"Oh, Candace, I'm so sorry!" He flung himself
down on the grass 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
fashion. "Dear me! now I'm afraid I discomberated 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 grass, 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.
Pages:
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121