dear Mrs. Beebe, I don’t believe he ought to have it.” But Davie hugged
his treasure tightly to his bosom, and went unsteadily over to put it
on the table.
“He won’t break it,” said Mrs. Beebe; “an’ besides, I’m goin’ to give
it to him ’cause o’ th’ name, when I get through with bein’ able to
look up an’ see it up there in that cupboard. An’ now you come an’ help
me set out th’ cups and saucers for Ben an’ you.”
“Oh, here he comes!” cried Polly, with a glance through the glass door
opening into the little shop. “Oh, Ben!” and with a bound she flew off
to meet him.
“Hooray!” Joel deserted his treasure, but little Davie and Phronsie had
been so absorbed in theirs that they hadn’t heard a word.
“Well,” cried Ben, his cheeks glowing and his big blue eyes alight,
as he came in with Polly and Joel hanging to him, and old Mr. Beebe,
rubbing his hands in satisfaction, bringing up the rear. And he had
hardly spoken to dear old Mrs. Beebe before Joel dragged him off to the
table. “I’ve got a cup all to myself; see, Ben, see--see--and a big man
used to drink out of it with hair all round his mouth; and it’s mine.
And Phronsie got a ‘From a Friend,’ and I like mine best.”
“Hulloa!” exclaimed Ben, “and so Pet has got one, too,” and he bent to
kiss her.
“Yes,” hummed Phronsie, putting a little finger gently on it, “and I
like it, Bensie, very much, I do.”
“Well, see Davie’s,” cried Polly, getting hold of Ben’s jacket to pilot
him around the table; “only think of this ‘For David,’” and she held
the shining little lustre mug up.
“Well! well!” exclaimed Ben, quite overcome; while old Mr. Beebe nodded
and smiled over the heads of the Five Little Peppers as pleased as the
children themselves.
“And see our cups,” cried Polly, at last, pointing to the corner
cupboard where the whole array of ancient flowered china was spread
forth. “You and I are each going to have one of those! Dear Mrs. Beebe
told me so her own self.”
“An’ now, says I, I must get ’em down, an’ then you an’ me, Polly, will
set on th’ supper. We’ll have it early ’cause Ben must be hungry.”
“I am,” said Ben, “awfully hungry. I believe I could eat a bear--every
bit of him!”
“Oh, Ben,” screamed Joel, swarming over him excitedly, “not his head,
Ben, and his legs, and every single smitch of him.”
“Yes, _sir_!” declared Ben, recklessly. “I’m so hungry, Joe, there
wouldn’t be any bear when I got through.”
VIII
AT THE PETERS FARM
“Halloa, Joel!” Mr. Atkins left the bundle of brown sugar he was doing
up for the Widow Smollett, and hurried around the counter to the door.
“Wait a minute.” But Joel was off on the wind.
“I never see such a boy for getting over the ground,” the storekeeper
exclaimed, discomfited, turning back to his customers.
“I’m goin’ by the Little Brown House, an’ I’ll tell Mis’ Pepper
anythin’,” volunteered a man, waiting his turn to be served.
“Well, you tell her I’ve got a job for Joel,” said the storekeeper,
getting nimbly back of the counter again, to resume work on the
brown-sugar bundle.
“Pshaw!--what can that little chap do?” said the man, jamming one hand
deep in his trousers pocket and laughing.
“He’s little, but he’s smart as a cricket,” said Mr. Atkins.--“No, I
hain’t had any eggs brought in to-day, Miss Bassett.--Good land o’
Goshen, Hiram, all them Pepperses have got git up an’ git to ’em.--No,
I said I hadn’t had any brought in to-day. I was just a-tellin’ Miss
Bassett so.”
“And I sh’d as soon set a cricket to work,” said Hiram, still laughing,
“but I’ll take th’ message all right to Mis’ Pepper.”
“An’ them children’ll do more some day for Badgertown ’n all o’ us
folks put together. That’s my Bible belief,” declared Mr. Atkins,
snapping the string off short.--“There’s your sugar, Mrs. Smollett,
four cents a pound; it orter be four an’ a half, but I hain’t riz on
it yet.--I’ll wait upon you,” in reply to an irate question, as to how
long he was expected to stand there “doin’ nothin’,” from an impatient
applicant for saleratus.--“Yes, well, you tell Mrs. Pepper I’ve got
a job for Joel; that’s all you’ve got to do, Hiram.--Now, I’ll ’tend
to you first; you’ve ben waitin’ some time.” And he turned off to a
customer at the end of the counter.
And Hiram’s several bundles having been done up, and deposited in his
wagon, Mr. Atkins felt quite relieved in his mind, and very sure that
Joel would be down as soon as ever the message got to him.
Which happened exactly so. There he was, with David at his heels, and
pounding on the counter. “What is it, Mr. Atkins?” he cried, his black
eyes sparkling in excitement. It was the very first time in his life
that a job had ever been waiting for him in this important way.
“There’s a person been in here, Joel,” said Mr. Atkins, “this morning
who wants a boy to help him; and I thought of you, ’cause I knew you
wanted to be like Ben an’ help your Ma.”
“Yes, I do,” said Joel, standing very tall, “and I’m going to have a
job and be like Ben; just exactly like Ben, Mr. Atkins,” and his black
eyes shone.
Little David could not conceal his admiration, and beamed on him
affectionately.
“So you shall,” declared the storekeeper, with great enthusiasm, “and I
got you this job, Joel. I expect you’re goin’ to be master smart at it.”
“I’m going to be. Oh, what is it--what you said?” declared Joel, with
energy, and getting up now to his tiptoes.
“Master smart,” repeated Mr. Atkins, with emphasis. “Well, now, Joel,
you’ve got to begin your job to-morrow at Old Man Peters’s.”
“What?” Down went Joel to stand flat, and his hands left off pounding
the counter to fall to his sides.
“Old Man Peters was a-goin’ to get another boy,” Mr. Atkins was talking
in a perfect stream, now; “but I spoke for you, Joel. An’ you’ve got to
go an’ take that job, ’cause it’s the only one there is to be had,” and
he shot a keen glance into Joel’s black eyes.
“I ain’t going to work for Old Man Peters,” declared Joel, in a great
dudgeon, and marching to the door, his hands now thrust into his
pockets, and his head quite high. “Come on, Dave.”
“See here, Joel.” The storekeeper leaned over his counter. “You come
here a minute.”
“I ain’t going to work for Old Man Peters,” declared Joel, stoutly,
standing quite still to regard the storekeeper with anything but
pleasure.
Just as decidedly, “Yes, you will,” Mr. Atkins said; “’cause if you
don’t, you can’t help your Ma, and be big like Ben.”
“I ain’t going,” began Joel. Then his voice died down, “O dear me, I
ain’t,--I ain’t.”
“I don’t blame ye,” broke in two or three voices. “I wouldn’t do a
stroke for sech a skin-flint,” added another. The storekeeper cast a
reproachful glance in that direction, and said sharply, “I’m a-talkin’
to Joel Pepper just at present.”
Joel was wringing his small hands now, the picture of distress as he
stood in the middle of the store, with little Davie quite gone in
despair at this dreadful state of affairs, huddling up against him.
“To help Mamsie.” He could do it if he would only take this job that
Mr. Atkins had gotten for him, and “be big like Ben.” “O dear me!” Joel
didn’t see any of the men, nor the one sympathetic woman who hovered
on the edge of the group to see how matters would turn out. He was
lost to everything around him. And when at last Mr. Atkins said very
coldly, “Oh, well, if you don’t want to help your Ma, Joel, why--” He
burst out, “Oh, I do, I do,” and dashed up to seize the storekeeper by
the arm, and hang to it screaming, “I’ll go to Old Man Peters’s, Mr.
Atkins, I will!”
“That’s a good boy, Joel,” said the storekeeper, quite mollified, who
had really been quite put to his wits to find something that one of
the brood in the Little Brown House might do to help eke out the store
of pennies that kept the wolf from the door. And lately, when Mrs.
Pepper brought back the coats she made, he was struck with dismay, to
see how white her cheek was, and how tired the bright eyes looked.
“She’s getting all beat out,” he said on one such occasion to his wife,
as he locked up for the night and went home, which only consisted in
going into the extension of the store built on to accommodate the
growing needs of his family.
“Can’t you find her somethin’ for th’ boys to do, ’Biah?” said that
good woman, setting the tea-pot down after taking off a cupful for
herself. “No halfway stuff for me,” she always said; then it must be
filled to the brim for Mr. Atkins, who couldn’t bear it strong.
“Ben’s doin’ all he can,” said the storekeeper, sitting down heavily.
“Well, I never have ben on my legs so much as to-day, Jane.”
“I don’t mean Ben,” said Mrs. Atkins, quickly, and taking up the
tea-pot to pour the boiling water in. “I’m sure that boy’ll work
himself to death if somebody don’t stop him. I’m talkin’ of Joel an’
David.”
“Them little chaps,” cried her husband; “what are you thinkin’ of,
Jane? The idea o’ settin’ them to work.”
“Now, there’s lots o’ work small fingers can do,” observed Jane, nowise
dashed, and tipping up the tea-kettle deftly, she poured the boiling
water in. “That won’t keep you awake, ’Biah,” she said, with a glance
of scorn for the cup she set beside his plate.
“An’ if Mrs. Pepper breaks down, why, I can’t tell what would happen to
those Little-Brown-House folks.” She suddenly took up one corner of her
brown checked apron, and do what she would to prevent it, Mr. Atkins
distinctly heard a sniffle, as she abruptly disappeared in the pantry.
“I can’t help it, Jane; I’m sure ’tain’t my fault.” The storekeeper
turned uneasily on his chair, put in a spoonful of sugar too much in
his tea, then tried to cover up the mistake by getting in a double
portion of milk. “You’ll have to get me another cup, Jane,” at last
he called to his wife, who on that summons hastily emerged from the
pantry, trying to look gay of countenance as if the conversation had
been of the cheeriest description.
“Now, ’Biah,” she said, her heart smiting her at a sight of his face,
“don’t you worry no more about th’ Pepperses; th’ Lord’ll provide,” and
she twitched up his cup, poured off the contents in the sink, and came
back with a fresh one steaming hot.
“Th’ Lord ain’t a-goin’ to take care o’ folks in Badgertown, so long as
He’s put other people here to look after ’em,” said the storekeeper,
this time with a careful hand to deal himself the right seasoning for
his cup, “an’ I do b’lieve I better find somethin’ for Joel to do. He’s
awful smart, Jane.”
“That’s so,” said Mrs. Atkins, getting into her seat opposite her
husband. Then she wiped her eyes again, for Jane had a tender place in
her heart. “But don’t let it be too hard,” she begged.
“I’ll have to take what I can get,” said Mr. Atkins, stirring his tea,
and beginning to feel a bit relieved at the prospect of lightening the
burden settling down on the Little Brown House.
“I’ll ask every one who comes into th’ store to-morrow, Jane, an’
somewhere’s there must be a boy wanted to do chores, I’ll be bound.”
“So do,” nodded his wife, and, delighted to see him more cheerful, she
took a long draught from her black-looking tea, and switched off the
conversation into more entertaining gossip.
But no matter how much Mr. Atkins pushed his inquiries among his
customers to unearth the needs of a small boy to do chores in or around
Badgertown, not only to-morrow but several days thereafter passed,
and no one seemed ready to acknowledge any such need. At last the
storekeeper was reduced to despair, and to cudgel his brains for some
other plan to give timely assistance to a person who would not accept
money.
At this moment, the rattle of wagon wheels and a sudden plunge as a
long-suffering horse was brought to a quick stop by a loud and angry
“Whoa!” proclaimed the arrival of a rich but by no means desirable
customer.
“Now I suppose ‘Old Man Peters’ will want a pail o’ lard for nothin’,”
muttered the storekeeper, his vexation noways alleviated by the sight
of a customer who usually brought into his shop more plague than profit.
When the trifling matters of trade that always lengthened out by long
dickering were at last brought to a conclusion, and Mr. Eli Peters
buttoned up in his waistcoat pocket his wallet that had not suffered
greatly in the business transaction, much to the storekeeper’s disgust,
he paused, and said in a sharp high key, “You don’t know of a boy,
d’ye, Atkins, that I can hire?”
“What kind of a boy?” demanded the storekeeper, irritably.
“Oh, a smart, likely one; he don’t need to be big. Ye don’t know of
one, do ye?”
“I know a smart, likely boy as ever stepped,” said Mr. Atkins,
determined not to give any names, “but I don’t know as he could do your
work, Mr. Peters.”
Old Mr. Peters’s little ferret eyes gleamed. “Hey, well, who is’t?” He
tapped on the floor with his stick that he always carried in the wagon
to help his progress as soon as he stepped on the ground. “Who is’t?
Come, speak up lively, I hain’t no time to lose; time’s money.”
“I guess it is,” said the storekeeper, with a snap to his thin lips,
and a lively memory of the half-hour wasted over this unprofitable
customer, whom, after all, it never would do to offend.
“Well, this boy I know of is smart enough, my gracious, but he ain’t
big enough to work hard. What you want to set him at?”
“Oh, little odd jobs,” said the old man, carelessly; “some of ’em in
th’ house to help th’ women folks.”
“Oh, if that’s the case,” said Mr. Atkins, who was friendly to Mrs.
Peters and Miss Miranda,--“as different from that old Scrooge,” he had
said in the privacy of his home, “as light is from darkness,”--“why,
I’ll give you his name; it’s Joel Pepper.”
“Oh, that boy.” Old Man Peters’s eager face fell, and the light in the
ferret eyes went out. “I d’no’s I want him,” he said slowly.
“_Not want one o’ them Pepper children!_” exclaimed the storekeeper,
in astonishment, as if the greatest blessing the earth could yield had
been ignored. “Well, I never!”
“I don’t think I like that Joel,” said Mr. Peters, beginning to work
his way to the door.
“Well, I can tell you that Joel Pepper is th’ smartest boy around here
for miles and miles,” cried the storekeeper, taking up quick cudgels,
“an’ I don’t b’lieve his Ma would let him come to you anyway,” he added
with venom. “So, we’ll say no more about it; she’s awful particular
where any o’ ’em go,” he added, not caring if his words did lose him,
for good and all, the chance of seeing the rich old man darken his door
again.
“Hey, what’s that?” squeaked Old Man Peters, this quite deciding him,
and suddenly whirling about. “Well, I’m willing to try Joel, only he
come to my house once, his Ma sent him on an errant, an’ he was awful
sassy.”
“Sassy, was he?” Then Mr. Atkins laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Well, I
guess that’s all right; you don’t mind what a shaver as little as him
says, I s’pose.”
“I d’no’s I do,” replied the old man, grudgingly; “well, send him
along; tell him to come to-morrow.” And he stumped out, untied his
old horse, upon whom, as soon as he got into the wagon, he bestowed a
stinging blow from the whip, and rattled off at a smart rate down the
road.
The storekeeper leaned his hands on the counter. “Sassy, was he?” he
ejaculated with delight. “Well, I guess Joel can take care o’ hisself
wherever he goes. An’ it’s th’ only place there is. Yes, I’ll advise
him to try it.”
And on the morrow, sure enough, Joel, as tidy as possible (for although
the material might be well worn down to its bones, Mrs. Pepper always
kept the clothes of the children clean and wholesome), set forth on
his long walk to old Mr. Peters’s house. The worst of it was, that
David was not allowed to go. He had not been asked by the prospective
employer, so, of course, he must stay at home, and he now plastered his
face against the small-paned window as Joel went out of the old kitchen
and off to his work. He felt very big, and he tried to walk just like
Ben, pushing up his little shoulders sturdily, holding his head high,
and clutching his bundle of dinner, that Polly had put up for him,
under his arm.
“Make it a big one, do, Polly,” he had begged, prancing after her as
she went to the bread-pantry.
“Yes, I will, Joey,” she cried. “O dear me!” she was just going to say,
“you mustn’t go to Old Man Peters’s.” Then she remembered what the
mother had said, “We can’t choose our work, Polly, and we’d ought to be
thankful that Joel has got the chance,” and she stifled the sigh, and
cut off a generous slice, bemoaning all the while to herself that it
wasn’t cake.
“If we only had something nice to give him, Mammy,” she mourned,
hurrying over to Mrs. Pepper’s chair when Joel had raced off to wash
his face for the last time.
“It’s the best we’ve got,” said Mrs. Pepper, bravely. Yet she looked
tired, and a little white line was beginning to come around her mouth.
“Sometime, we are going to be rich; oh, awfully rich, Mamsie,” cried
Polly, when she saw that. Then she danced off to the old bread-box
again, and pretty soon Joel’s dinner was all ready, and he was kissed
and pulled into shape by Polly, and then Phronsie had to be hugged, and
last of all, Mamsie, because little Davie was not to be counted, as he
clung to Joel through the whole time.
“Joel,” Mrs. Pepper laid down her needle and looked into his black
eyes, “we’re going to be very glad that you’re working for Mr. Peters.”
Joel squirmed at the name, but he never took his gaze from her face.
“And the Little Brown House is never to be ashamed for anything, Joey.”
“I’m going to be good,” declared Joel, with a smart bob of his black
head.
“See that you are,” said Mrs. Pepper, firmly. Then she took up the
needle again, because that had to fly in and out, or else the wolf
would surely get in at the door; and off Joel sped, to whirl around and
wave his hand at the turn of the road.
“Don’t feel bad, Davie,” cried Polly, gazing over his head at the
little figure disappearing down the thoroughfare. “O dear me! Davie,
don’t,” for little David, quite beside himself with grief at this first
separation from Joel, threw himself on the old kitchen floor, and burst
into a passion of tears.
“Never mind, Polly.” Mrs. Pepper got out of her chair, “you can take
Phronsie out of doors to play--there, there, Davie, Mother’s boy,” and
she was down on her knees stroking the soft light hair away from his
forehead, as Polly took Phronsie’s hand and led her softly out.
“What is the matter with Davie?” asked Phronsie, in a troubled voice.
“Oh, Polly, I don’t want to go out and play.”
“Well, you must,” said Polly, in a thick voice, and a desperate feeling
at her heart. Supposing David was going to be sick! Oh, it might kill
him to be kept away from Joel! And there was Joel going to work for
that dreadful hard, cross old man. Oh, how cruel he was to keep Joel
and not pay him on that day when Mamsie had sent him with the coat and
told him to wait for the money. She sank down on the grass under the
old scraggy apple tree, and buried her face in her hands.
Phronsie tugged at her apron. “Polly,” she said gently, but Polly did
not hear.
“Polly!” This time the voice was a very grieved little one, so that
Polly flung down her hands, and seized her hungrily, covering her face
with kisses. “Oh, I’m a bad, selfish old pig, Phronsie,” she cried
remorsefully.
“You are not a bad old pig, Polly,” said Phronsie, “and I love you very
much, I do.”
“Oh, yes, I am,” declared Polly. “I’m just as bad as I can be, when
Mamsie sent me out here to play with you. O dear me, come on, Pet.” She
sprang to her feet so suddenly, she nearly overthrew the little figure,
and held out her hands.
“But, I don’t want to play,” said Phronsie, now standing quite still
and regarding her gravely. “I want to go into the kitchen, and see
what is the matter with Davie; I do, Polly.”
“No,” said Polly, in her most decided fashion. “You can’t do that,
Phronsie, and I can’t go in there either, for Mamsie sent us out. O
dear me! I’m going to play tag. Come on, Phronsie!” and she dashed
around the old apple tree, and in a minute, there was Phronsie, merrily
flying after her, little peals of delight sounding all through the
dismal old kitchen.
“Now, then.” Mrs. Pepper was wiping off the last tears from Davie’s
little cheeks as he sat in her lap. “Mother’s boy is going out to play
with Phronsie, and let Polly come in and finish her work.”
David shivered at the word “play” and crouched down lower within her
arms. “Must I?” he said.
“Not if you don’t want to,” said Mrs. Pepper, “but you’ll help Polly
ever so much, and that will help me.”
David gave a long sigh. “Then I’ll go, Mamsie,” he said, and slid out
of her lap.
“Now, that’s Mother’s good boy,” cried Mrs. Pepper, kissing his pale
cheek into which a little pink color began to come at her praise. “You
can’t think what a comfort you’ll be to me for doing that, Davie.”
“Am I a comfort?” asked little Davie, the pink beginning to get very
bright, “am I, truly, Mamsie?”
“Yes, indeed!” declared Mrs. Pepper, in her heartiest fashion, and with
another kiss. “You’re just as much help as Joel is. Remember that,
Davie.”
“Oh, Mamsie!” Little David was so surprised, he stared at her in
wonder. “Joel’s earning money,” at last he said.
“Well, and you’re helping me to earn money,” said Mrs. Pepper,
cheerily; “so run along and play prettily with Phronsie, so that Polly
can come back to her work,” and she dismissed him with a little pat on
his shoulder.
“Dear me, I ought to fly off to mine.” And she burst into a merry
little laugh, so like to Polly’s own, that Davie felt his heart grow
light at once, and he laughed, too, and ran off as fast as his feet
would carry him.
Meantime, Joel, who had trudged on happily, every step of the way
feeling big and important, the minute he saw the big, rambling, old red
house, known as the Peters farm, felt his feet begin to lag, and when
he really reached the gate hanging, by one hinge, why, he almost turned
right straight around to fly home to Mamsie! But there sat Old Man
Peters on the porch.
“Hey, so you’re here at last, you Pepper boy,” he called out, “a
quarter of an hour late.”
“I’m not late,” said Joel, in a loud voice, and trudging in at the gate
feeling big at once, and able to defend himself. “Mamsie said I had
half an hour, and if I didn’t stop, I could get here in plenty of time.
And I didn’t stop a single bit, but I walked on and on.” Joel brought
this out wrathfully, and sank down hot and red on the lower step.
“Don’t you contradict me, you Pepper boy,” snarled Old Man Peters,
knocking with his cane the well-worn piazza floor, “and I don’t care
what your mother says. My time’s what I go by.”
“My mother is always right,” said Joel, proudly, and fixing the wizened
face above him with his black eyes.
“Pa, don’t badger the boy when he’s first come,” said Miss Miranda,
making her appearance in the doorway. “Look how red his face is; he’s
awful tired.”
“You go in an’ ’tend to your work,” commanded her father, shaking his
stick at her, “an’ I’ll see to my business. Now then, boy,” he got out
of his chair, “I’ll set you to doin’ somethin’. Mebbe that’ll stop your
sassy tongue.”
So Joel got off from the lowest step and followed the old man as he
stumped off over the patchy grass, and the remains of a once good
vegetable garden, where everything straggled off in its own sweet will,
trying to hide behind its neighbors as if ashamed to be seen in Old Man
Peters’s domain.
At last, behind the big barn, many of whose shingles seemed about to
part acquaintance with their fellows, while the big door, and the shed
tacked on to the rear partook of the general decay, the old man paused
and pointed with his stick. “That’s your work, Joel, or whatever your
name is, and the sooner you set at it, the better it will be.”
Joel stared on all sides and burst out, “I don’t see any work.”
Old Man Peters broke into a laugh that was more of a cackle than
anything else, and that showed all his gums, for most of his teeth were
gone long ago.
“Ha, ha! It’s there all the same. You’re to clean out th’ pig-pen.”
Now, the pig-pen at old Mr. Peters’s place hadn’t been cleaned out for
so long that no one could remember the exact time, and it wouldn’t have
been done now, only for the reason that the owner had at last made up
his mind that if the big barn were not strengthened by some good work
being put out on it, it would result in a great loss to him, for it
was sagging dreadfully in that corner, and, beside, when the work of
putting in new timbers was being accomplished, then was the time, if
ever, to put on an ell, and increase its size. But, first of all, the
pig-pen must be cleaned out; and, to do this, a small boy, who needn’t
be paid very much, was the best sort of a person to set to work on it.