.” ben dragged her off to the stone wall. “there now, tell me all about it.”
“well, in the first place,” said polly, sitting down on the wall, ben by her side, and drawing a long
breath, “i don’t ever mean to be so bad as i was this morning, ben.”
she folded her hands in her lap, and a sorrowful little look came into her brown eyes.
“you weren’t bad,” contradicted ben stoutly; “and anyway, if you were, i was worse.”
“oh, no, ben,” said polly quickly; “you are never as bad as i am, and you always see something
better ahead.”
“indeed i don’t, polly,” declared ben, “you’re the one to pretend that things are good, and you have
such splendid plans. i never can think of anything. well, anyway, tell what’s happened at home.”
“ben,” said polly, suddenly lifting her face, the color rushing all over it, “just when the potatoes are
all gone, and there isn’t much bread in the pail, what do you think—you can’t guess, so i’ll tell you.
mr. atkins has asked davie to come now and then to help him in his store.”
“not our davie!” exclaimed ben, nearly tumbling off the stone wall; “why, he’s too little. you must
be dreaming, polly.”
“indeed i’m not dreaming,” declared polly indignantly; “and davie wouldn’t ever say things that
aren’t so. you know that, ben pepper.”
“yes, i know,” said ben—but he looked very puzzled.
“and anyway, even if we don’t understand it,” said polly wisely, “why it’s so. and just think what a
help to mamsie. and it’s come when i was so bad this very morning.”
“you weren’t bad,” declared ben again. and there they had it all over again.
“but you will be—we shall both be,” he wound up with a laugh, “if we sit here on this stone wall
much longer.”
“that’s so,” said polly, with a little laugh, and hopping off from the wall, they both ran off, hand in
hand, down the road to the little brown house.
when they got there everything was in a truly dreadful state. there lay joel, face down on the floor,
crying as if his heart would break. “i want to go to help in the store,” he screamed over and over, till
nobody else had a chance to be heard. david was hanging over him in the greatest distress, saying, “i
won’t go, joey—you may go, joey.”
mrs. pepper shook her head, and said quietly, “oh, yes, davie, you must go; you have promised mr.
atkins.”
“i want to tie up bundles,” screamed joel, kicking his heels on the floor. “o dear—dear—boo—hoo
—hoo!”
“perhaps,” davie ran over to mother pepper’s chair, “mr. atkins would let joey come and help him
instead of me,” he said.
“no, davie,” said mother pepper, shaking her head worse than ever, “mr. atkins asked you, and you
have promised. always remember a promise once given must be kept,” and she patted his flushed
cheek. “joel, come here!” it was impossible for joel to stay on the floor kicking his heels and
screaming when mamsie spoke in that tone, so he got up and drew slowly near to her, digging his
knuckles into his streaming eyes.
“davie couldn’t ask mr. atkins to let you take his place, even if he hadn’t promised, for you are so
much bigger than davie, that he isn’t strong enough to help ben pile wood as you do. why, you are
my big boy, joey!” she patted his stubby black hair affectionately.
“so i am,” said joel, as if a wholly new idea had struck him, and wiping off the last tear on the back
of his little brown hand. “you see, i couldn’t go, dave, instead of you, to help mr. atkins in the
store, for i am so much bigger than you, and i’ve got to pile wood and help mamsie.”
davie drew a long breath of relief.
“so you have,” he said. then he laughed gleefully.
“and i’m so hungry,” announced joel, the matter all settled now comfortably. “o dear, isn’t dinner
ready?”
“yes,” said polly, running over to the stove, “and we’ve got mush to-day—indian meal mush—just
think. do get the molasses pitcher, ben!”
“no, let me,” begged davie, all aglow with the delightful visions of molasses jugs being filled by his
hands from the big barrel in mr. atkins’ store.
“so you may, davie,” said polly, putting the big dish of mush on the table.
