splendid thing is going to happen, that is, if you will only say yes.
Do, Mamsie, do--” and she threw her arms around Mrs. Pepper’s neck.
“How can I until I know what it is,” said Mrs. Pepper, bursting into a
merry laugh. “And I think I best take off my bonnet first, Polly; then
you can tell me all about it.”
“Oh, so you must,” said Polly, very much ashamed at her thoughtlessness;
“let me untie it, Mamsie.”
“No, I’m going to untie my Mamsie’s bonnet,” said Phronsie, with great
decision, who always wanted to perform that office when Mrs. Pepper
came home.
“Oh, Phronsie,” said Polly, “Mamsie’s so tired this afternoon, you
better let me.”
“No, I shall do it,” said Phronsie, standing on tiptoe and fumbling at
the black strings. “My Mamsie wants me to do it all by my own self.”
“You better let her, Polly,” whispered Mrs. Pepper, over Phronsie’s
yellow hair.
“Then I’m going to make you a cup of tea,” declared Polly, springing
over to the stove.
“Yes, do,” said Mrs. Pepper, brightly; “how good it is to get home to
you, children,” she said, with a happy glance around the old kitchen.
“I’m going to do something for Mamsie,” said Joel, pulling his
head out from the depths of Mrs. Pepper’s gown. “I’m going to
get her a chair.” So he went over and pulled out one of the
“Going-to-Jerusalem-in-a-stage-coach” line. “There, now, Mamsie, it’s
for you,” he announced, dragging it up with a flourish.
“Oh, Joey, that’s so good,” she exclaimed, sitting down in it and
drawing Phronsie to her lap where she could fumble among the black
strings to her heart’s content.
At this, little David’s face became very sorrowful, and he was just
going to hurry over to Polly, busy by the stove, for her to tell him
what he could do for Mamsie, when Mrs. Pepper said suddenly, “Davie,
you can take Mother’s bag, and hang it on the nail.” For when Mrs.
Pepper went to help any Badgertown people with their sewing, as she had
been doing on this day, she always carried on her arm a stout brown
calico bag to hold her sewing things.
David laughed right out, he was so pleased, as Mrs. Pepper slipped
off the strings of the brown calico bag from her arm, and he strutted
across the kitchen to hang it on the nail by the window.
“Yes, I’m glad to see you, Peletiah,” said Mrs. Pepper, very heartily.
“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, all in one breath.
“Does she?” cried Mrs. Pepper. “Then they shall go; yes, indeed.” And
her black eyes shone with pleasure.
Peletiah at that started and moved slowly to the door.
“You tell your mother,” said Mrs. Pepper, “that I am very much obliged,
and that Polly and Phronsie will go.”
“And Polly said to tell her that Phronsie and she would go if you said
they might. I must tell her that, too,” said Peletiah, precisely.
“Well, I have said they might go, so that is all you need to say,
Peletiah,” said Mrs. Pepper; “only be sure to tell her I am very much
obliged.”
But Peletiah decided in his own mind as he went slowly off that he
should give the whole of the two messages just as they came to him.
And the next morning Polly hurried to the parsonage with Phronsie, in a
clean pink pinafore, clinging to her hand.
“O dear me!” thought Polly, as she came in sight of it, and her heart
sank with the dread of meeting a pair of sharp green eyes, and a long
hard face, till she scarcely dared to look up. But she needn’t have
worried, for Miss Jerusha had been gone a whole half-hour, and there at
the gate was the minister’s boy waiting for her.
“I want to play what you did yesterday,” said Peletiah.
“Oh,--‘Stage-coach,’” said Polly, with a gasp, bringing her brown eyes
to bear on his face.
“Yes, and that other one,” said Peletiah, “and I’m going to play it on
Sunday because it’s about Jerusalem.”
“Oh, we don’t ever play it on Sunday,” said Polly, in horror at the
mere thought.
“I’m going to play it on Sunday because it’s about Jerusalem, and
Ezekiel is, too,” declared Peletiah, in exactly the same tone as
before, as Polly and Phronsie hurried up the path to the door.
There was the parson’s wife waiting for them, and she drew the children
in, Peletiah following solemnly; and in the big bedroom, that Polly had
been in once before when she had come with a message from her mother to
Mrs. Henderson, who was sick, they were told to lay off their things.
O dear me, was ever anything so elegant as to go visiting and be
treated like grown-up ladies! And what place could be so splendid
as that bedroom with big pink flowers trailing all over the chintz
curtains and hanging from the bed-tester. Polly made slow work of
getting Phronsie and herself ready to follow the minister’s wife, her
eyes were so busy.
“You like it, dear?” said Mrs. Henderson, smiling down at her.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” sighed Polly, the color flying all over her face.
“It’s be--yewtiful,” hummed Phronsie, not knowing in the least what
for, but because Polly said so. And the parson’s wife laughed again and
taking a hand of either little Pepper, she led them out and closed the
door.
“Now, then, Polly,” she said, “what do you suppose I wanted you to come
over for?”
“To help you,” said Polly, happily. “Oh, I’m so glad, dear Mrs.
Henderson, please, may I?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Henderson, cheerily, “but you never can guess
what it is you are going to help about, so I will tell you. We’re going
to set up some things in the garret.”
“Oh, may I go in the garret?” cried Polly, stopping short in her
excitement, “and Phronsie, too--may we, may we?”
“Yes, indeed,” laughed the parson’s wife, quite as excited, “and we
are going to do ever so many things up there. Fix up an old chest for
one--dear me, I don’t know what we shall find wants doing when we get
up there.”
“Phronsie, we are going up garret!” cried Polly, her eyes wide with
anticipation. All her life she had longed to have a garret to go into
to see its hidden treasures at least once; to play in one every day was
beyond her wildest dreams. Now she was really to see one for herself!
Mrs. Henderson stopped to get a broom and a dust-pan; she already had a
little whisk brush and a small brown-paper parcel in her hand.
“Oh, let me carry them,” cried Polly, eagerly.
“You may help,” said Mrs. Henderson, giving her the dust-pan and little
brown-paper parcel, so Polly picked her way over the stairs, helping
Phronsie up carefully.
“Well, here we are!” The parson’s wife stopped to take breath at the
top of the stairs, and set down her broom. “It wants setting up I
think,” she exclaimed.
“Oh, isn’t it lovely!” cried Polly, her cheeks aflame, and peering on
either side. How she longed to explore the dim recesses and cunning
little hiding-places under the big beams where the slanting roof ran
down to the eaves. And what delightful chances of fun were hidden
behind the broken-backed chairs and other dilapidated furniture set
away for some convenient mending time! And those funny bundles of
dangling things, she found out afterward they were herbs, hanging
from the beams, and on nails along the wall! And oh! there was a big
bluebottle buzzing like everything and knocking his head against the
small-paned window.
“A spider has got him!” cried Polly, running over to set him free.
And the fat little black spider, not liking that at all, ran off like
lightning, till such time as she could dart out of her hole, and mend
her broken web in which to catch another fly.
“O dear me!” And then Polly was off, and Phronsie after her, to kneel
down on the garret floor, where some one long years before had pasted
strips of newspaper over the cracks.
“There’s printing on it,” she said, trying to read it, spreading her
hands on either side. Phronsie immediately did the same.
“J-o-n-a; what is that, dear Mrs. Henderson?” for the rest was cut off.
“Why, that was the man’s name,” said Mrs. Henderson. “I suppose it was
Jonathan,” leaning over to read the old strip of newspaper. “And he was
a blacksmith; see, Polly.” She pointed to another strip. Sure enough.
The whole word, “Blacksmith,” was there, bold and plain!
“It’s nice the whole word was saved, isn’t it?” said Polly, patting it.
So Phronsie had to crawl over and pat it, too.
“Did he live here?” asked Polly, finding it impossible to leave
Jonathan, the Blacksmith, and sitting back on her heels to regard the
minister’s wife.
“No, I don’t suppose he did,” said Mrs. Henderson; “that strip was cut
from an old newspaper; but perhaps he lived somewhere about here,” she
hastened to add, as Polly’s face fell.
“I wish he had lived exactly here,” said Polly, with a sigh, and
letting her gaze wander over the old rafters.
“Well, now, don’t you want to see what I’m going to do first? and you
are to help me.” Mrs. Henderson was by this time over in the corner
where a big beam ran down to the eaves, and tugging at an old hair
trunk.
“Oh, let me help you!” cried Polly, springing to her feet, and rushing
over.
“Let me help,” echoed Phronsie, getting up from the garret floor, and
spatting her hands free from the dust, she ran to the corner, too, and
the old trunk was soon dragged out and the lid with its great brass
letters “S. H.” was thrown back.
“Now, you see, Polly,” said the minister’s wife, down on her knees
before it, Polly and Phronsie crouched on either side, “this trunk
was my great-grandfather’s, Stephen Hinsdale, and this is the reason
why we keep so many old things in it. Just look!” She picked out one
or two books whose leather backs flapped dismally. “They’re fairly
worm-eaten,” she said, setting them on the floor.
“Oh, where are the worms?” exclaimed Polly, in great excitement, and
picking up a book to examine it intently. “Oh, do show me, dear Mrs.
Henderson,” she begged, Phronsie deserting her place to come around and
look, too.
“Oh, you can’t see them,” said Mrs. Henderson, “not the worms,--but
there are the marks they’ve made. Well, never mind now, Polly, put it
down, for I want to show you the rest of the things. I’m going to clear
out this whole trunk.” And she lifted out a red woollen cape very long
and heavy, and all riddled with little holes.
“Now, only just look,” she exclaimed, in vexation, “the moths have
nearly eaten this up, and I put camphor all round it. I do every
spring.”
“Oh, oh,” cried Polly, in great distress.
“I want to wear it,” cried Phronsie. “I do.” And she held out both arms.
“Oh, you couldn’t wear it,” said the parson’s wife, with a little
laugh; “it was for a big woman; my grandmother, Polly.”
“I want it,” said Phronsie, in a grieved little voice, and still
holding her arms out straight.
“Oh, no, child.” Then Mrs. Henderson rested both hands on the edge of
the trunk, the old red cape dropping to her lap.
“I wouldn’t wonder,” she said, “if your mother could get you a little
red coat out of that, Phronsie. Yes, you shall wear it, dear.”
“Oh, I’m going to. I’m going to wear it.” Phronsie gave a gleeful
little shout and capered up and down the garret floor. “Put it on, I
want it on,” she begged, coming back to stand quite still.
“Oh, Phronsie, you can’t wear it now,” cried Polly, with shining eyes,
at the thought of the little red coat that was to be made. “It would
drag on the floor.”
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Henderson. So she put the old red woollen
cape over Phronsie’s shoulders, and it fell all around her, just as
Polly had said, dragging on the floor. But Phronsie beamed perfect
satisfaction, and she didn’t want it taken off until the minister’s
wife said she would fold it up all ready to be taken home to Mrs.
Pepper, which she did, and laid it in one of the broken-backed chairs.
Then Phronsie sat down beside it to lay a soft little hand on it, and
watch it, while Mrs. Henderson and Polly turned to the trunk again.
There seemed to be no end to the things that were in that trunk,--an
old waistcoat with brass buttons was drawn tenderly out, belonging to
Stephen Hinsdale himself, and laid down beside the books and some old
fans, and a high broken-toothed comb, and a piece of carved ivory.
“That,” said the parson’s wife, “was brought from India. I remember
old Aunt Sally letting me play with it when I wasn’t much older than
Phronsie.”
“Oh, may I hold it?” begged Polly, putting out a trembling hand.
“Of course you may, Polly,” said Mrs. Henderson, dropping it in her
hand, “and once I thought I’d lost it down the well.”
“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, dropping the hand holding the carved bit
of ivory to her lap.
“Yes, it was a dreadful moment.” And the parson’s wife drew a long sigh
even now after all those years. “You see, I was naughty, and took it
out in the yard to play, and another little girl who had come over to
see me wanted a drink of water, and I wouldn’t put down the piece of
ivory, I was so afraid she’d snatch it, and I was helping to pull up
the bucket when the little carved bit slipped right out of my hand.”
“O dear me!” cried Polly, turning pale with fright.
“And I shut my eyes, I was so scared. And Jane said,--the little girl’s
name was Jane,--‘There, now, that’s because you wouldn’t give it to
me.’ Oh, I remember it just as if it were yesterday, Polly Pepper.”
“And did it go down into the well?” cried Polly, in her distress,
forgetting what her hand held tightly clasped in her lap, and leaning
forward eagerly to scan Mrs. Henderson’s face.
“No, indeed,” cried the parson’s wife, with a merry laugh; “look in
your lap, Polly.”
“Oh, I forgot,” cried Polly, drawing a long breath of relief, and
opening her hand; “wasn’t I silly? But I’m so very glad it didn’t go
down into the well, dear Mrs. Henderson.”
“No, it caught on a little green weed growing out between the cracks of
the curbstone, and I screamed and my big brother came running, and he
picked it out. But I was not allowed even to touch the little piece of
ivory for a whole year.”
“O dear me!” said Polly, sympathetically, and fumbling the small bit.
“Well, now, we must get to the other things,” said Mrs. Henderson,
briskly. “I’m so glad you could come over and help me, Polly.”
And Polly, feeling very happy at the thought of helping the minister’s
wife, laid down the little piece of carved ivory carefully against
the other old treasures, and bent all her energies to doing what Mrs.
Henderson told her.
“You see, Polly,” said the parson’s wife, when all the articles were
drawn out of the chest, “we better turn it up on the side, and then we
can brush it out.”
“Oh, let me brush it out,” begged Polly, jumping up to get the whisk
broom.
“Well, you may,” said Mrs. Henderson, picking up Grandfather’s
waistcoat to look it over, “and then you can roll up some fresh
camphor. Dear me, I don’t see how the moths do get in so!”
“Oh, what fun!” cried Polly, her brown eyes sparkling as she brushed
vigorously away, sticking her head well within the old chest to poke
out the corners.
“It’s fun to-day because you are here, Polly, you and Phronsie,”
laughed Mrs. Henderson, feeling just about the same age as one of the
children.
“I’m glad I’m here,” said Polly, with a little thrill at Mrs.
Henderson’s words. “And I’m glad Phronsie is here, too, but she doesn’t
see all these perfectly beautiful things.” And Polly pulled herself out
to sit, brush in hand, and look over at her.
“Never mind,” said the minister’s wife, hastily; “Phronsie is happy
where she is. Don’t disturb her, Polly.”
So Polly fell to brushing away again.
“And now, Polly, you can do something more,” said Mrs. Henderson, when
the old chest was all brushed out, and set in position again. “And
it will help me so much. You can roll up some little bits of this
camphor,” and she opened the brown-paper parcel she had brought up to
the garret, “and put each of them in a piece of newspaper, and fold it
into Grandfather’s waistcoat,--I always mean to keep that, Polly, for I
remember him in it,--and then I can run down and see about my dinner.”
This was the best of all, Polly thought, to be intrusted to take care
of Grandfather’s waistcoat all by herself, while the minister’s wife
was downstairs seeing to her dinner!
“The newspapers are over there.” Mrs. Henderson pointed to the farther
corner under the eaves. “I always keep a pile to wrap up things in.” So
Polly ran over and got them, and presently she was busy as a bee in the
old garret, with Phronsie still sitting up close to the broken-backed
chair, and humming softly to herself, and patting every now and then
the red woollen cape.
And then when Mrs. Henderson ran up to see how things were getting on,
she was so pleased! And she told Polly she could pack all the various
articles back into the old chest, which delighted Polly very much.
And then left alone once more, the big old chest all packed up, Polly
seized the broom and swept every bit of dust from the old garret floor
as far as she could reach, being especially careful to make it very
clean over “Jonathan, the Blacksmith.” And then just as she had nearly
begun brushing down the stairs, up ran the minister’s wife, with very
pink cheeks after being over the kitchen stove.
“What a good girl you are, Polly Pepper!” she exclaimed. “Now, I
expected to have to do those stairs myself.” And she was so pleased,
she almost let out a little secret, that the parson had waiting for the
two little Peppers. “Come, Phronsie,” she called, “dinner’s ready,
child.”
And then after Polly had washed Phronsie’s face and hands, and after
that her own in the big blue and white bowl in the big bedroom, and
Phronsie’s hair had been brushed, and Polly had made her own as neat as
a pin, down they hurried, and if there wasn’t Ben Pepper, sitting next
to Parson Henderson, and watching sharply for them to come in!
Phronsie screamed right out, “_Bensie!_” and rushed over to him, and
Polly ran and hugged him around the neck. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve
come!” she gasped.
“I thought I’d bring him, so I went over and asked Mrs. Pepper.
Luckily, Ben had just come in from his work,” said Parson Henderson,
with a little satisfied chuckle. “Now, then, Peletiah and Ezekiel, you
let Ben sit between you.”
Peletiah and Ezekiel solemnly made way for Ben Pepper as their father
had said. And down they all sat, except Polly, who helped Mrs.
Henderson bring in the hot dishes.
When Phronsie saw Polly helping she tried to clamber out of her chair
next to the minister to do the same. But the parson laid his hand on
her. “No, no, child,” he said, “you must stay and take care of me.”
“Can I take care of you?” asked Phronsie, stopping instantly and
looking up at him.
“Indeed you can,” declared Mr. Henderson, heartily.
“Then I will,” said Phronsie, settling back in her chair in great
satisfaction. And presently there they all were, seven of them, the
parson and his wife as young as the others, around the table, and the
parsonage dinner was fairly under way.
“I’ve got a red cape, and it’s mine,” announced Phronsie, nodding over
to Ben.
“Have you?” cried Ben, in great surprise.
“I gave her Great-grandmother’s cape,” said the parson’s wife, down the
table-length to her husband; “it’s dreadfully moth-eaten, but I think
Mrs. Pepper can make her a little red coat out of the good part.”
“I wish you’d give her all the rest of the old things,” said the
parson. “You get all tired out pulling them over.”
“I’ve had a good time this morning anyway,” said his wife, and she
smiled down at Polly.
And after dinner, when they really couldn’t eat any more ham and eggs
and baked Indian pudding, Peletiah came up to Polly.
“I want to play ‘Stage-coach Jerusalem,’” he said, “and Ezekiel does,
too.”
“Oh,” cried Polly, “I guess we can, now Ben has come, only--” and she
looked at the dinner-table, and all the dishes to be cleared off and
washed and set away--“we’ve got to do these first.”
“We’re going to play ‘Stage-coach Jerusalem,’” said Ezekiel, hurrying
over to Ben, who had been looking on quite puzzled. “Peletiah said he
did it, and everybody but you, over to your house yesterday.”
“Oh,” said Ben.
“What’s that?” cried Mr. Henderson. So Peletiah went slowly over and
told his father all about it.
“Wife,” cried the parson, “as soon as Polly and you get those dishes
done, why you and I will go in the ‘Stage-coach Jerusalem.’” And his
eyes danced like a boy’s.
And sooner than anybody would think, every one of those dishes was
washed and wiped, and set up on the dresser, or in the cupboard, and
Polly brushed up the crumbs around the table. “There, now,” she cried,
“we’re all ready!” And out they all ran into the big kitchen to get the
stage-coach ready.
And presently the parson and his wife, and the three little Peppers,
and the two Henderson boys had started on their journey to Jerusalem,
and somehow or other Peletiah, who never seemed able to secure a seat,
was at the last moment helped into one, Ben shoving him along.
“I’m here!” he cried, hanging on to the back of the chair. “I’m in
Jerusalem!”
XIII
COMPANY AT THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE
Polly sat down in despair just as Mother Pepper finished. As for Joel,
he burst into a howl, and even little Davie sobbed softly to himself.
Phronsie alone was just as sweet as ever, for she didn’t know in the
least what it was all about. While Ben, more distressed on account of
Polly than loss to himself and the others, wrung his hands as he stood
quite still, his blue eyes on Polly’s face.
“No, it wouldn’t be right for you children to go to the circus,”
Mother Pepper had just said; “there is only just so much money in the
stocking, and it has to be saved for the things we must have.”
She had poured out into her lap the ten-cent and five-cent pieces, and
pennies, with two stray quarters, from the old black stocking that the
children had brought out from its resting-place in the old bureau in
the bedroom, in the wild hope that she would say, “yes,”--especially
since Sally Brown, the next neighbor about half a mile distant, was
going with her family.
“Oh, there’s lots and lots of money,” cried Joel, sticking his brown
fingers in the little pile of coins to churn them about. “Oh, Mamsie!”
And “Oh, Mamsie!” echoed little Davie, with very red cheeks. How his
blue eyes shone!
“And we’ve never seen a circus,” broke in Polly, passionately. “Never
in all this world--oh, Ben!” With that Polly flung her arms around
Ben’s neck, and burst out crying.
Ben’s ruddy cheek turned quite white. “Don’t, Polly,” he said hoarsely,
and patted her back with an unsteady hand.
Mrs. Pepper took Joel’s little brown hand in her steady one.
“She’s going to give us some money, and we’re going!” screamed Joel,
in a transport, to the others. Phronsie, at this, stopped her capering
about the middle of the kitchen floor to come up with wondering eyes.
“No, Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper. Her voice shook, but she steadied it as
she went on, and gathering up the coins she began to put them into the
old black stocking again. “Mother can’t let you have this money, for it
wouldn’t be right,” she added firmly.
Then it was that Polly broke away from Ben’s shoulder and sat down
despairingly. And amid Joel’s howls and little Davie’s sobs the money
was all shaken down into the toe of the stocking, tied up, and Mrs.
Pepper went into the bedroom with it.
“Polly, you oughtn’t to,” said Ben, going over to her. Joel had thrown
himself down on the old floor to give himself up to an abandonment of
grief, and little Davie had crept alongside him to lay his wet cheek
next to Joel’s stormy one. Phronsie stood still, looking from one group
to the other in grave wonder.
“Oh, I know it,” cried Polly, gustily, as she began to cry and twisting
her fingers dreadfully, “but we’ve--never--seen--seen--a circus.”
“I know it,” said Ben, with a twinge. How many times, ever since he
had seen the flaming red and yellow posters in Mr. Atkins’s store,
he had determined to take some of the money earned by chopping wood
for Deacon Blodgett and doing chores at the parsonage, and go off to
the circus with Polly,--yes, he surely couldn’t go without Polly, for
he wouldn’t enjoy it a bit without her! And then, every single time,
he found himself bringing home that same money to put it into Mother
Pepper’s hand. And she had smiled and said, “Did anybody ever have such
a comfort as you are, Ben!” And now Mamsie had gone into the bedroom so
sorrowfully, and Ben shivered as he remembered how white her face was.
“Oh, you oughtn’t to do so, Polly,” he repeated hoarsely, and putting
his hand on her shoulder.