tall, "for you children need some instruction, I can plainly see.
Poor things! well, it's not to be wondered at, when we consider
you've had no bringing up."
"We have had bringing up, Miss Jerusha," said Ben. "Children,
you go into the bedroom, and shut the door, and stay there,"
he said to the three little ones. And never having seen him so
before, the two boys went off wonderingly, without a word, and
holding Phronsie by the hands. "Our mother is our mother," went
on Ben, proudly, "the very best mother in all the world, and
she's brought us up, oh, how she has worked to bring us up!
and if we're naughty, it's all our own fault!" It was a long
speech for Ben to make, and Polly stared at him in an amazement
mingled with pride, while her breast heaved, and she clasped her
hands tightly together, so afraid she should speak a word and spoil
it all, for Miss Jerusha was really uncomfortable, that they could
both see.
Meantime, Joel was climbing out of the bedroom window. "I'm
goin' to Grandma Bascom's for Mamsie," he cried passionately.
"We must stay here, Phronsie," said little Davie, holding
tightly to her hand, and standing still in the middle of the
floor, "'cause Ben told us to, you know."
"Ugh!" they could hear Joel exclaim, as he jumped clear of the
window sill to the grass beneath; but they didn't know that the
old cracked pane of glass had given away under his hand, nor
that a little stream of blood was trickling down his wrist, as he
raced over through the lane, and rushed into Grandma Bascom's
little cottage.
XII
AT GRANDMA BASCOM'S
"The land sakes!" exclaimed Grandma Bascom, seeing him first.
She was propped up in bed, and Mrs. Pepper was heating some
gruel on the stove out in the shed. "What's the matter?" as Joel
held his arm out, and the blood was dripping down his little
blouse.
"Nothin'," said Joel, shortly; "where's Mamsie?"
"Out in the shed," said Grandma. "Now you show her your arm as
soon as you can."
"Tisn't my arm," said Joel, "it's my hand," and he ran into the
shed. "Come over home, Mamsie, do," he implored. "That old woman
up to the minister's is at our house."
"I can't come," said Mrs. Pepper, not turning around, "till I
fix Grandma comfortable. And for shame, Joel, to speak so of
Miss Jerusha! Remember how good Parson Henderson is to us; and
his wife, too."
"That ain't Miss Jerusha," said Joel, setting his teeth together,
and wishing his hand wouldn't ache so; "and she's talking awful,
and Ben's sent us all out."
"Then she must be disagreeable," said Mrs. Pepper, beginning to
look worried. "Well, I'll soon have this done, then I'll be over.
Ben'll have to bear it as best he can," and she sighed.
So Joel turned off and went out of doors, and the little stream
of blood kept on trickling.
"Has he cut it bad?" asked Grandma, anxiously, when Mrs. Pepper
brought in the cup of steaming gruel a few minutes later.
"Who?" asked Mother Pepper, absently.
"Why--Joel. Hain't you seen it?" screamed Grandma, who, like a
great many deaf people, always spoke her loudest, especially
when she was excited. "The blood was all runnin' like everything
down his arm. I guess he's most cut it off," she added with a
groan, for Grandma always had a warm spot in her heart for Joel.
Mrs. Pepper's face grew very pale, and she set the cup of gruel
down hastily on the little stand by the bed-head, where Grandma
could reach it. Then she hurried to the door. "_Joel_!" she
called, prepared to run over home if he didn't answer.
"What?" said a miserable little voice, as unlike Joel's as
possible. There he sat crouching down under the big "laylocks,"
as Grandma always called them.
It wasn't a moment, then, before Mother Pepper had him in the
kitchen and the blood washed off, and as well as she could see,
for the little stream that flowed again, she found out where the
trouble was, in the long zigzag cut down the fleshy part of
Joel's little brown hand.
"Mother'll fix you up all right," she kept saying. And Joel, who
didn't mind anything, now that he had Mamsie, watched every
movement out of attentive black eyes.
"Has he cut it bad? O dear me!" shouted and groaned Grandma from
the bed.
"No," screamed Joel, "'tain't hurt at all."
"Oh, Joey!" reproved Mrs. Pepper, tying up the poor hand in a
bit of old cloth. "Now run in and show Grandma, and I'll ask her
if she has got any court plaster."
So Joel ran in and sat on the edge of Grandma's bed, on top of
the gay patched quilt, and recounted just how it all happened.
"Hey?" exclaimed Grandma, every minute.
"I can't make her hear nothin'," said Joel at last, in despair,
turning to his mother. "What gets into folks' ears to make 'em
deaf, Mamsie?"
"Oh, it often comes on when they're old," answered Mrs. Pepper,
who had been searching all this time in all the cracked bowls
and cups for the scraps of court plaster. "It will be such a
piece of work to get her to tell me where it is," she said to
herself.
"I ain't ever goin' to be deaf when I'm old," declared Joel, in
alarm.
"You don't know whether you will or not," said Mrs. Pepper,
rummaging away, "so you better use your ears to good advantage
now, while you've got 'em."
"I'll always have 'em," said Joel, putting up both hands to feel
of these appendages and see if they were there. "I guess they
can't get off," and he shook his head smartly.
"How'd you cut it?" asked Grandma, shrilly, for the fiftieth
time.
Joel slipped off the gay patched bedquilt, and ran up to his
mother, drawing a long breath.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, seeing the bandage of old
cloth, which was quite red and damp. "Go and sit down and hold
your hand still. I must ask Grandma where that court plaster is.
I know she has some, because when Polly cut her finger, you know,
Grandma gave her a piece."
"You can't make her hear," said Joel, despairingly, and sitting
down as his mother bade.
"I must," said Mrs. Pepper, firmly; "and if a thing has to be
done, why it has to be, that's all; we've got to have that court
plaster."
So she put her ear close to Grandma's cap-border, and after a
great deal of explaining on Mother Pepper's part, and as many
interruptings on Grandma Bascom's, who wanted everything said
over again, at last it was known that the court plaster lay
between the leaves of the big Bible, on the stand under the old
looking-glass between the windows.
"I put it there so's to have it handy," screamed Grandma,
leaning back in great satisfaction against her pillows again.
Mrs. Pepper, feeling quite worn out, got the court plaster and
cut off a piece. "Now then, Joel," she said, coming up to him.
"The cloth's all wet and soppy," said Joel, beginning to twitch
at the bandage.
"Don't do that, Joey," commanded Mother Pepper, quickly, "you'll
make it bleed worse'n ever. Dear me! I should think it was wet!"
suppressing a shiver, as she rapidly unwound the old cloth, now
very red. "Come here, over the basin." And presently the poor
hand was washed off again with warm water, the long cut closed,
and the strip of black court plaster stuck firmly over the wound.
"Why don't you put cold water on, Mammy?" asked Joel; "it would
feel so good."
"Is it cut bad?" Grandma kept screaming.
"You can go and let her see it, Joey, now that it's all done up
nicely. There's no use in trying to tell her," said Mother
Pepper, clearing away the traces of the accident. So Joel hopped
up on the big bed again and displayed his wounded hand, and
Grandma oh-ed and dear me-ed over it, and then she reached over
to the little drawer in the stand at the head of the bed.
"Put your hand in, Joel," she said, "and take as many's you
want."
Joel's black eyes stuck out as he saw the big peppermint drops,
pink ones and white ones, rolling round in the drawer the minute
it was pulled open. "Can I have as many as I want, Grandma?" he
screamed, hopping off from the bed to hang over the drawer.
"Yes," said Grandma, delighted to think she could do something
to help, "'cause you've hurt your hand."
"I'm glad I hurt it!" exclaimed Joel. "O my! what a lot,
Grandma!" which Grandma didn't hear, only she knew he was
pleased by the sight of his chubby face; so she smiled, too.
Mrs. Pepper found them so when she came up to the bed.
"I'm going home now, Grandma," she said. "I'll be over again by
and by, or Polly will."
"Hey?" said Grandma. So Mrs. Pepper nodded and smiled and
pointed to the door, and Grandma seemed satisfied.
"She told me I might have as many's I wanted," said Joel, with
great satisfaction. "I like Grandma ever so much."
"Take care, Joey, you don't take too many," said Mrs. Pepper.
"Grandma's good to you, so you must be good to her, and come
right home from here. You may stay half an hour," pointing to
the old clock. "Miss Jerusha will be gone by that time," she
said to herself with a grim smile.
"I'll come right home, Mamsie," said Joel, quite upset in his
mind whether to take two white peppermint drops and two pink
ones, or if it would do to take three apiece.
"And don't let any cold water get on that hand," charged Mrs.
Pepper the last thing.
"Why, Mamsie?" asked Joel, looking up.
"'Cause it would be very bad," said Mother Pepper, shaking her
head warningly, "very bad, Joel. Remember, now."
"What would it do to me?" asked Joel.
"I don't know," said Mrs. Pepper; "it might almost kill you to
chill it. Maybe you'd have lockjaw, Joel Pepper."
"What's that?" demanded Joel, deserting the peppermint drops for
a minute to run to the door and seize his mother's gown. "What's
lockjaw, Mammy?"
"I guess you'd find out if you had it," said Mrs. Pepper, grimly.
"Why, you can't open your jaws. Let go of my gown, Joel. I must
hurry home." And with visions of Miss Jerusha in the little
brown house, she hurried off as fast as she could down the lane.
"Huh!" exclaimed Joel, left quite alone staring after her. "I
guess I ain't going to have any old lockjaw. And I could open my
jaws, too." Thereupon wide apart flew his two sets of white
teeth, at such a distance that he seemed to be all mouth. Then
he snapped them together again so quickly that it made him wink
violently; repeating this operation till he was quite convinced
that nothing should ever be the matter with his jaws. "And if
they ever do get locked up, I'm goin' to keep the key myself."
Then he ran back to his peppermint drops again, quite satisfied.
Grandma Bascom was sound asleep.
Joel softly moved two pink peppermint drops over to one side of
the drawer, and set two white ones next to them. "They're awful
small," he said to himself, and changed the pink ones for two
others of the same color. Then the same thought occurring to him
in regard to the white ones, those had to go back and two
different white ones take their places. Then he drew back, and
gazed at them admiringly.
"I don't s'pose Mamsie'd care if I took one more, if 'twas a
little one," he presently thought. But the difficulty was, should
it be a pink one or a white one? It took Joel so long to decide
this, that at last he put one of each over in his collection at
the side of the drawer, then hastily pushed the rest of Grandma's
into a pile at one end. "There, she's got a lot," he exclaimed. And
as he looked at them, the pile seemed to grow bigger yet; so he
picked off one, a great pink drop, from the very top.
"Now I must get a white one to match it," he said, fumbling over
the pile till he had flattened it quite out. They looked so many
more when this was done, that Joel felt quite right in extracting
the last two. "It might a' made her sick. P'r'aps she's been eating
too many." And as this thought struck him, he pulled out two more,
picked up the ones he had set to one side, slammed to the drawer,
by this time realizing that Grandma could not hear, and ran out
of the bedroom to the "laylock" bushes, where he sat down to
enjoy the peppermint drops.
He had demolished the third one, eating as slowly as possible,
in a way Phronsie had of nibbling around the edges to make it
last as long as possible; and then, with his cut hand, there
wasn't anything he could do; when suddenly Mamsie's words, "Be
good to Grandma," swept through his mind, with an awful twinge.
Joel stopped eating and looked at the heap of pink and white
peppermint drops he had laid down on the grass by his side; then
turned his back to them, and began his nibbling again. "She's
got enough," he said, munching on. "She said, take as many's I
wanted. So there now!"
But in a minute he had hopped to his feet, and snatched up the
pink and white pile, raced through the kitchen and into the
bedroom, and twitching open the drawer to the little stand, he
dumped his fistful in, all except one. Then, without trusting
himself to look at them, he slammed the drawer quite tight, and
leaning over Grandma, he put his mouth close to her cap-border
where she lay snoring away. "I put 'em all back, Grandma," he
whispered, "except four."
Something made him glance up at the old clock. It was five
minutes past the half hour, and Joel, with a dreadful feeling at
his heart, for disobedience was a thing Mamsie never overlooked,
fled over to the little brown house.
XIII
PASSENGERS FOR THE BOXFORD STAGE
"I declare, that's fine!" said Ben, the next day. It was dull
and cloudy, and he squinted up at the sky. "There isn't a bit of
wind. Now Mr. Blodgett'll have that bonfire, I guess; that'll
suit you, Joe, as you can't have much fun with that hand."
Joel squealed right out. "That's prime! And I can pile in the
sticks and straw just as well with my other hand."
"You aren't goin' to touch that bonfire, once it's lighted,"
declared Ben, in his most decided way. "Now you remember that,
Joe Pepper!"
"There ain't any good in it, if I can't help," cried Joel,
horribly disappointed.
"You can see it," said Ben, "same's David."
"Hoh! what's that!" cried Joel; "that won't be any fun."
"Then you can stay at home," said Ben, coolly. "As for having
you, Joe, careering round that fire, and cutting up your capers,
we ain't goin' to let you. Like enough you'd be half burnt up."
"Phoo!" cried Joel, in high disdain, and snapping the fingers of
his well hand, "I wouldn't get afire."
"I wouldn't trust you. You'd be afire before you knew it. You
needn't tease, Joe; Mamsie wouldn't allow it." And Ben walked
off and shut the door.
"Ben never let's me do anything," howled Joel, twisting his face
up into a dreadful knot, and wishing there was something he
could do with his left hand, for the other was all tied up in a
sling, Mother Pepper wisely concluding that to be the only way
to keep it still. "If I tie it up, Joel, you can't use it," she
had said, fastening the broad strip of white cloth firmly over
his shoulder. And Joel, knowing there was no use in protesting,
had borne it as well as he could, making Davie wait on him, and
driving Polly almost to despair in her efforts to amuse him,
while she did up the morning work, Mother Pepper being away.
"Why don't you play stage-coach, Joel?" proposed Polly now, as
Joel couldn't vent his disappointment loudly enough.
"That's no fun, with one hand," said Joel, disconsolately,
drumming on the window pane.
"Some folks always drive with their left hand," said Polly.
"Mr. Tisbett doesn't," said Joel, gloomily regarding the bunch
of white cloth that covered his right hand. "He always drives
with this one," sticking it out, "'cept when he takes both."
"Well, you can play there's been an accident, and you got hurt,
and so you had to drive with that hand," said Polly.
"So I can," cried Joel, bounding away from the window, "so I can,
Polly Pepper. I'll have it right now, and it's to be a perfectly
awful one. Come on, Dave, let's fix up the coach, and you get
inside, and I'll upset you, and most smash everything to death."
And Joel ran hither and thither, dragging the chairs, and
Phronsie's little cricket, and everything movable into place as
well as he could with one hand.
"Take care, Joe," warned Polly, wondering if she hadn't done
wrong in proposing stagecoach, "don't fly round so. You'll hurt
your hand. I'd get up on the front seat if I were you, and begin
to drive."
"Would you have the horses run into something, Polly, kersmash,"
cried Joel, tugging at Mamsie's rocking chair to bring it into
line, "or make the stage-coach tumble over and roll down hill?"
"Dear me," cried Polly, going into the pantry to mix up her
brown bread, and wondering which would be the less of the two
evils, "I'm sure I don't know, Joel."
"I'm goin' to have 'em do both," decided Joel. "Dave, pull this
up, will you?" So little David ran and gave a lift on the other
side of the big rocking chair, to haul it into place. "We'll run
into somethin' an' th' horse'll shy, and that'll make the old
stage-coach roll down hill. Gee-whickets!" he brought up, in
huge delight.
"I shan't let you play it at all," said Polly, from the pantry,
"if you say such words, Joel. You'll just have to stop and go
and sit down. So remember."
Joel was clambering up into Mr. Tisbett's seat on the box, but
he ducked his head at Polly's rebuke. "Get in, Dave," he shouted,
recovering himself. "Hurry up. You're the passenger that wants
to go to Boxford. You're awful slow. I'll drive off without you
if you don't make haste," he threatened, gathering up in his
left hand the bits of string that were fastened to a nail in the
corner of the shelf.
Little David, feeling it a dreadful calamity to be left behind
when he wanted to go to Boxford, hopped nimbly into the opening
in the pile of chairs that represented the stage-coach, and off
they drove.
"I can't hold my whip," cried Joel in distress, after a minute
or so of bowling along on the road to Boxford, accompanied with
much shouting to Mr. Tisbett's pair of black horses, and
excitement generally as the stage-driver tried to get out of the
way of the great number of teams on the turnpike. "O dear, it
ain't any fun without the whip!" and the whole establishment
came to a dead stop.
"I'll hold the whip," cried the passenger, eagerly, poking his
head out of the stage-coach window.
"No, you won't, either," cried Joel. "You're the passenger. O
dear me, there ain't any fun without th' whip!"
"Then I can drive," said little David. "Do let me, Joel," he
pleaded.
"I won't either," declared Joel, flatly. "I'm Mr. Tisbett, and
besides, there won't be anybody inside if you get up here."
"Phronsie might be passenger," said David, reflecting a moment.
"Goody, oh, so she might!" cried Joel, "and Seraphina too. And
that'll make more upset. Then you may come up here, Dave," he
promised. But when Polly was made acquainted with this fine plan,
she refused to allow Phronsie to enter into such a noisy play. And
Joel's face dropped so dismally that she was at her wits' end
to know how to straighten out the trouble. Just then one of
the Henderson boys came up to the door with a little pat of
butter in a dish for Mrs. Pepper.
"Here comes Peletiah Henderson," announced Polly, catching sight
of him through the window. "Now, p'r'aps he can stop and play
with you, Joel."
"He ain't much good to play," answered Joel, who never seemed to
be able to wake up the quiet boy to much action.
"Oh, Joel, he'll play real pretty, I guess," said Polly,
reprovingly, "and he's such a good boy."
"He might be the passenger," said Joel, thinking busily, as
Polly ran to the door to let the Henderson boy in. "We'll play
he's the minister goin' over to preach in Boxford, and we'll
upset him just before he gets there. Jump out, Dave, and get
up here."
"I don't know as we ought to upset him if he's the minister,"
objected David, doubtfully, as he clambered up to Joel's side.
Still, a perfect thrill of delight seized him at his promotion
to the seat of honor, and his little hands trembled as Joel laid
the precious whip within them.
"No, I guess I'd rather you had the reins," decided Joel,
twitching away the whip to lay the bits of string in David's
little brown hands. "You can drive first, 'cause I want to crack
the whip awful loud as we start. And then I'll take 'em again."
David, who would much rather have cracked the whip, said nothing,
feeling it bliss enough to be up there on the box and doing
something, as Peletiah, a light-haired, serious boy, walked
slowly into the kitchen.
"You're the passenger," shouted Joel at him, and cracking his
whip, "and you're going over to Boxford. Hurry up and get into
the stage-coach. I'm Mr. Tisbett."
[Illustration: "'YOU'RE THE PASSENGER!' SHOUTED JOEL"]
"And I'm helping, Peletiah," cried David, turning a very pink
and happy face down toward him.
"I don't want to go to Boxford," said Peletiah, deliberately,
and standing quite still, while Polly ran into the pantry to
slip the little pat of butter on to another plate.
"Oh, how good it looks!" she said, longing for just one taste.
"Well, you've got to go," said Joel, obstinately, "so get in."
"I don't want to go to Boxford," repeated Peletiah, not stirring.
Joel cracked the whip angrily, and glared down at him.
"P'r'aps he wants to go somewhere else," said little David,
leaning forward and clutching the reins carefully, "and that'll
be just as good."
"Do you?" asked Joel, crossly. "Want to go anywheres else,
Peletiah?"
Peletiah considered so long over this that Joel, drumming with
his heels on the dashboard, got tired out, and shouted, "Hurry
up and get in--th' stage-coach's goin'!" which had the desired
effect, to make the passenger skip in much livelier than he
intended.
"Now we're goin' to Boxford," announced Joel, positively,
cracking his whip at its loudest. "Be careful, David; hold the
horses up."
"He said he didn't want to go to Boxford," put in little David,
trembling all over at the vast responsibility of holding in Mr.
Tisbett's black horses, and the passenger's being taken where he
didn't want to go.
"Well, he didn't tell us where he did want to go," said Joel,
"and th' stage is goin' to Boxford. Boxford, Box," he screamed
to imaginary people along the road. "Anybody want to go to
Boxford?"
"I said I didn't want to go to Boxford," interrupted the
passenger in the general din.
"Well, you've got to," said Joel, "'cause the stage is goin'
there. Boxford--Boxford! Anybody goin' to Boxford? Want to go,
Marm?" an imaginary old woman sitting on a stone by the roadside.
"I'm goin' to get out," announced Peletiah, in a tone that
convinced Joel that remonstrance was useless.
"No, you mustn't," cried Joel, "and you can't, either, for th'
accident's comin' now," he added cheerfully.
Davie held his breath, and clutched the lines tighter yet, and
Joel screamed shrilly, "Look out!" and gave an awful kick with
his heels to the back of the top chair, and before anybody could
say a word, over it came, knocking Davie with it, and before the
passenger could get out, Mr. Tisbett and his assistant and the
best part of the whole establishment seemed to be on top of him.
Polly heard the noise and came rushing out. "Oh, boys--boys!"
she cried in a fright, "are you hurt?" for everything seemed to
be in a heap together, with some small legs kicking wildly about,
trying to extricate the persons to whom they belonged.
"I ain't," announced Joel, hopping out of the heaps and shaking
the black hair out of his eyes. "Oh, Polly, it was such fun!" he
cried.
"Davie! Davie and Peletiah!" cried Polly, an awful dread at her
heart, on account of the little guest, as she hung over the
wreck, pulling busily at the chairs, "are you all safe?"
Little David tried to speak, but his head ached dreadfully, and
the breath seemed to have left his body. Peletiah said slowly,
"I barked my shin, and I didn't want to go to Boxford."
"O dear me," exclaimed Polly, fishing him out, "that's too bad!
Joel, you oughtn't to have taken him to Boxford if he didn't
want to go."
"That wouldn't 'a' made any difference," declared Joel, "'cause
we had to get upset, anyway."
"Well, Davie's hurt, I expect," said Polly, looking Peletiah
carefully all over, as in duty bound to a guest, as he stood up
before her.
"Oh, no, I ain't, Polly," said little David, trying to speak
cheerfully, and crawling out with a big lump on his forehead.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, at sight of it. "Well, I'm glad,
child, it's no worse," as she rapidly examined the rest of him.
"Now you must have some pieces of wet brown paper on that."
"I'm glad I haven't got to have wet brown paper all over me,"
declared Joel, with a grimace--"old, slippery, shiny brown
paper."
"I barked my shin," gravely announced Peletiah, standing quite
still.