he couldn't resist the temptation to peer over the railing. "Ha, ha! who's
the smart one now? I'll get there first, Percy Whitney."
"You shan't. Oh, make him stop," howled Percy, in distress.
"Van," called Polly, looking up at him.
"What?" said Van, wishing he hadn't wasted the time in exhibiting his
triumph. He still kept on.
"I want you," said Polly clearly. "Come down, Vanny, that's a good boy."
"What do you want me for?" asked Van, turning slowly to look down at her.
"Come down, and you'll see. Make haste, Van, for I'm in a dreadful hurry."
"What do you want me for?" repeated Van, begrudging every step of the way
he was now taking, and keeping a sharp look out that Percy didn't spring
past him. To prevent that, he spread out both arms. "Say, Polly, what do
you want me for?" At last he was by her side.
"There, who's going to get up in Ben's room first?" said Percy
complacently.
"Well, you aren't," said Van stoutly, "'cause just as soon as Polly's got
through with me, I'm going to run like lightning up there--so! I was ahead
when she called me back."
"Well, I was ahead first," declared Percy, "wasn't I, Polly--wasn't I?" he
appealed anxiously to her.
"Yes," said Polly, "and hush, Van. Now, see here, boys: I've got to find
Joel. Mrs. Sterling has sent for him to come with me over there this
afternoon, and she wants us right away. Don't you know where he is? I've
looked for him just everywhere." She clasped her hands and looked at them
in despair.
"I don't," said Percy.
"Neither do I," said Van; "we're going up in Ben's room. Is that all,
Polly?" and he prepared to run.
"No," said Polly, while Percy, in alarm lest a march should be stolen on
him, sidled off on the other side.
"Van!" Polly nipped his jacket and held it fast. Seeing which, Percy
concluded to remain, and he now came back quietly and stood quite still.
"Boys," said Polly, "it's just this way; you must help me to find Joel,
for, unless you do, I'm sure I don't know what I can do. And Mrs. Sterling
was going to tell us all about the Comfort committee to help Larry, you
know." She dropped Van's jacket-end, and ran and sat down on one of the
high-backed chairs, and folded her hands in dismay.
"Oh, we will--we will," cried both the boys, quite overcome at this, and,
losing sight of all the charms that were awaiting them in Ben's room, they
precipitated themselves upon her. "But where shall we look for him? You
know he went out with Doctor Fisher in his gig. Say where shall we look for
him, Polly."
"Joel went out with Papa Fisher!" cried Polly, hopping off from her chair.
"Why didn't you say so before? Oh, dear me!"
"Well, you asked me where he was, and I didn't know where they were going,"
said Percy dismally, changing from one foot to the other in great distress.
"And they might have taken us; I think 'twas real mean," declared Van, in a
dudgeon.
"Oh, Van, if he went with Papa Fisher, how could he? Oh, I know." Polly
clapped her hands. "They've gone down to see that boy that got his arm hurt
on the pond. I verily believe they have."
"Well, they might have taken us," said Van again. "I'd like to have seen
him awfully, and now Joel will have him all to himself. I'm going to get
something, and I won't let Joel have any of it," he added vindictively.
"Oh, Vanny!" and Polly went close to him, and put her cheek to his. "Just
think what a dreadful time Joel had out there on the pond," and she gave a
little shiver.
"Hah, hah!" ejaculated Percy. "You'd been scared to death, Van, if those
boys even winked at you."
"I wouldn't, either," declared Van, straightening up.
"Percy--Percy," said Polly warningly, turning around at him.
"Well, he would," said Percy uneasily, not looking at her; "you know he
would, Polly."
"Well, don't say any such thing," said Polly firmly, "and perhaps he
wouldn't, either."
"No, I wouldn't," protested Van stoutly, since Polly reinforced him, "and
you're just as mean as you can be, Percy Whitney, to say so."
"Boys"--Polly drew away from Van, and sank down on her chair again--"I
shan't have anything to say to either of you when you say such dreadful
things," and she folded her hands sorrowfully in her lap and looked
straight ahead at the opposite wall.
"Oh, we won't--we won't," cried both boys, running over to her. "Polly, we
won't"--shaking her arms.
"Well, don't, then," said Polly. "Now promise you won't do it again, or
else I'm really not going to talk to you."
So Percy and Van promised, and pretty soon the wide hall resounded with
merry peals of laughter.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Polly, jumping to her feet in dismay.
"What's the matter?" cried both boys, tumbling back in astonishment.
"Just look what I've done!" Polly was wringing her hands now, and presented
a picture of distress.
"What--what, Polly?" They crowded up to her again.
"Why, I've forgotten I was to go at once to Mrs. Sterling's, and she's been
waiting. If Joel comes, send--him--over." The last words came back in a
little shout, for Polly was off.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Percy discontentedly, losing all thought of the
attractions in Ben's room, "now Polly will be gone all the whole afternoon,
I 'most know."
"Let's tag her," proposed Van cheerfully, not caring to get upstairs first,
since Percy wasn't going to race with him, "I will; come on!"
"No, no," said Percy, in alarm, "she won't like that. Think of something
else."
"I've thought of one thing, and you won't do it," said Van composedly,
sitting down on the very chair Polly had left. "Now it's your turn."
"But it was no good--that old thing you thought of," retorted Percy, in
disdain; "no one could do it."
"I thought it out, anyway," repeated Van obstinately, "and you wouldn't do
it, so I'm not going to think up anything else till you have thought
something, Percy Whitney."
"Well, you needn't be so cross," said Percy sourly, and squaring up to his
chair.
"I'm not cross," contradicted Van, looking up at him with a very red face.
"Yes, you are, just as cross as a snapping-turtle," said Percy, trying to
think of the worst thing he had encountered, and quite pleased as he saw
its effect on Van.
"You shall just take that back, Percy Whitney," declared Van, hopping out
of his chair, and doubling up his small fists. "I'm not a snapping-turtle."
Percy edged off, with a sharp lookout for the fists.
"I didn't say so."
"Yes, you did," said Van crossly; "you said just that very thing, Percy
Whitney, and I'm not a snapping-turtle."
"I said you were as cross as one," said Percy, wishing he hadn't been quite
as free with his comparisons, and moving off to a convenient corner.
"Well, that's just the same," said Van, advancing, "and Polly----"
[Transcriber's note: This page in our print copy was obscured by an
ink blot. The words in brackets are those that we have supplied based
on context and those letters that were visible.]
At the mention of Polly, Percy stopped suddenly, drew a long breath, and
never thought of the [corner] again.
"[Why,] we promised her," he gasped; "I forgot all about it."
Down [went Van's] little fist.
"So we [did]," [he] said gloomily, and both boys crept off [together to]
the same corner Percy had selected for [himself].
"Whatever shall [we] do [now]?" breathed Percy, quite lost in his dismal
reflections.
"We stopped," said Van, as something to be offered with a grain of hope.
"But we did a lot before we stopped," said Percy. A deep gloom had settled
over his countenance, and he wouldn't look at Van. "Oh, dear me!"
Van fidgeted about for a minute,
"Well, I don't know," he said, twisting his hands. "Oh, dear me! Why, you
might say I'm not a snapping-turtle," he cried cheerfully at last, and
fairly hugging Percy in his delight.
"So I might," said Percy, well pleased, "but I didn't say you _were_ a
snapping-turtle; I said you were as cross as a snapping-turtle."
"Well, you might say I'm not as cross as a snapping-turtle, then," said
Van, determined to fix it some way.
So Percy said it, and then the two brothers plunged out of doors without a
thought of the formalities of any plan. But it was Van who furnished it
after all.
"Let's go down and see [Candace]," he said.
"Oh, yes, let's," cried Percy, [then] he stopped short and began to laugh.
"What's the matter?" Van twitched his sleeve.
"Nothing," said Percy, so relieved he hadn't said what was on the tip of
his tongue; "you've done it after all and told something for us to do."
"Well, then, come on," cried Van, with a harder twitch. So they set off at
a lively pace for the delights of Candace's little shop.
Meanwhile, Polly was sorrowfully confessing to Mrs. Sterling why she was
late, and explaining all the reason that Joel couldn't accompany her. And
the whole story of the morning affair on the pond, as gathered from Jack,
for Joel hadn't told a word of the encounter with the crowd of rough boys,
had to be gone over with before Mrs. Sterling could open her budget of news
and her wonderful plan for the Comfort committee.
She was just beginning on it.
"I do like that name so very much," sighed Polly. She was on a little
cricket by the side of the lounge, her hands resting on the gay
sofa-blanket.
"Don't you?" cried Mrs. Sterling, in great satisfaction. "It expresses so
much, Polly. I am so very glad that you like it."
"Master Joel Pepper is coming down the street," said Gibson, guilty of
interrupting, for she knew how anxious her mistress was to see Joel. "Shall
I call him in?"
"Do, by all means," said Mrs. Sterling, while Polly cried:
"Oh, I am so glad!"
So Gibson knocked on the window, and beckoned to Joel that he was wanted;
then she hurried down to the big front door to let him in.
There was a funny little noise over the stairs, as if there were more than
one pair of feet, which was soon explained by Joel's bursting in, dragging
another boy after him, who had his arm done up in a sling.
"It's Jack," he said, by way of introduction.
"Oh, Joel!" cried Polly, springing to her feet, in consternation.
"Yes, and now what is it?" Joel advanced to the invalid's couch, ready for
business.
"I'm very glad to see Jack," said Mrs. Sterling, with a smile, putting out
her soft, white hand to the boy, who was gazing at the doorway through
which he had come, as if nothing would please him so much as to go through
it again, this time on the way back.
"You might get a chair, Joel, for your friend, and another for yourself,"
suggested Mrs. Sterling.
"I will--I will," cried Joel, well pleased to have something to do, and
dragging up the first one he could find. "I'm going to sit on the
carpet"--suiting the action to the words.
"Well, you see--" Mrs. Sterling, without more ado, began at once on her
plan. Polly was by this time back on her cricket, very much relieved to
find that it wasn't so very dreadful after all to have Jack there, since
Mrs. Sterling seemed to like it. "There's nothing helps a boy who is to be
shut up in the house for a long time, quite so much as to have the other
boys who can go out to play, think of him, and plan for his comfort. Isn't
that so?" Mrs. Sterling looked at her little audience keenly.
"Yes," said two of them. Jack was so scared at finding himself where he had
never supposed he could be--in the stately brownstone mansion--that he
fixed his eyes on the carpet, not daring to move; as for speech, it was
quite beyond him.
"Well, now that Lawrence Keep has gotten hurt, I think it will be a very
good plan to have a Comfort committee to look out for him."
"What can we do for him?" cried Joel, very much excited, and jumping up
from the carpet.
"Joel, do sit down," said Polly, quite ashamed, and pulling him by the
jacket.
Joel very unwillingly slid back to his place on the carpet, and fastened
his black eyes on Mrs. Sterling's face.
"Well, there are so many things to do for a boy who won't be very sick, but
must be shut up in the house," said Mrs. Sterling, "that really it takes
time even to think of them all."
"What are some of them?" burst out Joel, pulling the sofa-blanket in his
eagerness.
"Joel--Joel," said Polly.
"Here are some of them," said Mrs. Sterling, "that I told the boys this
morning when they were in here. You might cut out the funny things in the
magazines and newspapers, the pictures and the stories, and send him. It's
so nice to have little reminders to pass away the time."
"What else?"
"Well, I didn't tell them that, but there are letters you might write him."
"Ugh!" Joel made a wry face. "I don't like to write letters," he said
bluntly.
"Joel," said Polly again.
"Perhaps that is the very reason it would be well for you to do it," said
Mrs. Sterling, with a smile. "At any rate, it would please Lawrence, I
think. Well, then there are conundrums; you can surely think up something
of that sort that will amuse him, and puzzles."
Now, strange to say, Jack had a good head for these things, and without
thinking where he was, he blurted out:
"I know a lot of 'em."
Joel whirled around on the carpet and stared at him, as did Polly from her
cricket. But Mrs. Sterling only smiled.
"That's good," she said in approval, "now you see you can help us out a
good deal"--nodding at him.
But Jack, with a wild glance at the door, as he came to himself, was beyond
conundrums, as he thought of what he'd done.
"Tell some of 'em, Jack," cried Joel eagerly, emerging from his surprise.
"What are they, Jack? Tell some."
"Not now," said Mrs. Sterling, interposing. "Jack is going to write them
out, and they will be sent in as his contribution to Lawrence."
Sent in to Larry Keep's big house, almost as grand as the one Jack sat in
now, by him, a little six-penny grocer's son, doing business over at the
South End! He couldn't believe his ears, and to assist them, he lifted his
eyes and stared at the person making the announcement. Evidently she meant
it, and the more he gazed at her face, the better he liked it. But he
didn't dare to stare long, so he concluded to transfer his attention from
it to the carpet.
"We are getting on so well," said Mrs. Sterling, and her tone was very
cheery, "that I am really quite hopeful that Lawrence may be amused by all
that we are to do for him. And now, before we go any further in our plan,
suppose we take a little comfort ourselves." And she laughed a gay little
laugh that wouldn't have sounded badly as Polly's own. "Gibson," she
called.
Out came Gibson from the little room next.
"Will you bring us a tray of some of the nice things you always can get up,
Gibson?" said her mistress. "I am really hungry, and I know these young
people must be, they run about so."
"I am," declared Joel, in great satisfaction at hearing the tray mentioned,
and bobbing his black hair, "awfully hungry."
"Oh, Joel!" said Polly.
"If you knew, Polly," said Mrs. Sterling, with a laugh, "what a pleasure it
is to me, to hear a hungry boy say so up here, you would be very glad to
let him. You can't think"--looking around on the three--"what good you are
doing me. Really your work as a comfort committee has begun already."
XXII
RACHEL'S VISIT TO MISS PARROTT
Rachel ran blindly up the garret stairs of the parsonage and threw herself
down on the top, her blue, checked apron over her head.
"Oh, I can't--I can't," she screamed.
"Rachel," the minister's wife called gently after her. But Rachel stormed
on, "Oh, I can't; dear me, I can't!"
So Mrs. Henderson mounted the stairs and sat down on the top one, and took
Rachel's hands, nervously beating together.
"My child, you must listen to me."
It was said very quietly; but Rachel knew by this time what the parsonage
people meant when they said a thing, so she answered meekly in a muffled
voice because of the apron over her head:
"Yes'm."
"Take down your apron," said Mrs. Henderson.
Down fell the apron, disclosing a face of so much distress, that for a
moment the heart of the parson's wife failed her, but it must be done.
"My child," she began very gently, "it is best that you should go to see
Miss Parrott. She will be a good friend to you."
"I don't want no friends," said Rachel doggedly, in her distress relapsing
into her old tenement-house disregard of the rules of speech; "no more 'n
I've got her."
"Ah, child, that is not a wise way to talk," said Mrs. Henderson, shaking
her head. "One cannot have too many friends."
"She'd be too many," said Rachel; "that old woman that came the other day
in that carriage all full of bones."
"You must not talk so, dear. She is a very fine woman. Now, Rachel, she has
asked to have you spend the day there, and we have promised that you shall
go."
There was an awful pause. A big blue-bottle over in the corner under the
rafters was making a final decision to explore the filmy lace web beneath
the window where a fat old spider had been patiently waiting for him, and
he gave his last buzz of freedom before he hopped in. This was all the
sound that broke the silence. Rachel held her breath, and fixed her black
eyes at a point straight ahead, positively sure if she withdrew her gaze
she would burst out crying.
"So you will be ready to go at ten o'clock, Rachel, for Miss Parrott will
send for you then," Mrs. Henderson was saying. And in a minute more the
parson's wife was going down the garret stairs; Rachel, with a heart full
of woe, slowly following, leaving the big garret to the fat old spider, who
was busily weaving her silken threads in glee over her prisoner.
And Rachel's woeful face was more than matched by the countenances of the
two boys of the parson's family, who were not at all pleased that the
companion sent to them by Mrs. Fisher, and who had turned out surprisingly
just to their liking, should be suddenly torn away from them even for a
single day. And they followed disapprovingly around, hanging upon all the
preparations for the momentous visit, with a very bad influence upon
Rachel's endeavor to control herself. Seeing which, their mother sent them
off on an errand to Grandma Bascom.
So, when the ancient carriage, with its well-seasoned coachman who rejoiced
in the name of Simmons, made its appearance, there was no one to see Rachel
off, save the patron's wife, the minister himself being away on a call lo a
sick parishioner.
Rachel went steadily down the walk between the box-borders, feeling her
heart sink at each step. Mrs. Henderson, well in advance, was down at the
roadside to help her in, with a last bit of good advice.
"Good-morning, Simmons," said the parson's wife pleasantly.
"Good-morning, Madam," Simmons touched his hat, and spoke with the air of
state, for he kept his English ways. Secretly, the parson's wife was always
quite impressed by them, and she looked at Rachel for some sign to that
effect. But the child was scowling, and biting her thin lips, and she
suffered Mrs. Henderson to assist her into the wide old vehicle without any
further change of expression. When once in, she gazed around, then leaned
forward on the slippery old green leather seat.
"Can't Peletiah come?" she gasped; "there's lots o' room."
"No," said Mrs. Henderson. "Now be a good girl"--all her fears returning as
she saw Rachel's face.
Simmons starting up the horses, that, although an old pair, yet liked to
set off with a flourish, the movement bounced Rachel violently against the
back of her seat and knocked her bonnet over her face. This gave her
something to think of, and changed her terror to a deep displeasure. When
the drive was ended, therefore, and the brougham, after its progress
through an avenue of fine old trees, was brought to a standstill before the
ancestral mansion where Miss Parrott's father and grandfather had lived
before her, the visitor was in no condition to enjoy the pleasures thrust
upon her.
Miss Parrott, in the stiff, black silk gown that she had worn the day when
she called at the parsonage, met her on the big stone steps. She put out a
hand in a long, black lace mitt, "I am very glad to see you, child," she
said, in old-time hospitality.
But no hospitality, old-time or any other, had a pleasant effect on Rachel.
She gave a glance up and around the big, gloomy gray, stone house, with a
wild thought of rushing down the avenue and home to the parsonage.
"It is a pleasant place, isn't it?" observed Miss Parrott with complacent
memory of always living in the grandest homestead for several counties.
"No, ma'am," said Rachel promptly.
Miss Parrott started, and gave a little gasp. Then, reflecting it was not
in accordance with fine manners to notice any such slip on the part of
guests, she led the way into the mansion. Simmons, much shocked, actually
forgot himself so far as to scratch his head, as he drove off to the
stables, and he didn't get over it all day.
"Perhaps you would like a little refreshment," suggested Miss Parrott,
when, the child's bonnet off, she was seated on the edge of a stiff,
high-backed chair. She couldn't think of anything else to say, and as she
usually offered it to her friends at the end of their long drives when they
called upon her, it seemed a happy thing to do now, especially as Rachel's
black eyes were fastened upon her in a manner extremely uncomfortable for
the person gazed at.
As Rachel didn't know in the least what "refreshment" meant, she stared on,
without a word. And Miss Parrott, pulling with more vigor than was her
wont, a long red worsted cord that hung down by the piano, a stately butler
made his appearance quicker than usual, took his directions from his
mistress, and after regarding the small figure perched on one of the
ancestral Parrott chairs with extreme disfavor, he silently withdrew.
Presently, in he came, his head well thrown back, and bearing a huge silver
tray. On it were a decanter, two little queer-shaped glasses, and a plate
of very thin seed cakes. He deposited this on a spindle-legged table, which
he drew up in front of his mistress, and, with another glance, which he
intended to be very withering, cast upon Rachel, but which she didn't see
at all, he departed.
"Now, my dear," said Miss Parrott, in a lighter tone, feeling quite in her
element while serving refreshments in such an elegant way, "you must be
very hungry." She poured out a glassful from the decanter, and getting out
of her chair, she took up the plate of seed cakes, and advanced to the
small figure. "Here, child."
Rachel took the little queer-shaped glass, but had no sooner felt it within
her hand, than she gave a loud scream.
"Take it away, it smells just like Gran"--pushing it from her.
It knocked against the plate of seed cakes Miss Parrott was proffering, and
together they fell to the floor with a crash. In hurried the butler.
"I don't know what can be the matter," Miss Parrott was gasping, her hand
on her heart, as she leaned against one of the ancient cabinets of which
the apartment seemed to be full.
"It smells just like Gran," Rachel was repeating, with flashing eyes. "Oh,
how dare you give it to me!" She was standing over the wreck of the
priceless china and glass, which, as no such accidents had been recorded in
the family, Miss Parrott had continued to use in the entertainment of her
guests.
"You bad child, you!" exclaimed the butler, seizing her arm, and gone
almost out of his senses at the sight of the ruin of such ancient
treasures.
"I'm not bad," cried Rachel, turning on him and stamping her foot; "she's
bad--that woman there--for giving me what smells just like Gran!"
"I can't make her out," declared the butler, eyeing her as he released her
arm and stepped back toward his mistress.
"And that's what makes people drunk," went on Rachel, pointing an angry
finger at the wet spot where the liquid from the decanter was slowly oozing
into the velvet carpet.
The butler turned an outraged countenance, on which a dull red was
spreading, over to his mistress.
"You would better go out, Hooper," said Miss Parrott faintly, and holding
fast to the cabinet.
"I'm afraid to leave you, madam," said Hooper; "she ain't fit--that
creature"--pointing to Rachel, "to be here; she may fly at you. I'll put
her out at once."
"You may leave the apartment, Hooper," said Miss Parrott, regaining some of
her dignity by a mighty effort. "I'm not in the least afraid." But her
looks belied her words, or at any rate the old serving-man thought so, and
he made bold to remonstrate again.
"Let me put her out, madam," he begged. "I'll call the gardeners."