around helping to get the children started.
“You better take Grandma a piece of that butter, Polly,” she said; “put
it in the blue bowl.”
“Not the butter Mrs. Henderson sent us, Mammy?” said Polly, pausing in
getting Phronsie’s clean pink pinafore over her head.
“Yes, and you can toast her some bread,” said Mrs. Pepper. “And, boys,
you must hurry. You better start first, and tell Grandma that Polly and
Phronsie are coming.”
“Tell Grandma I’m coming,” piped Phronsie, as Polly whirled her around
to button up the back of the pinafore.
“Hooray,--come on, Dave!” shouted Joel, banging out of the doorway with
little Davie at his heels.
And at last, Polly and Phronsie were on the flat door-stone, ready to
start.
“O dear me!” Polly, the little blue bowl in her hand, turned back. “Oh,
Mamsie, I’m _so sorry_!” and she hid her face in Mother Pepper’s neck.
“There,--there, Polly!” Mrs. Pepper patted the brown head with firm
fingers, “that’s all been settled now; remember it only wastes time to
fret over the past. Hurry along to Grandma; she needs you.”
“I will, Mamsie,” promised Polly, struggling with her tears. “Come,
Phronsie.”
But Phronsie had to turn back, too. “Oh, Mamsie,” she begged, just as
if she hadn’t said the same thing a dozen times before, “do take care
of my poor little woolly boy, ple--ase, Mamsie!”
“I will, I will,” nodded Mother Pepper, smiling at her baby. So hand in
hand Polly and Phronsie hurried off, and Mrs. Pepper went back to the
kitchen window to watch for the Parrott coach, which having in any case
to pass on this road to Cherryville, would waste no time in stopping at
the Little Brown House.
“So I can give him the message, as well as to send word to Miss
Parrott, that the children can’t go,” she said, as she picked up her
neglected work to fly at it faster than ever; for that coat and the
other three finished ones must be taken to Mr. Atkins just as soon as
all were completed. Notwithstanding her hurry, Mrs. Pepper stopped once
or twice to brush something away from her black eyes, that seemed to
trouble her. At last she said, “Bless them--pleasure and good times
will come to them sometime,--they must!” And then her needle flew
faster than ever, to make up for lost time.
“Now, boys,” said Polly, when the four children had scampered down the
lane, bringing up breathlessly at the door of the little cottage, “you
must go right to work, after you’ve said ‘Good morning,’ to Grandma, on
splitting the kindlings in the shed, and pile ’em up nicely. And, Joel,
don’t ask her any questions; you know how to do it all.”
“Grandma may want ’em done different to-day,” said Joel, stoutly.
“No, she won’t,” said Polly, decidedly; “shoo, there!” this to an old
hen who stepped out to the flat door-stone, as Polly opened the door.
“Let me shoo ’em! I’ll do it,” cried Joel, excitedly, pushing past
Polly and flapping his arms; “shoo, there; scat you!”
“So will I,” cried David, following suit, and screaming with all his
might, the poor old hen flying wild and squawking dismally.
Phronsie sat right down on the old flat stone. “Don’t let ’em do it,
Polly,” she begged; “Grandma’s poor old biddies; Polly, please stop
them,” lifting a distressed little face.
“Boys,--boys!” called Polly. But they had raced around the cottage.
Meantime a big white hen stepped out from under the old kitchen table
and hopped leisurely out past Phronsie sitting on the door-stone.
“Misery me!” exclaimed Polly, “there’s ever so many in here. Grandma
didn’t see them probably when she shut the door. There, make her go
off, Phronsie. Shoo--shoo!” and Polly flew around the little old
kitchen brandishing a dish-towel, thereby making two or three other
hens waddle and squawk in great distress.
“I’ll help you,” cried Phronsie, diverted from her lively interest over
the white hen, and slipping off from the door-stone she ran into the
kitchen. “Biddy--biddy--biddy,” only succeeding in getting dreadfully
in the way, so that the hens squawked and flew about worse than ever.
“It’s a mercy that Grandma can’t hear them,” said Polly, pausing a
minute to wipe her hot face. “Oh, you stupid things, can’t you see the
open door? There, Phronsie, you stand over in that corner, that’s a
good girl, and drive them this way. There, says I!”
But despite all this nice plan, the big clumsy creatures preferred to
hop and dive under the table and chairs, and back of the wood-box, and
any and everywhere but out of doors.
At last Polly sank down in a chair. “They won’t go out. O dear me, what
shall I do!”
“Won’t they ever go out of Grandma Bascom’s kitchen?” asked Phronsie,
deserting her corner to run over to Polly. “Say, Polly, won’t they
ever?” as Joel with Davie at his heels whooped in.
“Oh, whickets!” exclaimed Joel, at sight of the hens. Then began such a
lively chase that Polly had all she could do to restrain the boys and
comfort Phronsie, while the little old kitchen rang with the noise. At
last, out flew and plunged the hens over the flat door-stone and Joel
screamed with delight, “There, sir, they’re all gone!” And Davie wiped
his hot face and panted out, “Yes, they’re all gone!”
“No, they haven’t, Joel,” Polly exclaimed; “there’s one going into the
bedroom. O dear me!”
“I’ll drive her out,” cried Joel, in huge delight and prancing across
the little old kitchen.
“No, you mustn’t, Joe,” declared Polly, seizing his arm. “You’ll scare
Grandma to death. Here, give me that broom.”
“You can’t do it as good as me,” grumbled Joel, while they all followed
Polly, broom in hand, into the bedroom.
“Oh, you pretty creeters, you,” cried Grandma, raising her head in its
big ruffled cap, from the high pillow of the four-poster and beaming at
the whole bunch. “So you’ve come to see Grandma, haven’t you?”
“There’s a hen under your bed,” announced Joel, without any preamble,
and marching up to the bedside.
“Hush, Joe,” said Polly. Then she laid her rosy cheek against the
withered one under the big flapping ruffles.
“Good morning, Grandma.”
“You needn’t sweep up just yet,” said Grandma, with an eye for Polly’s
broom.
“I’m not sweeping,” said Polly, rosier than ever.
Then she tried to lift Phronsie up on to the gay patched bedquilt by
Grandma’s side.
For the first time in visiting Grandma Bascom, Phronsie pulled back.
“I want to tell poor old biddy to go out,” she whispered, struggling
violently; “let me tell her, Polly, do,” she implored.
“No, no, Phronsie,” said Polly, holding her fast, “you must do as I
say, Pet, or else you’ll have to go home.”
So Phronsie, two big tears splashing their way down the pink cheeks,
was set on the bed by Grandma’s side.
“O dear me!” exclaimed the old lady, in the greatest distress at the
sight of these, “what in the world is the matter? Didn’t she want to
come to see Grandma?” So Polly had to lean over and scream as much of
the whole story about the hens as was possible into the old lady’s ear.
Meantime, Joel had determined to see to the old hen himself; so he had
crawled under the bed, and by dint of wriggling smartly back and forth
had at last caught her by one leg; since forgetting how she had crept
in under the valance, she ran round and round in a vain effort to get
out.
And presently amid a terrible squawking, out he came, flushed and
triumphant, dragging her after him.
“I did get her,--bad old thing!” he cried jubilantly, his black eyes
flashing. “See, Polly, see, Grandma!” and he swung the poor bird up
before them.
Phronsie gave a loud scream.
“Joel Pepper!” cried Polly, bounding after him. But Joel was already
out through the kitchen, and with a wave of his hand sending the clumsy
old hen over to the grass-plot in front of the door. “Shoo, now, scat!”
he said, which being just what best suited the hen at this time, she
plunged in under the currant bushes, to relate her story to some other
hens who came running to the spot.
All this delayed the work of the morning. But at last Polly saw the
two boys splitting and piling the kindlings neatly, and Phronsie was
reading most importantly aloud to Grandma, who alternately dozed, and
opened her eyes, saying, “You pretty creeter, you!” while Polly herself
was busy as a bee over her housewifely tasks.
At last the bread was baked (Mrs. Pepper having run over and made it
the night before) and Polly drew a long breath, then ran into the
little bedroom. “Well, Phronsie, Pet, now you must hop down and play,
and I’ll stay with Grandma,” and there was Phronsie fast asleep, one
hand up across Grandma’s little plaid bed-shawl, while Fox’s “Book of
Martyrs” had slipped to the floor.
[Illustration: AND THERE WAS PHRONSIE FAST ASLEEP.--_Page 254._]
“She’s tired to death,” cried Polly, to herself; “well, now she shall
have a good nap. And Grandma is asleep, too, so that’s a comfort.”
And she went out softly and closed the door; then ran around to the
woodshed where the boys were.
“Oh, Polly!” cried Joel, pitching a stick of kindling over on the pile.
“See what we’ve done!” and his round cheeks glowed with delight. Little
drops of perspiration were rolling down Davie’s face.
“Oh, I never saw such a pile!” exclaimed Polly, “and Grandma’ll be so
pleased. Now you two boys may stop working.”
“Goody!” cried Joel, picking up another stick to give it a good fling,
and prancing off to the door, “Come on, Dave.--Oh, Polly, I’m so
hungry.”
“So you must be,” said Polly, sympathetically. “Stop, Davie, didn’t you
hear me say you needn’t work any more? Dear me, how hot you are!”
“I just want to finish this stick, Polly,” said little Davie, holding
it up, while Joel kept calling: “Oh, come along, Dave,” ending with,
“I’m so hungry, Polly.”
“Well, just that one,” said Polly, relenting; “then you two boys are to
go home and wash your hands and faces, and you’ll find the bread and
the mush and molasses in the pantry, Mamsie said.”
“Have we got to come over here afterward?” asked Joel, with impatient
black eyes.
“Yes, of course,” said Polly, “but you are not to split kindlings any
more. Mamsie said only do that once. And you’ve such a nice pile, boys.”
“It’s just a bully pile!” cried Joel, running over to regard it
affectionately, and kicking a stray stick with his foot.
“Joel, what did you say?” cried Polly, in dismay.
Joel hung his black head, and dug the toe of his old shoe into the
woodshed floor.
“Mamsie wouldn’t like that,” said Polly, soberly, “so you must never,
never, as long as you live and breathe, Joel Pepper, say it again.”
“Oh, I won’t, I won’t,” promised Joel, eagerly. “Polly, I won’t, truly.”
“That’s right,” said Polly. “Now run along and get your bread and mush,
and then come right back here.” And off the boys clattered.
And as soon as Phronsie woke up, then she was hungry, so Polly took her
hand and raced down the lane, for Mother Pepper had told the children
to come home for anything to eat, and there Polly found the two boys
sitting by the kitchen table busy over their mush-bowls.
“It’s good,” declared Joel, just putting in a big spoonful, and he
smacked his lips.
“O misery, what a face, Joe!” exclaimed Polly, with a grimace; “the
molasses is all up to your ear.”
“That’s because Dave jogged my arm,” said Joel, composedly, and going
on with his consumption of mush.
“Well, go and wash it off,” said Polly; “yes, yes, Pet, I’ll get you
some mush, but you must have on your eating-apron first.”
“I don’t want to wash my face yet,” grumbled Joel, eating away faster
than ever. “It’ll get all dirt again; Dave’ll joggle me some more.”
“Oh, no, I won’t,” declared little Davie, in distress, “and I didn’t
mean to before, only I was trying to get the molasses pitcher. Truly, I
didn’t, Polly.”
He laid down his spoon, and his blue eyes filled with tears.
“I know, Davie,” Polly stopped to smile at him, as she came back with
Phronsie’s eating-apron and tied it under her chin. Then she lifted her
up to her high-chair.
“Yes, Joel, for shame to want to sit still and eat with such a sticky
face.”
“I’m going to kiss Phronsie, first,” said Joel, dropping his spoon and
springing out of his seat.
“No indeed, Joel Pepper,” cried Polly, putting up both hands, “the very
idea; you’ll stick her all up.”
“Then I’ll kiss Dave,” declared Joel, bursting into a laugh.
But little David, ducking his head beneath his arm and Polly saying,
“Joel Pepper!” in a way that he never remembered disobeying, Joel
marched off to the sink, and presently came back, his round face red
and shiny, to bestow attention again on his mush-bowl.
But they didn’t go back to Grandma Bascom’s after all that day, for
just then in came Mother Pepper, her black eyes shining.
“Mamsie!” they all screamed in joy, Phronsie laying down her spoon and
beginning to clamber out of her high-chair.
“There, there, baby, sit still.” Mother Pepper put her hand on the
fat little shoulder. “All of you children stay just where you are. No,
no, Polly, I’ll take off my bonnet. Yes, Mother’s got home sooner than
expected, for Mrs. Blodgett has had company come; so when I got there,
after taking back the coats to Mr. Atkins, there wasn’t anything to do.”
It was a long speech for Mrs. Pepper to make, and then she went into
the bedroom and the children’s spoons clicked faster than ever.
“Now we must be good as can be,” said Polly to the others, “and run
right back to Grandma’s without making any fuss.”
“I shall tell Mamsie I don’t wan’t to go,” announced Joel, having eaten
as much as he could, and giving a long stretch, “I’m awful tired,
Polly.”
“Awfully,” corrected Polly, who was very particular about her speech
as well as other matters; “you do say such perfectly dreadful things,
Joel.”
“It is awful,” persisted Joel, obstinately.
“No,” said Polly, shaking her head, “it isn’t; you must say ‘awfully,’
Joe.”
“But I don’t want to,” said Joel, setting his little white teeth
together firmly.
Davie at that turned to him in a worried way. “Oh, do say it, Joe,” he
begged.
“What is it?” asked Mrs. Pepper, coming out from the bedroom and
looking from one to the other.
“Oh, I will,” cried Joel, swallowing very hard. “I will, Polly. It is
awfly; Polly, it is.”
He got out of his chair, and ran around to her side.
“Polly,” he whispered, pulling her ear down to his mouth, “it _is_
awfly.”
“All right.” Polly turned, and set a little kiss on his red cheek.
“Well, now, children,” Mrs. Pepper was saying, with a happy smile over
at the two, “I don’t want any of you to go back to Grandma’s, for I am
going myself.”
“Oh, Mamsie!” exclaimed Polly, in dismay, “do let us. Really and truly,
Mamsie, we want to.”
“No, I don’t think it’s best,” said Mother Pepper, decidedly. “You’ve
all been good children I know, and--”
“We’ve made the biggest pile of kindlings, Dave and me,” cried Joel,
excitedly flying over to her; “look in the woodshed, Mammy.”
“So I believe,” cried Mrs. Pepper, in a pleased way; “I’ll look in the
woodshed, Joe and Davie,” and she beamed at them both.
“And I read to Grandma,” said Phronsie, bobbing her yellow head over
her mush-bowl at her mother. “I did; and Grandma, she liked it, she
did.”
“That’s a good child,” cried Mrs. Pepper, going over to her baby.
“Well, now you may all have the afternoon to play in, for I am going to
take care of Grandma myself.”
“Oh, whoopity!” screamed Joel, making for the door.
X
THE STAGE RIDE
“G’lang there, whoa!” Mr. Tisbett brought up in fine style with one of
his best flourishes in front of the well-worn gate to the Little Brown
House, and swept it with a confident gaze.
But instead of seeing Joel and David, nearly overcome with joy, rush
out of the house and run wildly down the pathway, there was absolutely
nobody stirring that he could see, and all was quiet except the droning
of the bees in the meadow across the road.
“Beats all natur where they be.” The stage-driver, unable to get any
satisfaction by staring, took off his old straw hat and violently
scratched his head. This afforded him some peace of mind, but the
silence continuing, except for the bees and the twitters of an
inquisitive bird or two hopping to a near-by branch by the roadside to
see what it was all about, he sat back on the old leather-covered seat
and drew a long breath.
“Whew!” Then he laid the well-worn reins down and clambered from his
perch to the ground, and with a “Stand still there,” to his horses,--a
command they were always perfectly willing to obey,--he slouched up to
the old green door and gave two emphatic raps, but nobody answered them.
Now by this time Mr. Tisbett was convinced that the most important
business in all this world was to get Joel and David and start them on
that long-promised ride over to Cherryville on top of his stage-coach.
The invitation, with a message “to be lively and not keep me waiting,”
had been sent to them only the afternoon before. Mr. Tisbett had left
it at the village store to be delivered to one of the Pepper children
or their mother, it being the day when Mr. Atkins expected some coats
to be called for. But Phronsie had been sick and fretfully clung to
Mother Pepper, and as Polly had a great deal more work to do than
usually fell to her share, the coats were not called for, of course.
And as a consequence, Mr. Atkins promptly forgot all about the matter
until shutting-up time came.
“Oh, good gracious, Jonah!” he exclaimed, slapping the counter and
looking up with a very distressed face; “if I haven’t clean forgot all
about Mr. Tisbett’s takin’ them Pepper boys to ride to-morrow.” He ran
to the door and looked up and down the long dusty road. There wasn’t a
sign of a person, to say nothing of a stray boy.
“They’d be thick as a swarm if you didn’t want ’em,” said the
storekeeper, discomfited. “I declare, I’ll go myself.” He pulled off
his old linen coat on the way to his home, which was entered by a door
from the shop leading into the ell.
“I’m goin’ out, Sarah,” he said in a high sharp key, not made
pleasanter by smelling the hot beefsteak pie he knew was being borne to
the supper table at this very moment.
“Hey?” Mrs. Atkins set down the pie in its place before his plate and
stared at him.
“I said I was goin’ out,” repeated the storekeeper, irritably, and
turning his back to the pie, while he wriggled into his out-of-door
coat hanging behind the kitchen door.
Mrs. Atkins deserted the supper table to run over and look at his face.
“You goin’ out before supper?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Atkins, sharply, and pulling his coat sleeves down;
“’cause I know I won’t do it after, for no one,” it being the
storekeeper’s nightly habit to fall asleep after his evening meal in
the big easy-chair, and when he awoke from that, he would have neither
inclination nor time to make evening calls. “I’ll tell you about it
when I get home, Sarah,” and he crammed his hat on his head and started
for the door.
Sarah Atkins ran around him to get there first. “You’ll tell me now,
Silas,” she said quietly; “where on earth are you goin’ without your
supper?”
“Down to Mis’ Pepper’s,” said the storekeeper, brought to bay.
“Down to Mis’ Pepper’s?” repeated his wife. “Has anything happened
there?”
“No,” said Mr. Atkins, and then the story came out.
Just then there was a vigorous knocking set up at their front door. It
was so imperative that both the storekeeper and his wife hastened with
all speed to answer it.
“I thought you was never comin’.” Little Sally Brown stood there on the
step with a very injured countenance.
“You only just knocked,” said Mrs. Atkins, exasperated. “Now what do
you want?”
“Some sugar--” said Sally; “two pounds--” Mr. Atkins, when he saw who
the visitor was, had retreated a few steps with premonitions of a call
to the store.
“Sugar?” he now cried sharply; “at this time of night--the store’s all
shet up.”
“Yes,” said Sally, “we’ve got comp’ny.”
This piece of news, ordinarily exciting enough to be followed up, was
cut in twain by Mr. Atkins suddenly crying out, as he pressed forward
eagerly, “See here, you’ll go to Mis’ Pepper’s for me, Sally?”
“No,” said Sally, decidedly; “I’m goin’ home.”
“You’ll go to Mis’ Pepper’s for me, or you’ll get no sugar _from_ me,”
declared the storekeeper, just as decidedly, Mrs. Atkins during this
colloquy exclaiming--“So she can--Sally can tell Mis’ Pepper,” joyfully
to herself, as she followed the other two all the way through the
kitchen to the shop door. For Sally, wisely concluding to take the best
that was offered her, finally assented to Mr. Atkins’s proposal, and
seized the paper of sugar, saying, “Yes, I’ll go.”
“Be sure you’ve got the message right,” said Mr. Atkins, holding her
arm until she had gone over the message three times to make certain
that there could be no mistake. “Mr. Tisbett is comin’ to-morrow
mornin’ to take Joel and David to Cherryville. Be ready sharp at eight
o’clock.”
At last the weary storekeeper and his wife were back in their kitchen.
“Now that’s done,” and he took off his out-of-door coat and hung it up
with an air of relief.
“The pie’s all cold,” declared Mrs. Atkins, in vexation, and she
twitched it off the table.
“Bring it back, Sarah,” said her husband; “I’m hungry as a wolf.”
“It’s cold as a stone,” said Mrs. Atkins, pausing to turn a vexed face.
“Well, cold or hot, I’m goin’ to have some,” said Mr. Atkins, dropping
into his seat at the supper table and laying hold of his knife and fork.
So the beefsteak pie was dumped down on the table in front of his plate
once more, and Mrs. Atkins slipped into her seat to pour out the tea.
Meantime Sally Brown ran like a good one up the hill and down again,
fully intending to drop the parcel of sugar at home and then off over
cross lots to the Little Brown House, but dashing into the kitchen she
found herself in the midst of the entire family gathered around a
common centre, so, dropping the brown-paper bundle on the table, she
burst in among the group to hear what the excitement could be.
“Oh, ain’t it too cunnin’ for anythin’!”
“Yes,” said another voice, “it’s cute as can be!” And there was “Cousin
Callena’s” little girl, part of the company, simpering and bridling
with delight, and holding up a big doll in a pink satin dress and a red
hat and white lace veil.
Sally’s mouth opened wide, but she had no time nor breath to scream.
The minute Cousin Callena’s little girl saw her, she lowered the doll
immediately to put both arms around it. “You shan’t see it,” she
declared, with all the triumph of possession.
“For shame, Flora!” cried her mother, “when you’ve come visitin’.”
But Flora, not considering it necessary to part with her usual manners
just because she was visiting, kept on hugging her doll and swaying
back and forth, repeating in a sing-song voice, “You _shan’t_ see
it--you shan’t.”
“I will,” declared Sally, passionately, and with very red cheeks trying
to thrust herself nearer for a better view.
“And so you may,” said Cousin Callena, very much ashamed, and reaching
over she first bestowed a smart slap on Flora’s shoulder; then she
twitched the doll out from her arms. “There, now, I’ll take it myself.
Come over here, Sally, and I’ll show it to you.”
Flora gave a loud scream, but, seeing it was useless to follow her
mother, she threw herself flat on the floor and sobbed and kicked her
heels all the while the resplendent doll in the pink satin dress and
red hat and white lace veil was being exhibited in another corner of
the kitchen.
And when Sally Brown next remembered the message to the Peppers, it was
along toward the middle of the following morning. She had “eaten and
slept” on nothing but that magnificent doll, being unable to get it out
of her thoughts for a moment. When the message did flash through her
mind, she started, and without a word to any one, raced off across lots
as fast as she could to the Little Brown House. It was as silent and
empty as when the stage-driver had visited it.
“Oh, well, Mr. Tisbett’s taken Joel and Davie,” said Sally to herself,
running all about the Little Brown House, and peeping into the west
window where Mrs. Pepper usually sat sewing. “An’ the rest have gone,
too,” she added enviously; “an’ I hain’t never been a stage-ridin’,”
and she disconsolately got herself back home.
It was just about this time that Mrs. Pepper, sewing away for dear life
over in Grandma Bascom’s cottage, looked up.
“It’s time to make Grandma some tea, Polly,” she said.