"Back there," said Peletiah, pointing down the road. "You pulled me along
so, it flew out of my hand."
Rachel set her teeth together hard.
"Come on!"
She seized a hand of each boy, Ezekiel being a silent spectator all the
time; and if they went fast before, this time, in retracing their steps, it
might be called flying, till a little spot on the roadside grass showed the
object of their search. Peletiah's breath was gone entirely by this time,
and he sank down by its side without a word, his brother following suit.
"I shall carry it now," announced Rachel, gathering up the little pat, safe
in its white cloth. "My! 'tain't hurt a bit" She brushed off a few
marauding ants. "Come on, now!"
Peletiah struggled to his feet and gasped, "I shall carry it," and put out
his hands.
"No such thing." Rachel held the butter-pat firmly in her slender, brown
hand. "My! you ain't fit to carry no butter-pats--let 'em drop out of your
hands. Come on!"
"I shall carry it," declared Peletiah doggedly, and bringing his pale eyes
to bear on her face, while he stood still in his tracks.
"I hope you may get it," cried Rachel triumphantly. "I never see such a
boy. Come on, I say." She held out her hand with authority.
"My mother said I was to carry the butter-pat, and I shall carry it," said
Peletiah, putting out one hand for it, and the other behind his back.
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