King off from the soap-box and into it, he
bustled to a door at the head of the shop.
"Ma," he cried, putting his head into the room to which it opened, "do you
know where Jack is?"
"He's upstairs," said a voice, evidently "Ma's."
"Well, tell him to come down," said the fat grocer.
"All right, Ichabod."
"Jack's to home," announced the grocer, coming back with the air of
imparting a piece of news, just as much as if every word had not been
heard. "Well, now, Mis. Jones, I'll fill your jug." He took it from her and
she settled herself comfortably, during the slow process, to watch the
stately, white-haired figure in the chair to her heart's content; her
example being followed by the small girl who had, of course, been obliged
to wait for the box of matches.
A pair of feet could be heard coming through the room just mentioned.
"I don't know what your Pa wants you for," said a woman's voice; "most
likely for an errand."
So Jack, free from his sling, for Doctor Fisher had found him surprisingly
quick at recovery, bolted through the doorway, and into the shop, and
without a bit of warning brought up against old Mr. Horatio King and Joel.
"Great Scott!" he cried, scared out of his usual shyness.
"Yes," said Joel, sociably bobbing his face into Jack's, "I've come to ask
you to supper. Mrs. Sterling told me to, most particularly, you know.
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