But Polly, not heeding, pulled them around and around till everything
in the old kitchen spun before their eyes, and Phronsie couldn’t even
see the little white cat sitting stiffly up on top of the old cupboard.
“Stop!” roared Joel, and “Oh, do stop, Polly,” implored little David,
tugging at her hand.
“Why, what’s the matter?” Polly brought the little circle up suddenly
with a laugh. “O dear me, wasn’t that a fine spin!” And she brushed her
brown hair off from her hot face.
“I’m not going to take hold of Phronsie’s hand,” said Joel, dropping
her fat little fingers, and running over to squeeze in between Polly
and David. “Dave can have the place.”
“Oh, I’d rather you’d have it,” said little Davie, but his heart gave a
happy little throb.
“Now, that’s so nice of you, Joey,” said Polly, approvingly, and she
dropped a kiss on his stubby black hair. “Well, if you don’t want to
play ‘Ring a--round--a--rosy’ any more, why, we won’t.”
“Oh, I do--I do,” said Joel, whose feet actually twitched to be
spinning again, and he pulled at Polly’s hand.
“I’d rather play the Muffin Man,” said Phronsie, beginning to feel a
bit easier about her little white cat, since she sat up there on top of
the cupboard so quietly.
“Oh, no!” roared Joel, horribly disappointed. Then he looked at Polly’s
face. “Yes, let’s play the Muffin Man,” he said.
“So we will, Joey,” cried Polly, smiling at him.
So Joel, feeling as if the Muffin Man was just the very nicest play in
all the world, since Polly looked at him like that, scrambled into his
place in the line, quite contented to let Davie be the Muffin Man and
fill the post of honor.
“Phronsie ought to be that first,” said Polly, “and then Davie can be
next--”
“All right,” said little David, tumbling out of the post of honor. So
Phronsie was set there, but she didn’t like it, because then she had
her back to the old cupboard, so of course she couldn’t see her little
white cat. When Polly heard that, she gave the order for all the line
to whirl over to the other side of the kitchen, with a “Hurry up,
children,” to the two boys. “Now, then, Mr. Muffin Man, we’re going to
see you; you must scamper and be ready for us--” which Phronsie did as
fast as she could, but she didn’t pay much attention to her approaching
guests, all her thoughts being on her little white cat. At last she
could bear it no longer, and as the line was advancing, “We all know
the Muffin Man--the Muffin--Man--the Muffin Man,” Joel shouting it
out above the others with great gusto, she broke out--“Isn’t she ever
coming down, Polly?”
“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, who had almost forgotten the little white
cat in the general glee. “Oh, yes, sometime. Now, let’s begin again. We
all know the--”
But the Muffin Man suddenly deserted the post of honor and ran wailing
over to the middle of the line coming to visit him. “Oh, I want her,
Polly, I do!” in such a tone that Polly knew that something must be
done to try to get the little white cat down from the top of that
cupboard.
“Well, now, says I, I must get that kitty,” said Polly, gathering
Phronsie up in her arms, and at her wit’s end to know how to do it.
“Yes; there, don’t cry, Phronsie; I’ll try to get her down for you.”
“Let’s take the broom,” cried Joel, running over to get it where it
hung on its nail behind the door; “that’ll shoo her good.”
“No, no, Joel,” said Polly, shaking her head in disapproval, while
Phronsie screamed at the mere thought of the broom touching her little
white cat, “that would be the worst thing in the world. It would make
her cross and hateful, and then Mamsie would have to send her away and
Phronsie couldn’t keep her at all.”
“Well, then, how are you going to get her down?” asked Joel, standing
still to regard her impatiently.
“You must let me think,” said Polly, wrinkling up her brows. “Now,
Phronsie, if you cry so, I can’t ever get your kitty down. Oh, you bad,
naughty little thing, you!” this to the small white cat sitting stiffly
up on the cupboard.
“She isn’t a bad, naughty little thing, Polly,” sobbed Phronsie. “She’s
my little white cat, and I love her.”
“Well, I don’t mean really she’s bad and naughty,” said Polly, with a
sigh, “but I do wish she’d come down, Phronsie.”
And then the very strangest thing in all the world happened. “Mee--ow!”
said the small white cat, but it was in a soft little voice, and she
unlashed her tail from her legs and there she actually was digging her
sharp claws into the side of the old cupboard to assist her descent to
the floor!
“_Hush--sh!_” whispered Polly, her brown eyes very wide, and seizing
Joel’s blue cotton blouse; “keep still, all of you. Oh, Phronsie, don’t
stir--she’s coming--she’s coming!”
“_Mee--ow!_” said the little white cat, stepping gingerly along into
the middle of the floor, and beginning to believe that the children
hadn’t wanted her before so very much after all, and she came up to rub
herself against Polly’s brown calico gown.
“Oh, keep still--don’t touch her!” warned Polly, holding her breath.
Joel twisted his brown fingers together tightly, and little Davie and
Phronsie, not thinking of disobeying Polly, didn’t stir.
“Mee--ow!” said the little white cat, this time in displeasure and
beginning to walk all around the small bunch of Peppers. “Mee--ow!”
“Now you all keep still,” said Polly. “I’ll catch her.” And sure
enough, in a flash, Polly had the little white cat in her arms. “Oh,
you’re hungry, I do believe, you poor little thing, you!” stroking her
fur gently. “Joel, keep your hands off. Yes, Phronsie, you shall take
her in a minute. There--there!” And Polly cuddled her up, and that
little white ball of fur began to purr and try to lick Polly’s face and
snuggle up to her like everything!
“Now, boys,” said Polly, after a few minutes of this delightful
proceeding when the old kitchen was fairly alive with happiness, “I
do believe you must go and ask Grandma Bascom to give us just a very
little milk in a cup:” for the little white cat, although apparently
much pleased to be the centre of attraction, did not cease to bring out
every now and then the most dismal “Mee--ows!”
“Oh, I don’t want to go,” whined Joel, at the mere thought of missing
any of this pleasing entertainment.
“For shame, Joe!” exclaimed Polly; “the poor little thing is almost
starved.”
“Mee--ow!” said the little white cat.
“And there isn’t a bit of milk in the house and she’s only just come,”
finished Polly, feeling it a very poor way to entertain a newly arrived
guest, while Phronsie hung over the new treasure, telling her she was
going to have some really and truly milk. Joel hung his head. “I’ll
go,” he said; “what’ll I get it in, Polly?”
“Take one of the cups,” said Polly, pointing to the dresser, “and
Davie, you run too with Joel, that’s a good boy.”
“I’ll run, too,” said little David, with alacrity. So Joel took down
one of the cups and then two boys hurrying with all their might, raced
off, Polly calling after them--“Don’t spill it--”
And before long back they came. “O dear me!” exclaimed Polly in dismay;
“Grandma needn’t have given us all that. Didn’t you tell her just a
very little, Joel?” as Joel, gripping the cup with both hands, not
daring to take his eyes off from it, walked up carefully to Polly’s
side.
“I did,” said Joel. “Oh, yes, he did,” declared little Davie, loudly,
while Phronsie gave a little shout of delight. Then she laid her yellow
head close to the little white cat, still snuggled up in Polly’s arms.
“You are going to have some really and truly milk, you are, kitty,” she
whispered.
“Now you may hold her, Phronsie, a minute,” said Polly. “I must pour
the milk into a saucer.” For the little white cat’s nose was poked up
toward the cup, and trembling violently in her eagerness to get some.
“Oh, she’ll upset it all,” cried Polly; “hold her tightly, Phronsie.”
“Mee--ow!” cried the little white cat, in disappointment, as Polly
hurried off, two or three drops of milk trailing down the side of the
cup.
“Yes, yes--you shall have it,” promised Polly, over her shoulder. “Poor
little thing, you--do keep still; I’ll be right back.”
And in a minute there the little white cat was before a saucer, both
eyes closing blissfully, and her small pink tongue, darting in and out,
was busy enough carrying the milk to her mouth, all four of the little
Peppers in a ring around her on the kitchen floor.
VII
SPENDING THE DAY AT THE BEEBES’
“All day,” whispered little David, in a rapture. “Just think, Joey, all
day!”
“I know it,” sang Joel. “Whoopity la! Ow--you pulled my hair, Polly.”
“Well, I can’t help it,” said Polly, “you jumped so, Joel. Do stand
still.”
“I can’t,” said Joel, giving a long stretch. “Ow! Mamsie, Polly is
hurting me dreadfully,” he whined to Mother Pepper, out in the kitchen.
“That’s because you don’t stand still and let her brush your hair as
it should be done, I suppose,” said Mrs. Pepper, coolly. So Joel,
getting no comfort there, wisely determined to make the best of things,
and he wrung his hands together, trying his best to keep still, only
interrupting the proceedings by teasing to know when Polly was to get
through.
At last it was over. “O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, sinking into the
first chair quite exhausted. “I’m so glad I’m through, Joey.”
“So am I,” echoed Joel, jubilantly and beginning to prance about; “now
I’m going to do Dave’s hair,” and he made a lunge at the old hair-brush
in Polly’s hand.
“No, you’re not,” declared Polly, clinging tightly to it. “You go right
away, Joel Pepper; the very idea! Davie’s hair would look just like
everything if you brushed it.”
“Oh, I don’t want Joel to do it,” cried David, in terror, and running
over to Polly’s side--“don’t let him, Polly.”
“Indeed I shan’t,” said Polly, with vigor, and waving the old
hair-brush defiantly. “Now come, Davie, and I’ll fix yours, and then
you can all start for dear Mrs. Beebe’s. Phronsie is so good; just look
at her!”
There she was in her little chair, as still as a mouse, her eyes
fastened on the red-topped shoes stuck out straight before her, and
her hands folded in her lap. She had been patted and pulled into shape
by Polly, and then told to sit down and wait till the boys were ready.
The getting-ready process, when the Pepper children were going out
visiting, was always full of delight to Phronsie, who wouldn’t have
had one of the many details left out that Polly considered were so
important.
“Umph, I can fix it as good as pie,” grunted Joel. Then he capered out
into the old kitchen, snapping his fingers. “I don’t care--I don’t want
to. Whoopity la, we’re going to spend the day at Mr. Beebe’s shop!”
“Misery me!” exclaimed Polly, in dismay; “do stop, Joe. You’ll muss
up your hair dreadfully. Oh, Mamsie, he won’t be fit to be seen,” she
wailed.
“Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, “stop this minute,” as Joel capered by, “and
go and sit down in that chair;” she pointed to the other side of the
kitchen.
“O dear me!” grunted Joel. “I don’t want to sit down, Mamsie.”
“Go and sit down at once, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, firmly.
“Can’t I take the chair into the bedroom and sit next to Phronsie?”
asked Joel, who always tried for some alleviation of his punishments,
and he began to drag it into the bedroom.
“Yes, you may do that,” said Mrs. Pepper, “but you must sit down on it
and keep still.” Then she went back to her work.
“And just think how you’ve spoilt your hair,” said Polly, in
exasperation, “and it did look so nice.” She heaved a great sigh.
Little David ducked under the brush swiftly going over his own head,
to peer into her face. “Never mind, Davie,” she said, smiling at him.
“Dear Mrs. Beebe will think you look good anyway.”
“Won’t she think Joel looks good, too?” asked Davie, anxiously.
“Oh, yes, maybe,” said Polly, stifling the sigh. “Well, hold still,
dear. I’ll brush him again before he puts on his cap.”
Joel, who luckily hadn’t heard this, now crowded up as closely as
possible to Phronsie, and sat up on his chair as stiff as a ramrod. And
at last everything was pronounced by Polly all ready for the children
to set forth on the visit; “Except this,” said Polly, flying over to
Joel and giving his stubby black hair the final attention amid his
violent protests. And then they were hurried out to Mother Pepper in
the kitchen to see how nice they all looked, as they stood in a row,
and for her to give them their final charge before setting forth.
“You know, children,” she said, running her black eyes over the line
in satisfaction; “that you are to be very good, for Polly and Ben
can’t go to Mrs. Beebe’s till afternoon. Just think, this is the first
time you have ever been out in company alone!” She surveyed them
proudly,--“But Mother trusts you, and I know you will be good.”
“I’ll be good,” said Joel, promptly. “I’m always good.”
“I’ll try, Mamsie; I will,” said little Davie; “I will, truly, Mamsie.”
“I know you will,” said Mother Pepper, beaming at her boys, “and
Phronsie, too,--I know she’ll be good.”
“I’ll be good,” piped Phronsie, putting up her little red lips to be
kissed.
So Mrs. Pepper took her baby in her arms, and gave her a good hug and
a good-by kiss all at once, and then Joel crowded in between them
insisting on the same attention, and of course little Davie couldn’t be
forgotten. But at last the three were out on the flat door-stone, and
Mother Pepper and Polly in the doorway to see them start.
“Now take hold of hands; let Phronsie go in the middle,” said
Mrs. Pepper, “and walk along nicely. Be careful, Joel, don’t
run--remember--” as the children went down the path to the old gate.
“Doesn’t it seem funny, Mamsie,” said Polly, cuddling up close to Mrs.
Pepper’s side, “to have them go alone out visiting?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, “but they’re old enough now. And you’re going,
and Ben, too, in the afternoon, so it’s all right,” yet she cast an
anxious glance after the three little figures now going solemnly down
the road.
“Yes, I’m going in the afternoon and so is Ben, down to our dear, sweet
Mrs. Beebe’s,” sang Polly, with a hop, skip, and a jump, getting back
into the middle of the old kitchen floor. “Mamsie,” as Mrs. Pepper came
in and shut the door, “isn’t it just lovely that we’re really going to
supper there?”
“I wish you could have gone for all day,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a
sigh, and pausing a minute before taking up her work, “just like the
other children--you and Ben.”
“Well, I can’t,” said Polly, flinging back her brown hair where it
tumbled over her forehead, “I’m going to help you, Mamsie--O misery
me!” catching sight of herself in the cracked looking-glass. Then she
burst out laughing and raced into the bedroom. When she came back,
every hair was in place, and two braids hanging neatly down her back.
Mrs. Pepper looked up and smiled approval, that seemed to hop right
down into Polly’s heart, making it glow with comfort.
“I do think this is just the nicest place, Mamsie,” she burst forth in
the midst of flying about to do the belated morning work, left in order
to get the children ready for their visit.
“So it is, Polly,” nodded Mrs. Pepper; “it’s home, and the Little Brown
House is--”
“The very sweetest place,” finished Polly, in another burst, and guilty
of interrupting.
And just then there was a little scrabbling noise outside the door, and
the latch was lifted, and in stumbled Joel, and after him Davie holding
fast to Phronsie’s fat little hand. Mrs. Pepper dropped her work, and
sprang up, her face very pale, for she didn’t see any one but the two
boys, and Polly let the tea-kettle she was carrying over to fill the
dish-pan, clatter down to the floor--and away raced the hot water.
“Oh, goodness!--Oh, here’s Phronsie!” cried Polly, all in the same
breath. Then she sprang over the puddle of hot water to throw her arms
around the little figure, but Mrs. Pepper was there first.
“Phronsie would come home,” said Joel, in a loud, injured key. “Her
sunbonnet’s untied, and she wouldn’t let me or Davie tie it up--she
wanted Polly to.”
“Please, Polly,” begged Phronsie, holding up her hot little chin, and
hanging with both hands to the strings of the pink sunbonnet, “tie me
up, ’cause I must hurry to go and see my dear sweet Mr. Beebe and my
dear sweet Mrs. Beebe.”
“She’s been saying that all the way back,” said Davie, sitting down on
the kitchen floor, “and we couldn’t hurry to go and see ’em, ’cause she
made us come back for Polly to tie up the strings.”
“And now we’ve got to go clear back there,” cried Joel, wrathfully; “I
mean to run every step of the way this time.”
“Oh, no, Joe, you mustn’t,” said Mrs. Pepper. “You’ll be a good boy and
take hold of Phronsie’s hand, and walk nicely, or else you’ll have to
stay at home.”
“And that old sunbonnet is going to stay tied this time,” declared
Polly, getting down on her knees to make a wonderful bow of the
strings; “there, says I, Pet, that won’t come out! Now, Mr. Sunbonnet,
you behave yourself!” And she gave a pat on Phronsie’s head.
“Mr. Sunbonnet, you behave yourself,” gurgled Phronsie. So the three
children all took hold of hands and started again, Mrs. Pepper and
Polly watching them as before, until they were lost in the turn of the
road.
All this made them somewhat late at the little shoe-shop down on
Badgertown’s Main Street. Old Mrs. Beebe, in one of her best caps with
flying pink ribbons, had been out to the old green door, at least three
times, shading her eyes, and peering down the narrow cobbled pavement
to come back in disappointment.
“You are sure Mis’ Pepper understood ’twas to-day th’ children was to
come, Pa?” she asked at last.
“Did you ever know Mis’ Pepper to make a mistake?” answered the old
gentleman, calmly sewing up a rip in one of his own old shoes that had
been waiting for just such a spare time. He was just as much put out as
was his wife at the threatened loss of the visit, but it never would do
for both of them to show it at the same time.
“How you can, Pa, go right on sewin’ an’ mendin’ same’s every day,”
exclaimed old Mrs. Beebe, sitting down heavily on the settee running
the length of their little shop where customers sat to have their
boots and shoes fitted on, “I don’t see, when we’re ’xpectin’ those
blessed children every minute.” She smoothed down her black silk apron
with her plump hands in vexation.
“It’s just because I am ’xpectin’ of ’em every minute to come in,” said
old Mr. Beebe, “that I can set an’ be comf’table,” and he drew up his
thread with slow, careful fingers.
“Well, I can’t,” said the old lady, twitching the pink flying ribbons
on either side of her cheeks into better place. “Dear me, I wonder if I
got out enough doughnuts; they’ll be awful hungry when they first get
here,” and she hurried off into the pantry opening into the room back
of the little shop. For this reason, she didn’t hear the small steps on
the cobblestones underneath the little-paned window, nor the rattling
of the latch, nor any of the bustle of the entrance of the little
Peppers. And when she got back after replenishing the doughnut plate,
there they were surrounding old Mr. Beebe’s chair!
But didn’t they get a good welcome, though! And Phronsie’s pink
sunbonnet untied and hung up carefully in Mrs. Beebe’s bedroom, she
soon had a doughnut in her hand while she sat on Mr. Beebe’s knee; and
Mother Beebe regaled the two boys with a sugary one apiece, and then
they each had a cup of real milk.
“I like it,” said Phronsie, very gravely, when the old lady set down
the cup and wiped off the white drops that trailed away from the little
lips; “very much indeed, dear Mrs. Beebe. Why don’t I ever have truly
milk at home?” And she put up her mouth for some more.
“I shall let her drink all she wants to,” said old Mrs. Beebe, nodding
furiously over Phronsie’s yellow head to the old gentleman, who put up
a protesting hand. “There, honey-bird, so you should have some more. It
won’t hurt her a mite,” she finished to her husband. And then away she
went to see about getting dinner ready and to set out the table with
the three extra little plates.
“Now, Phronsie,” said old Mr. Beebe, when the doughnut was all eaten,
“I’m a-goin’ to show you some o’ my shoes I have for little folks, an’
where I keep ’em.”
“I wore my new shoes,” said Phronsie, sticking out both feet to regard
them affectionately.
“So you did, to be sure,” exclaimed old Mr. Beebe, in a tone of great
surprise, not having been able to see much else beside Phronsie’s face
since she had perched on his knees.
“And I must wipe them off,” said Phronsie, regarding with great
disfavor the dust from her long walk that had clung to them, and trying
to slip down from his knee.
“No, no--you set still,” said old Mr. Beebe. “I’ll clean ’em, child.”
With that he whipped out his big bandanna and softly patted and rubbed
the little shoes quite bright again. “There--they’re as good as new.
How nice you keep ’em, child!”
“They’re shut up in Mamsie’s drawer,” said Phronsie, following his
every movement with great satisfaction. “And I wrap ’em up, dear Mr.
Beebe, every day.”
“So you do,” laughed the old man. “Well, that’s a good child.”
“And I love my new shoes--I do, dear Mr. Beebe.” Phronsie put both arms
around the black silk stock encircling his fat neck, and whispered in
his ear.
“Do you so?” whispered back old Mr. Beebe.
“Yes, I do, very much indeed,” whispered Phronsie again, nodding her
yellow head at every word.
“That’s a good child,” repeated the old gentleman. “Well now, Phronsie,
I must show you where I keep the shoes for other little girls who are
good an’ come in to buy ’em,” and he set her gently on the floor.
All this time Joel and David had plastered their faces in among the
rows of shoes and rubbers dangling from strings running across the
shop-window, to see the passers-by in the narrow street, an occupation
of which they were never tired, but now hearing old Mr. Beebe and
Phronsie opening drawers and undoing little boxes, the two boys
deserted their perch in the window and ran across the little shop.
“Oh, let me,” cried Joel, throwing himself into the centre of
operations,--“let me, Mr. Beebe, take ’em out,” while little David
edged up on the other side of Phronsie just as eagerly.
“Softly--softly,” said the old gentleman; “take care there, Joel, you
mustn’t touch ’em till I tell you to--” as Joel seized a small pair of
shiny black slippers out of a box.
“Oh, can’t I see ’em?” begged Joel, dreadfully disappointed, and having
a hard time to keep the tears back.
“Maybe,” said old Mr. Beebe, “but I’m going to show Phronsie some of
’em first, an’ she’s goin’ to help me fit ’em if any little girl comes
in to buy.”
“Oh, may I help you to fit shoes?” screamed Joel, with very red cheeks,
and even Davie cried out too, “Oh, _please_, dear Mr. Beebe, let us
help you fit shoes.”
The old gentleman burst into such a merry fit of laughter at this that
even Phronsie, although she didn’t in the least know what it was all
about, laughed and clapped her hands in glee, Joel and David whirling
all around the two, begging and teasing so that old Mrs. Beebe left the
little apple turnovers she was filling and ran out into the small shop,
her spectacles pushed up to her cap border. “Gracious me, Pa,” she
exclaimed, “I thought some of ’em was hurt.”
“There ain’t no one hurt, only me, Ma,” said old Mr. Beebe, shaking and
chuckling and wiping his eyes, “There--there, boys, maybe I’ll let you
help me. I d’no but Phronsie’s goin’ to--leastways, if there’s a little
girl comes in with her Ma for a new pair of shoes.”
When this was really explained to Phronsie by Joel’s screaming it out
several times, and Davie’s repeating it carefully to her, she sat
right down on the floor, quite overcome.
“Look at Phron!” laughed Joel, pointing at her.
“You let her alone,” said old Mr. Beebe. “Now, I tell you what you can
do, Joel, if you really want to help me.”
“I do; I do!” cried Joel. If he couldn’t fit on shoes to possible
customers, he could at least be of some importance in that delightful
shop, and maybe sometime, if he were very good, old Mr. Beebe would
really let him wait on folks fortunate enough to have money to buy
shoes with.
“That’s good,” said the little shopkeeper, rubbing his hands in great
satisfaction. “Now then, I guess I can find some work for a boy of your
size to do. Yes, just the very thing.” He went over to the further side
of the little shop and lifted the chintz valance hanging down from the
lowest shelf. “See those boxes, Joel?”