[Illustration: Phronsie and the Children.
(_See Page 21._)]
PHRONSIE PEPPER
_THE YOUNGEST OF THE “FIVE
LITTLE PEPPERS”_
BY
MARGARET SIDNEY
AUTHOR OF “FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW,” “FIVE LITTLE
PEPPERS MIDWAY,” “FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS GROWN-UP”
“OLD CONCORD: HER HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS”
“THE GOLDEN WEST”, ETC., ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY JESSIE McDERMOTT
BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
PEPPER
TRADE-MARK
Registered in U.S. Patent Office.
COPYRIGHT, 1897,
BY
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
_Seventy-first Thousand._
TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON, BOSTON.
PRESSWORK BY BERWICK & SMITH.
_In Memoriam._
TO MY HUSBAND,
WHO INSPIRED WHATEVER IS
OF WORTH IN THIS,
AND IN ALL MY BOOKS.
PREFACE.
As Phronsie Pepper was the only one of the “Five Little Peppers” who
had not a chance to become “grown-up” in the three books that form
the Pepper Library, it seemed (to judge by the expressions of those
persons interested in this family) a little unfair not to give her that
opportunity.
The author has had so many letters from the elders, as well as the
children, presenting this view of the case, that she has been brought
over to that opinion herself. And as Phronsie appeared to have
something to say on her own account, that the public, ever kind and
attentive to the Peppers, desired to hear, it was thought best to let
her speak, to make her appearance as “grown-up,” and then to draw the
curtain over the “little brown house” and the “Five Little Peppers,”
never more to rise.
Nothing was farther from the mind of the author of the “Five Little
Peppers” than a series concerning them; for she did not naturally
incline to the extension of a book into other volumes. But the
portrayal of the lives of the Peppers seemed to be a necessity. They
were living, breathing realities to her; and when pressed by many
importunate readers to know “more and more” about “Mamsie and Polly,
Ben, Joel, David, and Phronsie,” it was only like telling the stories
in the twilight hour, of what was so real and vital to their author,
that it was as if she were not speaking, but only the scribe to jot it
all down as it fell from the lips and the lives of others.
And here let the author state, in answer to the question so often asked
her, “Did the Peppers _really_ live? and _was_ there any little brown
house?” that the whole story is imaginative, existing only in her mind;
although they always seemed so alive to her, that she let them talk and
move and act from beginning to end without let or hindrance; believing
that Margaret Sidney’s part was to simply set down what the Peppers did
and said, without trying to make them do or say anything in particular.
And now the closing volume, that shuts the door of the little brown
house forever, takes the whole scene back to dear old Badgertown; and
life begins over again in rollicking, merry, and home-y fashion; and
the “Five Little Peppers,” with their troops of friends old and young,
control the book, and say and do and live, just as they like, without
the meddlesome intervention of
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE 9
CHAPTER II.
A BADGERTOWN EVENING 28
CHAPTER III.
JOHNNY 50
CHAPTER IV.
CAN SHE GO TO MRS. KING’S RECEPTION? 66
CHAPTER V.
MRS. JASPER KING’S RECEPTION 83
CHAPTER VI.
GRACE 97
CHAPTER VII.
POLLY MAKES MATTERS RIGHT 114
CHAPTER VIII.
ALEXIA COLLECTS THE NEWS 128
CHAPTER IX.
PHRONSIE SETTLES THE MATTER 144
CHAPTER X.
SUCCESS FOR POLLY 160
CHAPTER XI.
ON THE WAY TO THE BEEBES 176
CHAPTER XII.
AT THE BEEBES 189
CHAPTER XIII.
FOUND 203
CHAPTER XIV.
HOME AGAIN 217
CHAPTER XV.
SOME HINGHAM CALLS 229
CHAPTER XVI.
MR. MARLOWE HELPS MATTERS ALONG 245
CHAPTER XVII.
ALEXIA HAS GRACE TO HERSELF 257
CHAPTER XVIII.
GRANDPAPA DOES THE RIGHT THING 270
CHAPTER XIX.
TRYING TO BE CHEERY 282
CHAPTER XX.
FIRE! 296
CHAPTER XXI.
ARE THEY ALL SAFE? 309
CHAPTER XXII.
THE SHADOW TURNS TO SUNSHINE 322
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE REST OF THE PEPPERS ARE OFF 340
CHAPTER XXIV.
ALL TOGETHER 353
CHAPTER XXV.
EVERYTHING DEPENDS ON POLLY 367
CHAPTER XXVI.
DESTRUCTION THREATENS THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE 383
CHAPTER XXVII.
PHRONSIE’S MARRIAGE BELLS! 400
CHAPTER XXVIII.
HOME TO THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE 416
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Phronsie and the children _Frontispiece._
PAGE
“There! I got it all out alone by myself,” said Barby 15
“Oh, goody! here comes Mr. Tisbett,” howled King 26
“Oh, what richness!” sighed Polly 29
“Dance me up and down, daddy!” screamed Elyot 32
“We’ve come out to dinner, Polly,” said Alexia 42
“Somebody take off this!” 46
Tying on her big garden hat, Phronsie went across the road 55
“Johnny! open your eyes,” cried Dick 60
“Oh, he’s rolled off,” cried Polly, aghast 63
“The idea of a school-girl going to a reception,” said Aunt Fay 69
Grace darted behind a tall fern, and hid her hot, distressed face 86
“Are you ill, Miss Tupper--or--Strange?” and she laughed
unpleasantly 91
“I shall get my Mamsie,” cried a small, determined voice 101
Elyot perched at the foot, where he surveyed Grace at his leisure 106
So Polly went off, her baby on her arm 109
“Dear child,” said Polly, “I know just how you feel” 116
“Polly’s gone to town,” said Phronsie, cutting off some
blossoms to add to the bundle in her hand 131
Phronsie led the little old white-haired woman to the
vacated seat 150
The loving-cup was filled with pure cold water to the
brim, “The only thing worthy of it,” said Polly 168
With her arms full, Phronsie entered the kitchen 174
Elyot gathered up his small soul with the best courage he could
muster, and sat down on a big stone by the side of the road 181
He propped Barby up against the upper step, and ran and
peered into the little window strung with shoes 193
There was Barby in a little wooden chair, eating bread
and butter with a very sticky face 215
“The ‘Scrannage Girls,’ as their neighbors called them” 221
“There, now, it’s done, Grandpapa, dear,” said Phronsie,
tucking the bit of paper under the old door 241
Phronsie leaned her head upon Mamsie’s old rocking-chair 247
“Ar-goo!” said Algernon, finding it very pleasant to pull
at the pillow-shams 262
Barby hurried over to Grace. “I’m sorry, too,” she
said: “and I’ll take the bears” 290
“Now, Celestine,” said Mr. Bayley, rolling a fresh cigarette,
“the Peppers are perfectly well able to take care
of themselves.” 297
“Bless the Lord, Phronsie,” he lifted his sea-cap reverently,
“we’re almost there.” 305
“The sailor roared out, ‘The ship’s on fire!’ and was
plunging on” 312
“I must go to Grandpapa,” cried Phronsie, “save her;”
and dashed off by herself 316
And I say, “Boo, grandmamma!” laughed Barby confidentially 324
Polly threw herself on her knees by Mamsie’s big four-poster 327
“Of course,” cried Polly, with kindling eyes, “splendid
old Joel would do just that very thing, Davie” 333
“She’s gone; and I don’t never ’xpect to live to see her
again, nor him, nor those pretty creeters,” went on Grandma 350
“There,” said Joel, marching across the room, “I’m as
good as new, made over, and patched up, and warranted.” 356
Oh, when Polly found herself in the dear arms, and felt
the dear eyes upon her 365
Old Mr. King stood in front of Polly waiting for her to proceed 374
“O my bressed Chilluns!” mourned Candace 391
Johnny whirled around to see the heap of papers and shavings on
the floor in the merriest little blaze imaginable 397
“We might as well all be dead, as to have the little
brown house burnt up,” said Alexia 403
“An’ I want to hev the priv’lege to drive yer par up
too,” said Mr. Tisbett 421
The little children from the Dunraven Home marched around
Phronsie and her husband, each giving her a white rose
as they passed 433
PHRONSIE PEPPER.
CHAPTER I.
THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE.
“O children!” said Phronsie softly, “what are you doing?”
“They’re pulling all the hair out of my mamsie’s cushion,” shouted
King-Fisher, in a tone of anger; and, struggling with the two
delinquents on the floor, he bestowed several smart pulls on the chubby
shoulders bent over their task.
“Oh, oh!” cried Phronsie, dropping needle and scissors, and the little
sheer lawn bit destined to adorn Mamsie’s head, the lace trailing off
by itself across the old kitchen floor, as she sprang to her feet. “How
can you, King?”
“Stop pulling all the hair out of my Mamsie’s cushion, Barby,” screamed
King-Fisher, very red in the face. “Look at that, now! I’ll bite you,
if you don’t stop!”
“O King!” Phronsie seized his arm, as he began to set his white teeth
on the little fat arm.
Barby sat still in the middle of the floor, both hands grasped tightly
around the old calico cushion, which she huddled close to her small
bosom. “Go ’way!” she commanded, her blue eyes flashing at him from her
tangle of brown hair. “Go right ’way, bad, naughty boy!”
“I’ll take care of him. There, now, see if you come biting round here,
Mister King!” The other figure deserted the old hair cushion pulled out
of the rocking-chair, and, throwing itself on the unsuspecting King,
rolled over and over, pommelling and puffing furiously.
“O children, children!” cried Phronsie in great dismay. Just then the
door opened, and in walked old Mr. King, bending his handsome white
head to clear the doorway.
“Well--well--well! this is beautiful upon my word!” Then he burst out
laughing.
“O Grandpapa!” exclaimed Phronsie, clasping her hands in distress,
“this is so very dreadful! Do make them stop!”
“Nonsense! Let them alone,” said the old gentleman, in the midst of
his laugh. “I don’t doubt King-Fisher has been putting on airs, and
Polly’s boy is aching to take it out of him. That’s right, Elyot, give
it to him! I dare say he deserves it all, every bit.”
“Grandpapa,” begged Phronsie, hurrying up to clasp his arm
entreatingly, “do please make them stop. They’re in the little brown
house, Grandpapa; only just think, the little brown house. _Please_
make them stop!”
“To be sure,” said old Mr. King, pulling himself out of his amusement,
and wiping his face, “that is a consideration. Come, now, boys, hold up
there; you must finish all this out-of-doors, if you’ve got to.”
“O Grandpapa!” interposed Phronsie, “please tell them not to finish at
all. Make them stop always.”
“Well, at any rate, you must stop now, this minute; do you hear?” He
stamped his shapely foot, and the combatants ceased instantly, King, in
the sudden pause, finding himself at last on top.
“I could have beaten him all to nothing,” he declared, puffing
violently; “but he jumped whack on me, and my arm got twisted under,
and--and”--
“Never mind the rest of it,” said Grandpapa coolly; “of course you’d
have beaten if you could. Well, Elyot, you did pretty good for a boy of
five.”
“He was biting my sister,” declared Elyot, squaring up, with flushed
cheeks, and clinching his small fists.
“Oh--oh!” cried Barby, who had held her breath in delighted silence
while the encounter was in progress; and running up, her brown hair
flying away from her face, she presented a fat arm for the old
gentleman’s inspection.
“I don’t see any bite,” he said, after a grave scrutiny of it all over.
“Not yet,” said Barby, shaking her brown head wisely; “but it was
coming--it truly was, Grandpapa.”
“Don’t worry till your miseries do come, little woman;” he swung her up
over his white head, then put her on his shoulder.
“There Phronsie used to perch,” he said, smiling over at the young girl.
“O Grandpapa, she’s too big--why, she’s Aunt Phronsie, and she’s most
dreadful old,” said Barby, leaning over to look at him.
“Well, she used to sit just where you are, Miss,” repeated the old
gentleman. “Now, you be sure you’re always number two.” He pinched her
toes, making her squirm and squeal.
“What’s numtwo?” she asked at length, all out of breath from play.
“Lucky you don’t know,” said the old gentleman, his mouth close to her
ear; “well, it’s just always after number one, and never gets in front.
There, now, jump down, and help Phronsie patch it up with the boys.” He
put her on the floor, and went over to the corner, to sit down and view
operations.
Phronsie, meanwhile, had a boy each side of her, both trying to get
into her lap at once.
“It would just kill Mamsie,” she said mournfully, “to think of you two
boys behaving so, and she’s only gone a week!”
There was an awful pause. The old gentleman over in the corner kept
perfectly still; and Barby, finding all obstructions removed, placidly
engaged in completing the destruction of Mother Fisher’s cushion.
“And you promised her, King, you’d be a good boy, and be nice to the
children.”
“I--forgot,” blurted out King, winking very fast, and not looking at
Elyot. “I--I--did. Don’t look so, Phronsie,” he mumbled; and instantly
after his head went over in his sister’s lap, and he sobbed in her
dress, “Don’t write her, Phronsie--don’t!”
“And to think,” said Phronsie, gravely regarding Elyot, “that you
should fly at him, when he only wanted to protect Mamsie’s dear old
cushion. O Elyot! I am so surprised at you for pulling it to pieces.”
“I only wanted to see inside it; you said Mamsie and Uncle Ben made a
Santa Claus wig of it once; I was going to put it right back,” said
Elyot stoutly. Yet he looked at the ceiling diagonally, not trusting
himself a glance into Phronsie’s brown eyes. “Say, you don’t suppose
Grandmamsie will know?” he asked suddenly.
“I suppose I must tell Mamsie everything,” said Phronsie soberly. “I
promised to, you know. And, besides, we always have.”
Elyot shivered all over his small frame, while King howled, and
burrowed deeper than ever in Phronsie’s lap.
“But I can tell her how sorry you two boys are,” Phronsie went on, “and
that you never, never will do such a naughty thing again; that is, if
you never will, boys.”
[Illustration: “There! I got it all out alone by myself,” said Barby.]
“Oh, we never will!” they both protested over and over; and King came
up out of his shelter, and wiped his eyes, and the two put their arms
around each other, and made up splendidly; then turned to hear Barby
say, “There, I got it all out alone by myself;” and there was the hair
out of Mamsie’s cushion all sprawled over the floor.
While the children were picking this up, and crowding it back into the
big calico cover, Phronsie making Elyot do the best part of the work,
as he was older, and had helped Barby along, King working vigorously,
as penance, old Mr. King called, “Now, Phronsie, I want you, as those
youngsters seem to be straightened out;” and she had gone and sat on
his knee, her usual place in a conference.
“Well, I’ve just done such a good stroke of work, child,” he said
complacently, pulling softly the golden waves of hair that lay over her
cheek.
“What, Grandpapa?” she asked, as he seemed to wait her reply.
“Yes, such a good piece of work,” he ran on. Then he chuckled,
well pleased. “You must know, Phronsie,” for he was determined to
tell it in a way to suit himself, “that I was sitting on the back
veranda--Polly’s gone to town to-day, you know.”
“Yes, Grandpapa.”
“Well, and the house was quiet, thanks to you and the little brown
house, and I had a chance to read the morning paper in peace.” This
he said, unconscious of the fact that every one knew quite well he
courted the presence of the children on any and every occasion. “Well,
I had considerable to read; the news, strange to say, is very good,
really very good to-day, so it took me quite a long time.” He forgot
to mention that he had lost himself a half-hour or so in a nap; these
occurrences were never to be commented on in the family. “And I was
turning the paper--it’s abominable that editors mix things up so; it’s
eternally turning and returning the sheet, to find what you want. It’s
very hard, Phronsie, when we pay such prices for articles, that we
cannot have them to suit us, child.”
“Yes, Grandpapa,” said Phronsie patiently.
“Well, don’t look at those youngsters, Phronsie; they’re all right now.
They won’t fight any more to-day.”
“O Grandpapa!”
“I mean it, child. Well, I was turning that contemptible paper
for about the fiftieth time,--I wanted to read Brinkerhoff’s
editorial,--when I caught sight of a figure making around the lawn to
the front veranda. Thinks I, ‘that looks wonderfully like Roslyn May.’”
The pink glow in Phronsie’s round cheek went suddenly out.
“And so it was, as sure as you’re here on my knee.” He had her hand in
both of his, and was affectionately pressing it. “Yes, Phronsie, there
was that fellow. So I jumped up, and told Johnson to send him around to
me; and he came.”
Old Mr. King drew a long breath of pleased reminiscence. Phronsie sat
quite still, the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the western
window glinting her yellow hair. Her hands lay in Grandpapa’s, and her
eyes never wavered from his face. But she said nothing.
“You don’t ask me anything, Phronsie,” said the old gentleman at last.
“Hey, child?” pinching her ear.
“No, Grandpapa, because you will tell me yourself.”
“And so I will; you are a good girl not to badger me with questions.
Well, he came about the same thing, Phronsie,--wanted to see you, and
all that. But I couldn’t allow it, of course; for, if I did, the next
thing, you would be worried to death by his teasing. And that’s all out
of the question. Besides being decidedly unpleasant for you, it would
kill me.”
“Would it, Grandpapa?” Phronsie leaned forward suddenly, and held him
with her brown eyes.
“Not a shadow of doubt,” he answered promptly; “I shouldn’t live a
month if you went off and got married, Phronsie.”
“I wouldn’t go off and get married, Grandpapa!” exclaimed Phronsie. “I
could stay with you then; didn’t Roslyn say we could, and you would
always go with us if we went away? O Grandpapa, you didn’t think I
would ever leave you!” She threw her arms around his neck, and clung to
him convulsively.
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said the old gentleman, immensely pleased,
and patting her on the back as if she were a child of three; “but you
see this is nothing to the point, Phronsie, nothing at all.” Then he
went on testily, “You’d belong to somebody else besides me, and that
would be the same as being a thousand miles away. And as long as I’m
sure you don’t love him, Phronsie,”--which he had found out by taking
care not to ask her,--“why, I’ve done just the very best thing for you,
to send him away about his business.”
“Did he ask to see me?” Phronsie sat up quite straight now, and waited
quietly for the answer.
“Why, of course he did; but I knew it would only trouble you to see
him.”
“O Grandpapa--just one little minute--I wouldn’t have let him stay
long. Couldn’t you have sent him over here just for one minute?”
“Nonsense! You’re so tender of his feelings, it would only have been
hard for you. No, I thank my stars, Phronsie, I saved you from all
this trouble. What you would do, child, if it were not for your old
Granddaddy, I’m sure I don’t know. Well, he’s gone, and I told him
never to come back again with that errand in view; and I only hope to
goodness it’s the last time I shall be so worried by him.”
“There, we’ve got the hair all in,” announced King triumphantly,
rushing up, followed by the other two, Barby wiping her grimy little
hands in great satisfaction over her white apron. “Now please say we’ve
been good boys, and”--
“And a good girl,” chimed in Barby, flying after with red cheeks.
“And sew up the old cushion,” begged Elyot. This would be almost as
good fun as the pulling it open had been, to see Phronsie sewing it
tight, and she could tell them stories meanwhile.
“Let the cushion wait,” began Mr. King.
“But, Grandpapa, the hair may get spilled out again,” said Phronsie
gently, and getting off from his knee. “I really think I ought to do it
now, Grandpapa dear.”
“Yes--yes,” cried all the children, hopping up and down; “do it now--do
it now, Phronsie.”
So Phronsie found her thimble and scissors once more, and got out the
coarse brown thread from her little sewing-bag, and sewed the big seam
in the old calico cushion fast again, the children taking turns in
poking the wisps of hair in the crevice.
“Now tell all what you used to do when you lived here--just here,”
demanded Elyot, patting the old floor with his hand, “every single
thing, Phronsie;” for the children, except on rare occasions, never
called her “Aunt.” “Don’t leave out anything you did in the little
brown house. Now begin.”
“O Elyot,” said Phronsie, “I couldn’t tell it all if I tried ever so
hard.”
“Polly tells the best stories,” said King, pushing and picking the hair
into place in the last corner.
“So she does,” said Phronsie; “there now, King-Fisher, that’s all you
can do. Look out; my needle is coming up there,” as King with a final
pull settled the last little wisp into place.
“Let me--let me,” begged Barby, thrusting her little hand in. “I want
to do it last. Let me, King.”
“No,” said King stoutly, hanging to the corner. “I shall; it’s my
mother’s cushion.”
“O King,” began Phronsie gently, “Mamsie would like it better if you
let Barby do it. She’s so little.”
“She’s always pushing, just the same,” said King stoutly, “as if she
was big folks.”
“Well, if you want to please Mamsie, you’ll let her do it,” went on
Phronsie, pausing with needle in mid-air. “Hurry, now, children; I
can’t wait any longer.”
“You may, Barby,” declared King, relinquishing with a mighty effort
the pinched-up corner. “There, go ahead,” and he winked fast at her
great satisfaction while she pushed and poked the wisps in with her fat
little finger, humming contentedly meanwhile.
Phronsie flashed a smile over at King. “Now, children,” she said, “you
must know we were very poor in those days, and”--
“What is poor?” asked Barby, stopping singing.
“I know,” said Elyot; “it’s wearing rags like the ashman. Oh, I wish I
could!”
“Oh, no!” cried Phronsie in horror; “that isn’t poor; that’s shiftless,
Mamsie always used to say. Oh, we were just as nice! Well, you can’t
think, children, how spick and span everything was!”
“What’s spick ’n’ span?” demanded Barby.
“Make her stop,” cried Elyot crossly; “we shall never hear all about it
if she keeps asking questions every minute. Now go on, Phronsie.”
“Well,” said Phronsie, “now that corner’s all done beautifully, Barby;
take care, or I shall prick your finger. Why, Polly would scrub and
scrub the floor and the table, till I used to try to see my face in
them, they were so bright.”
“They’re bright now,” declared both the boys, jumping off to
investigate. Barby pushed her hair back from her round cheeks, and
leaned over. “I don’t see my face, Phronsie,” she exclaimed.
“No, and I couldn’t see mine; but I always tried to, for Polly kept
them so bright, and one day I remember I was scrubbing Seraphina, and”--
“Who’s Seraphina?” burst in Barby, coming back to crouch at Phronsie’s
feet.
“Ow! Be still!” cried Elyot, with a small pinch.
“Seraphina was my very first doll, the only child I ever had until
Grandpapa gave me all the rest,” Phronsie sent a smile over to the
old gentleman in the corner, “and she’s in Mamsie’s big bureau in the
bedroom now.”
“I’m going to see,” declared all three children at once, hopping up.
“Oh, no! you mustn’t,” said Phronsie; “not till this cushion is done.
Then, if you’re very good, I’ll show her to you.”
“We’ll be just as good,” they all cried, “as we can be,” and running
back to sit down on the floor again at her feet. “Do go on,” said Elyot.
“You see, I wanted Seraphina to be just as nice as Polly kept things;
and so I was scrubbing her with soap and water one day, when Polly
called out, ‘O Phronsie! the big dog’s out here that scared the naughty
organ-man; and the boy;’ and before she could wipe my hands and my
face, for you see I’d got the soap all over me too, I ran to see them,
and Jasper kissed me, and got the soft soap all in his mouth.”
“Ugh!” cried King, with a grimace.
“Yes, that’s just the way Japser looked, and that’s what he said too!”
said Phronsie, going on with the recital.
“Who was Japser?” demanded Barby.
“Why, he was our Popsie,” said Elyot, who had heard the story many
times. “Now do stop talking, Barby. Well, go on,” he begged, turning
back to Phronsie.
“And I couldn’t say Jasper,” said Phronsie, “and then sometimes we
called him Jappy.”
[Illustration: “Oh, goody! here comes Mr. Tisbett,” howled King.]
“How funny!” laughed all three. “Oh, goody! here comes Mr. Tisbett,”
howled King in a sudden rapture, lifting his head to see the top of the
old stage through the window. “Why, he’s stopping here! He’s stopping
here!” and, tumbling over the other two, King found his feet, and
pranced off over the big flat doorstone, and down the path, Elyot and
Barby flying after, to see Mr. Tisbett open the stage-door with a,
“Here you be, ma’am, and the boy too.”
“Grandpapa,” cried Phronsie, taking one look out of the window, “it’s
Mrs. Fargo and Johnny!”
“The mercy it is!” exclaimed the old gentleman ruefully. “Well,
good-by, Phronsie, to any sort of peace, now that boy’s come!”