"Polly," said Dr. Fisher, coming suddenly out of a corner of the
library as she ran around the portiere folds, "you are sure you are
willing--are willing it should go on?"
The little man peered at her anxiously through his big glasses, and he
looked so exactly as he did on that morning so long ago when Polly's
eyes were at their worst, that she could do nothing but gaze
speechlessly into his face.
"I see you don't consider it quite best, child," said the little doctor
brokenly, "but you are trying with your good heart, to make it so.
Don't be afraid; it is not too late to end it all."
"I was thinking," cried Polly with a gasp, "how good you were to me,
when you saved my eyes, and how you kept Joel from dying of the
measles. Oh! I couldn't speak--but I love you so."
She threw her young arms around him. "Papa Fisher--for you are almost
my father now--I am the very, very happiest girl because you are going
to live here, and now I can show you just how much I really and truly
love you."
The little man beamed at her. Then he took off his spectacles, wiped
them, and clapped them into place again. "You see, Polly," he said
deliberately, "it was impossible to see your mother and not love her.
She has had--well, there, child, I cannot bear to talk about it," and
he walked to the window, blew his nose violently on an immense
pocket-handkerchief, leaving the words poised in mid-air.
"It was the greatest trial of my life that I couldn't show her then
when she was struggling so bravely to keep the wolf from the door, how
I felt. But my hands were tied, child," he added, coming back, his
usual self again. "Now I can make her, she says, happy, that is, if you
children like it. Just think, Polly, she said happy! It's stupendous,
but she said so, Polly, she really did!"
He folded his hands and looked at her in astonishment, behind which
shone an intense gratification, that lighted up his plain little face
till he seemed to grow younger every instant.
"Indeed she did!" repeated Polly like a bird, and laughing merrily.
"Oh, Papa Fisher! you ought to hear Mamsie sing. She doesn't know I'm
hearing her, but she sings at her work now."
"Does she?" cried the doctor radiantly. "Well, Polly, we must see that
she sings every day, after this."
"Yes, let us," cried Polly, clasping his hand; "we will."
"And," proceeded the doctor, "after the wedding is over--I It really
dread the wedding, Polly--but after that is over, I do believe we shall
all be comfortable together!"
Polly gave a little cry of delight. Then she said, "You needn't dread
the wedding one bit, Papa Fisher. There will be only the people that we
love, and who love us--Grandpapa promised that."
"But that will make it very big," said Dr. Fisher, with round eyes and
a small shiver he could not suppress.
"Oh, no!" said Polly cheerily, "sixty-five friends; that's all we are
going to ask; Mamsie and I made out the list last night."
"Sixty-five people!" exclaimed Dr. Fisher in dismay. "Oh! isn't is
possible to be married without sixty-five friends to stare at you?"
"Oh! that's not many," said Polly; "sixty-five is the very smallest
number that we could manage. We've been over the list ever so many
times, and struck out quantities of names. You see, everybody loves
Mamsie, and they'll want to see her married."
"I know--I know," assented the doctor, "but that makes one hundred and
thirty eyes. Did you ever think of that, Polly?"
Polly burst into such a laugh that Jasper popped in, and after him,
Phronsie, and a general hilarity now reigning, the dreaded wedding
preparations soon sank away from the doctor's perturbed vision.
But they went on merrily nevertheless. All over the old stone mansion
there were hints of the on-coming festivities; and though all signs of
it were tucked away from the little doctor on his occasional visits,
the smothered excitement flamed afresh immediately his departure became
an assured thing. Everybody had the wildest plans for the occasion; it
appearing impossible to do enough for the one who had stood at the helm
for five long years, and who was to be reigning housekeeper for as much
longer as her services were needed.
And Dr. Fisher never knew how perilously near he had been to the verge
of brilliant evening festivities, in the midst of which he was to be
ushered into matrimony.
For Polly had suddenly waked one morning, to find herself, not
"famous," but alive with the sense of being--as her mother had so often
expressed it--"Mamsie's little right-hand woman."
"It will be much better to have everything plain," said Polly,
communing with herself, as she turned on her pillow. "Mamsie has always
been without show, of any kind, and so," but here Polly's heart stood
still. Dearly she loved the bright, conspicuous accompaniments to the
wedding whereby Mr. King was determined to show his respect for the
family under his care. And her soul secretly longed for the five
hundred guests named on a list of the old gentleman's drawing up. And
the feast and the lights, and the pretty dresses, and the dancing party
for the young people to follow. For Mr. King had announced himself as
about to usher in the brightest of days for the young Peppers to
remember.
"Besides it brings our new physician into notice," he would answer when
any faint protest was made. "And we shall all have reason to be
immensely proud of him, I tell you!"
"Oh, dear!" cried Polly, burrowing deeper within the pillow folds, "why
aren't pleasant things best to do? Why, I wonder!"
Cherry, twittering in the window, chirped something vague and
unsatisfactory. Polly brought up her brown head suddenly and laughed.
"Nonsense! our happiness doesn't depend upon a lot of people coming
together to help it along. Mamsie's face, whenever Grandpapa plans all
this magnificence, is enough to make me feel wretched at the thought of
it. Dear Mamsie! she's afraid of ingratitude if she doesn't try to like
it. She shall have the little morning wedding with a few people around,
and the gray silk gown instead of the lavender one Grandpapa wants her
to wear, for Mamsie always knows just what is right."
With that, Polly sprang out of bed, and rushed at her toilet, and after
breakfast she quietly captured Mr. King on the edge of some other
extravagant plan, and led him into the library.
"Everything is going on finely, Polly," he cried in elation. "Ring for
Thomas, child; stay, I'll do it myself. I shall go in an hour to give
my orders for the wedding supper."
"Grandpapa," cried Polly, turning quite pale, and laying a quick,
detaining hand on his arm, "oh! do wait, dear Grandpapa, I have
something to say."
"Well, child," but he still retained his hand on the cord.
"Oh, Grandpapa!" how could she say it! But she must. "Mamsie will be
ever so much happier if the wedding might be a quiet one. She really
would, Grandpapa."
"No doubt Mrs. Pepper finds it a little hard to adjust her ideas to the
large affair," said the old gentleman, considerably disturbed, and by
no means relinquishing the bell-cord, "but it is due to you children to
have a bright time, and I must see that you all have it. That is my
affair," and this time the cord was pulled, and the bell rang a loud,
insistent message.
Polly stood still in despair. "Grandpapa," she said distinctly, finding
it hard to proceed, with his face before her, "we children do not want
the large party; that is I do not."
It was all out at last.
"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. King sharply, for his surprise was
too great to allow of composure, "who has been putting this idea into
your head? Your mother couldn't have done it, for she promised it
should all be as you young people wanted."
"Mamsie never said a word," cried Polly, recovering herself as she saw
a chance to make things right for Mother Pepper; "it all came to me,
Grandpapa, all alone by myself. Oh! I hate the big display!" she
declared with sudden vehemence, astonishing herself with the repulsion
that now seized her.
"Hoity toity!" exclaimed Mr. King, "it's not quite the thing, Polly, my
child, to express yourself so decidedly, considering your years."
"Grandpapa," cried Polly, with a sudden rush of tears, "forgive me, do;
I did not mean to be so naughty. I did not, dear Grandpapa." She looked
like Phronsie now, and the old gentleman's heart melted. "But I am
quite sure that none of us children would be a bit happy not to have it
as Mamsie would like."
"Well, but I am not sure that the others wouldn't like it," said Mr.
King persistently.
"Ben wouldn't," said Polly triumphantly, "I know, for he all along
shrank from the big party."
"Oh! well, Ben, I suppose, would object somewhat," conceded the old
gentleman slowly.
"And Davie," cried Polly eagerly; "Oh, Grandpapa! David would much
prefer the morning wedding and the plain things."
"But how about Joel and Phronsie?" interrupted Mr. King, utterly
ignoring Davie's claims to be heard. "Ah! Polly, my dear, until you
tell me that they will prefer to give up the fine party, you mustn't
expect me to pay any attention to what you say. It's due to Phronsie
that your mother's wedding is a thing worthy to remember as a fine
affair."
"Perhaps Joel and Phronsie will think as we do," said Polly. But her
heart said No.
"All right if they do," said Mr. King easily, "but unless you come and
tell me it is their own choice, why, I shall just go on with my plans
as mapped out," he added obstinately. "Thomas," as that functionary
appeared in the doorway, "take the letters to the post at once; you
will find them on my writing table."
"All right, sir."
"I'll give you till to-morrow to find out," said Mr. King. "Now come
and kiss me, Polly dear. You'll see it's all right after it's over, and
be glad I had the sense to keep my mind about it."
Polly put up her lips obediently. But it was a sad little kiss that was
set upon his mouth, and it left him feeling like a criminal.
And running out, she met her difficult task without a moment of
preparation.
"Halloo, Polly!" whooped Joel, rushing around an angle in the hall,
"Grandpapa promised me that I might go out with him, to give the supper
orders, and all that kind of nonsense."
Polly's heart stood still.
"Joel," she began, seizing his jacket with trembling fingers, "come up
into my room a minute."
"What's up?" cried Joel with curiosity; "some more mysteries? There's
nothing but whisperings, and secrets, and no end of jolly
understandings, ever since Mamsie commenced to marry Dr. Fisher. Go
ahead, I'll come."
"And Phronsie, too," said Polly, seeing the yellow head emerge from the
breakfast-room doorway.
"Come on, Phron," sang out Joel, "up in Polly's room--she wants you,"
and the three hurried off.
"Now, Joel," said Polly, closing the door and facing him desperately,
"you are Mamsie's own boy."
"I should think so," said Joel, "I'm not anybody's else. Is that all
you brought me up here to say?" thrusting his hands in his pockets and
looking at her.
"And you can make her happy, or just as miserable as I can't say what,"
went on Polly incoherently.
"What in the world are you firing at?" demanded the boy, visions of
certain pranks at school unpleasantly before him. "Don't shoot over my
head, Polly, but keep somewhere near your mark," he advised irritably.
Phronsie surveyed the two with wide eyes, and a not wholly pleased
manner.
"Mamsie does not want a big wedding," declared Polly, going to the
heart of the matter, "but dear kind Grandpapa thinks it will please us
children, and so he wants to give her one."
"And so it will," cried Joel, "please us children. Whoop la! give us
your hand, Phronsie, this is the way we'll dance afterwards at the
party."
"I don't want to dance," said Phronsie, standing quite still in the
middle of the room. The morning sun shone across her yellow hair, but
no light came into the large eyes. "Polly wants something, first; what
is it, Joel?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Joel, poised on a careless foot, and
executing a remarkable pas seul. "I don't believe she knows herself.
Polly is often queer, you know, Phronsie," he added cheerfully.
"Tell me, Polly, do," whispered Phronsie, going over to her.
"Phronsie," said Polly very slowly, "Mamsie doesn't want a big party in
the evening to see her married, but to have a cunning little company of
friends come in the morning, and"--
"Ugh!" cried Joel in disgust, coming down suddenly to both feet.
"It will please Mamsie best," went on Polly, with a cold shoulder to
Joel. "And I never should be happy in all this world to remember that I
helped to make my Mamsie unhappy on her wedding day."
Phronsie shivered, and her voice held a miserable little thrill as she
begged, "Oh! make her be married just as she wants to be, Polly, do."
"Now that's what I call mean," cried Joel in a loud, vindictive tone
back of Polly, "to work on Phronsie's feelings. You can't make me say I
don't want Mamsie to have a wedding splurge, so there, Polly Pepper!"
Polly preserved a dignified silence, and presented her shoulder again
to his view.
"You can't make me say it, Polly Pepper!" shouted Joel shrilly.
"Oh, Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly in a rapture, throwing her arms around
the child, "Mamsie will be so pleased--you can't think. Let us go and
tell her; come!"
"See here!" called Joel, edging up, "why don't you talk to me?"
"I haven't anything to say," Polly condescended to give him, without
turning her head. "Come, Phronsie," holding out her hand.
"Wait a minute."
"Well, what is it?" Polly's hand now held Phronsie's, but she paused on
the way to the door.
"I guess I can give up things as well as she can, if I know Mamsie
wants me to," said Joel, with a deeply injured manner.
"Mamsie doesn't want any of us to give up anything unless we do it as
if we were glad to," said Polly. For her life, she couldn't conceal a
little scornful note in her voice, and Joel winced miserably.
"I--I wish she wouldn't have the big party," he whined.
"I thought you wanted it," said Polly, turning to him.
"I--I don't. I'd rather Mamsie would be happy. O, dear! don't look at
me so."
"I'm not looking at you so," said Polly. "You acted just as if you had
your heart set on the party."
"Well, it isn't. I'll--I'll--if you say party to me again!" and he
faced her vindictively.
"Joel Pepper!" cried Polly, holding him with her brown eyes, "do you
really mean that you are glad to give up that big evening party, and
have the little teeny one in the morning?"
"Yes," said Joel, "as true as I live and breathe, I do!"
"Oh! oh! oh!" cried Polly, and seizing his arm, she led off in a dance,
so much surpassing his efforts, that Phronsie screamed with delight to
see them go. When they could dance no more, Polly, flushed and panting,
ran out of the room, leaving the two to find out as best they might,
the cause of the strange demeanor.
"Grandpapa," Polly rushing over the stairs, met him coming up to Mrs.
Whitney's room, "Joel says it's the little morning wedding--please; and
Phronsie too!"
The old gentleman gave no sign of his defeat, beyond a "Humph! and so
I'm beaten, after all!"
And Dr. Fisher never knew all this.
Mamsie's wedding-day! At last it came! Was any other ever so bright and
beautiful? Phronsie thought not, and thereupon she impeded the
preparations by running up to kiss her mother every few moments, until
such time as Felicie carried her off to induct her into a white muslin
gown. Polly, here, there, and everywhere, was in such a rapture that
she seemed to float on wings, while the boys of the household, with the
exception of Jasper, lost their heads early in the day, and helplessly
succumbed to all demands upon them.
Every flower had to be put in place by the young people. Old Turner for
once stood one side. And Polly must put the white satin boxes filled
with wedding cake on the little table where one of the waiters would
hand them to departing guests. And Phronsie must fasten Mamsie's pearl
broach--the gift of the five little Peppers--in her lace collar the
very last thing. And Jasper collected the rice and set the basket
holding it safely away from Joel's eager fingers till such time as they
could shower the bride's carriage. And all the boys were ushers, even
little Dick coming up grandly to offer his arm to the tallest guest as
it happened.
And old Mr. King gave the bride away! And Dr. Fisher at the last forgot
all the one hundred and thirty eyes, and his "I will," rang out like a
man's who has secured what he has long wanted. And ever so many of the
guests said "What a good father he will make the children," and several
attempted to tell the Peppers so. "As if we didn't know it before,"
said Joel indignantly.
And Alexia and all the other girls of Polly's set were there, and
Joel's little blue and white creature came, to his great satisfaction,
with her aunt, who was quite intimate in the family; and Pickering
Dodge was there of course, and the Alstynes, and hosts of others.
And Mother Pepper in her silver-gray gown and bonnet, by the side of
her husband, with Phronsie clinging to one hand, heard nothing but
heart-felt wishes for her happiness and that of the five little Peppers.
And there was not so much as the shadow of a skeleton at the wedding
breakfast. And Cousin Mason Whitney took charge of the toasts--and
everybody felt that just the right things had been said. And then there
was a flutter of departure of the bridal party, and in the rattle of
the wheels Phronsie piped out bravely as she threw the slipper after
the departing coach:
"Mamsie has been taking care of us all these years; now we're going to
be good and let her be happy."