"I knowed you'd do it, Miss Doc," and away he went.
By the time he returned to the blacksmith-shop the horses were gone to
the stable, and all the preacher's family and all their bundles were
out of the carriage. What plump-legged, healthy, inquisitive
youngsters those three small girls appeared as they stood there in the
snow.
"All right!" said Field, as he came to the group, where everybody
seemed already acquainted and friendly. "Fixed up royal, and ye're all
expected right away."
"We couldn't leave the little gals to walk," said the blacksmith.
"I'll carry this one myself," and, taking the largest of the children
in his big, bare arms, he swung her up with a certain gesture of
yearning not wholly under control.
"And I'll--"
"And I'll--" came quickly from the group, while six or eight big
fellows suddenly jostled each other in their haste to carry a
youngster. There being but two remaining, however, only two of the men
got prizes, and Field felt particularly injured because he had earned
such an honor, he felt, by running up to Doc's to make arrangements.
He and several others were obliged to be contented with the bundles,
not a few of which were threatened with destruction in the eagerness of
all to be of use.
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