In an instant Webb reached
his side, and saw what the trouble was. Carrying him to the fire, he drew a
key from his pocket, and pressed its hollow ward over the spot stung. This
caused the poison to work out. Nature's remedy--mud--abounded, and soon a
little moist clay covered the wound, and Amy took him in her arms and tried
to pacify him, while his father, who had strolled away with Mr. Clifford,
speedily returned. The grandfather looked down commiseratingly on the
sobbing little companion of his earlier morning walk, and soon brought, not
merely serenity, but joy unbounded, by a quiet proposition.
"I will go back to the house," he said, "and have mamma put up a nice
lunch, and you and the other children can eat your dinner here by the fire.
So can you, Webb and Amy, and then you can look after the youngsters. It's
warm and dry here. Suppose you have a little picnic, which, in March, will
be a thing to remember. Alf, you can come with me, and while mamma is
preparing the lunch you can run to the market and get some oysters and
clams, and these, with potatoes, you can roast in the ashes of a smaller
fire, which Ned and Johnnie can look after under Webb's superintendence.
Wouldn't you like my little plan, Amy?"
"Yes, indeed," she replied, putting her hands caressingly within his arm.
"It's hard to think you are old when you know so well what we young
people like. I didn't believe that this day could be brighter or jollier,
and yet your plan has made the children half-wild.
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