shortcake, any more than we had a chicken pie," said Polly, turning
away with a sigh.
"Why, you had your chicken pie, Polly," cried Joel, "only 'twas
a goose."
"Old gray goose!" said Polly, scornfully. "It was trimmed with a
posy, though, and that was nice, wasn't it, Mammy?" brightening
up.
"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Pepper, cheerily; "and you baked it so
good, Polly."
"So it was baked good," said Polly, all her good humor returning.
"And it did not make so much matter, did it, Mamsie, that he was
tough?"
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Pepper, laughing; "he lasted all the
longer, you know, Polly."
"Mean old gray goose!" exclaimed Joel, at the remembrance; "he
most broke my teeth, trying to eat him."
"Do you remember, Joe, how you teased for the drumstick?"
laughed Polly. "You soon put it down on your plate, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Joel, bobbing his head, "I remember, Polly. I
couldn't bite a single thing off. Mean old goose!"
"He looked nice," said little Davie, thoughtfully, "he was so
brown, and there were Polly's flowers on top of him."
"Yes," said Polly, "those were nice, children. Well, p'r'aps
we'll get a really and truly chicken pie sometime. And if the
old stove would behave, and not have these dreadful holes coming
all the time, where the putty tumbles out, it would be perfectly
splendid. Now," cried Polly, running up to the stove, and
shaking her brown head at it, "you've got to do your very best.
If you don't, I'm sure I shall just give up!"
"Will you cry, Polly?" asked Phronsie, creeping up behind her.
"Yes, maybe," said Polly, recklessly. "Yes, I really think I
shall have to cry, Phronsie, if that old stove lets the putty
Ben put in last week tumble out again."
"Then it mustn't, Polly," said Phronsie, very decidedly, "let
the--What is it Ben put in?"
"The putty, child," said Polly.
"It mustn't let the putty tumble out," said Phronsie. Then she
ran up to the stove, and laid her little face up against its
cold, black surface, for on summer afternoons there was never
any fire in it. "You mustn't be naughty, old stove," she said,
"for then Polly will cry."
"Oh, Phronsie!" cried Polly, "you've smutted your face, and
blacked up your nice clean dress," and she pulled her back in
dismay.
"O dear!" whimpered Phronsie, in distress, as she looked down at
the long black streak across her pink calico gown. "I didn't
mean to, Polly; truly, I didn't."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Pepper, looking across the kitchen;
"Mother'll wash it out for you by and by. Put on another one,
Polly."
"Let me wash it, Mammy," begged Polly, carrying Phronsie off to
wash her face and get her into another gown.
"No, you'll only spread it more, for you don't know how, Polly,"
answered Mother Pepper. So Polly, feeling as if there were a
great many things she must grow up and learn, hurried off with
Phronsie into the bedroom.
And then it was that Joel suddenly thought of the circus he
meant to have whenever the time came ready. "Come on out to the
woodpile, Dave," he said, "and let's talk it over."
It was a good two hours after when Joel and David clambered down
from the woodpile, and ran into the house.
"Joel," said Mother Pepper, "you forgot to fill up the wood box;
see, it's nearly empty."
"It's always empty," Joel began, his head nearly bursting with
big plans for his circus.
"Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, sternly, "don't let me ever hear you
fret at your work again. Go straight out and bring in the
kindlings."
"And I'm going to help, too," cried David, skipping after. So it
wasn't very long before the two boys had brought in two good
basketsful of kindlings, which just filled the wood box behind
the stove.
"I'm glad it's done," remarked Joel, with great satisfaction,
knocking off the little splinters sticking to his fingers.
"People always are glad when their work is finished," said Mrs.
Pepper, breaking off a fresh needleful of thread.
"Shall you be glad, Mamsie?" suddenly asked Joel, who never
could get over the idea that it was a perfect delight to his
mother to sit and sew.
"Of course she will," cried Polly, unguardedly. "Mamsie's tired
to death sewing and working all the time."
Little David's face grew very long, and he turned away, hoping
no one would see him cry. Joel burst into a loud fit of sobbing.
"I think--it's--too--too bad," he blubbered, covering his face
with his arm, "that Mamsie has--has--to sew and work--all the
time."
"Now you see, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, putting aside her work
and drawing Joel on her lap, "what mischief a few words can do.
There, there, Joel, don't cry," and she patted his black hair.
"Mother's glad to work for her children, and she gets rested
when they're good." But Joel sobbed on, and she had to repeat it
many times before he would wipe his tears, and be comforted.
Little Davie drew near silently, to hear what she said.
Phronsie, in the bedroom, saw Joel in Mamsie's lap, and Davie
hanging over her chair, and she pattered across the kitchen
floor. "Take me, too, do Mamsie," holding out her arms.
"So Mamsie will," cried Mrs. Pepper, heartily, and drawing her
up to sit next to Joel, on her lap. When little Davie saw that,
"I wish there was room," he said softly, "to hold me, too,
Mamsie."
"Well, there is," said Mother Pepper, opening her arms, "and for
Polly, too," for she saw Polly's head drooping from her reproof.
"Oh, Mamsie!" cried Polly, running over to her, to get within
the good arms, though she couldn't sit on her lap, of course, as
there were three little Peppers there already; "I'm sorry I
spoke, but I didn't think."
"Didn't think makes most all of the trouble in this world," said
Mrs. Pepper, gravely; "so see to it that next time you don't
have to make that excuse, Polly child," and she dropped a kiss
on Polly's red cheek.
"It's just this way, children," she went on, smiling on all the
bunch; "Mother is really glad to work, and every stitch she puts
in, she keeps thinking, now that's for Ben and Polly and Joel
and David and Phronsie." Mother Pepper's black eyes went
lovingly around on all the faces so near her own. "And I keep
looking ahead, too, to the time when the little brown house
people are going out into the world and--"
"Oh, we aren't ever going out into the world, Mammy," declared
Polly, in alarm. "We are going to stay in the little brown house
forever'n ever."
"Forever'n ever," echoed Phronsie, folding her hands tightly
together; while the two boys vociferously protested that nothing
should ever drive them out of the little brown house. "No, not
even to live over in Strawberry Hill with nice Mrs. Green."
"Well, anyway, we must all live and grow up so that the little
brown house won't be ashamed of us," said Mrs. Pepper, "and
that's what Mother is working for; so don't let me hear any more
crying about it. Now remember, all of you." With that she opened
her arms wide again. "Now scamper off," she said, with a bright
smile, and she picked up her sewing and sent her needle cheerily
in and out once more.
That evening, after the supper things were all cleared away,
Joel began by drawing Davie off in a corner to whisper mysteriously.
"Let him alone, Polly," said Ben, in a low voice. "Joe'll tell of his
own accord, pretty soon."
And sure enough, it wasn't ten minutes. Mother Pepper had gone
into the bedroom to tuck Phronsie away for the night, when Joel
said triumphantly, "We know something, Dave and me, and we won't
tell what 'tis."
"All right," said Ben, coolly. "Polly, I guess I'll mend Mamsie's
washboard. I shan't have another chance so good this week."
"I wish you would, Bensie," said Polly, well pleased, for Polly
dearly loved everything kept mended up, and "shipshape," as Mrs.
Pepper used to say. "I'll spread the paper down so you don't get
any mess on the floor." So she ran to the pile of old weekly
newspapers her mother always saved, when any of the Badgertown
people sent her a copy, as they did once in a while, and
flapping one open, she soon had a "paper carpet," as she said
merrily, on the floor. And Ben, coming out from the woodshed,
with the washboard in his hand, together with the hammer and
nails, the kitchen began to hum with the noise.
"Yes," said Joel, loudly, "we do; we know something real fine,
Dave and I. Don't we, Dave?" with a nip on Davie's little arm.
"Ow!" said Davie.
"That so?" assented Ben, coolly.
"Yes, and we aren't goin' to tell, either," said Joel, "not a
single word; so there, Ben!" Then he began to whisper as fast as
he could to David.
"You'll tell, yourself, Joe, without anybody's asking," said Ben,
as Joel began again with: "It's perfectly splendid, Ben Pepper.
And oh, Polly, you don't know what we do; does she, Dave?"
"Polly and I will know pretty soon," added Ben.
"No, you won't, either," contradicted Joel. "We aren't ever in
all this world goin' to tell of the circus I'm goin' to--"
"There!" shouted Ben, throwing down the hammer. "You've told it,
Joe, just the same as I knew you would. Ha, ha!"
"Don't, Ben," begged Polly, "it teases Joel. Well, we don't know
what kind of a circus you are going to have, Joey," she said
kindly, "so we'll be just as much surprised when we see it."
"Will you?" cried Joel; "well, then, Polly, I'd rather tell the
whole, if you'll be surprised when you see all the animals."
"I guess you will," said Ben, in a low voice; "there's no danger
in promising that."
"I truly will, Joey," promised Polly. "Do be still, Ben."
"Well, to begin with, Polly, there's going to be a rhodo--What's
that you told us about in your story of the circus?"
"Hoh, hoh!" laughed Ben, busily at work over the washboard,
"there's your rhododendron, Polly. I thought Joel wouldn't
forget to have one in his circus."
"Go on, Joel," said Polly, with a cold shoulder for Ben. "Now I
know your circus is going to be perfectly elegant," she cried
enthusiastically, running over to their corner. "Do tell us
about it, Joel."
Joel, vastly complimented that Polly took such an interest in
his plan, now began lustily to set it forth, and little Davie
piped in whenever there was a chance for a word, which wasn't
often. And finally Ben said, "I guess I'll move my washboard and
the 'paper carpet' up there with you all," and Polly said, "Oh,
do, Ben."
And presently they were all so very jolly, Ben deciding not to
say anything more of Polly's rhododendron, that none of them
knew when Mother Pepper said above their heads, "I thought you
didn't know 'twas five minutes past your bedtime, Joel and
David," pointing to the clock.
XIX
CIRCUS PLANS
Joel practised the part of so many animals in the next week that
the little brown house people became quite accustomed to any
strange grunting or roaring they might chance to hear, as if a
whole menagerie were let loose. Only Mamsie forbade that such
noise should be allowed within doors. And every once in a while
Joel would rush into the kitchen, with "Polly, how does an
elephant scream?" and "Tell me, Polly, does a kangaroo cry this
way?" until Polly was quite worn out.
"I guess you'll be glad when that circus of Joe's is over with,"
said Ben. "I pity you, Polly. I'd enough sight rather chop wood
for Mr. Blodgett."
"Well, you needn't," cried Polly, "pity me, Ben, for Joel's so
very happy. And poor Mr. Blodgett! O dear, it's too bad his
barn's all burnt up."
"And the horse and the cow," said Ben, very soberly.
"Hush!" warned Polly, looking around to see if Phronsie heard.
Luckily, she was in the bedroom, sitting down by the lower
bureau drawer, which was open, and trying on her red-topped
shoes, getting every button into the wrong button-hole. "Oh,
Ben," Polly rushed up to whisper in his ear, "I do think that
was too dreadful for anything."
"Yes," said Ben; "it was Mrs. Blodgett sent you word she was
sorry she hadn't any milk to send to Phronsie now and then."
"Good Mrs. Blodgett!" exclaimed Polly, with the tears in her brown
eyes. "Oh, I do wish we had something to send her!" she sighed.
And Ben sighed too. Because, as he had been working at Deacon
Blodgett's pretty steadily the last few weeks since the fire, he
had noticed how the neighbors and friends had been sending in
things to show how sorry they were for the Blodgett family, and
it grieved him dreadfully that the Peppers seemed to be about
the only ones left out. So now he preserved a gloomy silence.
"Well, come, dear me," cried Polly, when she saw this, and,
remembering her mother's advice, to think first before she spoke
the words that might work mischief, she brightened up. "P'r'aps
some chance will come to us to show dear Mrs. Blodgett that
we are sorry for 'em, if we can't send 'em things."
"P'r'aps," said Ben. But he still looked gloomy. "I can do my
work just as well's I know how," he thought; "but I'm going to
do that, anyway, so I don't see what other chance there'll be."
"Whom are you going to invite to see your circus, Joel?" asked
Polly, a few nights later, when, as usual, after supper, Joel
was haranguing loudly on the great show to take place, and even
little David was wound up to such a pitch of enthusiasm that Mrs.
Pepper, on seeing his red cheeks, felt a dozen times inclined to
send him to bed ahead of the time. But his happy little face
appealed to her strongly, and she argued to herself, "I don't
know but what 'twould hurt him quite as much to disappoint him,
as to let him sit up half an hour longer. Thank fortune, it's
seven o'clock now!" So David was saved being sent off to bed,
until it was time for Joel to go too.
"I ain't a-goin' to invite any one," said Joel; "no, sir-_ree!_
Everybody's got to pay to come into my show."
"How much do we pay?" asked Polly. "O dear me, Joe, I don't
b'lieve you'll get many people to see it."
"Pins, I s'pose," said Ben.
"Yes," said Joel, "pins, an' good ones, too, not crooked, bent
old things."
"Pins cost money," said Mrs. Pepper, looking up from her
work-basket. "I suppose you know that, Joel?"
"Well, we can't let folks in without paying," said Joel, in deep
anxiety. "'Twouldn't be a circus if we did."
"I tell you," said Polly, seeing his forehead all puckered up in
wrinkles; "why don't you have some tickets, Joel, made out of
paper, you know, and marked on 'em for ten cents and five
cents?"
"Where'd you get the paper, Polly?" asked Ben, who was very
practical. "Better not propose anything you can't carry out.
Look at Joe's face," he whispered, under cover of the shouts
from the two boys.
"O dear me!" cried Polly, whispering back, "we never have anything!
It's perfectly dreadful, Ben; and we must help Joe. And you know
yourself there aren't any pins hardly in the house, and Mamsie
couldn't give us one of those."
"You must think of something else besides paper, for that's just
as bad as pins," said Ben, with perfect faith that Polly would
contrive a good way out of the difficulty.
Polly put her head into her two hands, while Joel was
vociferating, "Oh, tickets! Goody! Polly's going to make 'em!
Polly's going to make 'em!" in a way to fill her with dismay,
while she racked her brains to think what would satisfy Joel as
entrance money to his circus.
"Now, children," she said briskly, lifting her head, her hands
falling to her lap, "Ben says we can't manage the tickets very
well, because we haven't any paper." She hurried on, "Be still,
Joe!" as she saw signs of a howl. "But I'll tell you something
else you might have, Joel, and we've got plenty of 'em, and
they're round, and oh, so nice!" By this time her voice had such
a confident ring, and she laughed so gayly, that little Davie
cried out, "I know it's nice, Polly," and even Joel looked
enthusiastic.
"It's just as nice," declared Polly, clasping her hands. "Oh,
you can't think! And I'll help you gather some."
"What is it?" screamed Joel; "do tell, Polly."
"It's cheeses," said Polly; "don't you know, Joe, out in the
yard?" They were the little, round, green things, so called by
the children, that grew on a little plant in the grass, and they
used to pick and eat them.
"Oh, they're not money," said Joel, falling back, horribly
disappointed.
"Neither are tickets money," said Polly, airily; "they only mean
money; and the cheeses can mean it just as well. Besides,
they're round."
"And I think the cheeses are a great deal better than anything,
to pay with," said Ben, coming to Polly's rescue. "And you can
charge as much as you want to, you know, Joe, 'cause they're
plenty."
"So I can," cried Joel, quite delighted at this. "Well, you must
pay fifty, no, seventy-five cheeses to get in, Ben."
"Oh, I guess I shall spend my time picking seventy-five
cheeses!" cried Ben; "you must let me in cheaper'n that, Joel."
"You may come in for ten, then," said Joel, coming down with
a long jump, very much alarmed lest Ben should not be able to
get in. And as for having the circus without him--why, that would
be dreadful!
"You do think up such perfectly beautiful things, Polly," cried
David, huddling up close to her, and lifting his flushed cheeks.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Polly, catching sight of them, "your face
is awful red." And she caught Mother Pepper's eye.
"I know it," said Mrs. Pepper, the troubled look coming back.
She laid down her work. "Come here, David, and let Mother see
you."
So Davie got up from the ring on the floor, and ran over to his
mother, and climbed in her lap. "I don't see what 'tis," she
said, looking him over keenly. Then she made him open his mouth,
and she got a spoon and looked down his throat. "It isn't red,"
she declared, "and I don't believe it's sore."
"No," said little Davie, "it isn't sore, Mammy. Mayn't I go back,
now?" he asked, looking longingly over at the group on the floor.
"I know what's the matter with Dave," said Ben, wisely. "He's
been so many animals this week, Joel's made him, that he's tired
to death."
"I think you're right, Ben," said Mrs. Pepper. "Well now, Davie,
Mother is sorry to send you to bed before the time--it's ten
minutes yet to half-past seven; but she thinks it best."
"Do you, Mamsie?" said Davie.
"Yes, I do," said Mrs. Pepper, firmly. "I really think it's best.
You're all tired out, and to-morrow I guess you'll wake up as
bright as a cricket."
"Then I'll go if you want me to," said David, with a sigh, and
sliding out of her lap he went slowly out and up to the loft.
"I haven't got to go for ten minutes," sang Joel after him.
"Goody, ain't I glad!"
"It's too bad Davie had to go," mourned Polly; "but I suppose
it's best."
"Yes," said Ben, "he'd be sick if he didn't. It's most too bad
he has to go alone, though," and his blue eyes rested on Joel's
face.
Joel began to squirm uncomfortably.
"Don't you think 'twould be nice, Joe," said Polly, "for you to
go with Davie? He's so much littler; it's too forlorn for him to
go up to bed alone."
"No, I don't," snapped Joel. "I'm going to stay down and talk
over my circus. You may get in for ten cheeses, too, Polly," he
said magnificently.
"Thank you," said Polly, coldly.
Joel gave her a queer look. "And I'm going to let Sally Brown in
for ten. No, she's got plenty of cheeses in her yard, she's got
to pay more," he rattled on. Polly and Ben said nothing.
"I'll go if you want me to, Polly," at last Joel sniffed out.
"I don't want you to," said Polly, still with a cold little
manner, "unless you want to go yourself, Joel. But I should
think you would want to, when you think of poor little Davie
going up there alone. You know you don't like to do it, and
you're such a big boy."
Joel struggled to his feet. "I'll go, Polly," he shouted. Mamsie
flashed him a smile as he dashed past and stumbled up the steps
of the loft.
But the next morning David didn't seem to be bright and wide
awake as a cricket, and although there was nothing the matter
with him, except he still had his red cheeks and complained when
any one asked him if he felt sick, that he was tired, that that
was all, Mother Pepper kept him in bed. And that night he came
down to sleep in Mamsie's big bed, and Polly had a little shake-down
on the floor.
"I wish I could ever be sick!" said Joel, when he saw the
preparations for the night.
"Oh, Joel, don't wish such perfectly dreadful things," said
Polly.
"Well, I never sleep with Mamsie," said Joel, in an injured tone.
"And Davie gets all the good times."
"Now, Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, the morning after that, "I'm
sorry to disappoint you, but you can't have your circus awhile
yet, till Davie gets real strong. So you must rest your
animals," she said with a smile, "and they'll be all the better
when the right time comes."
Joel, swallowing his disappointment as best he could, went out
and sat on the back steps to think about it. He sat so very
still, that Polly ran out after a while to look at him. "Oh, Joe,
you aren't crying!" she said in dismay.
"No," said Joe, lifting his head; "but, Polly, I'm afraid my
animals will all run away if I don't have the circus pretty soon.
Don't you s'pose Mamsie'll let me have it in the bedroom Dave
could sit up in the bed and see it."
"Dear me, no," cried Polly. "The very idea!" Whenever Polly said,
"The very idea!" the children knew it was perfectly useless to
urge anything. So now Joel sank back on the doorstep and
resigned himself to despair.
"I tell you what I'd do if I were you, Joey," said Polly, kindly,
and running down to sit beside him. "I'd think up all sorts of
different things, and get all ready, every speck. There's really
a great deal to do. And then I'd pick cheeses all the spare time
I had. Oh, I'd pick lots and lots!" Polly swept out her arms as
if enclosing untold numbers. "And--"
"What do I want to pick cheeses for?" asked Joel, interrupting.
"The folks that pay has to pick 'em, I sh'd think."
"I know it," said Polly; "but if you pick a good many cheeses,
you can give away some tickets, you know--comple--comple--well,
I don't just know what they call 'em. But they let folks in
without paying."
"And that's just what I don't want to do," cried Joe, in high
dudgeon. "Hoh, Polly Pepper, I sh'd think you'd know better'n
that!"
"It's just this way, Joel," said Polly, trying to explain. "Folks that
give a show always send some tickets to their friends, so they
don't have to pay. I should think you'd want to; why, just think,"
she jumped off from the step and stood before him in great
excitement, "I never thought of it before," and the color rose
high on her cheek. "You can ask dear Mrs. Beebe, and Mr.
Beebe, and--"
"I won't have Ab'm," cried Joel; but he was very much impressed,
Polly could see, by her plan.
"No, of course not," said Polly. "Ab'm has gone back West."
"And Mrs. Beebe says she ain't ever going to have him again at
her house," added Joel.
"Well, never mind; and you can ask Mrs. Blodgett. She was so
good to send Phronsie milk; and she's had her barn burnt."
"Well, Sally Brown'll have to pay," said Joel, as Mrs. Pepper
called Polly to come in to her work. And he jumped off the step
and began to pick cheeses with all his might.
XX
CIRCUS OR MENAGERIE?
"You tell Joel," said Mrs. Beebe, standing in the doorway of the
little shop, "that I've got some animals I'm goin' to send down
to his circus this afternoon, if so be I can't come myself and
bring 'em."
"Yes'm," said Polly; "and oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Beebe."
"Whatever can they be?" she cried to herself, racing home on the
wings of the wind. "Dear me, won't Joe have the most splendid
time! and dear little Davie, it's good he's rested and well,"
and Polly's mind was flying as busily as her feet, as she set
all her wits to work to think up everything that could possibly
be achieved to help out the great event.
When she got home Joel was in a great tribulation. "Polly,
Polly," he mourned, "the tiger's run away."
"Yes, she has," declared Davie, mournfully, "and she was the
best of the whole. Oh, Polly!" and he sat down on the step in
despair.
"Now that's too bad!" cried Polly; "but then, dear me, Joe,
p'r'aps we can find her. Doesn't Sally know where she is?"
"No--no," cried Joel, quite gone in distress, and twisting his
chubby fingers to keep from crying; "and Mrs. Brown doesn't know
either. She says that cat never ran away before in all her life,
and I'd just got her tamed to carry Seraphina. O dear, dear!"
"Joel," cried Polly, "I do believe that cat is up in a tree,
maybe, near the Browns'. I just mean to run over and call her
with all my might."
"We've called and called, and every one of the Browns has
called," said Joel, "and she won't come."
David's head sank, and he covered his face with both hands,
unable to say a word.