THE DARK CLOUD OVER THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE
“You don’t say!” Old Man Beebe turned around on his little ladder where
he was reaching down a pair of number six shoes for a customer. “Sho’
now, I am beat, Mis Brown! Mebbe ’tain’t true.” He held the shoes
aloft, the long strings dangling down.
“There ain’t no morsel o’ doubt about it,” said Mrs. Brown decidedly.
“I’ve jest come from the store, an’ Mr. Atkins himself told me. I can’t
wait all day, Mr. Beebe; an’ I said gaiters. I don’t want no shoes.”
“You said shoes,” said Mr. Beebe. “However did I git up here, ef you
hadn’t asked for ’em.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about th’ workin’ o’ your mind, Mr. Beebe,” said
Mrs. Brown, “I said gaiters as plain as day--and do hurry!” She whipped
the ends of her shawl impatiently around her gaunt figure.
“I d’no’s I have any gaiters--that is--that’ll fit you,” said the
little shoemaker, putting the “number sixes” into their box, and slowly
fitting on the cover. “P’raps I have a pair on the lower shelf.” He got
down laboriously from the ladder, put it in the corner and began to
rummage his stock.
“An’ there’s my bread waitin’ to go in th’ oven, an’ I’ve got cake to
bake for the sewin’ s’ciety,--do hurry, Mr. Beebe.”
“I s’pose they’ve got to have rubber sides,” mused Mr. Beebe, getting
down on his knees, to explore behind the chintz curtains that fell from
the lowest shelf.
“Why, of course,” said Mrs. Brown, impatiently, “gaiters is gaiters,
ain’t they? An’ I never saw a pair without them rubber sides to ’em,
did you, Mr. Beebe?”
“I d’no’s I did,” said the little shoemaker, his head under the
curtain. “Well, now here’s a pair, I do believe,” and he dragged out
a box, whipped off the cover and disclosed a pair with elastic sides.
“Them’s Congress gaiters,” he said, “an’ they look as if they’d fit
like your skin.”
“I’m sure I hope so,” said Mrs. Brown, putting out her generous foot.
“An’ do hurry an’ try ’em on, for mercy’s sakes!”
“I’m hurryin’ as fast as I can,” said Mr. Beebe, coming over to the
bench where the customers always sat for the shoes to be tried on,
“but you’ve upset me so about that bad news. Sho’ now!--to think that
anythin’ should happen to the little brown house folks.”
“What’s that--what’s that, Pa?” Mrs. Beebe’s head appeared in the
doorway between the little shop and the sitting-room. She had been
frying doughnuts and she carried one in now on a blue plate, as she
always did while they were nice and hot. “What’s th’ matter with th’
little brown house folks? Oh, how do you do, Mis Brown?”
Mrs. Brown’s nose wrinkled up appreciatively at sight of the doughnut.
“I hope nothin’, Ma,” said Mr. Beebe, not looking at the plate.
“You always have such luck with your doughnuts, Mis Beebe,” said Mrs.
Brown longingly.
“Well, what is it, anyway?” demanded Mrs. Beebe, setting down the plate
on the counter that ran on one side of the little shop, and coming up
to the shoe-bench. “What was you sayin’, Pa, about th’ Pepperses?”
“Polly’s got the measles now.”
“Good land o’ Goshen!” exclaimed old Mrs. Beebe. Then she sat down on
the other end of the bench and folded her plump hands.
“P’raps ’tain’t true,” he said, with trembling hands pulling on the
gaiter.
“That’s too tight,” declared Mrs. Brown, wrenching her mind from the
doughnuts and twisting her foot from one side to the other.
“’Twon’t be when th’ rubber ’lastic has got stretched,” said Mr. Beebe.
“Yes, an’ then the ’lastic will be all wore out, an’ bulge,” said Mrs.
Brown discontentedly. “Hain’t you got another pair, Mr. Beebe?”
“Not your size,” said the little shoemaker.
“Well, if Polly Pepper’s got th’ measles, I’m goin’ right down to the
little brown house,” declared old Mrs. Beebe, getting up from the
shoe-bench. “I’ll set out your dinner, Pa, the cold meat an’ pie, and
there’s some hot soup on the stove. I’m goin’ to stay an’ help Mis
Pepper,” and she waddled out.
“Well, for mercy’s sake, Mr. Beebe, try on th’ other gaiter. I’ve got
to git home some time to-day,” said Mrs. Brown crossly, all hope of a
doughnut coming her way now gone entirely.
The little shoemaker stood by the door of his shop thoughtfully
jingling the silver pieces in his hands, after his customer had gone
out.
“To think o’ Polly bein’ took! O dear, dear! I declare I forgot to give
Ma some pink sticks to take to the childern.” He hurried out to the
small entry, took down his coat and old cap and rammed his hands into
his big pockets.
“Here they are, just as I saved ’em for Joel.” Then he locked up his
little shop and ambled down the cobble-stones to overtake old Mrs.
Beebe on her way to the little brown house.
But she got there first and opened the old green door without knocking.
Mrs. Pepper was coming out of the bedroom with a bowl and a spoon in
her hands. Her face was very white, but she tried to smile a welcome.
“Land alive!” exclaimed old Mrs. Beebe in a loud whisper. “Is Polly
took?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“Well, I never!” Mrs. Beebe sank down in Mother Pepper’s calico-covered
chair. “That beats all--to think that Polly’s took! Whatever’ll you do
_now_!”
“Take care,” warned Mrs. Pepper, “she’ll hear you,” and she pointed to
the bedroom.
“I’m whisperin’,” said old Mrs. Beebe, holding her plump hands tightly
together.
Mrs. Pepper hurried up to the loft to see how Ben was getting on.
And in came the little shoemaker, his round face quite red, he had
hurried so.
“Is she bad?” The whisper was so much worse than that of old Mrs.
Beebe, that she got out of the big chair and hurried over to him. “Pa,
you mustn’t--she’ll hear you.” She pointed to the bedroom and twitched
his sleeve.
“I ain’t a-talkin’, I’m whisperin’,” he said. “Is Polly bad, Ma?” He
pulled out his bandanna handkerchief and wiped his anxious face.
“Oh, I d’no,” said Mrs. Beebe disconsolately. “Everything bad that Mis
Pepper gits, deary me!”
“Well, I brought some pink sticks for Joel and Davie,” said old Mr.
Beebe, pulling out the paper from his pocket. “There Ma,” he laid them
down on the table. “Where’s th’ boys?” he peered around the old kitchen.
“They’re over to Deacon Blodgett’s, I s’pose,” said Mrs. Beebe. “O dear
me, they’ve got to work worse’n ever, now Ben’s sick.”
“Sho, now!” exclaimed the little shoemaker, dreadfully upset. “Where’s
Mis Pepper?”
“Up there,” old Mrs. Beebe pointed to the loft stairs.
“I d’no what Mis Pepper is goin’ to do now that Polly is took with th’
measles,” said Mr. Beebe in a loud whisper. “Hem! O dear me!” and he
blew his nose violently.
“Hush, Pa! You do speak dretful loud,” as Mrs. Pepper came down the
loft stairs.
“It’s good of you to come, Mr. Beebe,” she said, hurrying into the
bedroom and closing the door.
“Mamsie,” cried Polly, flying into the middle of the bed; the tears
were racing down under the bandage that Dr. Fisher had tied over her
eyes that morning. “Whatever will you do now that I’ve got ’em--Oh,
Mamsie!” She threw her arms around Mother Pepper.
“Polly--Polly, child!” Mrs. Pepper held her close. “You mustn’t cry.
Don’t you know what Dr. Fisher told you. There--there,” she patted the
brown hair as Polly snuggled up to her.
“I can’t help it,” said Polly, the tears tumbling over each other in
their mad race down her cheeks. “I don’t mind my eyes, if only I could
help you. Oh, what will you do, Mamsie?”
“Oh, I will get along,” said Mrs. Pepper in a cheerful voice. “And just
think how good Joel is.”
“It’s good Joey hasn’t got the measles,” said Polly, trying to smile
through her tears.
“Isn’t it?” said Mrs. Pepper. “And Deacon Blodgett says he does
splendidly working about the place. And Davie, too--oh, Polly, just
think what a comfort those two boys are.”
“I know it,” said Polly, trying to speak cheerfully, “but I do wish
I could help you sew on the coats,” she said, and her face drooped
further within Mother Pepper’s arms.
“It’s just because you have sewed so much that your eyes are bad.” Mrs.
Pepper couldn’t repress the sigh.
“Mamsie, now don’t you feel badly,” Polly brought her head up suddenly.
“Oh, I wish I could see your face--don’t you, Mamsie?” She clutched her
mother tightly, and the tears began to come again.
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “now you and I have both got to be brave.
It’s not time for crying, and you must just be mother’s girl, and lie
down and keep warm under the clothes. That’s the very best way to help
me.”
“I’ll try,” said Polly, as Mrs. Pepper tucked her in under the old
comforter.
But although old Mrs. Beebe was kind as could be, and Grandma Bascom
hobbled over every now and then, and Parson Henderson and his wife
helped in every imaginable way, a black cloud settled over the little
brown house. And one day Badgertown heard the news: “Joel Pepper is
took sick with th’ measles, and he’s awful bad.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Mr. Atkins, turning off with the jug he was
filling from the big barrel of molasses for a customer, “that boy can’t
be sick.”
“Well, he is,” declared the customer. “Look out! th’ ’lasses is all
a-runnin’ over th’ floor!”
“Thunderation!” The storekeeper jumped back and picked his foot out of
the sticky mess, while he thrust the jug under the bunghole. “Hold your
tongue, Timothy Bliss! Joel Pepper was in here yist’day--no, that was
David bringin’ back th’ coats Mis Pepper had sewed--’twas day before
yist’day Joe came runnin’ in, smart as a cricket. He warn’t goin’ to
have no squeezles, he said, No, Sir!” Mr. Atkins turned off the spigot
sharply, and set the jug on the counter with a thud.
“He’s got ’em now at any rate,” said Mr. Bliss solemnly. “An’ Mis Beebe
says they wouldn’t wonder ef he was goin’ to die.”
“_Die!_” roared the storekeeper. “Ain’t you ’shamed, Timothy Bliss, to
stand there sayin’ sech stuff! Joel Pepper can’t die.” Yet Mr. Atkins
gripped the counter with both hands, while everything in his store
seemed to spin around.
“Mis Beebe said--standin’ in th’ door o’ th’ shoe-shop as I come by,”
began Mr. Bliss, leaning up against the counter.
“Don’t tell me no more,” interrupted the storekeeper, waving both
sticky hands excitedly; “it’s scand’lous startin’ such tales.” Then he
rushed over to the small door connecting with his house. “Ma--Ma,” he
screamed, “Joel Pepper’s awful sick with the measles!”
“You don’t say!” Mrs. Atkins came to the top of the stairs, her
sweeping-cap on her head and a dust-brush in her hand. “O me, O my!”
she mourned. “What will Mis Pepper do now, with both of her boys took
sick?”
“Well, she’s got Davie,” said the storekeeper, determined to get some
comfort, and hanging to the newel post.
“Davie’s so little.” Mrs. Atkins sat down on the upper stair. “He’d
help all he could, but he’s so little,” she repeated.
“David’s awful smart,” said Mr. Atkins.
“I know it; they’re all smart, them Pepper childern, but Joel’s so up
an’ comin’, you can’t think of Davie somehow as takin’ hold o’ things.
Seth Atkins, you’ve got ’lasses all over your trousers!”
She ran down the stairs and peered anxiously at her husband’s legs.
The storekeeper twitched away. “That’s Timothy Bliss’ fault. He scaret
me so about Joe,” and he darted back into the store.
* * * * *
“I’m goin’ to help Mamsie.” David stood in the middle of the kitchen,
twisting his hands together anxiously. “I’m getting to be real big now,
Mrs. Beebe,” and he stood on his tiptoes.
“Bless your heart!” exclaimed old Mrs. Beebe, making gruel on the old
stove, “so you be, Davie.”
“And pretty soon I’ll be as big as--as Joel.” Then he swallowed hard at
the sound of Joel’s name.
“So you will--so you will,” said Mrs. Beebe. “An’ you help your mother
now, Davie boy.”
“Do I?” cried David. A little pink spot came on each cheek, and he
unclenched his hands, for he wasn’t going to cry now.
“To be sure you do,” declared Mrs. Beebe, bobbing her cap at him. “Your
Ma told me yest’day she depended on you.”
“Did she?” David ran over to clutch her apron, the pink spots getting
quite rosy. “Oh, I’m going to do just everything that Ben and Joel
did--I am, Mrs. Beebe.”
“Well, you look out, you don’t work too hard, Davie,” Mrs. Beebe
stopped stirring a minute, and regarded him anxiously, “that would
worry your Ma most dretful. There, that’s done.” She swished the spoon
about a few times, then poured the gruel into a bowl. “Now, then, I’ll
give it to Ben.”
“Oh, let me,” cried Davie, putting up both hands eagerly.
“You’re too tired--you’ve ben a-runnin’ all th’ mornin’,” began Mrs.
Beebe, yet her stout legs ached badly.
“I’m not tired,” cried Davie, and in a minute he had the bowl and was
going carefully up the loft stairs.
“Now that blessed child is just like the rest o’ th’ childern,” mused
old Mrs. Beebe, sinking down in a chair. “Davie’s quiet, but he get’s
there all the same.”
And Davie’s little legs “got there all the same” through the dark days
when Joel went deeper and deeper into the gloom. And the little brown
house people held their breath in very dread of the coming hours.
And good Doctor Fisher lay awake every night after the day’s hard
work, going over and over in his troubled mind how he might save Mrs.
Pepper’s boy.
“O dear me!” a voice broke in upon the woodshed, where Davie sat on
the chopping-block. His legs ached dreadfully, but he wasn’t thinking
of them. He was awfully afraid he was going to cry after all, and he
twisted up his small cheeks, and held his hands together oh, oh so
tightly!
“Just as I expected,” Miss Jerusha Henderson put her head in, “all this
talk about the Pepper childern workin’ to help their mother is just
rubbish,” she sniffed and came up to the chopping-block; “there you
set, you lazy boy, you.”
“I’m not a lazy boy,” said David, getting off from the chopping-block.
“Mamsie told me there wasn’t anything to do now.” His little cheeks
burned like fire.
“Anything to do!” Miss Jerusha raised her long fingers and waved them
about. “Did I ever--and look at all this messy place! Why ain’t you
choppin’ wood, I sh’d like to know?”
“Mamsie told me not to do anything till she called me.” His head ached
dreadfully, and he wanted to run, but he stood his ground.
“If ever I saw a woman who spoiled her childern, it’s your Ma,” said
Miss Jerusha, sniffing again. “It’s no wonder she has trouble.”
David swallowed hard, then he looked up into her snappy little black
eyes. “I wish you’d go away,” he said quietly.
“Of all the impertinent boys!” exclaimed the parson’s sister, an angry
flush spreading over her gaunt face. “Well, I’m not going, I can tell
you that. And I shall come every day and do my duty by you, David
Pepper.”
“No,” said David, “you mustn’t come any more.”
“And I am going to speak to your Ma now, and tell her what a naughty
boy you are.” Miss Jerusha picked up her gingham gown and went off on
angry feet out of the woodshed.
David ran past her, and up to the door of the little brown house. When
she got there he was holding the latch with both hands.
“You get off that door-step!” cried Miss Jerusha, now in a towering
passion, and seizing his little calico blouse, “I declare I just ache
to give you a whipping!” She raised one long hand threateningly. “You
don’t get any with that silly mother of yours. Get off that door-step,
I say! It’s my duty to speak to your Ma.”
“You can’t,” said Davie stoutly, “because you can’t get in.” He gripped
the latch tighter, and his blue eyes flashed just like Mother Pepper’s
black ones.
“Can’t, hey?” Miss Jerusha’s hard hand was laid not very gently on
David’s little ones holding the old latch. Her other was raised
threateningly. “Let go of that latch, or I’ll box your ears.”
Davie clung tighter than ever to the latch. Down came Miss Jerusha’s
hand on his small ear. An angry red spot was on her cheek, and she
struck again.
“What’s this--what’s this?” Doctor Fisher came briskly up the path. The
parson’s sister turned suddenly, her hand falling to her side.
“This boy has been very naughty,” she said, the blood rushing over her
gaunt cheeks.
Dr. Fisher set his big spectacles straight, and regarded her keenly.
“He has sassed me by holding this door, an’ I’m goin’ in to see his Ma.”
“Davie’s just right,” said the little doctor. He turned to give an
approving smile to him still clinging to the old latch.
“_Jest right!_” screamed Miss Jerusha, in a towering passion. “Do you
know who I be? I’m Parson Henderson’s sister.”
“Yes, I know,” said Doctor Fisher, “and I’m dreadfully sorry for the
parson. I wish I could help him. But as for David here, he’s got my
permission to keep out anybody he wants to. Mrs. Pepper isn’t to be
worried by visitors.”
“I shall report you to the Parson,” said Miss Jerusha, getting off from
the flat stone.
“Yes, do,” said Doctor Fisher, as she stalked down the path. Then he
went into the little brown house to battle for Joel’s life.