CHAPTER XIII “DON’T HURT HIM”
MRS. ATKINS ran to the door. “Beats all how a man ain’t never on hand when he’s wanted,” she
exclaimed in vexation, peering up and down the street.
“Well, now, ef here ain’t Mr. Jones heavin’ along,” she cried joyfully¹, and picking up her calico
gown, she sped over the step, bawling² out, “Do stop—Mr. Jones!”
“What’s th’ matter, Mis Atkins?” asked the farmer leisurely³ driving up.
“I’ll tell you, only do get out,” she cried excitedly.
“Hain’t nothin’ happened to that little feller, has they?” the farmer pointed⁴ his thumb in great concern
toward the store.
“No—no—but ef it hadn’t ben for Davie, Mr. Atkins would ’a’ ben robbed,” declared Mrs. Atkins;
then she thrust her head back into the store, “Davie, come here, an’ tell us all about it. We must catch
th’ man, or he’ll try it again, like enough.”
“Sho!” exclaimed Farmer Jones, as Davie ran out to the step. Then he whistled, “Whew! Hop⁵ o’ my
Thumb,” he was going to say. But remembering how the small boy hadn’t liked that, nor the laugh,
he whistled again, as he got slowly out of the wagon⁶.
“Tell it, Davie,” Mrs. Atkins kept saying, “just exactly how it all happened.” And then a small knot
of farmers drew near, so there was quite a little crowd.
As Davie forgot to say much about himself, Mrs. Atkins and Farmer Jones were obliged to prod⁷ him
with questions. At last the story was pieced out.
“We must catch the fellow,” exclaimed one farmer, “else he’ll be trying the same game again.”
“Like enough we’ll be murdered in our beds,” said a woman, pushing her way into the center of

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