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“You are not a baby, my son; you’ll soon be a man, and it’s time you did your own thinking. Don’t be late for dinner.” Mrs. Wopp’s eyes fell on the stained shawl. “There’s Mose allers ready fer a sitdown, a sort of kerlapsible verlise.”.
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She had made the box herself of small pieces of wood, the lid was nailed on and was provided with a wide inviting-looking slit so that coins of large denomination could be deposited therein. “I wouldn’t jist say he cant git up, Mrs. Wopp, fer Mrs. Bower sewed the tear up fer him; but the pants bein’ still on him and Joe bein’ shy-like she felt too narvous to make a good job of it an’ I reckon Joe is afeard those few stitches Mrs. Bower put in may not be very secoor.” “But you don’t feel so now, my son. Jimmy will soon be well; you, too. Then you can talk with him about it. Rest, now; that is your first duty,” she comforted, and left him. “Good dog! I understand you, Bouncer, and I’m not lonesome any more.”.
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