“Lemme ride all week, ord’rin’ and deliv’rin’.”

“Not much, I won’t,” Patsey declared stoutly.  “You can ride three days for it.”

Wilford began to whimper, but just then the butcher cart whirled around the corner.

Wilford ran toward it.  Patsey held the knife.

The butcher stopped and let Wilford mount.  It was all one to the butcher.  He knew he usually got a boy at this corner.

Patsey ran after the butcher cart.  He had caught sight of someone whom Wilford had not yet noticed.  It was Mrs. Ducker.  Mrs. Ducker had been down the street ordering a crate of pears.  Mrs. Ducker was just as particular about pears as she was about final g’s, so she had gone herself to select them.

When she saw Wilford, her son, riding with the butcher—­well, really, she could not have told the sensation it gave her.  Wilford could not have told, either, just how he felt when he saw his mother.  But both Mrs. Ducker and her son had a distinct sensation when they met that morning.

She called Wilford, and he came.  No sooner had he left his seat than Patsey Watson took his place.  Wilford dared not ask for the return of the knife:  his mother would know that he had had dealings with Patsey Watson, and his account at the maternal bank was already overdrawn.

Mrs. Ducker was more sorrowful than angry.

“Wilford!” she said with great dignity, regarding the downcast little boy with exaggerated scorn, “and you a Ducker!”

She escorted the fallen Ducker sadly homeward, but, oh, so glad that she had saved him from the corroding influence of the butcher boy.

While Wilford Ducker was unfastening the china buttons on his waist, preparatory to a season of rest and retirement, that he might the better ponder upon the sins of disobedience and evil associations, Patsey Watson was opening and shutting his new knife proudly.

“It was easy done,” he was saying to himself.  “I’m kinder sorry I jewed him down now.  Might as well ha’ let him have the week.  Sure, there’s no luck in being mane.”

CHAPTER XI HOW PEARL WATSON WIPED OUT THE STAIN

Mrs. Motherwell felt bitterly grieved with Polly for failing her just when she needed her the most; “after me keepin’ her and puttin’ up with her all summer,” she said.  She began to wonder where she could secure help.  Then she had an inspiration!

The Watsons still owed ten dollars on the caboose.  The eldest Watson girl was big enough to work.  They would get her.  And get ten dollars’ worth of work out of her if they could.

The next Saturday night John Watson announced to his family that old Sam Motherwell wanted Pearlie to go out and work off the caboose debt.

Mrs. Watson cried, “God help us!” and threw her apron over her head.

“Who’ll keep the dandrew out of me hair?” Mary said tearfully, “if Pearlie goes away?”