Read The Moffats for Free Online Page B

button and out would come an ice-cream sandwich. Push another and a shower of caramels would fall into his hands. Another and a dish of pot roast and onions...
    Suddenly, right in his ear ...
Whe-e-e...
    Peter Frost's bike siren! Splash! Off the hitching post went Rufus! Into the mud puddle! That Peter Frost had

 
    approached silently and swiftly on his bicycle. As he sped past Rufus he thought: What fun to startle Rufus with a terrific screech on his siren. So, poor Rufus!
    That was the second time he had to have his clothes changed.
    Of course, Mama didn't like this one bit, but Janey and Sylvie assured her it really had not been Rufus's fault this time, and if Mama herself had been sitting on the hitching post, she, too, would have fallen off.
    At this moment the church bells pealed—the low-pitched bells of their church and the high-pitched ones of Peter Frost's church. It was time to start. Mama kissed each one of them and the four started solemnly up the street. At last they were off—Rufus in one of his everyday sailor suits.

 
    "Keep hold of Rufus's hand, Joey," called Mama after them. "And give my regards to the Reverend Gandy," she said, waving her blue-checked apron and watching them until they had passed the Pudges'.
    At the corner of Elm Street, Sylvie suddenly said, "Goodness, there goes Edie Ellenbach. It must be late. I'll have to hurry to get in place in the choir. Joey, don't let Rufus climb the flagpole on the Green. See you after Sunday School. Good-bye."
    Then she flew down Elm Street with her curls flying, calling, "Edie! Edie!"
    The other three stood at the corner for a moment, waiting for a slow-moving horse and wagon to pass by.
    "Maybe it's the peanut man," said Rufus, thoughtfully fingering his penny meant for the Sunday School plate.
    "Or the flying horse wagon," said Jane, shaking her little patent leather pocketbook to hear her two pennies clink together.
    "S'neither," said Joe. "S'the Salvation Army man."
    The driver drew up at the curb beside them.
    "Hi!" he said. "Which road takes me to Orchard Grove?"
    Joe thought rapidly. The road to Orchard Grove led past the Green. Right where they were going. A lift! A ride in a horse and wagon!
    "If you'll give us a lift, we'll show you," said Joe. "We're going that way ourselves."
    "Hop up," agreed the man.

 
    Joe boosted Jane and Rufus onto the pile of newspapers in the back of the wagon. He jumped up to the seat beside the driver. What a nice man this was! He gave the reins to Joe without his even asking.
    "You know the way through town better than I do," he said. "I'm going to take a little nap. Freshen me up for the meeting at Orchard Grove. There's my drum under the seat. Beat that when it's time for me to wake up. It's the only thing aside from an earthquake that will wake me."
    Off they went with Joe at the reins! Down Elm Street, past the public library, the hardware shop, the A & P, to the Green, but not on foot—in a horse and wagon. They waved gaily to Mrs. Shoemaker, who waved back at them without a trace of surprise. You'd think she saw the Moffats on horses every day of her life.
    When they reached the drinking trough on the Green, Joe said, "Who-a, Billy. Here's where we leave you—I suppose."
    Joe sat there a moment, the reins slack in his hands. He had certainly driven that horse well for a beginner, he thought. And that corner where Rock Avenue and Main Street came together was no easy one, either. What a wonderful feeling to drive a horse! He looked at the man, who was still asleep. He must be dead tired. It was a pity he had such a long drive ahead of him. Over three miles he'd have to go. Straight ahead the road led to Orchard Grove. Over there across the Green was Sunday School. The doors were closed. There was no one in sight. The church bells had stopped ringing. Probably Sunday School had already begun. They would be late. One thing he did not like to do was go in late to Sunday School.
Why not drive this man to Orchard