Part 20 (1/2)

”Take care,” warned Candace. ”Oh, my soul and body!” she mourned, ”dey're all mussed up.”

”You can comb it out,” said Joel, longing to comfort, and forgetting it was wool from Candace's own head.

”And what'll Mis' Cabot and Mis' Alstyne say?” groaned Candace. Then she sat right down on the gra.s.s and began to pick at the dolls discontentedly.

”W'y couldn't you 'a' looked whar you're goin', Mas'r Joel?”

”Have Mrs. Alstyne and Mrs. Cabot bought those dolls?” cried Joel, pointing a brown finger at them. ”Oh, dear me!” He just saved himself from exclaiming, ”Those horrors!”

”Yes,” said Candace, smoothing a woolly head in great distress, ”but I dunno's they'll want 'em now, dey've been shook up so and spilt on de groun'--oh, dear me!”

”Joel, aren't you coming with that letter bag?” and, ”Joel Pepper, hurry up!” The cries were now so insistent that Joel dashed away, stopped, and rushed back tumultuously. ”Oh, Candace, I'm so sorry!” He flung himself down on the gra.s.s by her side. Distress was written so plainly all over his hot face that Candace stopped in her work over the dolls to turn and regard him.

”Bress yer heart, honey,” she cried, now as much worried over Joel as she had been about the dolls, ”dey ain't hurt a mite--not a single grain,” she added emphatically.

”Oh, Candace, are you sure?” he exclaimed delightedly.

”Not a mite,” protested Candace, bobbing her own woolly head in a decided fas.h.i.+on. ”Dear me! now I'm afraid I dis...o...b..rated my turban, an' it's my spick an' span comp'ny one Mr. King give me for this yere berry occasion,”

and she put up both black hands to feel of it anxiously. Joel jumped to his feet and ran all around the big figure to get the most comprehensive view.

”It's all right, Candace,” he reported, in great satisfaction.

”Sure, honey?” she asked doubtfully.

”Yes, yes,” declared Joel quickly, prancing up in front of her. ”I like you, Candace; you're just as nice as can be.”

”Den gimme your hands!”--she laid the rag dolls carefully on the gra.s.s, and put out both of her black ones--”and hoist me up, honey, dat's a good chile.”

So Joel stuck out his brown hands, and Candace laying hold of them, he tugged, very red in the face, till finally she set her ample gaiters on the ground and stood straight.

Up rushed Van.

”They're complaining at the post office,” he squealed. ”You've got to give me your bag. Folks can't get their letters. Give me the bag.” He thrust out both hands.

Joel turned on him in a fury,

”You aren't going to have my bag,” he screamed.

”I am, too; you're so slow, and don't give out the letters,” said Van, delighted to find some chance to get the best of Joel, and quite important to be sent with a message to such an effect.

”You shan't either; I ain't slow,” cried Joel, answering both statements at once, and whirling around in an endeavor to keep the bag at his back. But Van flew for it, disdaining to waste more time over arguments.

Candace stretched out a large, black hand. ”See here, now, Mas'r Van, leggo dat bag.” She seized him by the jacket collar with such a grip that he dismissed all thoughts of the mail bag, his one concern now being to get free from Candace.

”Ow!” he screamed, wriggling violently. ”I don't want the mail bag; let me go, Candace, do!”

”See,” cried little d.i.c.k, half across the lawn, to a merry party of ladies and gentlemen, who turned to follow the pointing of the small finger toward Candace and her capture.

”Oh, let me go,” cried Van, very red in the face at this, and trying to duck behind her big figure, ”_please,_ Candace.”

”Let him go,” begged Joel, just as much distressed; ”he won't touch the bag, I don't believe, again, Candace.”