affair, Mother Pepper was casting busily about in her mind how to get
some refreshments for the company; but try as she would, nothing seemed
to suggest itself, until the remembrance of the glass of blackberry
jelly that Deacon Blodgett’s wife had given her last summer, when
making her fresh supply, came to her mind. There it was tucked away on
the top shelf of the old cupboard. “Oh, I can’t take that,” said Mrs.
Pepper to herself; “it’s so good in case of sickness.” But then--and
she drew a long breath--would her little brood ever need it more
than after this terrible disappointment that had threatened to make
the Little Brown House the scene of despair? And surely when every
household, in all probability, in the whole of Badgertown was to be
drawn into the delights of the circus--all but hers--some sacrifices
must be made to give what happiness she could to her children.
“They shall have it,” decided Mrs. Pepper to herself. “Now, what else
can I find for them?”
But nothing else appearing, no matter how hard she thought as she
stitched away, she sighed.
“Polly can bake some little biscuits,” she said to herself, “to go with
the jelly.”
When the children were told that the precious glass of blackberry
jelly was positively to be theirs for the feast to be prepared for
the company, they were speechless with delight. Then came the great
deliberation as to how to arrange it.
“We ought to have something to drink,” said Ben, “seeing we can’t have
lemonade.”
“Oh, Ben, we couldn’t ever have lemonade,” exclaimed Polly.
“I said we couldn’t,” said Ben, “but we ought to have something; I
thought folks always did when they had company, Polly.”
“O dear me, I know,” said Polly, quite distressed at the failure to be
like other folks, “but we haven’t anything, Ben.”
“Why can’t we melt the jelly?” proposed Ben.
“Oh, Ben,” Joel gave a loud howl. Then he flew over to Mrs. Pepper’s
chair. “Ben’s going to melt the jelly you gave us--” he cried
wrathfully. “Make him stop, Mamsie,” he implored.
“Oh, I don’t think he is, Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, soothingly.
“He is--he is,” declared Joel, wildly; “he said so. Do stop him,
Mamsie.”
Meanwhile Polly’s voice came pealing across the kitchen. Joel pricked
up his ears. “How perfectly elegant!” she was exclaiming. So Joel flew
back again, for things couldn’t be as bad as he feared with Polly so
joyful.
“And just think, Joey,” she cried, as he came bounding up, “we’re going
to have the jelly melted and--”
“No, no, no!” roared Joel, interrupting.
“And we’re going to pour it into the mugs and cups and drink it, and it
will be just as sweet and beautiful as can be! And Ben thought this all
out,” added Polly, proudly.
“Will it be sweet?” asked Joel.
“As sweet as can be,” declared Polly, decidedly.
“I’d rather have the jelly to eat on top of the little biscuits,” said
Joel, grudgingly, yet he thought longingly of the beautiful mugful to
drink.
“Oh, we aren’t going to melt it all,” said Polly, quickly; “the very
idea! We’re going to save half to eat.”
“Then I want to drink some,” cried Joel, “and I’m going to melt
it--Dave and me--”
“You can help, children,” said Polly, bustling away, feeling very grand
and important. Dear me, how much there was to do, to be sure, when
company was expected!
And when at last the eventful afternoon arrived, there was a still
further surprise in store for the five little entertainers of the
company. In walked Grandma Bascom. “I thought mebbe you’d like this,
Polly, to dress up in. My Pa brought it home from the Indies, an’
you can keep it, ’cause th’ moths has got into it,” mourned Grandma,
holding it up in her trembling old hands.
It was a yellowish, thin woollen shawl dingy with age, with a wide
border running all around it of flowers of various sizes, and in
flaring colors that, strange to say, had not dimmed in the least all
the while they had been in Grandma Bascom’s possession. The children
crowded around in speechless admiration as Grandma Bascom shook it out
before their eyes.
“That corner goes up th’ back,” said Grandma, pointing to it, “an’ Ma
was alwus partic’ler to settle it that way, bein’s th’ flowers ran
up so fur”--as they surely did! A most remarkable spray like nothing
ever seen in a garden, sprawled at its own sweet will almost into the
middle of the shawl.
“There hain’t no other corner got a sprig, so you can’t make a mistake,
Polly. An’ be careful of th’ fringe,” which indeed was necessary
advice, as this particular adornment to the shawl had become very
tired in the lapse of time since Grandma Bascom’s Pa brought it from
the Indies, and had dropped away, till here and there only a thread
remained, looking very lonely indeed.
“An’ don’t stick your fingers in th’ holes, child,” cautioned Grandma,
before she finally let it go into Polly’s hands. “It beats me how those
moths get into it, but if you don’t ketch it on any thin’, ’twon’t tear
no more.”
“Oh, I’ll be very careful of it,” promised Polly, receiving the old
shawl with fingers that trembled as much as Grandma’s. “It’s perfectly
beautiful, but perhaps Mamsie won’t let me wear it,” she added, with a
dreadful feeling that in that case the company would suffer a loss that
could never be made up; “and then I’ll bring it back to you, Grandma,
when she comes home,” she said loudly, for Grandma was so deaf.
“You ain’t never goin’ to bring it back to me,” said Grandma, beginning
to waddle to the door, and turning back--“I’ve give it to you, Polly.”
“_You’ve given it to me!_” repeated Polly, in amazement, and her hands
trembled so that the old shawl shook dreadfully.
“You’ve given it to Polly!” screamed Joel, huddling up to Grandma. “O
my jiminy!”
Ben was not less excited, and the delighted babel that they all now
set up pleased Grandma very much. She beamed at them all under the
nodding frills of her cap border. “Yes, I’ve give it to Polly,” she
said. “It’s got moth holes, and I sh’d be ashamed to wear it with them
in; Ma never did. So Polly shall keep it to dress up in.” And despite
all the pressing invitations to stay and be part of the company to
receive, Grandma waddled off down the lane to see to her hens and other
necessary work left undone.
* * * * *
It was about a half-hour after this. The old kitchen presented a very
dignified aspect, suited for such a ceremonious occasion as it was
presently to be the scene of. There on the table was spread the feast,
two plates of little brown biscuits baked as nice as any one could
ever want, and on Mother Pepper’s best blue willow saucer was half of
the blackberry jelly. It had lopped down one side a bit, to be sure,
as Polly turned it out of the glass, which was a great grief to her,
but as Ben wisely suggested, “It will taste just as good, Polly,” she
tried to be comforted. And next to it was the row of mugs and cups of
the blackberry juice, nice and pink where it had been pieced out with
plentiful additions of water. Could anything be more magnificent!
And in front of the table spread with this feast was the row of
entertainers, all obliged to turn their backs, because Joel would stare
at the refreshments, and Polly said that was not polite, for he ought
to look at the company.
Phronsie sat on her little stool in the middle, or as near as she could
get to it, being between Ben and Joel, and little Davie was at the very
end, and each head was graced with the most remarkable structure of hat
or bonnet, from which floated, or stuck straight upright, as the case
might be, some feather or a chicken wing drawn from their treasured box.
Polly was to be company first, and she now stood before the row,
perfectly resplendent in a tall newspaper hat, from which perked out
a rooster feather, and the yellow old embroidered shawl that Grandma
Bascom’s Pa had brought from the Indies, drawn across her shoulders.
It had required all Ben’s best skill to persuade the sprig of flowers
to run where it should, and he tried several times to get it right, as
Polly couldn’t see her own back.
“It isn’t exactly straight,” he confessed at last, and pausing with a
very red face, “but it doesn’t matter, Polly.”
“Oh, it must be straight,” said Polly, feeling that it would be an
awful thing if Grandma Bascom’s shawl didn’t look the same as when Ma
wore it. “Do try again, Ben.”
So Ben tried again, getting it worse than before. “The flowers won’t
come straight,” he said, “and I can’t make ’em.” So Polly was forced to
stifle a sigh and bear it as best she could.
“Now, children,” said Polly, standing in front of the row,--Ben had
taken his seat at the head of the line,--“I’m going into the bedroom
and--”
“What for?” cried Joel.
“Never mind,” said Polly, all in a twitter, for she had a little secret
kept carefully from all the others except Ben. It was impossible to
keep it from him, for Polly and Ben told everything to each other.
Mamsie had told her she might take her dark green silk parasol owned
for many years and carefully kept rolled in tissue paper. And because
no one was to carry it but Polly, and only once by her, the children
must not be told, so Polly couldn’t get it from the bureau drawer in
the bedroom until the last minute.
“Now you must shut your eyes,” said Polly, for there was no other way
to get out of doors, after getting the parasol, than to come through
the kitchen, and then they would of course see her, “and don’t look
until I say, ‘How do you do!’”
“I don’t want to shut my eyes,” said Joel. “I want to see what you’re
going into the bedroom for.”
“Shut your eyes, Joe,” said Ben, leaning past Phronsie to give him
a small nudge. So Joel shut his, especially as Ben, to set a good
example, did the same. And little David, afraid he might see, put his
two hands up over his face. When Phronsie saw that, she did the same
thing, and then Joel, to be in the fashion, followed suit, and so did
Ben, to keep the children in countenance.
But Polly couldn’t find the parasol, for Mother Pepper took it out to
mend a little break in the well-worn silk,--afraid it might pull away
more while doing duty for the company,--and then she set the roll of
tissue paper out on the counterpane of the big four-poster, telling
Polly so. But Polly hadn’t heard, being in such a fluster over the
preparations; so she fumbled away, first in one drawer, and then in
another, of the old bureau; even searching all through the lowest one
where Phronsie always came to look at, and pat, her red-topped shoes.
“She’s coming!” cried Joel, having a dreadful time not to take down his
hands, but remembering Polly’s command just in time.
“Well, you’re not to look till she says, ‘How do you do,’” warned Ben,
as a small noise sounded over by the door. Then all was quiet.
“O dear, I wish she’d hurry,” grumbled Joel, and squirming dreadfully
on his hard wooden chair.
Little David held his breath in delighted expectation, while Phronsie
twisted her small fingers into her brown eyes. She wouldn’t have seen
for the world until Polly wanted her to, when a fumbling noise back of
them struck upon all their ears.
“I guess Polly’s thought of something she wanted to do to the
refreshments,” said Ben to himself; “though I don’t see what it can
be, for they look so nice.” But if Polly wasn’t satisfied, and still
wanted to fix them over--why, it was all right; so he settled himself
back on his chair.
But Polly seemed to be in a good many minds about the beautiful array
of eatables, for the little clicking sound showed that the mugs and
cups were being moved about; besides other noises that showed that
something else was going on among the refreshments.
“What _can_ she be doing?” said Ben to himself, more puzzled than ever,
when--
“_Oh!_” screamed somebody. It surely was Polly, but she was in front
of them. And the whole row, tearing away their hands,--for it was
impossible to keep their eyes shut after that,--saw Polly, the perfect
picture of astonishment, coming out of the bedroom, the old green
parasol in her hand, and looking with all her eyes at the table back of
them. Every one whirled around. There on the edge, in calm enjoyment,
sat a monkey, resplendent in a smart red waistcoat adorned all down the
front with shining brass buttons, and a perky little red cap, which,
not forgetting his manners, he was pulling off with one hand. The other
was cramming the last little brown biscuit into his mouth. The mugs
and cups stood empty, and the blue willow jelly plate was licked quite
clean.
[Illustration: “OH!” SCREAMED SOMEBODY.--_Page 393._]
“_Oh--oh--oh--a monkey!_” It was impossible for anything else to be
heard. Joel choked, trying to say as he pointed with shaking finger to
the company sitting on the table, “He’s eat it all up,” but even he
could not get out any words. But Company didn’t seem to mind the lack
of a welcome in the least, peering about as he wrinkled up his brows,
for more refreshments. But there were none--that was plain enough to be
seen.
So then what did he do but hop to the floor, and begin the most
surprising antics possible, perhaps thinking it quite time for him to
do something to entertain, who had been so well entertained himself;
but more than likely with a view to being offered something further in
the way of refreshment, if he did his best.
And his best it was, for when the whole bunch of Peppers recovered from
their astonishment, it was to burst into peals of enjoyment with eyes
glued to the movements of a flashing red waistcoat and smart perky cap,
as Company went through, from beginning to end, a most surprising
list of accomplishments, turning up now and then a wrinkled little face
to see if by any chance he was to be invited to have something to eat.
At last he got down to all fours and scrambled up to them. Little David
gave a loud scream and clutched Polly about the neck, though, strange
to say, Phronsie, the very one whom it might be expected would be
frightened, leaned forward and put out her hand. “He’s my sweet little
monkey. I want him,” she said.
The monkey, supposing at least a penny was in her hand, made her his
grandest bow, and held out his paw, but, getting nothing, he gave the
whole bunch of children a withering look, probably thinking that it was
their funny curious headgear (for they weren’t nearly as fine as his
smart red cap) that made them so queer, and turned and scrambled off
to the door that he had left open a crack when he entered, and hurried
out. And all they saw was a flash of red and his long tail slipping out.
“Oh, stop him--stop him!” roared Joel, plunging after him, with all the
others at his heels. But, although they looked far and near, running
down to the gate and out into the road, not a glimpse of him could be
seen. And at last they were just turning back into the house when
Sally Brown and her father and mother and four or five of the other
neighbors came by in a big wagon.
“We’ve been to the _circus_!” screamed Sally, from the back of the
wagon, where she was crammed in among some other children. “And ’twas
awful good,” she added triumphantly.
“’Twasn’t either,” declared another girl, vindictively, in a louder
scream; “the best monkey--th’ one that does all th’ tricks--ran away
this morning, an’ they couldn’t fi-ind him--” Her voice pealed after
her, as the wagon rolled on down the road.
“Oh, Ben!” Polly seized his coat. “It was our monkey, don’t you
believe?” she gasped.
“Yes,” cried Ben, “I know it. Well, we’ve had the circus, after all.”
XIV
IN DOCTOR FISHER’S GIG
“Do you think you know of a little girl, just about as big as you are,
who would like to go to ride with me in my gig?” Doctor Fisher leaned
over and whispered it into Phronsie’s ear as she sat in the middle of
the kitchen floor buttoning up her “red-topped shoes.”
Phronsie dropped the little button-hook, with a handle that looked
exactly like silver, that old Mr. Beebe had given her when her new
shoes were bought.
“Oh, I do--it’s me--please take me!” She hopped to her feet. Ever so
many of the buttons were in the wrong holes of one little shoe, while
the other lay on the floor, the little button-hook flying off to have a
good time by itself.
“Oh, take me!” she begged, very much excited, and standing on tiptoe.
“So I shall,” cried the little doctor, beaming on her. “O dear me,
you’ll have to get that other shoe on,” with a glance of dismay. “Well,
now I must button it up for you.”
“Oh, no, no,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head. “I must do it
all alone by myself--I truly must.” So she sat down on the floor and
gravely set to work again, but the last little buttons positively
refused to go in any holes at all.
“Now, see here, Phronsie,” said Doctor Fisher, at last, “you must let
me help you, or you can’t go. Don’t you hear Dobbin telling us to hurry
up? There, you put your foot right here, and I’ll have those buttons
where they belong in no time.”
“Is Dobbin calling us?” asked Phronsie, the little hook pausing over a
refractory button, to listen.
“Yes, indeed,” little Doctor Fisher nodded vehemently. Just then the
old horse waiting out by the gate gave a loud neigh. “Don’t you hear
him? There, now, says I.” And he slipped the little buttons out of the
wrong holes to begin afresh.
“Oh, no--no,” protested Phronsie, in alarm, pulling away her little fat
foot; “those are my very own buttons all done.” And two tears ran down
her round cheeks.
The little doctor viewed her with dismay, and pulled out his big
bandanna to wipe away the tears that were now coming so fast. He was at
his wits’ end to know what to do next.
“I was going to say I’d take Polly, too, and she hasn’t been to ride
since her eyes got well,” he said artfully, “but I can’t, unless you
stop crying and let me button up your shoes.”
“Can’t Polly go?” said Phronsie, struggling very hard to crowd the
tears back, and wiping her cheeks with her fat little hands.
“No, not unless you stop crying and let me button up your shoes,”
declared Doctor Fisher, firmly. “She’ll have to stay at home, and, just
think, she hasn’t had a ride since her eyes got well,” he repeated,
quite delighted at his success so far.
“Then you may button up my new shoes,” said Phronsie, smothering her
sobs, and she stuck out her foot, and the little doctor speedily had
all the buttons in the right holes. “Now, then, the other one.” And
then those buttons all flew into their places, and quicker than it
takes to tell it, the little “red-topped” shoes were both fastened up,
and Doctor Fisher was saying, “Now run and call Polly, child,” which
really wasn’t necessary, for Phronsie was already on the way.
And then out flew Polly from the bedroom, her cheeks as red as two
roses, and she raced up to Doctor Fisher. “Oh, I’m so glad--I’m going
to ride! I am--I am!” just as if telling him a piece of news.
“Well, hurry up then,” said the little doctor, bursting into a merry
laugh, and quite as excited. So Polly flew off to get Phronsie’s pink
sunbonnet and her own, but presently back she came without them.
“Oh, I forgot we can’t go without asking Mamsie,” she said, and all the
color flew out of her face, “and she’s down to Mrs. Henderson’s.” And
she clasped her hands in distress.
“You go right along,” commanded the little doctor, peremptorily. “I
asked your mother on the way down here. I had to stop at the parsonage,
and she said, ‘Yes.’”
“Mamsie said ‘Yes,’” shouted Polly, her brown eyes widening in delight,
and seizing Phronsie, who had followed her closely, clamoring for her
sunbonnet. “She did, Phronsie, she truly did. There, come, Pet, and
let me brush your hair.” And she began to dance over to the bedroom,
hurrying Phronsie along.
“I don’t want my hair brushed, Polly,” said Phronsie, in a grieved
tone, and stumbling along, Polly holding her hand closely.
“Oh, yes, you do.” Polly by this time had her in the bedroom. “Misery
me, Phronsie, Mamsie wouldn’t ever want you to go to ride with your
hair looking so. Why, it’s just like a cat’s nest,” making the old
brush fly busily over Phronsie’s yellow hair.
“Will there be a cat’s nest here in this very room?” asked Phronsie,
peering out from the soft wisps falling over her face with wide eyes of
astonishment.
“Yes,” said Polly, in such a twitter over the promised ride she didn’t
think what she was saying. “Do stand still, or I never’ll get through.”
“Oh, Polly,” Phronsie slipped from under the old brush, and pushed back
the hair from her face, “then there’ll be a little kitty!” And she
clasped her fat little hands ecstatically.
“Whatever in the world!” exclaimed Polly, the old hair-brush sticking
up straight in the air, “do you mean, Phronsie?”
“I’m going to have a little kitty,” sang Phronsie, dancing away by the
side of the old four-post bedstead. “Polly said so;--a little kitty!”
“Phronsie,” cried Polly, rushing after her, but Phronsie slipped off,
her yellow hair streaming, and danced into the corner, “Polly said
so;--a little kitty!”
“Now, Phronsie,” and Polly had her fast by the side of the big bureau,
“you must just come out here;” and getting hold of her pink pinafore,
Phronsie was soon in the middle of the bedroom. “Oh, make it a white
one, do, Polly,” she begged, dreadfully excited.
“What _do_ you mean?” cried Polly, in a great state of bewilderment.
“I want a white one,” said Phronsie, but her lip drooped, and she
looked ready to cry, for Polly’s face certainly didn’t look encouraging.
“If you’ll tell me what you’re talking about, child,” said Polly,
almost in despair, still holding the old hair-brush, “I’ll--”
“You said there would be one,” said Phronsie, in an injured tone, and
her blue eyes fastened on Polly with disapproval.
“Said there would be what?” gasped Polly.
“A cat’s nest in this very room,” said Phronsie, struggling with her
tears, “and I want--a little white kitty, I do, Polly!” Then she burst
into a loud sob and flung herself into Polly’s arms.
“O dear me! Oh--oh!” cried Polly, gustily, gathering her up, the old
hair-brush flying off by itself. “Phronsie--O dear me!”
“You said so, Polly.” Phronsie, held tightly in Polly’s arms, kept
saying this over and over reproachfully.
“Oh, I know it,” cried Polly. “O dear me, I didn’t mean there would
really and truly be a cat’s nest in this room, Phronsie.”
“You said so,” repeated Phronsie, and this time she wriggled around to
look up into Polly’s face with indignation.
“Well,--O dear me! I said your hair _looked_ like one, Phronsie.” Then
Polly burst into such a merry peal of laughter that neither of them
heard little Doctor Fisher come in from the kitchen.
“Well, I never!” he cried, setting his big spectacles straight to stare
at them in amazement. Phronsie was, by this time, crying so that she
didn’t see him, but Polly did, and she sprang to her feet, upsetting
Phronsie, the color rushing up to her brown hair. “Oh, I’m so sorry,”
she cried.
But the little doctor smiled kindly at her, and went over and picked
Phronsie up.
“Heyday!” he cried, swinging her as high as he could, which wasn’t
much; “well, now, don’t you want to go to ride in my gig?”
But Phronsie was lost to all such charms and everything else. Polly had
never told her anything that didn’t come true before, so she wailed
on bitterly, until Polly, quite pale now, had told the whole story,
interspersed with many reproaches for her careless speech.
“Oh, if that’s all,” said the little doctor, jubilantly, “I think I
know exactly where to find a cat’s nest, Phronsie.”
“Is there a white kitty in it?” asked Phronsie, coming out of her sobs
suddenly and brushing off the tears.
“Well, I don’t know about the white one,” said Dr. Fisher, racking his
brains to remember if he had seen such a creature, and where. “But
never mind,” as the little face fell, “there will be some other cunning
kittens in the nest, probably, and they’re just waiting for some little
girl who is going to be very good and not cry, and--”
“I’ll be very good and not cry,” announced Phronsie, struggling out of
his arms, “and perhaps there’s a white one there.”
“Perhaps,” said the little doctor, with a merry laugh; “and now hurry
up your cakes, and get ready, or Dobbin won’t wait for us much longer.”