“GOOD-BY, CHILDREN”
“I mustn’t cry again,” said David to himself the next morning. He
stopped a minute picking up the chips, before he threw them into the
old basket. “Maybe I’ll get to school some time and learn things.”
Then he threw the chips into the basket until it was full enough to
empty into the wood-box behind the old stove in the kitchen.
“Mamsie,” cried Joel, rushing in at dinner-time, “’twasn’t any fun
piling wood at Deacon Blodgett’s without Dave.”
“Davie can’t pile wood to-day, Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, “he had such
a hard time yesterday going after Phronsie.” She glanced over at him
affectionately, as she went into the pantry for the cold potatoes to
fry.
David began eagerly, “Oh, Mamsie--” then he stopped when he saw her
face.
“O dear,” grumbled Joel. “It’s awful hard work piling wood without
Dave. Isn’t dinner ready?” he asked, impatiently.
“It will be in a few minutes,” said Mrs. Pepper, slicing the potatoes
over by the table. “See, Joey, I’m going to give you fried potatoes
to-day.”
“Oh, goody!” exclaimed Joel, rushing over to the table and smacking his
lips. “See, Dave, fried potatoes!”
David tried to smile as he turned off.
“And I shall fry them brown,” said Mrs. Pepper, cutting the last potato
into thin strips.
“She’s going to fry ’em brown,” announced Joel in great excitement, and
running over to pull David’s jacket, “real crispy brown, so they’ll
crack in your teeth. Won’t you, Mamsie,--really crispy, cracksy brown,”
deserting David to rush over to the table again.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling at him, as she went over to the stove
to set on the frying-pan. “Where’s Ben? It’s time that he was here.”
“I forgot,” said Joel, a flush spreading over his round cheeks; “Deacon
Blodgett said Ben wouldn’t come home.”
Mother Pepper paused with the frying-pan in her hand. “Did Deacon
Blodgett say why?”
“They’re going to take something to eat in a basket,” said Joel,
beginning to look very injured, “and they wouldn’t take me. They told
me to run home and tell you.”
“Oh, Joey, and you forgot a message,” said Mrs. Pepper reprovingly.
“I didn’t mean to,” said Joel, hanging his head.
“Didn’t mean to, doesn’t excuse such a thing,” said Mrs. Pepper. Then
she set the frying-pan at the back of the stove and stood quite still.
“Mamsie--I didn’t,” cried Joel, running over to hide his head in her
gown, “I truly didn’t,” he howled.
“No, he didn’t mean to,” echoed David, drawing near in great distress.
“I know, Davie,” said Mrs. Pepper, stroking Joel’s stubby black hair
as he burrowed in her gown, “but it is a very bad thing to forget a
message.”
“I won’t ever do it again,” whimpered Joel, his brown hands holding
fast to her gown.
“I hope not, Joel.” Then she glanced over at the thin slices in the
dish on the table. “Ben does like fried potatoes so much! That’s the
reason I was going to have them to-day.”
“He can have mine,” said Joel, twitching his head away from Mother
Pepper’s gown, and not looking at the potato-dish, for his mouth
watered dreadfully.
“And give him mine,” said Davie, hurrying over to Mrs. Pepper.
“No, children, there is enough for all, and I will fry some for Ben at
another time. Run down and see if Polly and Phronsie are coming from
the store.”
“O dear, my legs are tired,” said Joel crossly, and tumbling on the
kitchen floor, he waved them in the air.
“I’ll go--I’ll go,” said Davie, running to get his cap.
“No,” said Mother Pepper. “You are not to go, Davie.”
“Dave wants to go,” said Joel, rolling over to look at her with his
black eyes.
“Davie is very tired since yesterday,” said Mrs. Pepper. “Get up, Joel,
and go to the gate at once.”
“Polly’s always late,” grumbled Joel, getting up to his feet.
“Polly is never late,” said David stoutly. “She’s always and ever
here,” and his face got very red.
“There--there, boys,” said Mrs. Pepper. “Run along, Joel.”
“Mamsie,” David ran over to her, as the big green door banged, “I’m not
tired. Please let me help about things.”
“You must be tired, Davie,” Mrs. Pepper beamed affectionately at him,
“and it won’t do for you to run your legs off for I depend so much on
you.”
David looked down at his legs. Then he straightened up. “Do you really
depend on me, Mamsie?” and the color ran all over his little cheeks.
“Indeed I do,” said Mother Pepper heartily. Then she glanced up at the
clock. “Polly and Phronsie ought to be here.”
“They’re coming,” shouted Davie gleefully, and rushing to the big green
door, he swung it wide. In jumped Joel, swinging the molasses jug, and
after him Polly and Phronsie.
“_Whoop!_” screamed Joel, “isn’t dinner ready? We’re going to have
fried potatoes,” he announced to Polly.
“Fried potatoes!” exclaimed Polly in astonishment. Then she ran over to
the old stove. “Oh, Mamsie, _fried potatoes_!” wrinkling up her nose at
the sizzling in the old frying-pan.
“I like it,” said Phronsie, clutching a little paper bag; “let me smell
it, Polly, do!” standing on her tiptoes.
“I thought Ben was coming home to dinner, and he does so like fried
potatoes,” said Mrs. Pepper in a low voice, as she turned the slices.
“Isn’t Ben coming to dinner?” asked Polly.
“No--hush, Polly!” with a glance over at Joel, coming out from the
pantry where he had put the molasses jug. “Ben’s gone somewhere with
Deacon Blodgett. Now hurry and get on Phronsie’s eating-apron.”
“Joel was awfully good--he took the molasses jug from me,” said Polly,
tying on Phronsie’s checked eating-apron.
“I’m glad he thought to do it,” said Mother Pepper, with a smile. “Now
sit down, children, the potatoes are done.”
“And Mr. Atkins gave Phronsie a whole lot of peppermints,” said Polly,
when the meal was half over, and the plates were scraped clean from
all trace of potato slices.
“Yes, he did,” said Phronsie, bobbing her yellow head, and taking off
her gaze from the dish where the delightfully brown crackly things had
been. When she had been obliged to relinquish her little paper bag,
after the eating apron was on, she had insisted that it should be kept
in her lap. So now she patted it lovingly.
“_Oo!_ Peppermints!” screamed Joel. “Let’s see, Phronsie,” and he
hopped out of his seat.
“No, no, Joey,” reproved Mother Pepper.
“She said peppermints,” said Joel, slipping into his chair.
“I will give you some,” said Phronsie, with another little pat on the
paper bag, “and Davie too,” beaming across the table at him.
“Oh, now--give ’em now,” cried Joel, thrusting out his hand, his black
eyes sparkling.
But Mother Pepper said “No,” again; that they must all wait till after
dinner, and the dishes were washed up and the floor swept. Then if
Phronsie wanted to divide her peppermints, why, that would be the best
time of all.
So there was a merry bustle to see who would get through the part of
the work that belonged to each one. And there was so much fun and
laughter that any one peering in at the little brown house would really
have supposed that play was going on. At last it was all done, and
Mamsie, over in the corner sewing on one of the coats that Polly had
brought home in the bundle, declared that everything was very nice, and
that she couldn’t have done it any better herself.
“Now the peppermints,” cried Joel, running away from the sink where
he had been scrubbing his hands and polishing them on the big roller
towel. “Now, O goody!” He ran over to Phronsie, still clinging to her
paper bag.
“Let’s all sit down on the floor,” proposed Polly. So down the
whole four of them got in a ring, each one drawing a long breath of
anticipation.
“I’m going to give Mamsie one first,” announced Phronsie, slowly
beginning to open the paper bag.
“Let’s see how many you’ve got, Phronsie,” said Joel, putting out an
impatient hand.
“Don’t, Joey,” said Polly, seizing his hand; “let Phronsie open her own
bag.”
“I’ll open my bag,” hummed Phronsie, suiting the action to the word.
Then she drew out a peppermint drop, a pink one.
“She’s so slow,” said Joel, impatiently. “Turn up the bag, do,
Phronsie.”
“Let her do it her own way, Joey,” said Polly; “they are her
peppermints and we must all wait.”
“O dear!” groaned Joel, holding his hands tightly together, his black
eyes on the peppermint drops.
It took some time in this slow way for Phronsie to get them all out.
She hummed in a soft little voice as she drew them forth, one by one,
and laid them in Polly’s lap. There were nine--five white ones, and
four pink ones.
“Aren’t there any more?” cried Joel. “Let me shake the bag--maybe
there’s another one.”
But all the vigorous shaking that Joel administered couldn’t produce
another peppermint drop.
“I shall give Mamsie this one,” said Phronsie, picking up one of the
pink drops and running over to Mrs. Pepper’s chair. “Please open your
mouth, Mamsie.”
And the pink peppermint being dropped into Mother Pepper’s mouth,
Phronsie ran back in great satisfaction.
“Now me,” cried Joel, sitting back on his heels, and holding out his
hands.
“Oh, Joey, Ben ought to have one saved for him,” said Polly reprovingly.
“I shall give Bensie this one,” said Phronsie, patting another pink
drop.
“Ben wouldn’t care,” began Joel. Then he stopped, seeing Polly’s brown
eyes.
“That’s fine,” said Polly, smiling at Phronsie. “Now I’m going to put
this peppermint drop up on the table, and you shall give it to Ben when
he comes in.”
“I shall give it to Bensie when he comes in,” hummed Phronsie. “And
this one is for you.” She held up the third pink peppermint to Polly’s
mouth.
“Oh, no, child,” said Polly, shaking her head. “You must save those
other two for yourself, you know.”
“Then there won’t be any pink peppermints,” broke in Joel, awfully
disappointed, “and I wanted one.”
“But Phronsie must save some for herself,” said Polly; “she just loves
pink candy.”
“I will give you a pink one, Joey,” said Phronsie, beginning to look
worried as she saw his face.
“No, Joel, you oughtn’t to,” said Polly.
“But I don’t want an old white one,” grumbled Joel; “mean old white
one.”
“Then you’d better not take any,” said Polly coolly. “No, Phronsie, you
must keep those two pink ones. Mr. Atkins would want you to.”
“Would Mr. Atkins want me to?” asked Phronsie doubtfully.
“Yes, of course,” said Polly decidedly. “Now, Davie, it’s your turn, as
Joel doesn’t want any.”
“Oh, I do--I do!” screamed Joel. “I do want a peppermint, Polly Pepper.”
“All right, then give Joel a white one, Phronsie, and then one to
Davie. There, now isn’t that too splendid for anything!” as the two
boys began at once to crunch their peppermints.
David suddenly stopped. “You haven’t any, Polly.”
“Oh, Phronsie is going to put a white one in my mouth,” said Polly
gayly, and opening her mouth very wide.
“I’m going to put one in your mouth, Polly,” laughed Phronsie. So Polly
bent her head down, and in went a white peppermint drop.
“Now says I--in goes one in your own mouth, Phronsie,--a pink one,” and
in it went.
There was such a crunching of peppermint drops going on that no one
heard the big green door open, until Mrs. Pepper said, “Why, how do
you do?” Then they all whirled around. There was Mr. Tisbett, the
stage-driver, whip in hand.
Immediately he was surrounded by all the four children, Joel howling,
“Oh, I know you’ve come to take us in the stage-coach,” and trying to
get the whip.
“No, I hain’t, not this time. You let my whip be, Joel,” and in the
midst of the clamor, he marched over to Mrs. Pepper. “I’ve come for
you, ma’am.”
“For me?” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper.
“Yes’m. Ef you don’t stop, Joel Pepper, scrougin’ for my whip, I’ll--”
Mr. Tisbett didn’t finish, but he looked so very fierce that they all
fell back.
“Hoh!” exclaimed Joel, “I ain’t afraid of him,” and he swarmed all over
the big stage-driver. “I’m going on the stage. Let me sit up in front
with you, Mr. Tisbett,” he begged.
“Yes’m,” Mr. Tisbett tucked the big whip under his arm, and turned his
twinkling eyes toward Mrs. Pepper. “Old Miss Babbitt has broke her hip,
and--”
“O dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, dropping her work to her lap.
“Fact; fell down th’ cellar stairs; stepped on th’ cat, an’ away she
went.”
“Did she kill the cat?” cried Joel, tearing off his attention from the
whip.
“Land o’ Goshen! You can’t kill a cat,” declared the stage-driver;
“never heard o’ such a thing in all my born days. Well, she set up a
screechin’ for you, Mis Pepper.” He whirled around again to Mother
Pepper’s chair.
A look of dismay spread over Mother Pepper’s face.
“She’s in an awful bad fix,” said Mr. Tisbett solemnly, “an’ there
ain’t a neighbor that’ll go nigh her. An’ she keeps a-screamin’ for
you,” and Mr. Tisbett leaned against the table.
“Polly, child, come here.” Mrs. Pepper was already folding up her work.
“What is it, Mamsie?” as the group made way for her, the stage-driver
regarding them all with a relieved air as if responsibility of the
whole affair was now off his mind.
“Do you think that you could get along without Mother for a little
while?”
“For over night?” asked Polly, in an awe-struck tone.
“Yes,--can you do it, Polly? Poor old Miss Babbitt needs me; but I
won’t go if you can’t manage without me.” She rested her black eyes on
Polly’s flushed cheeks.
“You’ve never been away all night,” began Polly, her cheeks going very
white.
“I know it,” said Mrs. Pepper, a little white line coming around her
mouth. “It hasn’t been necessary before. But now, it seems as if the
poor old woman needs me. And you’re a big girl, Polly, and then there’s
Ben to help you. Well, what do you say, child?”
“She’s an awful cross old woman,” said Polly grudgingly, not being
able to look into her mother’s face.
“That doesn’t make any difference,” said Mrs. Pepper. “She needs me.”
Polly drew her shoe back and forth across the floor, still not looking
into her mother’s face.
“It shall be as you say, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper quietly. Meantime
the stage-driver had drawn off into a corner, the three children
surrounding him.
“O dear me!” began Polly, with a long breath and twisting her hands;
then she burst out, “Mamsie, I’m awfully wicked--but I don’t want you
to go.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Pepper, “then I will tell Mr. Tisbett that I
cannot go,” and she began to get out of her chair.
“But supposing,” said Polly, with a little gasp, seizing her mother’s
arm, “nobody had come to help you when my eyes were bad?”
“Yes, just supposing,” said Mother Pepper, sitting quite still.
“And now it’s worse, for she’s an old, old woman.”
“Yes, Polly.”
“Then,” said Polly, feeling sure she was going to cry, “I think you
ought to go, Mamsie. O dear!”
“Are you quite sure, Polly child?”
“Yes-es--yes, Mamsie!” and Polly swallowed her sob. When she found that
she could do that, she threw her arms around Mrs. Pepper’s neck. “Oh,
Mamsie, I do want you to go--really and truly, I do, Mamsie--and I’ll
take care of the children.”
“I know you will, Polly. Now that’s my brave girl,” and Mother Pepper
gathered her up in her arms and held her close.
“And I’ll pack the bag,” said Polly, running off on happy feet to drag
out the old carpet-bag from the closet in the bedroom.
And pretty soon the kitchen was in a great bustle, the children getting
in each other’s way to help Mrs. Pepper off. And Mr. Tisbett kept
saying, “Well, I never!” and slapping the big whip against his knees,
making Joel drop whatever he was doing to run over at the enchanting
sound. And Phronsie had to tie on Mamsie’s bonnet--and every one
hurried to help her into the stage.
“Good-by,” said Mother Pepper, as all four tried to get on the step
for a last kiss. “Be good, children, and obey Polly!”
“I’m going to be good,” declared Joel stoutly.
“I’ll try,” said David.
“Let me tie your bonnet again,” said Phronsie, with pleading hands.
“Oh, Phronsie, you can’t tie it again,” said Polly. “Mr. Tisbett has
got to go,” as the stage-driver up on the box was cracking his whip
impatiently. “You can kiss Mamsie once more.”
“I can kiss my Mamsie again,” said Phronsie, as Polly held her up.
“Good-by, children,” said Mrs. Pepper to them all, as the big stage
lumbered off. But her last smile was for Polly.