JOHNNY.
“What a pity that Johnny couldn’t come to the candy party,” sighed
Phronsie the next day, looking over at the little brown house across
the lane, which presented the same serene appearance, as if such jovial
affairs had not been; “but I suppose Mrs. Fargo knew best, and he
really was too tired, as they’d just come.”
“Mrs. Fargo surely does know best,” said Polly, stopping long enough in
her trial of a very difficult passage in the sonata to fling this over
her shoulder to Phronsie; “for you know, Phronsie, Johnny is just awful
when he’s tired out.”
“Yes; I know,” said Phronsie, with another sigh, “but then he’s Johnny,
you know, Polly.”
“And the dearest dear of a Johnny too!” cried Polly warmly, going
on with her practising. “O Phronsie, supposing I _shouldn’t_ play
this--good!” She stopped suddenly, and leaned both hands on the
music-rest at the dreadful thought.
Phronsie stopped looking over the children’s books on the table, and,
setting them straight, came over to her side.
“You can’t make a mistake,” she breathed confidently. “Why, Polly, you
play it beautifully!”
“But I may,” broke in Polly recklessly. “Oh, I may, Phronsie! And then,
oh, dear! I could never hold my head up in all this world. It would be
so very dreadful for Jasper and the children, for me not to play it as
it ought to be.”
Phronsie leaned over Polly’s shoulder, and put two soft arms around her
neck. “You will play it good, Polly,” she declared; “and Mamsie would
say,--I know she would,--that you’re not to think of what you’ll do at
the time, till the time comes.”
“You blessed child!” cried Polly, whirling around on the music-stool.
“O Phronsie! you’re just such a comfort as you were that day when
Grandpapa brought you and put you in my arms, when I broke down
practising, and I’d almost made up my mind to go home. Now, then, I’ll
just stop worrying, and play ahead.”
And she sat up straight, and flashed all the brilliant passages over
again, Phronsie standing quite still to watch Polly’s fingers flying up
and down.
But, notwithstanding all Phronsie’s comfort, Polly knew that she would
have to give hard and constant work to make this, the supreme effort
of her life thus far in a musical way, a success. It was the first
time that anybody outside of the highest professional lines had been
asked to play with the Symphony Orchestra; and when this urgent request
had been laid before Polly, she had said, “Oh, no! I cannot play well
enough.”
But Mrs. Jasper King’s reputation as a pianist had gone farther than
Polly knew. A request came, signed by a long list of people whose names
were high in an artistic sense, fortified by the best citizens of the
good old town of Berton,--itself a guaranty of anything in that line,
for was it not the home of the Symphony? When this came, and Polly saw
Jasper’s eyes, she gave a little gasp. “I will, dear, if you think
best,” she said, looking at no one but him.
“It’s just as you say, Polly,” Jasper had answered. But his eyes shone,
and he instinctively straightened up with pride. And when she had said,
“O Jasper! if you think I can, I’ll do it,”--“I know you can, Polly,”
Jasper had declared, and Polly had said “Yes,” and great delight
reigned everywhere; and Grandpapa had patted her head, and said, “Well
done, Polly! To think of all those hard hours of practice in the old
days turning out like this;” and Mamsie had smiled at her in a way that
only Mamsie could smile. And Polly and Jasper had hurried off to Berton
the next morning, Jasper swinging the little publishing bag, on the
way to the train, with a jubilant hand; and in the lapse of the hard
working hours, when things eased up a bit, he had said to Mr. Marlowe
(for it was Marlowe & King now, in bright gilt letters over the big
door), “I am going with my wife to select the music,” for Polly was a
prime favorite with Mr. Marlowe, and everything was told to him.
And Jasper and Polly went to the music-store, and ransacked the
shelves, and tried various selections, for Polly was to play what
she liked; and after the piece was picked out, then the two went to
luncheon at the cunning little restaurant on a side street, nice and
quiet, where they could talk it all over.
But sometimes, when Polly was all alone in the big music-room
opening on the side veranda, she trembled all over at the terrible
responsibility she had taken upon herself. It seemed so very much worse
to fail now that she bore Jasper’s honored name, than if she were
only unknown and simple “Polly Pepper.” And to-day she could not help
showing this dismay to Phronsie.
“But Mamsie would say so,” repeated Polly over and over to herself
bravely, “just what Phronsie did.” And then at it she would fly harder
than ever. And every evening after the “publishing bag” had been looked
over in Jasper’s and Polly’s little den, and its contents sorted and
attended to for the morrow, Jasper would always say, “Now, Polly, for
the music;” and Polly would fly to the piano, while he drew up a big
easy-chair to her side, to settle into it restfully; and the others
would hurry in at the first note, and then Polly’s concert would begin.
And every night she knew she played it a little bit better, and her
cheeks glowed, and her heart took comfort.
[Illustration: Tying on her big garden hat, Phronsie went across the
road.]
Phronsie put away the little sewing-bag as soon as Polly finished
practising this morning, and hung it on its hook over Grandpapa’s
newspaper rack,--for she always sat and sewed in the music-room
mornings when Polly practised, generally making sails for the boys,
just as Polly had done years ago, or clothes for Barby’s dolls,--and
tying on her big garden hat, she went over across the road, and down
around the corner, to the big house where Mrs. Fargo and Johnny had
come to board for the summer, arriving a week earlier than they
intended, as it was warm at home, and Mrs. Fargo watched jealously over
Johnny’s health.
“It does seem so very nice to have you here, dear Mrs. Fargo,” she
said, coming upon that lady in one of her big square rooms. For Mrs.
Fargo had taken the whole upper floor of the house, and was in the
depths of the misery of unpacking the huge trunks with which the rooms
and hall seemed to be full, the maid busy as a bee in the process,
while Johnny was under foot every other minute in a way terrible to
behold. “And now I’m going to help.” She laid aside her big hat on the
bed.
“O Phronsie!” cried Mrs. Fargo, turning a pink, distressed face to
her, “it’s perfectly lovely to see you; but you’re not going to work,
dear. It’s bad enough for me. Joanna, the nails aren’t out of that box
of books. You’ll have to go down, and tell Mr. Brown to come and draw
them.”
“I’ll draw them,” cried Johnny, springing out from behind a trunk he
was trying with all his might to move. “I’ve got my own hammer; yes,
sir-ee! Now get out of the way; I’m coming.”
“O Johnny! you can’t,” remonstrated Mrs. Fargo quickly. “You’re not big
enough; it needs a strong man.”
“I’m ’most a man,” said Johnny, twitching away from her. “I’m going to
do it.”
“But your hammer is in the box of your playthings,” said Mrs. Fargo,
glad to remember this.
“I don’t care; I’ll get Mr. Brown’s, then,” declared Johnny, prancing
off.
“Oh, dear me! Phronsie, do stop that boy,” begged Mrs. Fargo, tired and
distressed.
“Johnny,” called Phronsie softly. She did not offer to go after him.
“Come here, dear.”
“Am going for Mr. Brown’s hammer,” said Johnny, edging off.
“I want you, dear.”
“Am going for Mr. Brown’s hammer.” Yet he came back. “What you want?”
“I’m going to take you over with me, if your mamma says so, to our
house; and if you’re very good, Johnny, you shall ride on the donkey.
May I take him, Mrs. Fargo?”
“Oh, if you only will!” breathed Mrs. Fargo thankfully.
“I don’t want any old hammer!” screamed Johnny in a transport; “the
donkey’s a good deal gooder,” scrambling down the stairs.
“And I’ll send Mr. Brown up to open the box,” said Phronsie, tying on
her hat, and going after him.
But she didn’t get Johnny over to the donkey, after all; for, just as
she had seen Mr. Brown on his way up-stairs to open the box, some one
ran up the steps, two at a time, with, “O Phronsie, I’ve a day off!”
most joyfully.
“Why, I don’t see how, Dick,” said Phronsie, looking at him from under
her big hat.
“Never mind. I have it, anyhow; tell you later. Now for some fun! That
chap here?” looking suddenly at Johnny, who now began at the bottom of
the steps to howl to Phronsie to hurry for the donkey.
“Yes; they came a week sooner than they expected,” said Phronsie. “They
got here yesterday.”
“Botheration! Well, now, Phronsie, let the boy alone. I’m only here for
a day, you know. He’s all right if turned out in the dirt to play. I
want you to go to drive.”
“I promised him he should ride on the donkey,” said Phronsie. “I had
to, for his mother and Joanna have all the unpacking to do. And he
must, Dick.”
“Hand him over to me, then,” said Dick. “I’ll give him a donkey-treat,
Phronsie.”
“Oh, thank you, Dick; and then I can help Mrs. Fargo,” turning back to
the door.
“See, here,” cried Dick; “I’m doing this to help you out of it. Now,
you’ve got to go to drive with me afterward, Phronsie.” He stopped with
his foot on the upper step, and looked at her. “Grandpapa said I might
try the new pair next time I came out. Will you?”
“We can take Johnny,” said Phronsie, pausing a bit. “Yes, Dick, I’ll
go.”
“Bother him for a nuisance!” growled Dick.
But as this was all that he could get from Phronsie, he hurried off,
and overtook Johnny trying to get on by himself to the donkey’s back,
where he peacefully browsed in the paddock.
“Hold on there!” roared Dick at him, as only a college boy can roar.
But Johnny was in no mind to hold on to anything but the donkey. This
he did so effectually, sticking his toes into the sides of the animal,
that the donkey at last sent out a hind foot. Away went Johnny, half
across the field, it seemed to Dick, hurrying up; and then he lay still
as a stone.
[Illustration: “Johnny! open your eyes,” cried Dick.]
“Oh, dear!” cried Dick, in the greatest distress. “Here, Johnny, open
your eyes,” kneeling down beside him on the grass. “Come, get up, and
stop shamming;” for there was a dreadful feeling at Dick’s heart,
that, if he didn’t keep joking about it, Johnny would be found to be
hurt.
But Johnny wouldn’t get up, and he wouldn’t open his eyes; so Dick was
forced to pick him up, the donkey, finding that he incommoded no one
by running away, now trotting up to stare at the little figure on the
grass. “Here, give me some of that water,” cried Dick hoarsely, to
one of the stable boys, who appeared around the paddock with a pail.
“Dash it over his face,” as the boy came shambling up. “Donkey kicked
him--oh, my goodness! he doesn’t stir,” as the contents of the pail
streamed over Johnny’s face.
“I’ll carry him for you,” said the boy, setting down the pail.
“You get out--oh! beg your pardon--I’ll carry him myself.”
Just then Polly looked out of the window, humming the last bars of her
sonata.
“Why, Dick!” as she spied him, “how funny that you’re home. Oh,
what”--as she caught sight of a little boy’s figure in his arms.
“It’s Johnny,” said Dick, lifting his pale face to the window, as he
hurried along. But Polly didn’t hear; speeding over the stairs, she
ran out to the lawn, and over the walk to the paddock-edge. “O Dick!”
she exclaimed again. Then she held herself in check, as she saw his
face. “I believe he’s all right,” she began cheerfully.
“He’s dead!” declared Dick hoarsely, and staggering on.
“Oh, no, Dick!--oh, no!” protested Polly, hurrying by his side. “Bring
him in here,” she said, pointing to the side veranda.
Dick still staggered on, up the steps, and into the house.
“Oh, if Papa Fisher were only here!” sighed Polly; then she looked at
Dick. “But how nice it is that there’s such a good doctor here. You
know, Father Fisher told us to send for him if anything was the matter
with us. There, lay Johnny on the sofa here, and then run, Dicky, do,
and get the doctor. He lives on Porter Road, the third house this way.
Take the pony-cart. Dr. Phillips is his name,” she called after him;
then she touched the electric bell at her elbow.
“Tell Mrs. Higby to come here at once,” said Polly to the maid, who
popped in her head in obedience to the summons.
[Illustration: “Oh, he’s rolled off,” cried Polly, aghast.]
“I must get some hartshorn,” said Polly; “he won’t stir, poor boy. I’ll
run up to my room and get it.” In less time than it takes to tell it,
Polly was off and back, to find Mrs. Higby just arrived in the doorway,
saying, “Did you want me, Ma’am? Jane said as how one of the boys was
sick.”
“O Mrs. Higby!” gasped Polly, the color beginning to come back to her
cheek. “It’s Johnny--on the lounge. Here, I’ve the hartshorn,” holding
up the bottle. “He was kicked by the donkey--Dick’s gone for the
doctor.” All this in one breath, as they were going across the room,
the good woman in advance.
“I don’t see,”--began Mrs. Higby.
“And some one must tell Mrs. Fargo,” mourned Polly, back of the ample
figure. “Why--where”--for the sofa was empty.
“Oh, he’s rolled off! though how he could, I don’t see,” said Polly,
aghast, and tumbling down on her knees to peer under the sofa, Mrs.
Higby pulling it out from the wall to facilitate matters. “He was just
as if he were dead. O Mrs. Higby! where do you suppose he is?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” declared Mrs. Higby, thoroughly alarmed; “like
enough, Mrs. King, it’s flew to his head, and he’s gone crazy.”
At this direful prospect, Polly set up a most diligent search here,
there, and everywhere a small boy of eight would be supposed to rest
under such conditions, assisted as well as she could be by Mrs. Higby,
whose ample figure, impelled by her fright, knocked down more articles
than she could well set to rights again, until at last they were
compelled to call in others to the search.
And in the midst of it all, they heard a shout out in the direction
of the stables; and, running out to the veranda, they saw Johnny
triumphantly sticking to the donkey’s back, while he waved a small
switch the stable--boy had just obligingly cut for him.
“Pay him up now for your tumble,” advised the boy.
“See, I did get on all by myself!” shouted Johnny at them. “Runned away
when Mrs. King went up-stairs;” then he turned, and waved his stick at
Dick and Dr. Phillips driving at a furious pace into the side yard.