Little Davie, having eaten quite slowly, was just on the point of
breaking off part of his doughnut to give to him, when old Mr. Beebe
called out, “Now, then, Joel, my boy, you come along of me: I’m goin’
out to look at my horse.” So Joel clattered off with the old gentleman,
well pleased with the invitation, and the kitchen toned down to quiet,
only broken by Phronsie’s soft cooing to herself between the bites from
her doughnut. At last she laid it down in Polly’s lap. “I’m going to
get Seraphina and give her some,” she whispered.
“Where’s she goin’?” asked old Mrs. Beebe.
“She’s gone to get her doll,” said Polly, as Phronsie ran into Mamsie’s
bedroom. When Seraphina wasn’t played with, she was laid in the bottom
drawer of the old bureau, where the precious red-topped shoes were
kept. And, presently, out came Phronsie hugging Seraphina and telling
her all about the doughnuts and good Mrs. Beebe, who was her own dear,
sweet Mrs. Beebe, until the old lady sat back and laughed till the
tears came, and David and Polly had finished their doughnuts. And,
then, back came old Mr. Beebe and Joel, who was in a great state of
excitement, whooping it all out as soon as he got within the door.
“Mr. Beebe’s going to take us to ride,” he screamed, “can’t we go,
Polly,--say, can’t we,--can’t we?”
“Yes, do let ’em,” said Mrs. Beebe, “I’m goin’ to set an’ be
comfortable in your Ma’s chair, an’ you go too, Polly,” she added.
“There’s plenty of room, th’ boys can set in the back o’ th’ wagon.”
“Oh, I can’t,” said Polly, with a wistful glance out of the window at
the big green wagon and the old white horse; “I’ve got to pick out
basting-threads.”
“Can’t you leave ’em, Polly?” asked the old lady, kindly, with a glance
at the flushed face.
“No,” said Polly, pushing back the brown rings of hair from her
forehead, “because Mamsie wants to take the coats home to Mr. Atkins
to-day. I ought not to have stopped so long,” she said remorsefully.
Old Mrs. Beebe gave a sigh, “I ain’t any good at pickin’ bastin’s,”
she said; “my fingers is all thumbs at such work. Well, Polly, you fly
and get th’ others ready, an’ then sometime Pa’ll come an’ give you a
drive.”
So Polly flew to get Phronsie’s things on. Joel already was in the big
wagon hallooing for David to hurry up. And then Seraphina’s bonnet must
be tied on, for, of course, she must go too. And at last the three
children, Phronsie carrying the remains of her doughnut to eat on the
way, were off. Old Mrs. Beebe watched them from the window, and Polly
hurried back up the path to fly to work over the basting-threads.
XII
AT THE PARSONAGE
Polly Pepper drew a long breath and stepped up on the flat stone before
the parsonage door. Even then it was not too late to turn and run home!
But Mamsie--oh, that would never do, for hadn’t Mrs. Pepper sent her
with the blue bowl that had contained the little pat of butter, and
her thanks for it! And if she, Polly, should turn her back on it all
and run home, why, it would be such a dreadful thing and disgrace the
Little Brown House forever. No, she must go through with it, and face
Miss Jerusha, if, as she dreaded, that lady should come to the door. So
she lifted the big brass knocker, and let it fall with a clang.
Heavy steps sounded along the oil-cloth on the hall and the big door
was thrown open. Yes, it was just as dreadful as she expected! There
was the minister’s sister.
“Go right away,” said Miss Jerusha, shaking a long, bony hand; “don’t
you know any better’n to come to this door?”
“My mother sent me, and--” gasped Polly, with shaking fingers hanging
fast to the little blue bowl.
“Your mother?--well, didn’t she know any better’n to have you come to
this door?” broke in Miss Jerusha, with asperity; “an’ who is she,
anyway?” all in the same breath.
“She’s Mrs. Pepper, and oh--”
“Oh, are you one of those Pepper children who live in that old brown
house all down at the heel?” interrupted Miss Jerusha.
“Yes,” said Polly, with a warm little throb at her heart. Wasn’t it
just the dearest place on earth, and what would she give to be there
now!
“Well, you go right away,” commanded the minister’s sister, decidedly.
“You needn’t come begging here. I declare, if you hain’t brought a bowl
this blessed minute.”
“Oh, we never begged in our lives,” cried Polly, in horror, every bit
of color flying from her round cheek. Then she jumped off from the
door-stone, only one thought possessing her,--to get to Mamsie.
“Jerusha, who is it?” The parson’s wife came out of the keeping-room to
the front door.
“Oh, some sort o’ a begging person,” said Miss Jerusha, shortly, and
trying to slam the door fast.
“A begging person?” Mrs. Henderson being of another mind about the big
door, was presently peering down the path. “Why, it’s Polly Pepper!”
And she ran out after her.
“What nonsense!” sniffed Miss Jerusha, craning her long neck after her.
“Polly,” called Mrs. Henderson. But Polly’s wild little heart was
urging her on so fiercely that she didn’t hear anything else but those
dreadful words that had been spoken. So the minister’s wife picked up
her skirts and ran as she seldom did since she was a girl. “Polly,”
she panted, at last coming up to the flying little figure; “oh, do
stop,--for I really--can’t run any more.” And Polly whirled around, her
cheeks still white, and her brown eyes flashing.
“Oh, Polly.” Mrs. Henderson, dismayed at the face, thought better of
any idea of possible questions then and there. “Come,” she said, taking
one of the hands away from the little blue bowl.
“Oh, I can’t,” said Polly, in a passion, and standing quite still, and
she tried to pull away her hand.
But the minister’s wife, not disclosing any idea of letting it go, but
instead marching off toward the parsonage, Polly had nothing to do but
to walk along by her side, over the flat door-stone again, and although
she felt as if she must die in doing it, pass that dreadful figure of
Miss Jerusha in the hall, till at last the two were standing in the
study doorway.
“Well, Polly?” Parson Henderson laid down his pen. He was in the midst
of his next Sunday’s sermon, to be sure, but as he somehow couldn’t
work past that “Seventhly,” he welcomed the interruption.
“Well, I never!” Miss Jerusha, stalking after, looked over the two; “to
think of bringin’ in that girl an’ interruptin’ you, Adoniram!”
“Oh, I’m glad to see Polly Pepper always,” said the minister, gayly. He
was away from his desk by this time, and with Polly’s cold little hand
in his, was leading her to a seat, the minister’s wife getting on the
other side. Miss Jerusha sniffed, and made for a chair at the end of
the room.
“Well, I never!” she exclaimed again, as she sat down heavily and she
raised her long hands.
“Please let me go home,” begged Polly, faintly, and turning away her
brown eyes from the big, square figure. “Oh, please, sir, do let me.”
“Oh, Jerusha,”--Parson Henderson held Polly’s hand tightly as he turned
to his sister,--“I want to talk to this little girl now, so please go
into the keeping-room.”
“How you can be so imposed on, Adoniram, is more’n I can see,” Miss
Jerusha snorted, but she got up from her chair, stalked out, and
brought the door to with a spiteful little snip. If she was going at
all, she would do it thoroughly.
When Polly Pepper was let out of the big door, she had a posy in
one hand, and in the other, a paper bag holding half a dozen little
cupcakes fresh from the parsonage oven that very morning.
“Now come again soon, Polly.” Mrs. Henderson bent and kissed the rosy
cheek.
“Yes’m,” said Polly, with a happy little thrill, “and oh, thank you so
much, dear Mrs. Henderson, for Mamsie’s cakes, and the flowers.” She
gave a little hug to the posy and her brown eyes danced.
“I’m glad you love flowers so much, Polly,” said the minister’s wife,
happy enough that she had cut her two precious rose-geranium blossoms.
“Well, come again, child, when you can.”
The dimity curtain in the keeping-room window was twitched away to
admit a long face with its sharp eyes peering around the ruffled edge.
But Polly didn’t see it as she skipped happily down the path to the
gate, and the minister’s wife hurrying back along the hall to the
study, was not conscious of the “Almira” called too late.
“Well?” The parson who had recovered his pen, laid it down again.
“Oh, Adoniram,” she shut the door and came around to his chair, “we
must do something for that child--for all those children.” She seized
his well-worn sleeve and held it fast.
“I know--I know,” Parson Henderson nodded, thoughtfully, “and there’s
Ben. I must confess, Almira, I get to thinking of him so much it’s hard
to shake it off.”
“But he is a boy,” said his wife.
“Even boys can suffer,” observed the parson, dryly.
“Oh, I know, husband.” Mrs. Henderson now gripped his coat collar and
peered round into his face anxiously. “You know I think Ben Pepper has
an awfully hard time, but, then, he can go out and work, and there’s
Polly,--she must stay in and help her mother, and have no schooling
and no fun; and then, O dear me, there’s that blessed little thing,
Phronsie!”
“Yes, there’s Phronsie,” said the minister, with a twinge at the heart,
“and Joel and David; we mustn’t forget them, wife.”
“Oh, I don’t forget them,” cried his wife; “I can’t for a single moment
forget any one of those five poor little things. O dear me, if only
there weren’t so many of them, Adoniram.”
“And Mrs. Pepper, we mustn’t forget her, either,” the minister drummed
on his desk with troubled fingers; “for she has really the hardest time
of all.” And he got out of his chair, and drawing his wife’s arm within
his own, began to pace over the well-worn carpet.
“Adoniram,” she clutched his arm with her other hand, “just think if I
hadn’t seen that child flying off! Just think!” She brought her anxious
blue eyes up to his dark ones.
Parson Henderson’s face dropped gloomily. “Yes, we ought to do
something to make up for Jerusha.” He brought the last out with a deep
flush.
“Oh, don’t look so, dear. You can’t help it,” cried his wife, with a
remorseful throb at her unlucky words.
“I sometimes think,” began the minister, then he stopped short.
“Don’t think,” she begged, under her breath; “you had to do it, and it
was just lovely of you, Adoniram.” She tried to get up on tiptoe to
plant a little kiss between the troubled eyes. Failing of this, she
dropped it on the rusty sleeve,--“Don’t, dear.”
“Yes, there was no other place for her to go to, and she was good to
Mother.” But the dark eyes were still troubled.
“Yes, it was lovely of you to have her here,” repeated Mrs. Henderson;
“so don’t think any more of it, husband,” she implored.
“It’s you who are lovely, Almira,” he said, with a sigh.
“Nonsense; and I shouldn’t have loved you half as much if you hadn’t
looked out for your sister,” cried his wife, with spirit; “so don’t
let us worry any more about it. Besides, just think of her going away
to-morrow!--and two whole weeks, Adoniram!” She drew a long breath, and
hugged her husband’s arm tighter.
“Poor Almira!” he said, looking down at her. Then he laughed like a
boy, it was so good to think of that to-morrow that Cousin Henry’s
invitation would bring about.
“Hush--hush!” said his wife, pinching his arm tighter. “I’m afraid
she’ll hear. Well, now, let us think about the Peppers. There isn’t
anything we can give them--” she broke off a minute, her gaze caught by
a thin place in the study carpet, and she tried to step gingerly over
it, guiding the parson askew--“and besides, Mrs. Pepper wouldn’t take
it even if we had any money.”
“No, indeed,” said the parson, with decision, “I can’t think of that
woman accepting money.”
“Well--O dear me!” Mrs. Henderson wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. “I
do believe the first thing is to make Polly happy after this--this
afternoon. Supposing I set up the attic, Adoniram, to-morrow, and get
her to help me,” she brought up brightly.
“I thought that attic was in a perennial state of order,” said the
minister, bursting into another laugh. “I’m sure, Almira, you never
have even a ladies’ prayer-meeting here without you first overhaul
things up there, and sweep down the attic stairs.”
Mrs. Henderson gave a merry little laugh, it was so good to see him
cheery once more.
“Well, I’m going to set it up to-morrow, anyway,” she declared.
“There’s a chest that isn’t looked over, and ever so many things up
there that ought to be seen to. And I’ll ask Polly to come over and
help, and then she can stay to dinner. You know Jerusha goes early in
the stage--” she brought up with satisfaction.
“And why not ask her to bring Phronsie?” said the Parson. “The child
can play around, and she can be with us at dinner, too.”
“Now, how nice it is that you always think of the best things!” cried
his wife, in delight. “Yes, that will be fine for to-morrow, and make
Polly forget everything that wasn’t pleasant, and we’ll all enjoy it as
much as those two blessed children. Why can’t Peletiah run down now to
the Little Brown House and invite them?”
“Well, he can start,” said the minister, grimly, with a vivid
remembrance of Peletiah’s usual rate of speed; “that’s a good idea,
wife.” So Mrs. Henderson hurried out of the study. “Well, if Peletiah
is slow, it’s a comfort he’s so steady; we can always find him when
wanted,” she reflected. And after many repetitions of the message to
be delivered to Mrs. Pepper had at last fixed it in his mind, he set
forth at a stolid pace for the Little Brown House.
* * * * *
“Somebody’s coming!” cried Davie, hearing crunching on the gravel.
“Joey, wait a minute!”
Joel, kneeling on the floor and pounding the cover on an old wooden
box he was going to try to catch rabbits in, didn’t hear, and gave a
lusty blow with his hammer. “Gee--whickets!” as the nail,--a crooked
one,--went in all askew.
“Do stop,” begged Davie, with one ear on the door. And “Oh, Joel, how
can you say such perfectly dreadful words!” cried Polly, from the
corner where she was trying to fix up Mamsie’s work-basket that had
been upset.
“There _is_ some one coming,” declared Davie, a little pink spot coming
on his cheek; “there surely is, Polly,” and he stood quite still to
listen.
“Oh, no,” said Polly, with a little laugh, “it can’t be, because we
don’t ever have calls, you know.” She dropped a spool with a long
white thread dangling from her fingers, down in her lap, and the laugh
broke off suddenly. “I wish we could ever have calls; wouldn’t it be
perfectly elegant if we only could,” she said wistfully.
“Oh, Polly, don’t look so,” implored little Davie, rushing over to her,
while Joel hammered in another nail with a great bang. “Hoh! we do,
too,” he cried; “Mr. Beebe comes and Mrs. Beebe. I like her best ’cause
she brings doughnuts.”
“Oh, Joey, for shame,” cried Polly, “to think only of what she brings
us to eat!”
“They’re good,” said Joel, smacking his lips, and laying down the
hammer to think the better over the delights of good Mrs. Beebe’s
visits.
“I like Mr. Beebe,” said David, turning off from Polly to announce it.
“So do I,” said Joel, sitting back on his heels, and flourishing his
hammer; “he brings candy sticks.”
“He brings candy sticks,” hummed Phronsie, shaking off the little
snips and shavings of wood from her gown and getting up from the floor
where she had been crouching by Joel’s side, she ran over to Polly who
had now picked up the spools of thread remorsefully, and was hurrying
away at fixing up the work-basket. “Oh, Polly, I want some pink candy
sticks, I do.”
“There, now, Joel, you see,” said Polly, reprovingly. “No, no,
Phronsie, we can’t have any to-day, Pet.”
“But I want some, Polly, I do--very much indeed,” said Phronsie,
gravely, and her little lips fell.
Polly threw down the coat and was just gathering her up in her lap,
when she stopped suddenly. “There _is_ somebody at the door. Oh,
perhaps it is a call after all, children,” and she drew herself up and
felt elegant at once.
“I’ll go,” cried Joel, hopping to his feet.
“No, you mustn’t, Joe,” said Polly, decidedly; “Davie heard it
first--you must let him.”
“Well, you said it wasn’t any one,” grumbled Joel, but he stood still
in his tracks.
“Well, and I didn’t think it was,” said Polly, pricking up her ears.
“Yes, there it is--sure enough,” as a soft, deliberate rap sounded on
the old door. “Now, Davie, you open the door nicely and say Mamsie
isn’t home, but would they please to walk in.” She patted his hair
softly. “I’m so glad I put on Phronsie’s clean pink apron,” she said in
great satisfaction.
Little David went softly across the kitchen floor, wishing Polly
had let Joel go since he wanted to so very badly, and with fingers
trembling from his great responsibility, he lifted the latch and pulled
the old door open.
There stood Peletiah, the minister’s son. Joel, crowding up behind
Davie, took one look,--“Hoh, ’tisn’t any one,” he cried, terribly
disappointed.
“Oh, Joel,” exclaimed Polly, springing to the door, very much ashamed
at such a reception to the minister’s boy, and “Oh, Peletiah, do come
in,” she cried heartily.
“Yes, I’m coming in,” said Peletiah, not a bit disturbed at Joel’s
words, “because my mother told me to.” And he stepped slowly into the
middle of the old kitchen floor, where he stood and regarded them all
steadily.
“Won’t you sit down, Peletiah?” said Polly, with her best company
manner. “Joel, get a chair--” For Joel had turned on his heel to make
tracks for his rabbit-box again.
So Joel had to whirl around, but little Davie had seen his face. “Oh,
let me, Polly,” he begged, but Polly shook her head.
So Joel dragged up one of the chairs ranged against the wall, and
pushed it back of the minister’s son, but Peletiah paid no sort of
attention to it.
“My--mother--wants--Mrs.--Pepper--to--let--Polly--and--Phronsie--come--
to--the--parsonage--to-morrow--morning--and--help--her--and--stay--to--
dinner,” he said, in a sing-song voice.
“What?” cried Polly, not believing her ears. Joel, who on furnishing
the chair considered his hospitable duties all completed, was hurrying
back to his beloved rabbit-box when “stay to dinner” caught his ear,
and he bounded back.
“My--mother--wants--Mrs.--Pepper--to--let--Polly--and--Phronsie--come--
to--the--parsonage--to-morrow--morning--and--help--her--and--stay--to--
dinner,” said Peletiah again, not moving a muscle.
“Oh, goody!” cried Polly, clapping her hands. Then she thought of Miss
Jerusha, and her face fell.
“Oh, didn’t she want us? Say, aren’t Dave and I going?” Joel plucked
Peletiah’s sleeve, and thrust his face eagerly into the midst of the
group.
“My--mother--wants--Mrs.--Pepper--to--let--Polly--and--Phronsie--come--
to--the--parsonage--to-morrow--morning--and--help--her--and--stay--to--
dinner,” said Peletiah again, patiently.
“O dear, dear, didn’t she ask us?” cried Joel, terribly disappointed.
“My--mother--wants--” began Peletiah again.
“Yes, yes, we understand, Peletiah,” said Polly, recovering her spirits
that had fallen on account of Miss Jerusha, for surely the minister’s
wife would make her be kind to them; Polly could believe that, after
to-day--“and aren’t you ashamed, Joel?” all in the same breath.
“He keeps saying the same thing over and over,” cried Joel, very much
disgusted, “and he doesn’t tell about Dave and me a bit, and I know she
wants us, too,” he added, in an injured tone.
“My--mother--wants--” began Peletiah once more.
“Yes, yes, thank you,” cried Polly, quickly. “Now, Joel, keep still.
And we’ll be so glad to go, Phronsie and I, that is, if Mamsie will
say we may. And please tell your mother so, and, oh, thank her ever so
much, please.” Polly folded and unfolded her hands in a dreadful panic
lest she might not be saying just the right thing, for it was the first
time an invitation of this kind had come to her, and Mamsie away!
“And now you must stop and play with us,” Polly hurried to say, for
there were lively indications on Joel’s part that he was about to
return to the subject uppermost in his own mind. “Let’s think,” ran on
Polly, wrinkling her brows, “what we want to do first.”
“He can’t play,” said Joel, with a sniff.
“Why can’t we play ‘Stage-coach’?” proposed Polly, to save further
remarks from Joel. “Come, boys, let’s fix the chairs.” And she bustled
about to make things pleasant for their guest, little Davie running to
help her, and Phronsie getting dreadfully in the way.
“He doesn’t know how to play,” said Joel, loudly, supposing he hadn’t
been understood.
“Come on, Joel,” called Polly, making such a rattle with the chairs
that she couldn’t be supposed to hear conversation. Peletiah stood
quite still and looked at them all.
“There, now, we’re ready,” announced Polly, standing by the line of
chairs set in the middle of the floor; “oh, no, not quite--you must
turn that one around, Davie.”
“So I must,” laughed little David, running to do it.
“I’m going to play ‘Stage-coach,’” announced Phronsie, in great glee,
running over to stand in front of Peletiah and look up at him. “I am.”
And she smoothed down her pink apron with great satisfaction.
“Come, Peletiah,” called Polly, at the head of the line; “come, Joel!”
All the little Peppers rushed up to her, but Peletiah stood stock-still.
“Now, you know,” said Polly, standing very importantly at the head of
the line of chairs, “I ought to tell you, Peletiah, this is the way
we play Stage-coach, because there aren’t enough of us to play it the
really truly way, so we put ‘Going to Jerusalem’ and ‘Stage-coach’
together. Now, come on, we’re ready to begin.” So Polly commenced to
sing, as she slowly walked around the line, Phronsie pattering after,
and then Joel and little David, all screaming at the top of their
voices--“We’re going to Je--ru--sa--lem, now won’t you come with us?
We’re going to Je--ru--sa--lem, now won’t you come with us?” and
then suddenly, without a bit of warning, she cried, “we’re going in
a stage-coach,” just as fast as she could say it, and the whole line
broke into a wild scramble for the chairs, and everybody had a seat,
for there was Peletiah standing in his same place, and looking at them
all.
“I told you he couldn’t play,” said Joel, hopping off from his chair,
but Polly was over by the minister’s boy.
“Had you rather play something else, Peletiah?” she asked, anxiously.
Oh, if Mamsie would only come home, and how very dreadful it was,
not to be able to do something for the minister’s boy when dear Mrs.
Henderson was so good to them! Polly racked her brains to think of just
the right thing.
“Perhaps he’d like ‘Sally Waters’ best,” she said, looking over at
little David. It was small use, she knew, to ask Joel.
“I like ‘Sally Waters,’” said little David, coming up to her side,
“ever so much, Polly.”
“So do I,” said Polly, glad of some help. “Well, now, Phronsie, we’re
going to play ‘Sally Waters.’”
“We’re going to play ‘Sally Waters,’” said Phronsie, very much pleased
and scrambling over to add herself to the group.
“I’m not going to play ‘Sally Waters,’” declared Joel, in a bad temper,
and wishing the minister’s boy would go home. “I’m going to nail on my
box.”
“No, no, Joe.” Polly deserted the guest and ran over to whisper in his
ear, “’Tisn’t polite when company is here.”
“Well, he can’t play anything,” said Joel, with a snort.
“Well, you must come over and help entertain him.” It was a long word,
and Polly was very much pleased when she brought it out successfully,
so she ran back crying joyfully, “Well, now, come on for Sally Waters,”
as Joel dragged himself over.
“Well, children--” Mrs. Pepper’s black bonnet appeared over their
heads. They had been making so much noise no one had heard her come in.
“I’m glad to see you, Peletiah, and what a fine time you’re having!”
And her tired face fairly beamed.
“Mamsie!” the little Peppers all shouted, all trying to get into her
arms at once.
“Yes, Mother’s home,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a long sigh, and she
dropped a kiss on each little face.
“Don’t push so, Joel,” said Polly, reprovingly, “and you’re mussing
Mamsie’s bonnet.”
“Well, Davie’s pushing, too,” grumbled Joel.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to,” said little Davie, but he did want dreadfully
to get up close to Mamsie’s neck, and be cuddled.
“Never mind the bonnet, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a little laugh.
“And we mustn’t forget Peletiah,” she said.
“Oh, he won’t play anything,” said Joel, in scorn; “not a single thing,
and Polly’s tried and tried.”
“Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, sternly. That made Joel hang his head in her
gown.