BACK TO MAMSIE
“Th’ beef’s biled ’mos’ to nothin’,” said Mrs. Brown, sticking a long
iron fork into the pot of corned beef, surrounded by bubbling heaps
of cabbage. She had thrown off her sunbonnet on the old sofa in the
sitting-room, and hurried into the bedroom where she had deposited
Phronsie, fast asleep, on the gay patched bedquilt.
“There, you sweet lamb, you!” Then she hurried out to see about the
belated dinner.
“John,” she called, as she ran out to the barn, “come, dinner’s ready.”
Farmer Brown turned as he was leading the old white horse to his stall.
“Is she awake?” pointing with his thumb to the house.
“No,” Mrs. Brown sped back to the kitchen.
“What’ll we do with that little gal?” the farmer’s face puckered all up
with dismay as he reflected: “Nobody on th’ road knows th’ fust thing
about her, an’ I s’pose her Ma’s cryin’ her eyes out.” He slouched up
to the kitchen door.
“I thought you was never comin’”; his wife set the big blue platter
with the corned beef and its generous fringe of cabbage on the table;
then down went the dish of potatoes and the loaf of bread. “Th’ beef’s
all biled to pieces,” she said, getting into her chair.
“What beats me,” said Mr. Brown, sitting down heavily, and taking up
the horn-handled carving knife and fork, “is, what are we to do with
her.” He pointed with carving knife to the bedroom.
“I d’no,” said his wife; “do help out that beef. It’s all biled to
death,” passing her plate.
“It will eat just as good,” said the farmer, cutting off a scraggy
strip, and dishing up a generous spoonful of cabbage to go with it to
the waiting plate. “Well, Nancy, I’m beat to know what we’re goin’ to
do with her.”
“Do stop talkin’ about her,” cried his wife. “She’s asleep now. And I’m
as nervous as a witch.”
“I s’pose we might as well eat,” said the farmer, helping himself
liberally. “Mebbe we can decide what to do better after we have eat.”
“I can’t think why I didn’t set that pot clear back on the stove,” said
Mrs. Brown in vexation. “I might ’a’ known ’twould bile too fast when
we went to Badgertown. I didn’t s’pose we’d be gone so long.”
“Well, ef we’d got home sooner we wouldn’t ’a’ come up with the little
gal,” observed the farmer philosophically, while his portion of beef
and cabbage was going rapidly to its last resting-place.
“What good will it do that we found her?” said his wife discontentedly.
“We’ve got to give her up.”
“Well, I s’pose so,” said Mr. Brown slowly. “Hem! Ain’t I ever goin’ to
have no tea?” he asked in an injured voice, looking hard across at his
wife.
“Oh, mercy!” Mrs. Brown hopped out of her chair. “I don’t wonder that I
forgot th’ teapot. Th’ Angel Gabriel couldn’t never remember anythin’
on sech a mornin’ as we’ve had!” She whipped her husband’s big blue cup
off from the dresser, bringing it back full and steaming hot.
“I guess th’ Angel Gabriel hain’t ever had much to do with tea,” said
Mr. Brown, putting in a good spoonful of brown sugar, and all the cream
that would get safely into the cup; “he’s got enough to do a-blowin’
that horn o’ his’n. Well, don’t worry, Ma. Do set down an’ take it
easy. Th’ little gal hain’t got to go yet.”
“But we’ve got to start after dinner about it.” Mrs. Brown played
nervously with her knife and fork. Then she threw them down on her
plate, jumped up and turned her back on the farmer, dinner and all.
“My soul an’ body!” cried Mr. Brown, his knife half-way to his mouth.
He stopped to stare aghast at her. “You hain’t never acted like this,
Nancy.”
“Well, I hain’t never had nothin’ like this to set me goin’,” said
Nancy, her voice trembling. “To think that child should ’a’ sprung up
to-day, an’ I’ve always wanted a little gal--”
Farmer Brown shook all over. Down fell the knife to the kitchen floor.
He glared all around the big kitchen as if somehow that were to blame.
Then he cleared his throat two or three times. “P’raps they’ll let us
keep her, Nancy,” he managed to get out at last.
But Nancy, sobbing in her apron, was beyond the sound of comfort.
“You know as well as you set in that chair that they won’t,” she
sobbed. “O dear, why did we find her--and I want a little gal so!”
“_Hush!_--somebody’s comin’,” warned the farmer. Round the corner of
the house came two figures, and pretty soon “_Rap--Rap!_” on the old
door.
“Set down, Nancy!” cried her husband; “for goodness sake, all Maybury
will think you an’ me’s ben quarreling!”
“They couldn’t think that, John,” cried Mrs. Brown in dismay, and
hurried back to the dinner table.
“When they see you a-cryin’, you can’t tell what they’d think,” said
the farmer grimly, and taking his time about opening the door.
“I ain’t cryin’,” said his wife, wiping all traces of the tears from
her large face, and sitting very straight in her chair, as she got her
company face on.
“Oh!” Mr. Brown flung wide the big door. “How do, Hubbard.” Then his
eye fell on a very small boy with big blue eyes, who was crowding up
anxiously, and, not waiting to be invited, was already in the kitchen
and staring around.
“You must ’xcuse him,” said Young Hubbard, “he’s lost his sister.”
The farmer’s wife jumped out of her chair, and seized the boy’s arm.
“We’ve got her,” she said; “don’t look so; she’s all safe here.”
“I must take her to Mamsie,” said Davie, lifting his white face.
“Yes--yes,” said Mrs. Brown, while the old farmer and the young one
stood by silently. “You come in here, an’ see for yourself how safe she
is.”
Davie rushed into the bedroom and gave one bound over to the big bed.
Phronsie was just getting up to the middle of it, and wiping her eyes.
When she saw Davie she gave a little crow of delight. “I’m going to
Mamsie,” she announced, as she threw her arms around him.
“Yes,” said Davie, staggering off with her to the kitchen.
“You’re goin’ to have your dinner first,” said the farmer’s wife in
alarm. “Gracious me--th’ very idea of goin’ without a bite,” she added,
bustling about for more dishes and knives and forks.
“We can’t,” said Davie, struggling along to the door. “I must get her
to Mamsie.”
“Young man,” roared Farmer Brown at him. “You set down to that table.
Now, Ma, dish up some hot meat an’ taters.”
“And a glass of milk,” said Mrs. Brown, hurrying into the pantry.
“I want some milk,” cried Phronsie, hungrily stretching out her arms.
So before David hardly knew how, there she was sitting on the big
family Bible that Mr. Brown placed on one of the chairs, before the
dinner table. When she saw it was really and truly milk with a frothy
top, she was quite overcome and sat looking at it.
“Drink it, little gal,” said Farmer Brown, with a hand on her yellow
hair.
Phronsie laughed a pleased little gurgle, and set her small teeth on
the edge of the mug, drinking as fast as she could.
“Hulloa--hold up a bit,” said the farmer, with a big hand on her arm.
Phronsie’s blue eyes over the cup-edge turned on him inquiringly. “Go
slower, little gal.” Mr. Brown took the mug and set it on the table.
“Th’ milk will wait for you.”
“It is nice,” said Phronsie, beaming delightedly at him.
“So ’tis,” said the farmer, wiping off the milk streaks from her face.
“An’ you shall have th’ rest by an’ by.”
“Shall I?” asked Phronsie, looking at the mug affectionately.
“_Sure_,” declared Mr. Brown.
Meantime the farmer’s wife was having a perfectly dreadful time with
David, who stood impatiently off by the door, his hand on the latch.
“For mercy’s sakes!” she exclaimed, “do you set down an’ eat dinner,
Jed,” to the young farmer, “an’ p’raps th’ boy will listen to reason
an’ eat some too.”
“Now see here, young man,” Farmer Brown stalked over to David, as Jed
Hubbard, nothing loath, slipped into his chair to tackle the corned
beef and cabbage, “how d’ye s’pose you’re goin’ to git that little gal
to your Ma--hey?”
“I’m going to carry her,” said David, “and we must go.” He clasped his
hands and turned a pleading face up to the farmer.
“You carry her?” repeated the farmer.
“Hoh--Hoh!” he threw back his head and laughed.
“Don’t laugh at him, Pa,” begged Mrs. Brown, piling on more food to
Farmer Hubbard’s plate; “he’s awful distressed,” as Davie begged, “Do
let us go--Mamsie will--”
“You’re a-goin’,” Mr. Brown interrupted; “I shall take you an’ th’
leetle gal in th’ wagon, as soon as you’ve et somethin’.”
“Will you really take us to Mamsie?” cried Davie, the color coming
quickly into his white cheeks.
“_Sure_,” promised the farmer heartily, as David flew into the chair
that Mrs. Brown had dragged up to the table.
“Now get him a good plateful, Ma,” said the farmer, getting into his
own chair. “Land--I hain’t worked so hard for many a day-- Whew!”
But although David had a “good plateful” before him, it was impossible
for him to eat to the satisfaction of the good people, as he turned
anxious eyes upon Farmer Brown and then to the door.
“I don’t b’lieve he’ll swaller enough to keep a crow alive,” said Mrs.
Brown in dismay.
“Pa, wouldn’t it be best to do up some vittles in a paper, an’ he can
eat on the way.”
“I’ve come to the conclusion it would,” said her husband grimly.
“An’ I’ll put in some cookies for th’ little gal,” said his wife,
darting into the pantry to the big stone jar.
“An’ I’ll harness up,” said Mr. Brown, going to the big door.
The young farmer looked up from his dinner. “You better take my horse,
Mr. Brown,” he said.
“Kin you spare her?”
“Yes--an’ take th’ buggy too. You can have it all as easy as anything.
You an’ me are such close neighbors, I can come over an’ git it
to-night.”
“Now that’s real kind,” said Farmer Brown, going out.
“Th’ buggy?” repeated Mrs. Brown, coming out of the pantry with the
bundle of cookies. “Well, I’m goin’, too, Jed. I don’t b’lieve there’s
room for us all to set comfortable.”
Jedediah looked her all over. “’Twill be a close fit, maybe, but the
wagon’s so heavy. Must you go, Mis Brown?”
“Jedediah Hubbard,” Mrs. Brown set down the cookies on the table, and
looked at him hard. “I ain’t a-goin’ to give up that little gal a
minute sooner’n I’ve got to,” she said decidedly. “An’ I’m goin’ to see
her Ma.”
“All right, Mrs. Brown,” and Jedediah returned to his dinner.
But when the starting off arrived, there was a pretty bad time--Farmer
Brown protesting there wasn’t “enough room to squeeze a cat in.” Mrs.
Brown ended the matter by saying “There ain’t goin’ to be no cat,” and
getting in she established herself, Phronsie on her lap, on one half of
the leather seat of the top buggy.
“Where’s the boy goin’ to set?” demanded her husband, looking at her.
“I d’no about that,” said his wife, wrapping her shawl carefully around
Phronsie. “Yes, you can carry the cookies, child. Men folks must look
out for themselves,” she said coolly.
“It’s all very well for you to set there an’ tell me that,” said Farmer
Brown in a disgruntled way, as he got in over the wheel, “but then,
you’re a woman.”
“Yes, I’m a woman,” said Mrs. Brown composedly. “Oh, th’ boy can set
on a stool in front. Jed, just bring out that little cricket from th’
settin’-room, will you?”
David, with the paper bag containing slices of corned beef between
pieces of bread, not caring where he sat so long as he was on the
way with Phronsie to Mamsie, settled down on the cricket that young
Mr. Hubbard brought. Then he looked up into the young farmer’s face.
“Good-by,” he said, “and thank you for bringing me here.”
“Oh, good-by, youngster,” said Jedediah, wringing a hand that tingled
most of the way home. “Well, I hope to run across you again some time.
If you ever lose your sister, you just call on me.”
“We aren’t ever going to lose Phronsie,” declared David, bobbing his
head solemnly, as the top buggy and the young farmer’s horse moved off.
Mrs. Brown didn’t utter a word all the way to Badgertown except “How
d’ye s’pose Jedediah ever found that we had the little gal?”
“Let Jed Hubbard alone for findin’ out anythin’,” said Farmer Brown. He
was so occupied in gazing at Phronsie, carefully eating around the edge
of each cooky before enjoying the whole of it, that the smart young
horse went pretty much as he pleased. Finally Mr. Brown looked down at
Davie on his cricket.
“Ain’t you ever goin’ to eat your dinner, young man?” he said. “Ef you
don’t we’ll turn an’ go back again,” he added severely.
“Oh, I will--I will,” cried Davie, who had forgotten all about his
dinner in his efforts to measure the distance being overcome on the way
home to Mamsie. And he unrolled the paper bundle.
When it was all exposed to view, the corned beef smelt so good that he
set his teeth in it, and gave a sigh of delight.
Farmer Brown winked across to his wife over Davie’s head and
presently the bread, and even a cold potato well sprinkled with salt,
disappeared, and only the empty paper lay in Davie’s lap.
“Throw it out in th’ road,” said Farmer Brown, well satisfied that the
dinner was at last where it should be.
“Oh, no, no,” said David, holding the paper fast.
“’Tain’t no good--throw it out, boy.”
“Mamsie wouldn’t like me to throw papers in the road. It scares horses.”
“Sho--now!” Farmer Brown pushed up his cap and scratched his head. “I
guess your Ma’s all right,” at last he said.
When the little brown house popped into view, David flew around on his
cricket excitedly. “There ’tis--it’s there!”
“I see it,” said Farmer Brown. “Set still--we’ll be there in a minute.”
“It’s my little brown house,” cried Phronsie, trying to slip out from
Mrs. Brown’s lap.
“Oh, you lamb--do wait. Little gal, we’ll take you there in a minute.
Set still, child.”
“And I see Mamsie--oh, I want my Mamsie!” cried Phronsie, struggling
worse than ever, her little legs flying in her efforts to be free.
David stood straight, his head knocking the buggy top. “Polly, we’re
coming!” he shouted.
“Hold on--don’t you jump!” roared the farmer, catching his jacket, as
Polly dashed up to the buggy and ran along by its side, the brown waves
of hair flying over her face.
“Mamsie!” called Phronsie, leaning as far as she could from Mrs.
Brown’s lap, “see my arm,” as Mrs. Pepper drew near, and she held it up
with its bandage soaked in opodeldoc that the farmer’s wife had tied on.
“_Whoa!_” Farmer Brown brought the Hubbard horse up with a smart jerk.
“You might as well git out here,” he said, “for I’ll never keep you two
in this buggy till we git to th’ house.”
“I never can thank you,” Mother Pepper was saying, as the farmer’s wife
got heavily out of the buggy, “for all your goodness.”
Mrs. Brown’s mouth worked and she tried to speak. “I wish--” she looked
off to the little brown house, but she couldn’t finish what she had
been composing all the way along--“you’d let me have this little gal
for a while, anyway; you’ve got so many children; and I haven’t got
one.” So she only kept on wobbling her lips and twisting her hands.
“_Hem!_” Farmer Brown cleared his throat. “I’ll come over an’ git
them two,” pointing a rugged forefinger in the direction of Davie and
Phronsie, “ef you’ll let ’em come over an’ pass th’ day with us some
time.”
“He’s got chickies,” said Phronsie, raising her head from Mrs. Pepper’s
arms.
“And pigs,” said Farmer Brown, “little uns--don’t you forgit them.”
“And dear sweet little pigs--oh, Mamsie, and I am going to scratch
their backs.”
“An’,” Farmer Brown whirled around on David, “this young man’s comin’,
_sure_! He’s a right smart boy, an’ I’ve took a fancy to him.”
“They shall go,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a bright smile. “And Phronsie
will never forget you, dear Mrs. --”
“Brown,” said the farmer promptly, seeing his wife couldn’t speak.
“No, she will never forget you, dear Mrs. Brown.” Mother Pepper got
hold of the big hand, twisting its mate.
The farmer’s wife clutched it. “You see I always wanted a little gal,”
she whispered close to Mrs. Pepper’s ear.
Then Mother Pepper did a thing the children had never seen before. She
leaned forward and kissed the large face.
“We must be goin’,” declared Farmer Brown, whipping out his big red
handkerchief to blow his nose loudly. “_Hem!_ Come, Ma.”
“Did Mamsie cry when we didn’t come home?” asked David anxiously, as
they all filed off toward the little brown house.
“No. Oh, I’m so sorry you worried, Davie,” cried Polly. “You see I ran
down to Deacon Blodgett’s to tell Mamsie, and Mr. Atkins saw me go by,
and he called out that a Mr. Hubbard had you in that very buggy you
came home in.”
“Yes, he did,” said David.
“And he said he knew you were going after Phronsie.”
“Yes, we did,” said David.
“And then he told us that a man in the store said that some folks over
at Maybury--real good folks, had Phronsie in their wagon, and--”
“Yes,” said David, “they did.”
“So we knew everything was all right,” Polly ran on gayly, “and Mamsie
said all we had to do was to wait patiently, and not stir Ben and Joel
up where they were at work in Deacon Blodgett’s south meadow, so--”
“Polly,” cried Davie excitedly, as they ran into the little brown
house, “I like that big Mr. Brown very much indeed.”