Please say I may." Joel ran around the writing-table to plant himself by
the old gentleman's chair.
"Oh, my goodness!" exclaimed Mr. King, leaning back in dismay, "whatever
can you mean, my boy?"
"Grandpapa"--Joel laid a brown hand on the velvet morning-jacket, and
brought his black eyes very close to the gentleman's face--"I've got to
earn that ten dollars; I've got to, Grandpapa, 'cause I lost it." Joel's
voice broke here, but he recovered it and dashed on, "And I can't do it
unless you will let me sell tin. _Please,_ Grandpapa dear. Mr. Biggs
used to, in Badgertown, you know, and he took me with him sometimes on his
cart, so I know how; and I can sell a lot. I can wheel it in my express
wagon, and--" Joel by this time was running on so glibly, under the
impression that if he didn't stop, Mr. King would be induced to say yes,
that the old gentleman was forced to put up his hand peremptorily.
"There, there, Joey, my boy," he said, settling his glasses that had
slipped to the end of his nose, and taking Joel's hand. "Now, then, let's
hear all about the matter."
And in a minute or two Joel was perched on the old gentleman's knee, and
they were having the most sociable time possible. And before long Joel
forgot he hadn't laughed for oh, such a long while, and lo and behold!
Grandpapa said something so very funny that they both burst out into a
merry peal, that rang out into the wide hall beyond.
"Joel is actually laughing," exclaimed Polly, coming soberly down the
stairs; and she was so overcome by the joyful sound that she sat right down
on the step. "Oh, dear me, how perfectly lovely!" she breathed, folding her
hands in delight.
"Isn't it!" Jasper slipped into a seat on the step by her side. "Now
everything is going to be fine when Joe can laugh!"
"Just hear him," cried Polly, pricking up her ears to catch the blissful
sound, "and Grandpapa, too. Oh, Jasper!"
"I know it," said Jasper, in great satisfaction. "Father has been so pulled
down because Joe took it so hard."
"Well, you see, Joel couldn't help it," cried Polly, "because it was
careless, just as Mamsie said, to leave anything without handing it to the
person."
"Of course," assented Jasper quickly. "Mrs. Fisher is right; but I'm sure
any one is likely to do it, and Joel was in such a hurry that day,
everybody pulling at him this way and that to get letters."
"I know it," said Polly, delighted to hear Joel's part taken, "and just
think how he worked before, Jasper. He helped such a perfect lot getting
the flower-table ready."
"He helped everywhere," declared Jasper, bringing down his hand with
emphasis on his knee. "I never saw anybody work as Joe did."
"And now to think that he has lost that money!" mourned Polly, her head
drooping sorrowfully over her closed hands. "Oh, dear me, Jasper!"
"But just hear him laugh," cried Jasper, springing up; "it's going to be
all right now, Polly, I do believe. Come, let's go and hunt some more for
the banknote."
So they both flew off from the stairs to begin the search for the money
again. For no one stopped--dear me, not a bit of it!--the hunt for the
hidden ten-dollar bill. Everybody but Phronsie and little Dick searched and
prowled in every nook and corner where there was the least possible chance
that the ten-dollar bill could be in hiding. They had both been so sleepy
on the evening of the garden party when the loss had been announced, that
it fell unheeded on their ears. And afterward all the household was careful
to keep the bad news from them. So the two children went on in blissful
unconsciousness of Joel's trouble, while the grand hunt proceeded all
around them.
When Joel emerged from Grandpapa King's writing-room, he was hanging to the
old gentleman's hand and looking up into his face and chattering away.
"You know it means work," said old Mr. King, looking down at him.
"I know, Grandpapa," said Joel, bobbing his stubby, black head.
"And you must keep at it," said the old gentleman decidedly, "else no pay.
There's to be no dropping the job, once you take it up. If you do, you'll
get no money. That's the bargain, Joe?"--with a keen glance into the chubby
face.
"Oh, I will, Grandpapa, I will," declared Joel eagerly, and hopping up and
down; "I'll do every single speck of the work. Now do let us hurry and get
the book."
"Yes, we'll hurry, seeing our business arrangement is all settled," laughed
the old gentleman. "Now, then, Joel, my boy, we'll go down-town and buy the
blank book, so that I can set you to work at once," and he grasped the
brown hand tightly, and away they went.
And in ten minutes everybody knew that Joel was going to make a list of all
the books in a certain case in old Mr. King's writing-room, and that
Grandpapa and he were already off down-town to buy a new blank book for the
work. And at the end of it--oh, joy!--Joel was to have a crisp ten-dollar
bill to replace the one he had lost.
XI
RACHEL
"Here she comes!" roared Mr. Tisbett. The townspeople, hurrying to
Badgertown depot to see the train bearing the new little girl sent on by
Mrs. Fisher to their parson's care, crowded up, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson
smilingly in the center of the biggest group.
"Oh, husband, I do pity her so!" breathed the parson's wife. "Poor thing,
she will be so shy and distressed!" The parson's heart gave a responsive
thrill, as he craned his neck to peer here and there for their new charge.
"She hasn't come. Oh, dear me!"--as a voice broke in at his elbow.
"I'm here." The words weren't much, to be sure, but the tone was wholly
self-possessed, and when the parson whirled around, and Mrs. Henderson, who
had been looking the other way, brought her gaze back, they saw a little
girl in a dark brown suit, a brown hat under which fell smooth braids of
black hair, who was regarding them with a pair of the keenest eyes they had
either of them ever seen.
"Oh--oh--my child--" stammered Mr. Henderson, putting out a kind hand. "So
you have come, Rachel?"
"Yes, I am Rachel," said the child, looking up into his face and laying her
hand in the parson's big one; then she turned her full regard upon the
minister's wife.
Mrs. Henderson was divided in her mind, for an instant, whether to kiss
this self-possessed child, as she had fully arranged in her mind beforehand
to do, or to let such a ceremony go by. But in a breathing space she had
her arms about her, and was drawing her to her breast.
"Rachel, dear, I am so glad you have come to us."
Rachel glanced up sharply, heaved a big sigh, and when she lifted her head
from Mrs. Henderson's neck, there was something bright that glistened in
either eye; she brushed it off before any one could spy it, as the parson
was saying:
"And now, where is your bag, child--er--Rachel, I mean?"
Rachel pointed to the end of the platform. "I'll go an' tell 'em to bring
it here."
"No, no, child." The parson started briskly.
"Let us all go," said Mrs. Henderson kindly, gathering Rachel's hand up in
one of hers. "Come, dear." So off they hurried, the platform's length, the
farmers and their wives looking after them with the greatest interest.
"My, but ain't Mrs. Henderson glad to get a girl, though!"
"Yes, she sets by her a'ready."
"Sakes alive! I thought she was a poor child," exclaimed one woman, who was
dreadfully disappointed to lose the anticipated object of charity.
"So she is," cried another--"as poor as Job's turkey, but Mr. King has
dressed her up, you know, an' he's goin' to edicate her, too."
"Well, she'll pay for it, I reckon. My! she looks smart, even the back of
her!"
And before very long, Rachel had been inducted into her room, a pretty
little one under the eaves, neat as a pin in blue-and-white chintz
covering, around which she had given a swift glance of approval. And now
she was down in the parsonage kitchen, in a calico gown and checked apron;
her own new brown ribbons having been taken off from her braids, rolled up
carefully, and laid in the top drawer, the common, every-day ones taking
their places.
Peletiah and Ezekiel were each in a corner of the kitchen, with their pale
blue eyes riveted on her.
"Well, dear," Mrs. Henderson greeted her kindly, "you have changed your
gown very quickly."
A tall, square-shouldered woman stalked in from the little entry.
"Oh, Jerusha," exclaimed Mrs. Henderson pleasantly, "this is the little
girl that Mrs. Fisher sent us. Rachel, go up and speak to Miss Jerusha."
Rachel went over obediently and put out her hand, which the parson's sister
didn't seem to see. Instead, she drew herself up stiffer than ever, and
stared at the child.
"Ah, well, I hope she won't forget that she's very poor, and that you've
taken her out of pity," said Miss Jerusha.
Rachel started back as if shot, and her black eyes flashed. "I ain't poor,"
she screamed. "I ain't goin' to be pitied."
"Yes, you are, too," declared Miss Jerusha, quite pleased at the effect of
her words, and telling off each syllable by bringing one set of bony
fingers down on the other emphatically; "in fact, you're a beggar, and my
brother----"
"I ain't, ain't, ain't!" screamed Rachel shrilly, and, flinging herself on
her face on the floor, she flapped her feet up and down and writhed in
distress. "I want to go home!" she sobbed.
The boys, for once in their lives, actually started, and presently they
were across the kitchen, to their mother, kneeling by Rachel's side.
"Don't let her go," they said together.
"She isn't going," said Mrs. Henderson, smoothing the shaking shoulders,
but Rachel screamed on.
"Dear me!" The parson hurried in at the uproar, his glasses set up on his
forehead where his nervous fingers had pushed them. "What is the matter?"
"That poor child," answered Miss Jerusha, pointing a long finger over at
the group in the middle of the kitchen, "is acting like Satan. I guess
you'll repent, brother, ever bringing her here."
"'Twas Aunt Jerusha," declared Peletiah bluntly, "and I wish she'd go
home."
"Hush, hush, dear," said his mother, looking up into his face.
There was an awful pause, the parson drew a long breath, then he turned to
his sister.
"Jerusha," he said, "I wish you would go into the sitting-room, if you
please."
"An' let you pet that beggar child," she exclaimed, in shrill scorn, but
she stalked off.
Mr. Henderson went swiftly across the kitchen and knelt down by his wife.
"Rachel"--he put his hand on the little girl's head--"get directly up, my
child!"
Rachel lifted her eyes, and peered about. "Has she gone--that dreadful,
bad, old woman?"
"There is no one here but those who love you," said the minister. "Now,
child, get directly up and sit in that chair." He indicated the one, and in
a minute Rachel was perched on it, with streaming eyes. Peletiah, having
started to get a towel, and in his trepidation presenting the dish-rag, the
parson dried her tears on his own handkerchief.
"Now, then, that is better," he said, in satisfaction, as they all grouped
around her chair.
"Rachel, there mustn't be anything of this sort--tears, I mean--again.
That lady is my sister, and----"
_"Your sister!"_ screamed Rachel, precipitating herself forward on her
chair in imminent danger of falling on her nose, to gaze at him in
amazement.
"Yes"--a dull red flush crept over the minister's face--"and--and whatever
she says, Rachel, why, you are not to mind, child."
"She ain't a-goin' to sass me," declared Rachel stoutly.
"Well, I don't believe she will again; let us hope not," said Mr.
Henderson, in a worried way. "However, you are not to cry; remember that,
Rachel, whatever happens," he added firmly: "you are to be happy here; this
is your home, and we all love you."
"You do?" said Rachel, much amazed, looking at them all. "Oh, well, then,
I'll stay." And slipping down from her chair, she seized Mrs. Henderson's
apron. "What'll I do? Mrs. Fisher told me how to wash dishes. May I do
'em?"
"Yes, and the boys shall wipe them," said Mrs. Henderson, and pretty soon
there was a gay little bustle in the old kitchen, the parson staying away
from the writing of the sermon to see it.
But Peletiah and Ezekiel were much too slow to suit Rachel, who got far
ahead of them, so she flew to the drawer in the big table where she had
seen them get the dish-towels, and, helping herself, she fell to work
drying some of the big pile in the drainer in the sink.
"I don't see how you can go so fast," observed Peletiah, laboriously
polishing up his plate.
"Well, I don't see how you can go so slow," retorted Rachel, with deft
passes of the towel over the cup. "My! I sh'd think your elbows had gone to
sleep."
"They haven't gone to sleep," said Peletiah, who was always literal; and
setting down his plate, half-dried, on the table, he turned over one arm to
investigate.
"Of course not, you little ninny," said Rachel lightly. "I didn't----"
"Rachel, Rachel!" said the parson's wife, over by the table. She was
getting her material together for baking pies, and she now added gently,
"We don't call each other names, you must remember that, child."
"Oh!" said Rachel. She stopped her busy towel a minute to think, then it
flapped harder and faster, to make up for lost time.
"Well, go ahead," she said to Peletiah, "and wipe your plate."
So Peletiah, letting his elbows take care of themselves, picked up his
plate and set to work on its surface again; and pretty soon the dishes were
all declared done, the pan and mop washed out, and hung up.
"What'll I do next?" Rachel smoothed down her apron and stood before the
baking-table, a boy on either side.
"Now, boys," said Mrs. Henderson, pausing in her work of rolling out the
pie crust, "I think you had better take Rachel down to see Grandma Bascom.
I've told her she's coming to-day, and she's quite impatient to see her.
And, Rachel, you can tell her about Mrs. Fisher and Polly and the boys. And
oh, Rachel, be sure to tell her about Phronsie; she does just love that
child so!"
The parson's wife leaned on the rolling-pin, and a bright color came into
her face.
"I'll tell her," said Rachel, a soft gleam in her eyes, and smoothing her
apron.
"And, Peletiah, go into the buttery, and get that little pat of butter done
up in a cloth, and give it to Grandma. I do wish my pies were baked"--and
she fell to work again--"so I could send her one."
So Peletiah went into the buttery and got the pat of butter, and the three
started off. The parson stepped away from the doorway into the entry, where
he had been silently watching proceedings, and went over to the window.
"Come here, Almira." He held out his hand.
She dropped her rolling-pin and ran over to his side. He drew her to him.
"See, dear," he said.
Rachel and the two boys were proceeding over the greensward leading down
the road. She had one on either side; and, wonder of wonders, they were all
hand in hand.
"We're going to see your Gran," said Rachel, a very sober expression
settling over her thin little face.
"What?" said Peletiah.
"Your Gran; that's what your mother said."
"Oh, no, she didn't," contradicted Peletiah; "we are going to Grandma
Bascom's."
"Well, that's the same thing," said Rachel; "she's your Gran, isn't she?"
"She's Grandma Bascom," repeated Peletiah stolidly.
"Oh, dear me! of course! But she's _your_ Gran, isn't she?"--her
tongue fairly aching to call him "ninny" again.
"No, she isn't; she isn't any one's Gran--she's just Grandma Bascom."
"Oh!" said Rachel. Perhaps it wasn't so very bad as she feared. She would
wait and see.
"She's dreadfully deaf," remarked Peletiah.
"What's that?"
"She can't hear unless you scream."
Rachel burst into a loud laugh, but it was very musical; and before they
knew it, although they were very much astonished, the two boys were
laughing, too, though they hadn't the least idea at what.
"I'm glad of it," announced Rachel, when she had gotten through. "I love to
scream. Sometimes it seems as if I'd die if I couldn't. Don't you?"
"No, I don't," said Peletiah, "ever feel so."
"Don't _you?"_ Rachel leaned over to peer into Ezekiel's face.
"No, I don't, either," he said.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Rachel, catching her breath. "Well, let's run."
And before either boy knew what was going to happen, she was hauling them
along at such a mad pace as they had never before in all their lives
indulged in.
The butter-pat slipped out of Peletiah's hand, gone on the wind, and landed
on the roadside grass.
"Wasn't that a good one!" cried Rachel, her eyes shining, as she brought up
suddenly. "Oh, my! ain't things sweet, though!"--wrinkling up her nose in
delight.
"I lost the butter-pat," observed Peletiah, when he could get his breath.
"I never see anything so beautiful," Rachel was saying, over and over. Then
she flung herself flat on the grass, and buried her nose in it, smelling it
hungrily. "Oh, my!"
"I lost the butter-pat," observed Peletiah again, and standing over her.
"And I'm a-goin' to live here," declared Rachel, in a transport, and
wriggling in the sweet clover, "if I'm good. I'm goin' to be good all the
time. Yes, sir!"
"I lost the butter-pat," repeated Peletiah.
"Butter-pat?" Rachel caught the last words and sprang to her feet.
"Oh, yes, I forgot; we must hurry with the butter-pat. Come on!" and she
whirled around on Peletiah. "Why, where--?" as she saw his empty hands.
"I lost the butter-pat," said Peletiah. "I've been telling you so."
"No, you haven't," contradicted Rachel flatly.
"Yes, I have," said Peletiah stolidly.
"No such thing." Rachel squared up to him, her black eyes flashing. "You
haven't said a single word, you bad, wicked boy."
"Yes, I have," repeated Peletiah, ready to say it over for all time; "I've
told you so a great many times."
Rachel looked at him, and put up both hands. The only thing proper to do
under such circumstances was to shake him smartly, but it seemed so like
attacking a granite post, and besides, he was the minister's son, and she
was going to be good, else they must send her away (so Mrs. Fisher had
said), so her arms flopped down to her side, and hung there dismally. And
she burst out:
"Where did you lose it, you nin--? I mean--oh, dear me!--where, I
say?"--frowning impatiently.
"Back there," said Peletiah, pointing down the road. "You pulled me along
so, it flew out of my hand."
Rachel set her teeth together hard.
"Come on!"
She seized a hand of each boy, Ezekiel being a silent spectator all the
time; and if they went fast before, this time, in retracing their steps, it
might be called flying, till a little spot on the roadside grass showed the
object of their search. Peletiah's breath was gone entirely by this time,
and he sank down by its side without a word, his brother following suit.
"I shall carry it now," announced Rachel, gathering up the little pat, safe
in its white cloth. "My! 'tain't hurt a bit" She brushed off a few
marauding ants. "Come on, now!"
Peletiah struggled to his feet and gasped, "I shall carry it," and put out
his hands.
"No such thing." Rachel held the butter-pat firmly in her slender, brown
hand. "My! you ain't fit to carry no butter-pats--let 'em drop out of your
hands. Come on!"
"I shall carry it," declared Peletiah doggedly, and bringing his pale eyes
to bear on her face, while he stood still in his tracks.
"I hope you may get it," cried Rachel triumphantly. "I never see such a
boy. Come on, I say." She held out her hand with authority.
"My mother said I was to carry the butter-pat, and I shall carry it," said
Peletiah, putting out one hand for it, and the other behind his back.
Rachel wrinkled her brows and thought a minute.
"So she did," she said. Then she set the butter-pat in Peletiah's hand, and
pinched his thumb down over it. "There, hold on to it," she said, "or
you'll lose it again. Now, come on!"
The way back was conducted on slower lines, as Rachel had an anxious
oversight lest the butter-pat should again be taken off on the wind, so
that Peletiah and Ezekiel had a chance to recover their breath, with some
degree of composure, by the time they turned down the lane to Grandma
Bascom's. There she was, sitting in her big chintz-covered chair, resting
after the morning's work, as they found on entering the little old kitchen.
Rachel's eyes had been getting bigger and bigger, though she had said
nothing tip to this time; but when they rested on the old lady's face,
under the big, frilled cap, she burst out sharply:
"Is that your Gran?"
"She isn't my Gran," replied Peletiah.
"No, she isn't," echoed Ezekiel.
"Well, is she Gran?" demanded Rachel impatiently--"anybody's Gran--just
Gran? Say, is she?"
"No, she isn't Gran," said Peletiah, shaking his head of stiff, light hair.
"Oh, dear me! you said so," cried Rachel, in a high, disappointed key.
"Oh, dear, dear, dear! I wish she was." And, terribly afraid she was going
to cry, she marched off to the little-paned window, and twisted her fingers
into knots.
"She's Grandma," said Ezekiel, walking over to her and peering around her
side.
"Oh, then she is," cried Rachel, springing around. "Say"--she seized his
jacket--"she's my Gran, an'----"
"Grandma, I said," repeated Ezekiel.
"Yes, yes, Grandma; well, she's mine."
"She's all our Grandma," said Ezekiel decidedly.
"Yes, yes, but she's mine, too," declared Rachel, bobbing her head
decidedly. "She shall be my Gran--Grandma. I shall just take her, so
there!"
"You musn't take her away," said Ezekiel, in alarm.
"I ain't goin' to; I don't want to. I'm goin' to live here always an'
forever," declared Rachel firmly.
Ezekiel smiled at that in great satisfaction, and the matter being settled,
Rachel skipped over to the old lady's chair, and looked steadily down into
the wrinkled face.
"Go out and put the butter-pat somewhere," she said to Peletiah, who still
held it in his hand, waiting to present it.
"I must give it to Grandma," he said; "my mother told me to."
"Well, you can't while she's asleep," said Rachel quickly, "so you put it
somewhere--anywhere--and when she wakes up, why, you can give it to her. Do
hurry--and you go and help him."
So the two boys walked off to find a place in the buttery, and quick as
lightning Rachel leaned over and set a kiss on the wrinkled old cheek. If
Grandma couldn't hear, she was very quick at feeling.
"Why!" She stirred uneasily in her chair, and opened her eyes.
"Who is this?" she asked, staring at the strange little girl, for although
the parson's wife had told her all about the new member of the family to
come that day, Grandma was so bewildered by being suddenly aroused from her
sleep, she had forgotten all about it. "Hey, who is it?"
Peletiah, not having had time to put down the butter-pat, now came up and
presented it with all due formality.
"But who is this little gal?" asked Grandma, as he set the butter-pat in
the middle of the checked apron over her lap.
"She's Rachel," said Peletiah.
"Eh? What?" Grandma held a shaking hand behind her ear. "Speak a little
louder, Peletiah; you know I'm a-growin' hard o' hearin', just a grain."
"Rachel," shouted Peletiah, as he stood still in his tracks in front of
her.
"Ain't well! Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Grandma, in a tone of great concern.
"What a pity!" and she turned and regarded the stranger with anxiety.
"Oh, dear me! You get away, Peletiah," commanded Rachel, brushing him
aside. So Peletiah, very glad to be released, moved off, and Rachel,
putting her mouth to the nodding cap-border, said very distinctly:
"Mrs. Fisher sent me to live at the minister's; I'm Rachel."
"Oh, my land o' Goshen!" exclaimed Grandma Bascom, lifting both hands in
delight. "Why, I can hear you splendid. You see, I'm only a grain deaf. An'
so you're that little gal. Well, I'm glad you've come, you pretty creeter,
you!"
XII
DOINGS AT THE PARSONAGE
And in another minute Rachel was telling all about Mrs. Fisher and Polly
and Phronsie--oh, and Joel and David--for Grandma kept interrupting and
asking all sorts of questions, so that the news and messages were all
tangled up together.
"Did Joel say he wanted pep'mints?" asked Grandma, in a lull.
"Oh, yes, he said yours were awful good, and he wished he had some of 'em,"
Rachel answered. She didn't dare take her mouth away from the cap-frill,
and her feet ached dreadfully from standing still so long. But Grandma was
as bright as a button, and hungry for every scrap of information.