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THE ADVENTURES OF JOEL PEPPER
By MARGARET SIDNEY
[Illustration: "'WHY, IT'S THE MAN WHO STOLE POLLY'S BREAD!' HE ALMOST
SCREAMED."]
CONTENTS
I. JOEL AND THE SNAKE
II. WHAT DAVE HEARD
III. DEACON BROWN'S NAIL PILE
IV. THE MUFFIN MAN AND THE TRAMP
V. ON BANDY LEG MOUNTAIN
VI. AB'M'S BIRTHDAY PARTY
VII. JOEL GOES A-FISHING
VIII. WHY THEY SAID NO
IX. THE BAG OF RYE FLOUR
X. MAMSIE'S SURPRISE
XI. DR. FISHER'S VISIT
XII. AT GRANDMA BASCOM'S
XIII. PASSENGERS FOR THE BOXFORD STAGE
XIV. DEACON BLODGETT'S BONFIRE
XV. OLD MAN PETERS' CENT
XVI. THE STAGE-COACH RIDE
XVII. THE FIGHT AT STRAWBERRY HILL
XVIII. IN THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE
XIX. CIRCUS PLANS
XX. CIRCUS OR MENAGERIE?
XXI. JOEL'S CIRCUS
XXII. THE MINISTER'S CHICKENS
XXIII. THE BLACKBERRIES AND THE BULL
XXIV. HOW JOEL STARTED THE FIRE
XXV. JOEL SELLS SHOES FOR MR. BEEBE
XXVI. Miss PARROTT'S COACH AND THE COASTING
XXVII. PRINCES AND PRINCESSES
THE ADVENTURES OF JOEL PEPPER
I
JOEL AND THE SNAKE
"Come on, Dave!"
It was Joel's voice, and Polly pricked up her ears. "'Tisn't
going to hurt you. Hoh! you're a 'fraid-cat--old 'fraid-cat!"
"No, I'm not 'fraid-cat," declared little Davie, trying to speak
stoutly; "I'm coming, Joel," and his little rusty shoes pattered
unevenly down the rickety board walk.
"Jo-_el_!" called Polly, thinking it quite time now to
interfere.
Joel scuttled behind the old woodshed, and several smothered
grunts proclaimed his disapproval at the interruption.
"Now I know you're up to some mischief," declared Polly, "so you
just come into the house, Joel Pepper, and tell me what it is."
"'Tisn't," said Joel, loudly insisting. "_Don't go, Dave_,"
in a loud whisper. Thereupon ensued a lively scuffle, evidently,
by the noise they made.
"I must," said little Davie; "Polly called us."
"No, she didn't call _you_," declared Joel. "You stay here.
She said 'Joel.'"
"Bo-_oys_!" sang out Polly's voice, not to have any doubt
in the matter.
"There, she did call me," cried Davie, wriggling to get free
from Joel's clutch; "she said 'boys!'"
"She's always calling us," said Joel, in an injured voice,
dragging himself away from the charms of the woodshed to
straggle slowly back to the house.
There sat Polly on the big stone that served as a step for the
back door, with her hands folded in her lap. Little Davie
skipped by Joel, and ran up to her, with a flushed face.
"Now I should like to know what you've been up to, Joey Pepper?"
said Polly, her brown eyes full on him.
"Haven't been up to anything," mumbled Joel, hanging his chubby
face.
"Yes, you have, I know," declared Polly, in her most positive
fashion; "now tell me what it is, and right straight off, Joel.
Begin." She kept her hands still folded in her lap. "What were
you going to do?"
Joel squirmed all over the little patch of ground before the
flat doorstone, and dug the toes of his shoes into the dirt.
"Don't do so," cried Polly. "You'll get bigger holes in 'em. Oh,
Joel, to think how naughty you are, and Mamsie away!"
At that Joel gave a loud howl, nearly upsetting Polly from her
stone; then, digging his two fists into his eyes, he plunged
forward and thrust his black head on the folded hands in her lap.
"I ain't naughty," he screamed. "I ain't, and Mamsie won't care.
O dear--ooh--ooh!"
"Tell me what you were going to do, before I can say you are not
naughty," said Polly, dreadfully frightened at his outburst, but
not unfolding her hands.
"I was only going to--going to--going to--" mumbled Joel, trying
to burrow past her hands, and get into the comforting lap.
"Going to do what?" demanded Polly, still not moving.
"I was going to--going to--" said Joel, in smothered tones.
"Stop saying you were going to," commanded Polly, in her firmest
tones.
"You told me to tell you," said Joel. "O dear! I was going to--"
"Well, tell then, at once; what were you going to do? Hurry up,
Joe; now go on."
"I was going to--" began Joel again. "O dear me! I was going to--"
he mumbled, burrowing deeper yet.
"Joel Pepper!" cried Polly, in a tone that brought him bolt
upright, his round face streaked with tears that his dirty
little hands had tried to wipe off, the rest of them trailing
over his round nose. "O dear me! Now you must go into the
'provision room' and stay. Don't you remember Mamsie said you'd
have to go there the next time you wouldn't tell what you'd
done?" And Polly looked as if she were going to cry at once.
"Oh, no--no!" screamed Joel, in the greatest distress, and
clutching Polly's arm. "I'll tell you, Polly; I'll tell." And he
began to rattle off a lot of words, but Polly stopped him.
"No, it's too late now. I've said it, and you must go; for
Mamsie wouldn't like it if you didn't."
Thereupon Joel gave a terrible howl. Little Davie, in distress,
clapped his hands to his ears. "Oh, Polly, don't make him," he
was saying, when heavy steps came around the corner of the house.
"Any ra-ags to sell?" sang out the voice of a very big man.
Joel took one black eye away from his brown hands, and shot a
sharp look at him. Then he howled worse than ever.
"No," said Polly, "not to-day, Mr. Biggs. There was a bagful
Mamsie said I might sell, but I can't get it now."
"Sho! that's too bad," ejaculated Mr. Biggs. "What's the matter
with him?" pointing a square, dingy thumb at Joel. "Stomach-ache?"
"No," said Polly, sadly, "it's worse than that. Please go away,
Mr. Biggs, and come some other day."
"Worse'n stomach-ache," said Mr. Biggs, in astonishment, and
slapping his big hands together; "then I can't take him with me.
But t'other one might go, if you say so, marm." He always called
Polly marm, and she liked it very much. He now pointed to David.
"Where are you going?" asked Polly, while
David took away his hands from his ears to hear, too.
"Why, you see, marm, Mis' Pettingill, up to th'East Quarter--you
know Mis' Pettingill?"
"No," said Polly.
"I do," roared Joel, forgetting his distress. "I know, Polly.
She lives in a nice yellow house, and there's a duck-pond, and
cherry trees." He pranced up to Mr. Biggs, smiling through his
tears.
"That's it," cried Mr. Biggs, delighted at being understood.
"This boy knows." He laid his hand heavily on Joel's shoulder.
"Well, he seems to be better now, so I'll take him and t'other
one along of me, marm, if you say so. Ye see, Mis' Pettingill
told me to come up there sometime, 'cause she's got a lot o'
rags--ben a-makin' quilts, she said, all winter, and I laid out
to go to-day, so here I be, on my way."
"Whickets!" shouted Joel, the last tear gone. "Come on, Dave. Oh,
won't we have fun! I'm going to sit in the middle. Let me drive.
Let me, Mr. Biggs." He swarmed all over the big rag-man.
Little David stood perfectly still and clasped his hands in
delight.
[Illustration: "'WHICKETS!' SHOUTED JOEL, THE LAST TEAR GONE"]
Polly drew a long breath, and the rosy color flew out of her
cheek. "You can't go, Joe," she said slowly. "Mamsie wouldn't
like it, after you've been naughty."
Joel's arms fell down at his side, and he stared wildly at her a
moment. Then he flung himself flat on the ground and roared.
"He's worse agin," said Mr. Biggs, in great distress. "I guess
he wants pep'mint. My mother used to give me that when I'd et
green apples."
But Polly shook her head. "He can't go, Mr. Biggs," she said;
"but Davie can."
At this little Davie gave a squeal of joy, and took three steps
down the grass plot, but stopped suddenly.
"All right," said Mr. Biggs, heartily. "Come on, boy; I must be
off. It's a good piece down to Mis' Pettingill's. And she always
wants me to take time a-weighin' her rags." And he began to
lumber off.
"I don't want to go if Joel can't," said Davie, slowly, and
turning his back to the red rag-wagon waiting out in the road.
He twisted his fingers hard, and kept saying, "No, I don't want
to go, Polly, if Joel can't."
"All right, Davie," said Polly, beginning to cuddle him; "only
you must remember, Mr. Biggs won't go again this summer out to
Mrs. Pettingill's, most likely."
Davie shook his head again, and twisted his fingers worse than
ever. "I don't want to go if Joel can't," he said, while Joel
roared harder still, if that were possible. So Polly had to run
down the grassy slope to overtake Mr. Biggs, who was now getting
up into his red cart, in front of the dangling tin dishes,
brooms, and pails with which it was filled.
"If you please, sir," she said, the rosy color all over her
cheek, "there can't either of the boys go."
"Hey? What's the matter with the littlest one," cried Mr. Biggs,
turning around with one foot on the shaft. "Is he took sick,
too?"
"No--no," said Polly, clasping her hands in distress, "but he
won't go unless Joel goes. Oh, I do thank you so much, Mr. Biggs,
for asking them."
"Sho now! that's too bad," said the rag-man, his foot still on
the shaft, and his big face wrinkled perplexedly. "Beats all,
how suddint they're took. Now you better give 'em a dose o'
pep'mint, marm, both on 'em."
But Polly shook her head as she ran back up the grassy slope
again. So Mr. Biggs had nothing to do but to drive off, which he
did, staring hard at them; and every little while he turned back,
to gaze in astonishment over his shoulder, until the big red
wagon went round the slope of the hill and was lost to view.
"Now, Joel," said Polly, firmly, "you must just stop making such
a noise, and go right into the provision room, and get the stool,
and sit down till I tell you to get up."
To sit down on the old wooden stool in the middle of the
provision room, with the door shut, was one of the worst
punishments that Mrs. Pepper inflicted; and Polly's cheek got
quite white. Little Davie, on seeing this, untwisted his fingers
and went up to her. "Don't cry, Polly," he said suddenly, as he
saw her face, and laid his hand in hers.
Joel stopped roaring, and looked up at her through his tears.
"I'm not going to cry," said Polly, "because I know Joel will be
good now, and go at once and get on his stool in the provision
room."
Joel swallowed hard and stumbled up to his feet, wiping his
cheeks with the back of one grimy hand.
"That's right," said Polly; "now go right in and shut the door."
"O dear me," said little Davie, hiding his face in Polly's gown,
as Joel went slowly off. They could hear the provision room door
shut. Then Polly turned. "Oh, Davie," she cried. Then she
stopped, at the sight of his face.
"Now you and I must go in the house and think of something to do
for Mamsie before she gets home," she cried in a cheery burst.
So they both hurried in over the old flat stone.
"Now what will it be, Davie?" asked Polly, with another glance
at his pale little face. "Let's think," she wrinkled her brows
in perplexity.
"We can't wash the dishes," said Davie, slowly, standing quite
still in the middle of the old kitchen, "'cause they're all done,
Polly."
"No, and we can't wash the floor, 'cause that's all done," said
Polly, wrinkling her forehead worse than ever. "Dear me, we must
think of something, Davie. O dear me, what can it be?"
"We might," said little David, slowly, "try to write some
letters, Polly. That would make Mamsie glad, I guess."
"O dear me," exclaimed Polly, in dismay, "I suppose it would,
Davie." She sighed, and stood quite still.
"I s'pose Mamsie would say, 'How nice,'" said little David,
reflectively.
"And you and I ought to get right at it this very minute,"
declared Polly, all her energy returning to her after that one
dreadful pause, "so come on." And presently the two had the old
table against the wall pulled out into the middle of the kitchen
floor, and Polly ran and got the big piece of foolscap paper
laid away carefully in the upper bureau drawer in the bedroom.
Across the top ran the letters set there by the minister in
obedience to Mrs. Pepper's request.
"I'll get the brown paper--let me, Polly," cried David, quite in
his usual spirits now. And he clambered up, and got out a
carefully folded piece laid away after it had come home wrapped
around one of the parcels of coats and sacks Mrs. Pepper had
taken to sew.
"Won't it be most beautiful when we can write on the white paper,
Polly?" he cried, as he ran back into the kitchen, waving the brown
paper at her.
Polly set the precious copy along the top of the white foolscap,
straight on the table.
"Oh, that will be a long time, Davie," she said, gazing in an
awe-struck way at the array of wonderful letters Parson
Henderson had made for them. "Mamsie won't ever let us try until
we can make 'em good and straight. O dear me, I don't s'pose
I'll ever get a chance." She sighed; for writing bothered Polly
dreadfully. "The old pen twists all up whenever I get it in my
hand, and everything goes crooked."
"Oh, Polly, you're going to write real nice, by and by," said
little Davie, setting down the brown paper, and smoothing out
the creases. "Now where's the ink-bottle? Let me get it, Polly,
do," he begged, running over to the corner cupboard.
"No, you mustn't, Dave," said Polly in alarm, "you'll spill it.
I'll get it," hurrying after him.
"I won't spill it, Polly"--but Polly was already on her tiptoes,
and lifting down the old black ink-horn that had been Father
Pepper's. "Isn't it nice that Mrs. Henderson filled it up for us
so good?" she said, carrying it over carefully to set on the
table. "You can get the pen, Davie."
So David ran over to the shelf where, in a corner behind the
little china mug given to Phronsie when she was a baby, lay the
pen in its long black holder. Getting up on a chair, he seized
it.
"If Phronsie hadn't gone with Mamsie, she'd want to write," he
said, "wouldn't she, Polly?" as he hopped down again.
"Yes, indeed," said Polly, drawing up the inkstand into the best
place, and sighing. "Well, dear me, I'd ever so much rather hold
her hand while she writes, than to do it myself." And she gave a
long stretch.
"Then you wouldn't ever learn yourself," said little Davie,
wisely, and putting the pen down carefully.
"No," said Polly, with a little laugh, "I s'pose I shouldn't,
Davie." O dear me, she thought, I ought not to laugh when Joel's
in there all alone in the provision room. "Well, now we're all
ready. I'm just going to peek and see if he's all right. You
stay here, Davie."
With that she hopped off down the little steps to look through
the big crack in the old door of the provision room.
"Why--where--" she started back and rubbed her eyes, and stared
again. "Oh! Davie," she screamed. Then she clapped her hands
over her mouth. "It never'd do to scare him," she said. And she
opened the provision room door and rushed in. The old stool
stood in the middle of the floor, but there was no Joel to be
seen.
Polly ran here and there. "Joel--_Joel_!" she cried,
peering into every corner, and looking into the potato bag and
behind some boxes that the storekeeper had given the boys to
make things out of, and that were kept as great treasures. "O
dear me, what shall I do? I must tell Davie now, so he can help
me find him--" when she heard a funny noise, and rushing outside,
she heard Joel say, "Don't come, Polly, he's 'most dead."
Polly gave a gasp, and bounded to his side, as Joel flopped
around on the ground, his back toward her, his black eyes
fastened on something doubled up in his fists.
"O dear me, Joel, what is it?" cried Polly, bending over him.
"Ow--go way!" roared Joel, twisting worse than ever, and
squeezing his brown hands together tightly; "he'll get away,
maybe, and bite you."
"Oh, he'll bite you, Joe," cried Polly, in great alarm. "O dear
me, let me see what it is! I can help, Joel, I can help."
She flung herself down on the ground close to his side. Just
then out rushed Davie from the provision room.
"Keep him away, keep him away," screamed Joel, trying to turn
his back on both of them. But Polly caught sight of a dangling
thing hanging from his clenched hands.
"Oh, Joel!" She gave one scream, "It's a snake!"
"I know it," said Joel, trying to twitch back again; "it's an
ugly mean old adder, Polly, but he's most dead. I've squeezed
his neck."
"Let me see him," cried Polly. "Turn around, Joel. I'll help you.
O dear me!" as Joel whirled back, the long body of the snake
flopping from one side to the other. "If he'd keep still, I
could cut off his tail high up. I'll go and get the hatchet--"
and she ran off.
"Hoh! you needn't," cried Joel after her, in great dudgeon, and
giving a final wrench. "There, I've deaded him; see, Polly--see,
Dave!" and he held the snake up triumphantly.
"A snake!" screamed Davie, tumbling over backward on the grass.
"O dear me, it's a snake, Polly!" and he huddled up his feet and
tucked them under him.
"Ain't he big?" cried Joel, swinging the long dangling body at
Davie as Polly ran back.
"Don't scare him, Joel," she cried. "O goodness me! What a big
one, and a gray adder, too. Oh, Joel, are you sure he didn't
bite you anywhere? Do throw him down and let me see," she begged
anxiously. But Joel swung the snake back and forth. "Hoh, I
guess not!" he said scornfully, "not a single snip, Polly. Ain't
he big! I killed him all alone by myself."
"Yes--yes, but do put him down, Joel," she begged, "and let me
see if you're all right."
So Joel at last set his snake on the ground, and straightened
out his tail; then he commenced to run all around him. "Ain't he
a buster, Polly!" he cried, his eyes shining.
Polly looked at him reprovingly out of her brown eyes. "Mamsie
wouldn't like you to say that word," she began. "But you won't
again, I know," seeing his face.
"No," said Joel, brightening up, "I won't, Polly. But ain't he
big! You couldn't a-killed him, Dave," he cried at little Davie
tucking up his toes under him on the grass.
"No," said Davie. "O dear me, he may be alive and bite us all
now."
"Hoh!" exclaimed Joel, "he's just as dead as anything. See!" and
he twitched up the long gray snake by the tip of the tail and
swung it over his head.
"Oh, don't, Joe!" begged Polly, running over to put her arms
around David, who burrowed into them as far as he could. "Do put
him down, and come and tell us how you killed him. There, let's
all sit down on the doorstep. Come, boys."
"I'm going to hold my snake," announced Joel, stopping the swing
in mid-air to pat the adder's head lovingly. "Ain't he sweet,
Polly?"
Davie shivered and turned his eyes away.
"No, you must not hold him," said Polly, decisively. "If you do,
you can't sit on the step beside us."
"Then I won't hold him," said Joel, running up to them, "but
I'll have him close to me," and he laid the snake by the side of
the doorstep. "I'm going to sit here by you, Polly."
Little Davie thrust up his head and looked fearfully around
Polly.
"You can't have that snake here, Joel," announced Polly, in her
most determined tone. "Put him off on the grass in the orchard,"
as the one scraggy apple tree was called. "Now hurry, like a
good boy, and then come and tell us how you killed him."
"I can't see him good, 'way off there," grumbled Joel, and
picking up his snake he dragged him through the grass. "Just a
little bit nearer," he pleaded.
"Not a single bit of an inch nearer, Joel Pepper," said Polly,
firmly. So Joel laid the snake down and ran back and sat down on
the end of the step by Polly.
"Now begin," said Polly.
"Well, I was sittin' on the old stool," said Joel, his chubby
face getting very red, "when I heard a scrunchin' an' a swishin',
an' I thought 'twas you, Polly, so I didn't look round."
"No," said Polly, with a little shiver, "it wasn't me. Go on,
Joey."
"Well, it scrunched an' it swished, and it didn't stop, so then
I looked around."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, throwing one arm around Joel, and
drawing him to her. Little Davie sat up quite straight and
folded his hands.
"And he was sticking up his head behind the potato bag, looking
at me just like this." Joel flew off the doorstep and stood up
as tall as possible and ran out his tongue.
Little Davie gave a loud scream. "Oh, you brave Joel!" exclaimed
Polly, tumbling off from the doorstep to throw her arms around
him, and kiss his stubby black hair.
"Phoo! that's nothing!" cried Joel, who always hated to be
praised.
"And I'm just as proud of you as I can be," Polly ran on with
kindling eyes. "Oh, Joel!"
Joel wriggled all over with delight at that "Oh, Joel!"
"And now come back and tell us the rest," said Polly, hanging to
his brown hand. "Go on, Joel," as they sat down again on the
doorstep.
"Well, he looked at me, and I looked at him," said Joel, "and
then I said 'Squish!' and he bobbed down his head, just a minute,
and I jumped and I grabbed him by the neck, and that's all,
Polly." And Joel gave a long stretch.
But Polly had her arms around his neck. "Oh, you brave, brave
Joel," she cried. "Mamsie'll be so proud of you! Think what
she'll say when she comes home!"
II
WHAT DAVE HEARD
"Dave," said Joel, in a whisper. It was the middle of the night,
and the loft was very still, save for Ben's breathing over in
his bed in the corner.
"Don't say a word!" Joel laid his mouth close to the ear on the
straw pillow; "if you do, I'll nip you and snip you."
"Ow!" said little Davie, huddling down under the scanty blanket
and dragging it over his head.
"Sh--, be still!" cried Joel, with a wrathful pinch. "Ben'll
hear you,--there now, just see!"
"What's the matter, boys?" asked Ben, sleepily.
Down flew Joel in a heap under his end of the blanket, where he
bestowed a kick from one set of toes on David in a little heap
against the wall.
The loft was as still as a mouse, so Ben turned over again. "I
guess Joel wanted a drink of water, and he's gone to sleep and
forgot all about it. Now, that's good," and off he went again.
Joel's black stubby head popped up, and he peered into the
darkness. "Now, I've got to wait ever'n ever so long," he
grumbled softly to himself. "No, there he goes!" he added
joyfully, as Ben breathed hard. "Now, Dave," he rolled over and
ducked under the blanket-end, "if you scream again, I'll snip,
and snip, and snip you, most dreadful."
"I won't," declared little David, fearfully. "Oh, I won't, Joe,"
huddling off from the little brown fingers.
"Promise, now, you'll never tell,--black and blue,--hope to die
if I do."
"We must tell Mamsie," said David.
Joel gave an impatient wriggle. "Mamsie won't care, and she's
too busy. Now say it, 'black and--"'
"And we must tell Polly," cried little Davie, in a smothered
voice. "Oh, Joel, we _must_ tell Polly."
"_Sh!_" cried Joel, with a warning pinch on the small arm
that sent David into a worse heap than before. "Now, you've gone
and waked Ben up again," and he pricked up one ear from under the
bedclothes.
"Oh!" exclaimed little David, thinking of Mamsie and Polly whom
he was not to tell.
Joel drew a long breath, as Ben did not stir.
"Well, say 'black and blue--hope to die if I do,'" commanded
Joel, sliding back again under the blanket. "Hurry up, Dave."
"'Black and--blue--hope--to die if I do,'" mumbled poor little
David, stuffing the end of the blanket into his mouth, trying
not to cry as he thought of Mamsie and Polly.
"Now, you know I've found a cave, and I'm goin' up there to live
some day," announced Joel in a smothered whisper, his mouth
close to David's ear.
"Where?" cried David, fearfully.
"_Sh!_ don't speak so loud. Over in 'Bandy Leg Mountain.'"
"Ooh,--dear me!" cried David, stopping himself in the middle of
a scream. "Won't old 'Bandy Leg' catch you, Joel?"
"Hoh--no, I ain't afraid!" declared Joel. "He's been dead a
hundred years, I guess. An' beside, I could knock him flat, yes,
sir-ree!" He doubled up his little brown fist, and bounced up in the
middle of the old shake-down.
"What's the matter, Joe?" called Ben, sleepily; "turn over and
go to sleep, and you'll forget again about the drink of water."
Joel flung himself flat, and burrowed along the whole length of
the bed, knocking Davie's shins all the way.
"You're pullin' all the blanket off me," said Davie, clutching
his end from Joel's frantic grasp.
"Go to sleep, boys," said Ben, sharply. "And Joe, stop grumbling
for a drink of water. Now you've waked up David."
Joel gripped Davie fast and clapped one hand over his mouth.
"Dear me, I think Ben might stay asleep a minute," he muttered
in an injured voice. "Now, don't you speak a single word and
I'll tell you all about it," after a long pause, in which they
heard nothing but a rat nibbling away in the corner.
"I'm goin' up there to-morrow, an' I'm goin' to take my gun, an'
some things to eat, an'--"
"Oh, Joel!" interrupted little David, "you can't ever in all
this world. Polly won't let you."
"Polly'll let us go an' play some to-morrow," said Joel,
sturdily, "'cause there ain't any work to do. So there now! An'
maybe I'll see a bear. An'----"
"O dear me!" exclaimed little Davie, quite overcome, and trembling
in every limb. "He'll eat you. Joel, I'm going to tell Polly."
"You can't," said Joel, coolly; "you said 'Black-an-blue-hope-
to-die-if-I-do,' and I'm goin' to take you."
"Oh, I can't go," declared Davie, bouncing up in terror. "I
ain't goin'. I ain't, Joey. I ain't----"
"_Sh-sh_!" warned Joel, with another nip.
"I ain't--I ain't--" cried David, softly, through his tears.
"Pshaw! I guess there ain't any bear up there," said Joel,
scornfully. "Be still, Dave!"
"An' old--old Bandy Legs'll catch--catch me," mumbled David,
digging his small knuckles into his eyes.
"Old Bandy Legs has been dead ever'n ever so long. I guess a
thousand years," said Joel; "an' there's flowers there--oh, most
beautiful ones!"
"Are there?" asked David, taking down his hands. "What kinds,
Joel?"
"Oh, all sorts. The most be-yewtiful flowers, red and yellow and
green, you can't think, Dave Pepper."
"I never saw a green flower," said little David, thoughtfully.
"Well, they're up there. Oh, sights an' sights," said Joel,
recklessly. "An' pink and blue an'----"
"Are you sure there are green flowers up there, Joel?" asked
David, huddling up to him close.
"Sh--stop talking--oh, the most _beyewtiful_ things, I tell
you, grow up by that cave."
"I might go up and get some not very near the cave, Joel," said
Davie, after a long breath. "Not very near."
"So you could," said Joel, quickly. "Then I guess you'll be glad,
Dave Pepper, that you came up with me."
"I shall bring down most of the green ones, Joey," cried little
David, joyfully, "'cause I can get the others down below the
mountain."
"Yes--yes," whispered Joel, impatiently.
"An' if I plant 'em, they'll grow, and then Mamsie'll be glad,
an' Polly too," he whispered, dreadfully excited. "Won't Polly
be glad though, Joe? She's never seen a green flower."
"Yes; now go to sleep," cried Joel, with a nudge, "and remember
not to say a word to me to-morrow about it."
"Can't I say anything to you behind the wood pile?" asked David,
in surprise.
"No, not a teenty word. An' don't you look at me. If you do, Old
Bandy Legs'll come after you."
"You said he was dead," cried David in a fearful whisper, and
crouching tight to Joel and gripping him with both arms. "O dear
me!"
"So he is; but he'll catch you if you say a single word. Now go
to sleep, an' when I tell you to come with me to-morrow, you
must start just as quick as scat."
"I shall take a basket for the green flowers," said Davie,
trying not to think of "Old Bandy Legs."
"No, you mustn't; you can bring 'em down in your arms."
"I can't bring many," said little David, swallowing hard. "I
can't bring many, Joe, an' Polly'll want some in her garden."
"Well, old Bandy Legs won't let you get any, if you don't stop,"
said Joel, crossly, "so there now!" and he rolled off to the edge
of the old straw bed, and in two minutes was fast asleep, leaving
little Davie peering up at the rafters to watch for the first streak of
light, determined to get as many green flowers as he possibly could
for Polly's garden.
"I'll twist up a birch-bark basket, to bring 'em down in," he
decided. And the first thing either of them knew, there was
Polly shaking their arms and laughing. "You lazy little things,
you--get up! I've been calling and calling and calling you to
breakfast."
Joel and David flew up into the middle of the bed.
"Joe was teasing all night for a drink of water," said Ben, as
Polly ran down into the kitchen. "An' I was just going to get up
and fetch him some, when he tumbled to sleep again."
"Dear me," said Polly, rushing at her work; "well, I'll keep
their porridge warm. Now, Phronsie, you can't help me about
these dishes."
"I'm just as big since yesterday," said Phronsie, standing up on
her tiptoes to turn an injured face to Polly. "See, Polly."
"So you are," said Polly, bursting into a laugh. "Well, I tell
you, Pet, what you might do that would help me more."
"More than to wash the dishes, Polly?" cried Phronsie, tumbling
down from her tiptoes. "Oh, do tell me, Polly!" And she ran up
to her, and seized Polly's check apron with both fat little
hands.
"Why, you see I can't do the dishes, all of 'em, till the boys
get through their breakfast," said Polly, with a sober face,
looking at the old clock, as she thought of the seams on the
sacks she was going to fly at as soon as the work was done in
the kitchen. How nice it was that Mamsie had promised she might
try this very morning while Mrs. Pepper was down at the
parsonage, mending the minister's study carpet. "Now I guess the
money'll begin to come in, and Mamsie won't have to work so
hard," thought Polly over and over, and her heart beat merrily,
and the color flew over her cheek.
"Tell me, Polly," begged little Phronsie, holding the apron
tight.
"Well, now, Pet, there's a snarl of thread in the work-basket.
Don't you remember, the spool rolled under the table, and nobody
saw it go, and the boys kicked it up and made it into a mess, an'
Mamsie put it into the little bag, an' I was to pick it out when
I got time? If you only could do that, Phronsie, just think how
it would help."
Phronsie gave a long sigh. She dropped the apron, and folded her
hands. "Would it help so very much, Polly?" she asked.
"Ever an' ever so much," said Polly. "You needn't do but a
little now, an' some other day p'raps you could do some more."
"I'm going to do it all," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head
determinedly. So she got her little wooden chair from against
the wall, and set it in the middle of the kitchen floor, and
then brought the little cotton bag out of the old work-basket.
"I shall do it all this very one minute," she declared softly,
as she sat down and drew out the snarl of thread.
"Now, boys," called Polly, as she took one look at her, and just
stopped to drop a kiss on the yellow hair, "you must just come
downstairs this very minute. If you don't, you can't have any
breakfast."
"Coming," sang Joel, and presently down he tumbled, two steps at
a time, pulling on his jacket as he went.
"Such a long time to stay abed," reproved Polly; "just think of
it, it's after seven o'clock, Joel Pepper, and Mamsie's been
gone half an hour!"
"An' I'm working," said Phronsie, twitching at the end of the
thread with an important air. "I'm going to pick out the whole
of this, I am, for Mamsie. See, Joey!" She held up the snarl,
and away the spool raced, as if glad to get off once more.
"Hoh!" said Joel, "you're making it worse'n ever, Phron."
"No, I'm not," cried Phronsie, clutching the snarl with both
little fists. "Oh, no, I'm not; am I, Polly?" And the big tears
began to race over her round cheeks.
"No," said Polly. "Oh, for shame, Joel, to make Phronsie cry!"
"I didn't make her cry," denied Joel, stoutly, his face working
badly. "I'll get the spool--I'll get the spool. See, Polly, here
'tis," and he dived under the table, and came up bright and
shining with it in his hand.
"There now, Phronsie; see, Joel's got it for you," said Polly,
beaming at him. "Now, Pet, I'll tell you what, let's put
Mamsie's basket on the floor, and old Mr. Spool in it. There,
Joey, drop him in, then he can't run away again. Now, then!"
"Mr. Spool can't run away again," smiled Phronsie through her
tears, and leaning out of her little wooden chair to see Joel
drop the spool in. "That's nice, Polly, isn't it? Now he can't
run away again," she hummed.
"Indeed, it is," sang Polly, delighted; "he's fast now, so fly
at your snarl, Pet, Mamsie'll be so pleased to think you've
picked out some of it."
"I'm going to pick it all out," declared Phronsie in a tone of
determination. And wiping off the tears on the back of her fat
little hand, she set to work, humming away again to herself.
"Now, whatever keeps David!" cried Polly, dishing out Joel's
mush from the kettle on the stove, and setting the bowl on the
table.
"He's coming," said Joel, hastily. "O dear me, I wish we ever
had anything, Polly Pepper, but mush and molasses for breakfast!"
"Some people don't have anything half as good," said Polly,
starting for the stairs.
"What don't they have?" asked Joel in alarm, as he watched her
go.
"Oh, I don't know; different things. Da-_vid!_" she called.
"You said they didn't have things half as good," said Joel,
stopping with a spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth. "So
you know what they are, now, Polly Pepper."
"Oh, well, they don't. Plenty and plenty of people don't get
near as good things as we have every day for breakfast."
"What are they, the things the plenty and plenty of people get?"
persisted Joel, beginning on his breakfast comfortably, since
Polly was going to talk.
"Oh--let me see," said Polly, pausing at the foot of the stairs.
"Old bread, for one thing."
"Is it mouldy?" asked Joel.
"Um--yes, I s'pose so," answered Polly, wrinkling up her face.
"Eat your own breakfast, Joe, and not stop to think of what
other people have. Da-_vid!_'"
"You said 'things,'" said Joel, severely, "and you only told me
mouldy old bread, Polly Pepper! What else?"
"O dear, I don't know."
"You _said_----"
"I mean--well, cold potatoes, for one thing. I s'pose most
everybody has potatoes. Now eat your breakfast, Joey Pepper.
Those are things. Eat your breakfast this minute!"
When Polly spoke in that tone, the three little Peppers knew
they must obey. Joel ducked his head over his bowl of mush, and
began to hurry the spoonfuls as fast as he could into his mouth.
"I must go up and see what is the matter with David," said Polly,
preparing to run up the stairs. Just at this moment he appeared
coming slowly down. "Oh, here you are!" cried Polly, brightly,
running over to the old stove to dish out his bowl of mush. "Now,
Davie, fly at your breakfast, 'cause I've got to sew all the
morning just as hard as ever I can."
III
DEACON BROWN'S NAIL PILE
"Now, boys," said Polly, as Joel pushed back his chair, "I want
you to help me, that is, as soon as Davie has finished his
breakfast."
"Oh, that's too bad," grumbled Joel, loudly, "when we got all
our kindlings chopped yesterday, an' there ain't anything else
to do. You know you said we could play to-day, Polly Pepper!"
"I didn't say all day; but of course you can," replied Polly,
with a fine scorn, "if you don't _want_ to help, Joel. I'm
sure the little brown house can get along without a boy who
isn't glad to make it as nice as he possibly can."
The idea of the little brown house getting along without him
made Joel aghast at once, and he stood quite still. Davie laid
down his spoon, and got out of his chair quickly.
"What is it, Polly?" he cried, the pink color all over his cheek.
"Dear me!" cried Polly, merrily, "the very idea of a boy trying
to help who hasn't finished his breakfast. Go back and eat every
bit of that mush and molasses, Davie dear; then, says I, we'll
see what you can do."
"I'll be through in just a minute, Polly." David ran back and
clambered into his chair, plying his spoon so fast that Polly
cried in dismay, "Oh, Davie, you'll choke yourself!"
"No, I won't," said Davie, with a very red face, and swallowing
hard, "it's all slipping down. There, see, Polly. I'm all
through; truly I am." He got out of his chair again, and ran up
to her.
"So you are," said Polly, glancing approvingly at the bare bowl.
"Well now, I'll tell you, Davie, what you can do. You know that
pile of old nails that Deacon Brown said Ben might have? Well,
'tisn't nice, you know, to play all day, so you may pick over
some of 'em, and get the good ones out. Ben will be so surprised,
even if you don't get but a few ready."
"I'm going to work all the morning at 'em," declared little
Davie, gladly, hopping off toward the door.
"No, I don't want you to work but a little while," said Polly,
decisively, and picking up the breakfast dishes to wash. "You
can have most all to-day to play in. And then some other day,
when there isn't any other work to do, you can pick over some
more; and pretty soon, before you know it, they'll all be done, and
Ben'll be so surprised, for they'll be ready when he wants to mend
the woodshed."
"I don't want to pick over any crooked old nails," proclaimed
Joel, loudly, and knocking his heels against the pantry door. "I
sh'd think Deacon Brown might have given us some good ones."
"For shame, Joel!" said Polly, hurrying across the floor with
the pile of dishes; "it's fine of him to give us these. And
there are lots of good ones amongst 'em."
"You told me not to say 'lots,' the other day," said Joel, with
a sharp look out of his black eyes to see if Polly would relent.
"So I did," she cried, and the color flew over her cheek. "Dear
me, it is so hard not to say things that you don't like to hear
other people say."
"Well, I don't want to pick over old rusty nails," said Joel,
ignoring this remark, "and it's real mean, Polly Pepper, to make
me, when I want to go and play!" And he kicked his heels worse
than ever.
"I don't make you," said Polly, pouring the hot water into the
dish-pan and dashing in the soap, "but I shouldn't think it was
nice to go out to play right after breakfast. You might work an
hour, and then you'd enjoy the play all the better."
"I'd enjoy the play now. And a whole hour, too!" cried Joel, in
a dudgeon. "Why, Polly Pepper! a whole hour!"
"That's right, Davie," said Polly, smiling brightly at him, as
the little fellow ran out into the woodshed. Then she began to
sing, without looking at Joel.
"A whole hour," shouted Joel. But Polly kept a cold shoulder
toward him, running up and down in a merry song till a little
bird outside the window trilled away as hard as he could, to
keep her company.
"A whole hour--" Joel ran up and pulled her dress. "It's as mean
as it can be to make me work a whole hour, Polly Pepper!"
"Chee--chee--chee," called the little bird, and away Polly sang,
splashing the dishes up and down in the hot soap-suds, till the
old kitchen seemed full of merry bustle. Joel regarded her closely
for two or three minutes, and then went slowly out.
David was up on top of the wood bin in the shed, and tugging at
the box of nails that Ben had put on one of the beams.
"I can't get it down," he said. "Come help me, Joel, do."
But Joel kicked his feet on the woodshed floor. So little David
gave another pull at the box, wavered, and clutched wildly at
the air, and before Joel could speak, came tumbling down, and
after him, the heavy box, spilling the nails as it fell. He lay
quite still, and Joel only stopped to take one look.
"Oh, Polly, Dave's killed, I guess," he screamed, rushing into
the kitchen, his face working fearfully.
Polly stopped her song in mid-air, and turned quite white. "Oh,
no, I guess not," she said with a gasp, as she saw his face.
Then she remembered Phronsie. "Come out here, Joe," and she
gently pushed him out into the little entry.
"I guess I'll go, too," said Phronsie, who had been humming a
soft refrain to Polly's song, and laying down the snarl carefully in
Mamsie's big work-basket she went softly out after them.
"Now, Joel," Polly was saying out of white lips, "don't you
scream. Think of Phronsie, and--"
"What is it, Polly?" asked Phronsie's soft voice.
"O dear me! What shall I do!" Polly turned. "Phronsie dear, you
mustn't come now." Joel had sunk down and covered his face with
his hands, trying not to scream. "Go right back to your chair,
Polly says so. Be a good girl, Pet." She looked straight into
the blue eyes wide with astonishment at being sent back.
"Please let me, Polly," begged the little girl.
"No," said Polly, firmly, "Mamsie wouldn't like it. Go back,
Phronsie, and shut the door."
Phronsie turned without a word and went slowly back, and as
Polly seized Joel's hand and sped into the woodshed, they could
hear the kitchen door shut, and knew that she had gone back to
her chair.
When Polly and Joel reached little David, Joel was beyond words,
and he fell down and flung his arms around the little figure. Davie
stirred and moaned. "Help me lift him up, Joe," cried Polly, hoarsely.
"I couldn't get the nails," said David, "and then they all
spilled. I'm sorry, Polly," and he opened his eyes and looked up
into her white face.
When Joel saw that David could speak, he gave a great gasp. "It
was my fault," he sobbed.
"Never mind, Davie dear," said Polly, soothingly. "We can pick
the nails up."
"I'll pick 'em up," cried Joel, delighted to find something to
do, and he sprang up and went scrambling around and sweeping
them into a pile with his fingers, while the big tears trailed
down his round cheeks.
"See, now," said Polly, trying to speak gayly, "how the old
nails have to hop into the box again."
"So they do," said David, with a wan little smile. Then he shut
his eyes.
"Run as fast as you can, Joe," said Polly, "and ask Grandma
Bascom to come over." Then she lifted Davie and struggled with
him to a pile of grain bags in the corner. "I can't get him into the
bedroom till Joel helps me, and besides, I must get Phronsie out
of the kitchen first," she thought. "Oh, God! _please_ don't
let Davie die," she cried deep in her heart.
Joel flew on the wings of the wind, his heart beating like a
trip-hammer, over down across the lane to Grandma Bascom's
little cottage. Grandma, with a tin pan full of wet corn meal,
was just going out to feed her hens, when he dashed up behind
her. "Please come!" he shouted, his trembling mouth close to her
cap-border. "Polly wants you!"
[Illustration: "'PLEASE COME!' HE SHOUTED CLOSE TO HER CAP-BORDER"]
"Polly's here, now that's nice!" said Grandma, well pleased.
"You just wait a minute, and I'll be ready to see her. Come,
Biddy-Biddy," she called, and waddling off, she gathered up a
handful of the wet corn meal.
"Oh, come now!" roared Joe, and seizing her hand, he pulled her
back toward the kitchen. "Dear Grandma Bascom, please come;
Dave's killed, I guess," and before she knew it, she was halfway
to the little brown house, and in a minute or two more there she
was before Davie lying on the pile of grain bags, and Polly
holding his hand, and fanning him with an old newspaper.
"He's all right," said Grandma, with a practised eye; "only just
fainted a bit. Now 'tisn't anything to what my son John's Abram
did one summer he spent with me. Used to tumble over most every
day."
"He fell," said Polly. She could say no more, but pointed up to
the beam. Then she found her voice. "The box of nails--I didn't
know 'twas up there, see!" and she pointed to them, where Joel
had tried to gather them up.
"He fell down from there?" asked Grandma, looking up at the beam.
Polly nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Joel wrung his
hands together, and stood quite still.
"In that case," said Grandma, "this boy must go for Dr. Fisher
just as soon as he can."
"Run, Joe, as hard as ever you can," gasped Polly.
No need to tell Joel that. Over the fields and across lots he
ran like a deer, scaling stone walls in a flash, only to reach
the doctor's house to be told that he was away twenty miles into
the country. Then Joel sat down on the grass by the roadside,
and burying his face in his hands, cried as if his heart would
break.
He didn't mind that a pair of spirited black horses were coming
down the road, the bright horses all a-jingle, and the carriage
all a-bloom with gay colors, and merry with cheery voices.
"What's the matter?" called somebody to him, but he cried on as
hard as he could.
Then his little shoulder in his homespun jacket was shaken
smartly. "See here, my boy, either you tell me what you're
screaming for, or I'll pick you up and carry you off."
Joel looked up, the streams of tears making muddy paths along
his face, where he had rubbed it with his grimy hands. "Dave's
killed," he burst out, "and the--the doctor's gone away!"
"Come on." It was a kind face that was over him, and in a minute
Joel felt himself lifted by a pair of strong arms that presently
tossed him into the carriage, in amongst the occupants, while
the owner of the arms jumped in beside him. "Do you know the way
home?" he asked.
"Of course," said Joel; "it's the little brown house--" then he
began to cry again.
"See here, my lad, look at me." Joel rolled his eyes up at the
man, the rest of the people keeping quite still to listen. "You are
a brave boy, I know. Now I'm a doctor, and if you'll just take me
to your house, I'll have a look at that Dave of yours. Which way?"
Joel sat bolt upright as well as he could, being crammed in
between a big fat man and his kind friend, and directed this way
and that way, his tears all gone, and before any one could
hardly think twice, the pair of black horses and the jingling
harness and big carriage had stopped before the little brown
house, and the doctor was springing over the stepping-stones in
such a lively fashion that Joel had to run to keep up with him,
until there they were, with Grandma Bascom waddling around in
search of some herbs that were drying in the corner of the
woodshed, and Polly still holding David's hand as he lay on the
pile of grain bags. And in five minutes the new doctor had all
the examination made, and Davie was sitting up, his head on
Polly's shoulder; and no bones were broken, and all the trouble
was the fright produced by the shock of the fall. And the color
flew back into Polly's cheek, and Grandma Bascom kept saying,
"Praise the Lord--and who be ye, anyway?" bobbing her cap-border
at the new doctor. And he laughed and didn't tell her.
But he did tell some funny stories. And little Davie laughed;
and when they saw that, they all laughed, and the people out in
the carriage said, "Just like Dr. Herman," and one tall girl,
with her hat all covered with red roses, said, "Uncle John is
always doing such queer things. I do wish he would hurry and
come. It is too bad to have our driving tour interrupted like
that." And pretty soon down the stepping-stones he came, as
light and quick as could be, Grandma Bascom lifting both hands
and calling after him, "Well, you're an angel of the Lord,
anyway," and the new doctor was laughing. But he had stopped to
look into Polly's brown eyes. "Don't worry, little girl, he's
all right," he said.
Joel squeezed past them through the doorway, and ran after him.
"Please stop just a minute," he begged.
"Hey?" said the doctor, turning his foot on the step. The tall
girl in the hat with big red roses looked impatient enough, and
beat her foot on the carriage floor, but Joel kept on.
"I like you," he burst out, "ever'n ever so much."
The doctor put one hand on Joel's stubby black hair, and turned
his grimy face up. "You've got to be a man," he said; "now look
out for it while you're a boy. I guess you'll do." He jumped
into the carriage and drove the black pair of horses off at a
smart gait down the road, while Joel stood on the roadside grass
to see him go.
IV
THE MUFFIN MAN AND THE TRAMP
So when the time came that was to bring Mamsie home that night,
tired, but happy to fold her baby to her heart, for Phronsie
always climbed into her lap to untie her bonnet-strings, there
was David, running around brisk as a bee, his cheeks pink as a
rose, and Joel, who had stuck to the old box of nails all day,
despite Polly's pleadings to stop and rest, gave a shout that
the last was done, and stretched his tired legs. Then he gave a
hop and skip and jump around and around the grass before the
little brown house.
"Whickets! that feels good!" he cried, stopping for a long
breath by the old green door; then away again, kicking up his
heels like a colt.
"He's done 'em almost every one," said Davie, mournfully,
standing on the doorstone to see him go; "he wouldn't let me
help only a teenty bit, and he's so tired, Polly."
"Joel wanted to do 'em, Davie dear," said Polly, coming to the
door, on hearing that, and giving him a loving little pat. "I
know all about it, why he wanted to do it"--for Joel had told
her the whole story--"and Mamsie'll be glad he did it. How I
wish she'd come!" peering down the dusty road.
"How I wish she'd come!" echoed Phronsie, poking her head in
between Polly's gown and the door jamb.
"Dear me," cried Polly, whirling around, "are you there, Pet?
Well, Mamsie's coming pretty soon. I think I see--No, 'tisn't,"
as David started to scamper over the stepping-stones--"it's a
man turning the road. Anyway, she'll be here before we hardly
know it, I guess. Now let's play something, and that'll make the
time go faster."