"You haven't broken your jaw, Pick?" observed Clare. "I can't imagine
that."
"I'll break yours if you don't go," said Pickering savagely, and half
smothered, as he tried to keep the pillow well before the two pairs of
eyes.
This was a little difficult, as Clare, seeing hopes of running around
the pillow, set himself in motion to that end. But as Pickering whirled
as fast as he did, there was no great gain.
"Well, if I ever did!" exclaimed Alexia, quite aghast.
And the next moment Pickering, keeping a little opening at one end of
the pillow, saw his chance; darted out of the door, and flinging the
pillow the length of the hall, raced into his own room and slammed the
door, and they could hear him lock it.
"Well, if I ever did!" exclaimed Alexia again, and sinking into the
first chair, she raised both hands.
"What's got into the beggar?" cried Clare in perplexity, and looking out
into the hall, as if some help to the puzzle might be found there.
"Well, I guess you and I, Alexia, might as well go to Polly Pepper's,"
he said finally.
"And if I ever come after that boy again to tell him of anything nice
that's going to happen, I miss my guess," declared Alexia, getting
herself out of her chair, in high dudgeon. "Let's send Jasper after him;
he's the only one who can manage him," she cried, as they set forth.
"Good idea," said Clare.
But when Alexia told of their funny reception, Jasper first stared, then
burst out laughing. And although Alexia teased and teased, she got no
satisfaction.
"It's no use, Alexia," Jasper said, wiping his eyes, "you won't get me
to tell. So let's set about having some fun. What shall we do?"
"I don't want to do anything," pouted Alexia, "only to know what made
Pickering Dodge act in that funny way."
"And that's just what you won't know, Alexia," replied Jasper
composedly. "Well, Polly, you are going to put off toasting the
marshmallows, aren't you, till to-morrow night, when Pick can probably
come?"
"Oh, I wouldn't wait for him," Alexia burst out, quite exasperated,
"when he's acted so. And perhaps he'd come with an old sofa pillow
before his face, if you did."
"Oh, no, he won't, Alexia," said Jasper, going off into another laugh.
But although she teased again, she got no nearer to the facts. And Polly
proposing that they make candy, the chafing dish was gotten out; and
Alexia, who was quite an adept in the art, went to work, Jasper cracking
the nuts, and Polly and Clare picking out the meats.
And then all the story of Pickering's splendid advance in the tough work
of making up his lessons came out, Jasper pausing so long to dilate with
kindling eyes upon it, that very few nuts fell into the dish. So Polly's
fingers were the only ones to achieve much, as Clare gave so close
attention to the story that he was a very poor helper.
In the midst of it, Alexia threw down the chafing-dish spoon, and
clapped her hands. "Oh, I know!" she exclaimed.
"Oh," cried Polly, looking up from the little pile of nut-meats, "how
you scared me, Alexia!"
"I know--I know!" exclaimed Alexia again, and nodding to herself wisely.
Jasper threw her a quick glance. It said, "If you know, don't tell,
Alexia." And she flashed back, "Did you suppose I would?"
"What do you know?" demanded Clare, transferring his attention from
Jasper to her. "Tell on, Alexia; what do you know?"
"Oh, my goodness me! this candy never will be done in time for those
meats," cried Alexia, picking up the spoon to stir away for dear life.
And Jasper dashed in on what Mr. Faber said about Pickering's chances
for college; a statement that completely carried Clare off his feet, so
to speak.
"You don't mean that he thinks Pick will get in without conditions?"
gasped Clare, dumfounded.
"Yes, I do." Jasper nodded brightly. "If Pick will only study; keep it
up, you know, I mean to the end. He surely said it, Clare."
It was so much for Clare to think of, that he didn't have any words at
his command.
"Now isn't that perfectly splendid in Pickering!" cried Alexia, making
the spoon fly merrily. "Oh dear me! I forgot to put in the butter.
Where--oh, here it is," and she tossed in a big piece. "To think
that--oh dear me, I forgot! I _did_ put the butter in before. Now I've
spoilt it," and she threw down the spoon in despair.
"Fish it out," cried Polly, hopping up and seizing the spoon to make
little dabs at the ball of butter now rapidly lessening.
"But it's melted--that is, almost--oh dear me!" cried Alexia.
"No, it isn't; there, see how big it is." Polly landed it deftly on the
plate and hopped back to her nut-meats again.
"And I should think you'd better shake yourself, Clare," said Jasper,
over at him. "We shouldn't have any nuts in this candy if it depended on
you."
"You do tell such astounding stories," cried Clare, setting to work at
once. And Jasper making as much noise as he could while cracking his
nuts, Alexia's secret was safe.
But when the candy was set out to cool, and there was a pause in which
the two boys were occupied by themselves, Alexia pulled Polly off to a
corner.
"Where are they going?" asked Clare, with one eye after them.
"Oh, they have something to talk over, I presume," said Jasper
carelessly.
"Nonsense! they've all the time every day. Let's go over and see."
"Oh, no," said Jasper. "Come on, Clare, and let's see if the candy is
cool." But Clare didn't want to see if the candy was cool, nor anything
else but to have his own way. So he proceeded over to the corner by
himself.
"Oho! You go right away!" cried Alexia, poking up her head over Polly's
shoulder. "You dreadful boy! Now, Polly, come." And she pulled her off
into the library.
"You see you didn't get anything for your pains," said Jasper, bursting
into a laugh. "You'd much better have staid here."
"Well, I don't want to know, anyway," said Clare, taking a sudden
interest in the candy. "I believe it is cold, Jasper; let's look."
"Polly," Alexia was saying in the library behind the portieres, "I know
now; because I did it once myself: it was when you first promised you'd
be a friend to me, and I went home, and cried for very joy. And I didn't
want to see anybody that night."
"Oh, Alexia!" exclaimed Polly, giving her a hug that satisfied even
Alexia.
"No, I didn't; and I remember how I wanted to hold something up to my
face. I never thought of a sofa pillow, and I couldn't have gotten it if
I had thought, 'cause aunt had it crammed against her back. Oh, my eyes
were a sight, Polly, and my nose was all over my face."
XXIII THE CLEMCY GARDEN PARTY
"You may go on those errands, Hortense, but first send Polly Pepper to
me," commanded Mrs. Chatterton sharply.
The French maid paused in the act of hanging up a gown. "I will
_re_-quest her, Madame. I should not like to send Mees Polly Peppaire."
"_Miss_ Polly Pepper!" Mrs. Chatterton was guilty of stamping her foot.
"Are you mad? I am speaking of Polly Pepper, this country girl, who is
as poor and low-born here in this house, as if in her little brown
house, wherever that may be."
Hortense shrugged her shoulders, and hung up the gown.
"Has Madame any further commands for me?" she asked, coming up to her
mistress.
"Yes; be sure to get the velvet at Lemaire's, and take back the silk
kimono. I will send to New York for one."
"Yes, Madame."
"That is all--besides the other errands. Now go." She dismissed her with
a wave of her shapely hand. "But first, as I bade you, _send_ Polly
Pepper to me."
Hortense, with another elevation of her shoulders, said nothing, till
she found herself the other side of the door. Then she shook her fist at
it.
"It ees not Miss Polly who will be sent for; it ees Madame who will be
sent out of dees house, _j'ai peur_--ha, ha, ha!"
She laughed softly to herself all the way downstairs, with an insolent
little fling to her head, that boded ill for her mistress's interests.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Chatterton was angrily pacing up and down the room.
"What arrant nonsense a man can be capable of when he is headstrong to
begin with! To think of the elegant Horatio King, a model for all men,
surrounding himself with this commonplace family. Faugh! It is easy
enough to see what they are all after. But I shall prevent it.
Meanwhile, the only way to do it is to break the spirit of this Polly
Pepper. Once do that, and I have the task easy to my hand."
She listened intently. "It can't be possible she would refuse to come.
Ha! I thought so."
Polly came quietly in. No one to see her face would have supposed that
she had thrown aside the book she had been waiting weeks to read, so
that lessons and music need not suffer. For she was really glad when
Mrs. Chatterton's French maid asked her respectfully if she would please
be so good as to step up to her mistress's apartments, "_s'il vous
plait_, Mees Polly."
"Yes, indeed," cried Polly, springing off from the window-seat, and
forgetting the enchanted story-land immediately in the rush of delight.
"Oh, I have another chance to try to please her," she thought, skimming
over the stairs. But she was careful to restrain her steps on reaching
the room.
"You may take that paper," said Mrs. Chatterton, seating herself in her
favorite chair, "and read to me. You know the things I desire to hear,
or ought to." She pointed to the society news, _Town Talk_, lying on the
table.
Polly took it up, glad to be of the least service, and whirled it over
to get the fashion items, feeling sure that now she was on the right
road to favor.
"Don't rattle it," cried Mrs. Chatterton, in a thin, high voice.
"I'll try not to," said Polly, wishing she could be deft-handed like
Mamsie, and doing her best to get to the inner page quietly.
"And why don't you read where you are?" cried Mrs. Chatterton. "Begin on
the first page. I wish to hear that first."
Polly turned the sheet back again, and obeyed. But she hadn't read more
than a paragraph when she came to a dead stop.
"Go on," commanded Mrs. Chatterton, her eyes sparkling. She had
forgotten to play with her rings, being perfectly absorbed in the
delicious morsels of exceedingly unsavory gossip she was hearing.
Polly laid the paper in her lap, and her two hands fell upon it. "Oh,
Mrs. Chatterton," she cried, the color flying from her cheek, "please
let me read something else to you. Mamsie wouldn't like me to read
this." The brown eyes filled with tears, and she leaned forward
imploringly.
"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton passionately. "I command
you to read that, girl. Do you hear me?"
"I cannot," said Polly, in a low voice. "Mamsie wouldn't like it." But
it was perfectly distinct, and fell upon the angry ears clearly; and
storm as she might, Mrs. Chatterton knew that the little country maiden
would never bend to her will in this case.
"I would have you to know that I understand much better than your mother
possibly can, what is for your good to read. Besides, she will never
know."
"Mamsie knows every single thing that we children do," cried Polly
decidedly, and lifting her pale face; "and she understands better than
any one else about what we ought to do, for she is our mother."
"What arrant nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton passionately, and
unable to control herself at the prospect of losing Polly for a reader,
which she couldn't endure, as she thoroughly enjoyed her services in
that line. She got out of her chair, and paced up and down the long
apartment angrily, saying all sorts of most disagreeable things, that
Polly only half heard, so busy was she debating in her own mind what she
ought to do. Should she run out of the room, and leave this dreadful old
woman that every one in the house was tired of? Surely she had tried
enough to please her, but she could not do what Mamsie would never
approve of. And just as Polly had about decided to slip out, she looked
up.
Mrs. Chatterton, having exhausted her passion, as it seemed to do no
good, was returning to her seat, with such a dreary step and forlorn
expression that she seemed ten years older. She really looked very
feeble, and Polly broke out impulsively, "Oh, let me read the other part
of the paper, dear Mrs. Chatterton. May I?"
"Read it," said Mrs. Chatterton ungraciously, and sat down in her
favorite chair.
Polly, scarcely believing her ears, whirled over the sheet, and
determined to read as well as she possibly could, managed to throw so
much enthusiasm into the fashion hints and social items, that presently
Mrs. Chatterton's eyes were sparkling again, although she was deprived
of her unsavory morsels.
And before long she was eagerly telling Polly to read over certain
dictates of the Paris correspondent, who was laying down the law for
feminine dress, and calling again for the last information of the
movements of members of her social set, till there could be no question
of her enjoyment.
Polly, not knowing or caring how long she had been thus occupied, so
long as Mrs. Chatterton was happy, was only conscious that Hortense came
back from the errands, which occasioned only a brief pause.
"Put the parcels down," said Mrs. Chatterton, scarcely glancing at her,
"I cannot attend to you now. Go on, Polly."
So Polly went on, until the fashionable and social world had been so
thoroughly canvassed that even Mrs. Chatterton was quite convinced that
she could get no more from the paper.
"You may go now," she said, but with a hungry glance for the first page.
Then she tore her gaze away, and repeated more coldly than ever, "You
may go."
Polly ran off, dismayed to find how happy she was at the release. Her
feet, unaccustomed to sitting still so long, were numb, and little
prickles were running up and down her legs. She hurried as fast as she
could into Mamsie's room, feeling in need of all the good cheer she
could find.
"Mrs. Fisher has gone out," said Jane, going along the hall.
"Gone out!" repeated Polly, "Oh, where? Do you know, Jane?"
"I don't exactly know," said Jane, "but she took Miss Phronsie; and I
think it's shopping they went for. Mr. King has taken them in the
carriage."
"Oh, I know it is," cried Polly, and a dreadful feeling surged through
her. Why had she spent all this time with that horrible old woman, and
lost this precious treat!
"They thought you had gone to the Salisbury School," said Jane, wishing
she could give some comfort, "for they wanted you awfully to go."
"And now I've lost it all," cried Polly at a white heat--"all this
perfectly splendid time with Grandpapa and Mamsie and Phronsie just for
the sake of a horrible--"
Then she broke short off, and ran back into Mamsie's room, and flung
herself down by the bed, just as she used to do by the four-poster in
the bedroom of the little brown house.
"Why, Polly, child!" Mother Fisher's voice was very cheery as she came
in, Phronsie hurrying after.
"I don't see her," began Phronsie in a puzzled way, and peering on all
sides. "Where is she, Mamsie?"
Mrs. Fisher went over and laid her hand on Polly's brown head. "Now,
Phronsie, you may run out, that is a good girl." She leaned over, and
set a kiss on Phronsie's red lips.
"Is Polly sick?" asked Phronsie, going off to the door obediently, but
looking back with wondering eyes.
"No, dear, I think not," said Mrs. Fisher. "Run along, dear."
"I am so glad she isn't sick," said Phronsie, as she went slowly off.
Yet she carried a troubled face.
"I ought to go and see how Sinbad is," she decided, as she went
downstairs. This visit was an everyday performance, to be carefully gone
through with. So she passed out of the big side doorway, to the veranda.
"There is Michael now," she cried joyfully, espying that individual
raking up the west lawn. So skipping off, she flew over to him. This
caught the attention of little Dick from the nursery window.
"Hurry up there!" he cried crossly to Battles, who was having a hard
time anyway getting him into a fresh sailor suit.
"Oh, Dicky--Dicky!" called mamma softly from her room.
"I can't help it, mamma; Battles is slow and poky," he fumed.
"Oh, no, dear," said his mother; "Battles always gets you ready very
swiftly, as well as nicely."
Battles, a comfortable person, turned her round face with a smile toward
the door. "And if you was more like your mamma, Master Dick, you'd be
through with dressing, and make everything more pleasant to yourself and
to every one else."
"Well, I'm not in the least like mamma, Battles; I can't be."
"No, indeed, you ain't. But you can try," said Battles encouragingly.
"Why, Battles Whitney!" exclaimed Dick, whirling around on her. In
astonishment, or any excitement, Dicky invariably gave her the whole
name that he felt she ought to possess; "Mrs. Mara Battles" not being at
all within his comprehension. "What an _awful_ story!"
"Dicky--Dicky!" reproved Mrs. Whitney.
"Well, I can't help it, mamma." Dick now escaped from Battles' hands
altogether, and fled into the other room, the comfortable person
following. "She said"--plunging up to her chair in great
excitement--"that I could be like you."
"I said you could try to be," corrected Battles, smoothing down her
apron.
"And she knows I can't ever be, in all this world," declared Dick,
shaking his short curls in decision, and glancing back to see the
effect, "for you're a woman, and I'm always going to be a man. Why, see
how big I am now!" He squared off, and strutted up and down the little
boudoir.
"And you'd be bigger if you'd let me fix your blouse and button it up,"
declared Battles, laughing, and bearing down on him to fasten the band
and tuck in the vest. "And if you were more like your mother in
disposition--that's what I mean--'twould be a sight comfortabler for you
and every one else. Now, says I, your hair's got to be brushed." And she
led him back into the nursery, laughing all the way.
"What makes you shake so when you laugh, Battles?" asked Dick suddenly,
and ignoring all references to his disposition.
"Can't help it," said Battles, beginning work on the curls; "that's
because there's so much of me, I suppose," and she laughed more than
ever.
"There's so very much of you, Battles," observed Dick with a critical
look all over her rotund figure. "What makes it?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Battles. "Stand still, Dicky, and I'll be
through all the sooner. Some folks is big and round, and some folks is
little and scrawny."
"What's scrawny?" asked Dick, who always got as many alleviations by
conversation as possible out of the detested hair-brushing.
"Why, thin and lean."
"Oh, well, go on, Battles."
"And I'm one of the big and round ones," said Battles, seeing no
occasion in that statement to abate her cheerfulness. So she laughed
again.
"I like you big and round, Battles," cried little Dick affectionately,
and whirling about so suddenly as to endanger his eye with the comb
doing good execution. And he essayed to put his arms around her waist,
which he was always hoping to be able to accomplish.
"That's good," said Battles, laughing, well pleased. "But you mustn't
jump around so. There now, in a minute you shall be off." And she took
up the brush.
"I must," declared Dick, remembering his sight of Phronsie running
across the lawn; "do hurry, Battles," he pleaded, which so won her heart
that she abridged part of the brushing, and let him scamper off.
Phronsie was kneeling down in front of Sinbad's kennel.
"Can't you untie him to-day, Michael?" she asked, a question she had
propounded each morning since the boys went back to school.
"Yes, Miss Phronsie, I think I can; he's wonted now, and the other dogs
are accustomed to him. Besides, I've locked up Jerry since he fit him."
"I know," said Phronsie sorrowfully; "that was naughty of Jerry when
Sinbad had only just come."
Michael scratched his head. He couldn't tell her what was on his mind,
that Sinbad was scarcely such a dog as any one would buy, and therefore
his presence was not to be relished by the high-bred animals already at
home on the place.
"Well, you know, Miss Phronsie," he said at last, "it's kinder difficult
like, to expect some dogs to remember their manners; and Jerry ain't
like all the others in that respect."
"Please tell him about it," said Phronsie earnestly, "how good Prince is
to Sinbad, and then I guess he'll want to be like him." For Phronsie had
never swerved in her allegiance to Prince ever since he saved her from
the naughty organ man in the little-brown-house days. And in all her
conversations with the other dogs she invariably held up Jasper's big
black dog, his great friend and companion since pinafore days, as their
model.
And just then Dicky ran up breathlessly.
"Dick," announced Phronsie excitedly, "Michael is going to let Sinbad
out to-day." And she clasped her hands in delight.
"Jolly!" exclaimed Dick, capering about.
"Now, Master Dick, you must let the dog alone," cried Michael. "It's
time to try him with his freedom a bit. He's chafin' at that chain." He
looked anxiously at Dick. "Stand off there, both of you," and he slipped
the chain off.
Sinbad gave a little wiggle with his hind legs, and stretched his yellow
body. It was too good to be true! But it was, though; he was free, and
he shot out from his kennel, which was down in the gardener's quarters,
and quite removed from the other dogs, and fairly tore--his ragged
little tail straight out--across the west lawn.
"Oh, he'll run back to Joel at school," cried Dick, who had heard Joel
say he must be tied at first when everything was strange; and he started
on a mad run after him.
"You stay still," roared Michael; "that dog is only stretchin' his legs.
He'll come back." But as well tell the north wind to stop blowing.
Dicky's blouse puffed out with the breeze, as his small legs executed
fine speed.
"Oh, Michael!" cried Phronsie in the greatest distress, "make Dicky come
back."
"Oh, he'll come back," said Michael reassuringly, though he quaked
inwardly. And so Dicky did. But it was now a matter of Sinbad chasing
him; for as Michael had said, the dog, after stretching his legs as the
mad rush across the lawn enabled him to do, now was very much pleased to
return for a little petting at the hands of those people who had given
him every reason to expect that he should receive it; and supposing,
from Dick's chase after him, that a race was agreeable, he set forth;
his ears, as ragged as his tail, pricked up in the fullest enjoyment of
the occasion.
But Dick saw nothing in it to enjoy. And exerting all his strength to
keep ahead, which he couldn't do as well for the reason that he was
screaming fearfully, Sinbad came up with him easily. Dicky, turning his
head in mad terror at that instant, stumbled and fell. Sinbad, unable to
stop at short notice, or rather no notice at all, rolled over with him
in a heap.
This brought all the stable-boys to the scene, besides Mrs. Whitney who
had seen some of the affair from her window; and finally, when
everything was beginning to be calmed down, Battles reached the lawn.
Sinbad was in Phronsie's lap, who sat on the grass, holding him tightly.
"Oh, Phronsie!" gasped Mrs. Whitney at that. "Michael, do take him
away," as she fled by to Dick. One of the stable-boys was brushing off
the grime from his sailor suit.
"The dog is all right, ma'am," said Michael, "'twas only play; I s'pose
Master Joel has raced with him."
"'Twas only play," repeated little Dick, who, now that he found himself
whole, was surprised the idea hadn't occurred to him before. "Hoh! I'm
not hurt, and I'm going to race with him again."
"Not to-day, Dicky," said Mrs. Whitney, looking him all over anxiously.
"He's all right, ma'am," declared Michael; "they just rolled over
together, 'cause, you see, ma'am, the dog couldn't stop, he was a-goin'
so fast, when the youngster turned right in his face."
And Dick, to prove his soundness of body and restoration of mind, ran up
to Phronsie, and flung himself down on the grass by her side.
Sinbad received him as a most pleasant acquaintance, cocked up his
ragged ears, and tried to wag his poor little scrubby tail, never quite
getting it into his head that it wasn't long and graceful. And then he
set upon the task of licking Dick's hands all over, and as much of his
face as was possible to compass.
"See that now," cried Michael triumphantly, pointing, "that dog mayn't
be handsome, but he hain't got a bad bone in his body, if he does look
like the Evil One hisself."