you must wait, Davie, till I fix Peletiah up, for he's company,
you know."
"I guess Grandma's got some wormwood--the stuff she made for
Phronsie's toe when 'twas pounded," suggested Joel, quite
oblivious to the black looks which Peletiah was constantly
casting on him.
"You may run over and see," said Polly. "O dear me, no, you
can't, Joe, just look at your hand!" as she happened to glance
up.
Joel looked down quickly at the big white bundle in the sling.
"There ain't nothin'--" He was going to say, "the matter with my
hand, Polly," when he saw some very red spots spreading quickly
along its surface.
"Oh, now you've burst open the cut," cried Polly, forgetting
herself, and turning quite white. "What shall we do, and Mamsie
away!"
Little David, at that, burst into a loud cry, and Joel tried to
say, "No, I haven't," but looking very scared at Polly's scream.
"Oh, I'll fix it, Joe," she exclaimed in haste, though how she
managed to get the words out she never knew. "Let me see, Mamsie
would untie it if she were here, and put on court plaster. Now,
David, you run over to Grandma's and ask her to give us some
more. She told us to come if we wanted it, and I'll put on a fresh
piece just as tight, oh, you can't think!" Polly kept talking all the
time, feeling that she should drop if she didn't, and little David,
forgetting all about the lump on his forehead, that now was most
as big as an egg, ran off as fast as he could, and presently returned
with the court plaster, waving it over his head.
Polly took off the bloody rag, setting her lips tightly together,
until she saw Joel's face again. Then she began quickly, "Oh,
what a nice time you're goin' to have at the bonfire, Joe!"
"Is there goin' to be a bonfire?" asked Peletiah, with more
interest than he had hitherto shown.
"Yes," said Polly, "there is, Peletiah. Mr. Blodgett's goin' to
burn up all that rubbish left after he pulled down his cow-pen,
you know."
"When's he goin' to burn it?" continued Peletiah.
"This afternoon," said Polly. "Ben's over there, and Joel's goin',
and David." All the while she was dabbing off the blood running
out of the side where the court plaster slipped when the stage
went over. Then she cut off another bit from the piece Grandma
sent over, and quickly pasted it over the edge of the old piece.
"There now, Joey," she cried, "that's as nice as can be! Now
I'll get you a fresh piece of cloth to tie it up in."
"I don't want it tied up," cried Joel, wiggling his fingers;
"they feel so good to be out, Polly."
"Oh, you must have 'em tied up," cried Polly, decisively,
running back with the cloth. "Hold your hand still, Joe; there
now, says I, that's all done!" She gave a great sigh of relief,
when at last Joel's arm was once more in its sling.
"I'm glad it's all back again, Polly," said little David,
viewing the white bundle with satisfaction.
"So am I, I declare," said Polly, folding her hands to rest a
bit.
"I guess I'll go to that bonfire," observed Peletiah. At the
sound of his voice, Polly came to herself with a little gasp.
"Oh, I forgot all about you, Peletiah, and David's head. I'll
see your shin first, 'cause you're company."
When Peletiah's small trouser leg was pulled up, Polly saw with
dismay a black and blue spot rapidly spreading. "O dear me," she
cried, down on her knees, "what will dear Mrs. Henderson say?
and she's so good to us!"
"And I didn't want to go to Boxford, either," said Peletiah.
"Well, David, you must just run back and ask Grandma if we may
have a little wormwood," said Polly. "I'd go, but I don't like
to leave you children alone," in distress as she saw Davie's
lump on his forehead, and his hot, tired face. "I'm sorry, for
you've just been over."
"I'll go," cried Joel, springing off, but Polly called him back.
"No, you can't, Joe," she cried, "you'll burst that cut open
again, maybe. Davie must go. Tell Grandma one of the minister's
boys has got hurt."
So Davie ran over again, trying not to think how his head ached,
and in he came in a few minutes with the bunch of wormwood
dangling at his side.
"She said--Grandma did--pound it up and tie it on with a rag, if
you haven't got time to steep it," said Davie, relinquishing the
bundle into Polly's hand, "and to put some on my head, too," he
added, feeling this to be a calamity as much worse as could be
imagined than to have on the brown paper bits.
"So I will," declared Polly. "Oh, how good of Grandma! Boys, we
must do ever and all we can for her, she's so nice to us. Now I
must pound this up, just as she said."
This operation was somewhat delayed by all three of the boys
hanging over her and getting in the way. And Phronsie, who had
been busy with Seraphina in the bedroom, now running out to add
herself to the number, it was a little time before Peletiah's
small leg had the wet rag tied on.
"Well, now you're done," said Polly, thankfully, "and you'd
better run home, Peletiah, and tell your mother all about it,
and how sorry we are."
"Yes," said Peletiah, slowly moving off, "I will, 'cause she
told me to come right back."
"Oh, Peletiah!" exclaimed Polly, in horror, "and you've been
here all this time!"
"And I didn't want to go to Boxford," said Peletiah, going off.
Pretty soon, back he came, just as Polly finished bathing
Davie's head. "I'll take the dish," he said. "Mother said bring
it back."
XIV
DEACON BLODGETT'S BONFIRE
But that afternoon it began to rain smartly, so nobody went to
the bonfire after all. "P'r'aps," Polly had kept saying to
herself, "all Mr. Atkins' sacks will be sewed up by the next
time Mr. Blodgett tries to burn up his rubbish, and then I can
go," but she didn't speak a word to her mother, for then Mrs.
Pepper would find out how dreadfully disappointed Polly had been
at the thought of not seeing the grand spectacle. So she worked
on busily, expecting every day to hear Ben say, "Now we're goin'
to set it off to-day," for he was at work pretty steadily now,
for Farmer Blodgett. But he never did.
At last one day, Ben came home very late to supper, so late that
Polly ran to the window ever so many times, exclaiming, "Bensie
never was so late before." Phronsie had long been in bed, and
the boys were anxiously looking up at the clock to see if it
were anywhere near half-past seven, when Ben came in.
"Why, Ben Pepper!" exclaimed Polly, aghast, "whatever is the
matter?"
"I should ask so, too," said Mother Pepper, "only I know Ben
will tell when he is rested. Let him eat his supper, Polly, and
don't bother him with questions."
So Polly took off the clean towel that had covered Ben's supper
on the table, and hovered over him, watching every mouthful. But
she didn't say a word.
"You see," said Ben, when he had appeased his appetite somewhat,
and eating more slowly, "I really couldn't help it, for the
bonfire was such a big one."
"The bonfire?" screamed Polly. "What do you mean, Ben?"
"Why, Mr. Blodgett's bonfire, to be sure," said Ben. "Whatever
else could I mean, Polly?" leaning back to look over his
shoulder at her.
"You haven't gone and had that bonfire without telling us, Ben
Pepper!" cried Polly, in amazement. "Oh, how could you do such a
dreadful mean thing!" she added passionately.
"Polly--Polly!" cried Mother Pepper, in dismay.
"Well, I don't care," said Polly, recklessly, "it was perfectly
awfully mean, Mamsie, to go and have that bonfire without telling
us a single thing about it. Now we can't one of us ever see it,"
she mourned.
"Better not judge Ben till you hear the reason, Polly," advised
Mother Pepper, gravely. "I'll warrant he had some good one."
"So I have," cried Ben, with a dreadful feeling at his heart
that his comrade Polly blamed him. "Mr. Blodgett told me I
mustn't run home and tell you, though I begged him as hard as I
could to let me."
"Then he is a very mean man," exploded Polly, with flashing eyes
and a little red spot on either cheek.
"Take care, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper.
"I don't think so," said Ben, decidedly, shaking his head in
disapproval of Polly; "he's been as good as gold to me, and--"
"So he has, Ben," Mother Pepper was guilty of interrupting.
"And he's been bothered to death to get the right time to work
on that old bonfire, and today the men said the rubbish ought to
be got off, 'cause two of 'em can come only a day more, and they
want to get the ground ready for planting. So all of a sudden Mr.
Blodgett comes over to the south meadow and calls out, 'Come,
boys, we're going to set to on that bonfire!' And then I begged
him to let me just run home and tell you all, and he couldn't,
and that's all," said Ben, calmly finishing the account.
"I don't see how you could help it, Ben," said his mother, "nor
Mr. Blodgett either, for that matter."
Polly stood quite still, the waves of color spreading over her
face. Then she took a step forward, and threw her arms around
Ben's neck.
"Oh, Ben!" she cried convulsively, "I'm so sorry I was cross."
"All right, Polly," said Ben, reassuringly, and patting her
cheek, "and I guess next time you'll wait and hear about
things."
"I surely will," promised poor Polly.
So no one saw the wonderful Blodgett bonfire, after all, except
Peletiah Henderson, who was going past that farm when the
excitement was at its height. But Ben comforted them all, and
Polly helped out wonderfully, by repeating everything he said.
"Now, children, I'll watch; there'll be other bonfires, I expect.
Maybe before long; so I shouldn't wonder if we got another chance
to see a big fire." It came sooner than they expected, but it wasn't
a bonfire.
It was one night about a week after. The little brown house was
as still as a mouse, everybody abed and asleep. Suddenly
Phronsie woke up with a fretful little cry. "I want a drink of
water," she wailed, sitting straight in the trundle bed.
"Oh, no, you don't," said Polly, sleepily. "Hush, Phronsie, and
lie down again. You'll wake Mamsie."
Phronsie's little lips quivered. In the darkness Polly couldn't
see the small face and its sorrowful eyes, so she turned over
again on her pillow. "Go to sleep, like a good girl," she said,
almost asleep.
"I can't, Polly," said Phronsie, almost ready to cry out, "and I
am truly thirsty. Please, Polly, a drink of water." She put out
her little hand to feel for Polly's, but in a minute the regular
breathing told her that Polly had fallen asleep. So Phronsie sat
still in the middle of the trundle bed, and choked back the
tears.
But her little throat was parched and dry, and at last the tears
rolled over the round cheeks.
"I won't wake poor Polly up," she said; "I can get it myself,"
and she crawled out of the trundle bed, having some difficulty
in getting over the side, and made her way out into the kitchen.
It was very bright there, at which Phronsie stared wonderingly,
as there was no candle lighted, so she easily found her way to
the pail of water which Ben always got the last thing at night
and set on the bench by the window.
"I can reach the dipper," said Phronsie, standing on tiptoes,
and seizing it, she thrust it into the pail. How it happened,
she didn't know, and there was no one else there to see, but
over with a great clatter came the pail and the dipper to the
floor.
Polly started up in bed. Mamsie, who was very tired, still slept
on. "Phronsie," cried Polly, remembering in a flash about the
drink of water, "I'll get it for you," and she put out her hand
to pat the little figure in the trundle bed. There was no
Phronsie there!
Polly hopped wildly out into the kitchen, to hear Phronsie
gurgling out her distress, as she stood in her little white nightie,
her hands stuck straight out, and the water dripping from her
every pore. The pail and dipper were rolling away at their own
sweet wills across the old kitchen floor. And over all shone a
great light as bright as day, only it was tinged with red.
"Phronsie Pepper!" exclaimed Polly, and "What's this light?" all
in the same breath. And huddling Phronsie up in her arms, Polly
raced along to the window. A great burst of light, red and
glaring, shot across the sky, and lighted up the whole heavens.
"Oh, we're burning up! Something's afire! Grandma Bascom!"
screamed Polly. "Ben--Ben--wake up! Mamsie! Fire--fire!" she
called.
She could hear Ben spring out of bed, and Mrs. Pepper was in the
kitchen in a minute, and Joel and David were tumbling downstairs
at Ben's heels, and they all threw on their clothes and rushed
out of doors. But it wasn't Grandma Bascom's. Her little cottage
stood peaceful and quiet, with only the dreadful red light
playing over it.
"I can't think where it is," said Ben. "It seems so near, and we
know it isn't, 'cause Grandma's is the only house for more'n half
a mile." Meanwhile, the smoke was pouring into the sky, and when
it cleared there was that dreadful red light glare again.
"Oh, Ben!" exclaimed Polly, with clasped hands, as they all
stood in front of the little brown house, breathlessly watching,
"it must be Parson Henderson's."
"No," said Ben, "that isn't the right direction."
"It's nice Mrs. Beebe's, I know," said Joel, racing around
excitedly. "And now it will burn up all those boots and shoes,"
which, luckily, Phronsie didn't hear.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Ben, "it isn't anywhere near Mr. Beebe's
shop. It's ever so far off. And a barn, I guess, 'cause it burns
like hay."
"I hope there aren't any horses in it," sighed Polly, with a
shiver, sitting down on the doorstone, and holding Phronsie very
closely in her arms.
"Wherever it is, you ought to go and help, Ben," said his mother.
"I was thinking so myself, now I know 'tisn't near here, and I can
leave you all," said Ben, hurrying off.
"I'm goin', I'm goin'," cried Joel, wildly darting off.
"No--no, Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, "you're too little to go to a fire."
"I'd pass buckets," said Joel, "and climb the ladders--and--"
"No," said his mother, firmly.
He was afraid to cry, lest she should send him in the house, so
he ran out into the road and watched impatiently to see if
anybody was coming along to go to the fire. Presently they all
heard wagon wheels.
"Somebody's comin'!" screamed Joel, running back into the yard.
"Oh, Mammy, mayn't I ride with 'em and just see the fire? I
won't get out of the wagon; truly, I won't."
"No," said Mrs. Pepper, "it's no use to ask it, Joel," and he
knew it wasn't. "It's hard enough to let Ben go, though that's
his duty. You can ask the people in the wagon if they know where
the fire is." And Joel, delighted that there was some part in
the excitement for him, tore madly down to the roadside and
demanded this of the people in the team.
"It's Deacon Blodgett's barn," they screamed at him as the old
horse spun by, raising a cloud of dust.
"What did he say?" asked Mrs. Pepper, as Joel raced back
breathlessly.
"It's Deacon Blodgett's barn," screamed Joel, quite overcome. "O
dear me! So we are seeing his bonfire, ain't we, Mammy?"
"Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, her face looking ghastly in the red
light, "this is perfectly dreadful for poor Mrs. Blodgett and
the good deacon. Oh, if we could only help them!" She looked off
at the clouds of smoke now obscuring the red glare, and her
hands usually so quiet were wringing each other.
"Ben's there by this time," said Polly, feeling that nothing was
hopeless with Ben close by. "Think of that, Mamsie."
"I'm so glad of that," breathed Mrs. Pepper, thankfully. "Now
he'll have a chance to show his gratitude for what Deacon
Blodgett's done for him."
"Polly," said Phronsie, suddenly raising her head where she had
hidden it on Polly's arm, "do you suppose Mr. Blodgett's nice
mooly cow is going to burn up?" She clasped her fat hands as
she brought out the question fearfully.
"No, I hope not, Pet," said Polly, soothingly. "Don't let's
think of it," but her heart ached, nevertheless. How good Mrs.
Blodgett had been to send down that sweet, rich milk, once in a
while, for Phronsie.
"See! Oh, ain't it a buster!" shouted Joel out in the road,
hoping some other team would come by.
"Joel," called Mrs. Pepper, even in her anxiety over good
friends' trouble, unwilling to let the word pass, "what did you
say?"
"Well, it's a big fire, anyway," said Joel. "Come on, Dave, out
here and see it," for Dave, at the first glimpse, had slunk down
on the grass silently to watch the sky.
"No," said little David, "I don't want to go, Joel. Mamsie--"
and he turned a troubled face to her--"do you suppose God's
going to let good Mr. Blodgett's barn burn up?"
"No," said Mrs. Pepper, "I don't b'lieve God had anything to do
with it, Davie. Like enough it's some man been in there with a
pipe, but we'll hope the fire'll be put out. And don't you be
troubled; God wouldn't let any one be hurt, least of all a good man
like Deacon Blodgett."
"Oh," said little David, quite relieved.
And when Ben came home in the early dawn--Mamsie and the rest of
the bunch of the little Peppers sitting up for him, for Phronsie
wouldn't go to bed, so Polly held her in her arms--they found
this was just the case.
"And they've caught the tramp who was smoking the pipe," cried
Ben, excitedly, "but that won't save the barn, and the horse
and--"
"Hush!" cried Polly, with a look at Phronsie. But her eyes were
closed, and her head was bobbing sleepily on Polly's breast.
"Better lay her on my bed now, Polly," said her mother, "and
she'll doze off, most likely."
"Yes, the cow has gone with the rest of the tools and wagons,"
said Ben, mixing things up inextricably. "O dear me!" And he
rested his streaked face on his grimy hands.
"Oh, Ben," cried Joel, "you're as black as you can be! How I
wish I could 'a' gone!" he added, feeling it the highest state
of bliss to come home looking like that from working in a fire.
"Well, I feel black," said Ben, and down went his head lower yet
in his hands.
His mother went swiftly over to him and pressed her hand gently
on his hair. "You couldn't help it, Ben," she said, "you'd 'a'
saved it, if you'd been able."
"Yes," said Ben, brokenly, "I would, Mamsie."
XV
OLD MAN PETERS' CENT
Joel was walking along the road very slowly, swinging on his arm
the tin pail that was to bring home the molasses. "I wish some
one would come along who'd give me a ride," he thought, feeling
hot, and wishing he were home, to lie on the cool grass in the
orchard, after he had first drunk all he wanted to at the well.
"I could drink the whole bucketful," he declared. "My, ain't I
thirsty! Oh, goody, I hear a wagon!" and he hopped to one side
of the road. "Ugh--it's old man Peters!"
Mr. Peters slackened up as he passed Joel, but he didn't offer
to let him ride. And Joel didn't want to, anyway. After a grumpy
look at the Pepper boy, the old man in the wagon put the well-worn
leather reins between his knees and took out a battered pocket-book,
scowling above its contents as he went over a business transaction
just completed at Badgertown. Then he slapped it together and
stuck it into his pocket, and seizing the reins, he doubled them
up, cutting the horse across the thin flanks.
"Gee-lang, there--will you!" cried old man Peters, shrilly, "or
I'll make ye!"
Joel stepped back into the middle of the road, and began to
trudge along in the wake of the wagon. Suddenly he stopped, and
stared at something shining in the road. It was little and round,
but it sent up a bright gleam that found an answering one in
Joel's black eyes.
"Oh, I've found a whole cent!" he exclaimed joyfully. Then his
heart stood quite still. It must belong to old man Peters.
"I don't care," said Joel, defiantly, to himself, "he left it in
the road. It's mine, now, for I picked it up." And he clutched
it tightly in his warm little palm, and dug his heels into the
hot sand, glad enough he had had to go to the store after that
molasses, for otherwise he wouldn't have found that cent.
"It doesn't belong to you." It seemed as if Mamsie was walking
there beside him, and had said the words, and involuntarily Joel
glanced on either side. "I don't know as he dropped it," he said
to himself, walking very fast, and trying to shake off the
unwelcome thoughts; "I didn't see him."
"But you did see him take his pocket-book out, and you ought to
hurry after him and give it back," and Joel started on a lively
run, without giving himself a chance to think twice.
"Mr. Peters! Mr. Peters!" he cried, running along, and screaming
after the retreating wagon.
Mr. Peters looked back and shook his whip at him. "I ain't
a-goin' to give you a ride," he said, "an' you needn't think you
can catch on behind." So he gave the horse another cut, that
made him amble along at his best speed.
Joel chased as long as he was able to, the perspiration
streaming from his red face, screaming when he could find breath,
"Stop, Mr. Peters, a minute," till Mr. Peters shook his fist at
him as well as his whip. At last Joel dropped from sheer
exhaustion on the roadside grass.
"That Pepper boy--th' one they call Joel--is a perfect
nuisance," snarled Mr. Peters, after putting his horse up in the
barn, and going into the house. "I passed him on the road, and
he looked as if he 'xpected me to give him a lift."
"Oh, Pa, why didn't you?" said Mrs. Peters, pityingly, "they
have such a hard time, those little Pepperses. I s'pose he was
dreadful tired."
"S'pose he was," said Mr. Peters, going into the keeping room to
sit down over the weekly paper. "I warn't a-goin' to take him up;
and then the imperdent little chap started to run after me,
a-yellin' all the way. I'd a horsewhipped him if I c'd 'a' reached
him."
"I wish you wouldn't feel so about boys," deprecatingly said his
wife, a little woman; "they don't hurt you none, and I wish you
wouldn't, Pa."
"Well, I ain't a-goin' to have 'em round me," snarled Mr. Peters.
"An' there ain't no call for you to say any more about's fur's
I know, Marindy," and he jerked open the newspaper, put his feet
on the round of another chair, got his spectacles out of their
case and on his nose, and prepared to be comfortable. He never
knew when his paper slid to the floor, and his bald head was
bobbing over his empty hands. Mrs. Marinda Peters was upstairs
sorting rags to give the rag-man when next he came by, the only
way she could earn a little money for her own use, and the
daughter was away; so Joel Pepper walked in without any one's
knowing it. He had knocked and knocked at the kitchen door until
his knuckles were sore, and tired of waiting, concluded to walk
in by himself; for go home he would not, with Mr. Peters' cent
in his pocket. So he marched in and stood by the old man's chair.
"Here's your cent," he said, holding it out in his hot fingers.
His empty pail struck suddenly on the edge of the chair with a
clang, the noise, more than the words, waking the old man up.
"Hey? What d'ye want?" cried Mr. Peters, his eyes flying open
suddenly.
"Your cent," said Joel, holding it out. "A cent? I hain't any
money to give ye," snarled old Mr. Peters, now fully aroused,
"And d'ye git out of this house soon's ye can, or I'll give ye
suthin' to git for." His spectacles slipped to the end of his
nose as he started to get out of the chair.
"I don't want any cent," said Joel, hotly, sticking the one
between his finger and thumb up under the old man's nose.
"Here, take it. Don't you see it? It's yours."
"Mine? My cent?" repeated the old man, staring at it. "What d'ye
mean? I hain't give ye no cent."
"I found it in the road. You dropped it," said Joel, feeling
tired to death. And dropping it hastily on the window-ledge he
hurried off, swinging his tin pail violently.
"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Peters, at the sound of the
voices; and, leaving the rag-bag suddenly, she hurried over the
stairs. Old Mr. Peters, hearing her coming, picked up the cent,
and, not stopping to put it in the old leather pocket-book,
slipped it into his vest pocket, and seizing the newspaper, fell
to reading.
"Joel," called Mrs. Peters, as Joel was running out of the
untidy yard, "what is it? Come here and tell me."
"Let th' boy alone, can't ye, Marindy?" screamed Mr. Peters,
irritably; "beats all how you allers interfere in my business--just
like a woman!" he fumed, as Joel came back slowly.
[Illustration: "'HEY, WHAT D'YE WANT?' CRIED MR. PETERS"]
But Mrs. Peters was as persistent in her way as her husband, and
she soon had the whole story laid bare. When that was done, she
took Joel into the buttery and gave him a big wedge of custard
pie. "You better go t'other way, and not past the keepin' room
window," she said, "and eat it."