“OLD FATHER DUBBIN”
The four Little Peppers went in and shut the big green door.
“I want my Mamsie.” Phronsie stood still in the middle of the kitchen
floor.
“So do I,” howled Joel.
Davie began, but stopped at sight of Polly’s face.
“Now see here,” cried Polly, running over to throw her arms around
Phronsie, “we must all be good. We promised Mamsie, you know.”
“I want her back,” cried Joel, in a loud voice, as Phronsie wailed
steadily on.
“How would you like to play ‘Old Father Dubbin’?” cried Polly, in a
shaking voice. “Wouldn’t that be just too fine for anything!”
“Can we really?” cried Joel, his shouts breaking off suddenly.
“Yes,” said Polly. “Now, pet, we are going to play ‘Old Father
Dubbin.’ Don’t you want to, Phronsie?”
Phronsie showed her little white teeth in a merry gurgle. “I do want to
play it ever so much, Polly,” she said, smiling through her tears.
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” screamed Joel, hopping about. “Come on, Dave, we’re
going to play ‘Old Father Dubbin!’ We haven’t played it for ever and
ever so long,” he added in an injured tone.
“Of course not,” said Polly, bustling about. “Now, boys, come and help
me get ready.”
No need to tell them this, as they scampered after her.
“Old Father Dubbin” was saved, since Polly made up the game, for very
special occasions like the present when it was absolutely necessary for
the children to be diverted. So now the kitchen rang with the noise,
and they all spun around till tired out, for of course the one idea was
to keep everybody from a chance to cry.
At last Polly looked up at the old clock. “Oh, my goodness!” she
exclaimed, brushing her brown hair out of her eyes. “We’ve got to
stop. We can’t play all the time. Dear me! I haven’t got a bit of
breath left.”
“I have,” declared Joel, “and we haven’t played more’n half of all the
time. Don’t stop, Polly--don’t stop!” He came whirling up to her.
“Don’t stop,” echoed Phronsie, dancing up. “I want ‘Old Father Dubbin’
some more.”
“I very much wish,” said Davie with red cheeks, “we could play it
again, Polly.”
“No,” said Polly decidedly, “it’s five o’clock, and we must all set to
work now. Besides, Ben will get home soon.”
“O dear!” grumbled Joel. “What’ll we work on, Polly?”
“Well,” said Polly, “you and Davie can go and chop some kindlings for
to-morrow morning.”
“We’re always chopping kindlings,” said Joel, peevishly.
“Of course,” said Polly, in a cheery voice, “because we’re always
wanting them. Now go along, boys. I must sweep up, for we’ve made such
a dust playing ‘Old Father Dubbin,’” and she dashed off after the broom.
“And I’m going to sweep up, too,” cried Phronsie, running over to the
corner where her little broom was kept behind the wood-box.
“Come on, Dave, we’ve got to chop those old kindlings,” said Joel,
gloomily, going over to the door.
“I’m going to bring in a lot,” said Davie, spreading his arms wide.
“I’m going to bring in enough for two hundred--no, five hundred
mornings,” declared Joel, as they ran out to the woodshed.
“Now, Phronsie,” said Polly, when the sweeping up was all done, and the
chairs placed back neatly against the wall, “I think you and I better
set the supper-table. Ben will be here soon, you know.” She gave a long
sigh and gazed out of the window. Oh, if Ben would only hurry and come!
It was getting dark, and the hardest hour of all the day to have Mamsie
away was drawing near.
“Bensie will be here soon,” hummed Phronsie, running over to help Polly
lay the table cloth.
“Yes,” said Polly. “Now, that’s a good girl, Phronsie. You see--”
“I’ve got the most,” cried Joel, staggering in at the doorway, his arms
full of all sorts and sizes of sticks. “Whickets! See me, Polly!”
“Oh, Joey, I don’t want to see you when you say such words,” said Polly
reprovingly.
“I won’t say ’em any more. Now look--_look_!” Joel swelled up in front
of her, and brandished his armful.
“O my!” exclaimed Polly, “what a nice lot! And Davie, too! Dear me, how
you two boys do help!”
“I haven’t got so much,” said David, drawing slowly near with both arms
around his kindlings.
“His sticks are better than mine,” said Joel critically, as the boys
stood before Polly.
“Yes,” said Polly, her head on one side to view them the better. “I
believe they are, Joel. Well, it’s a nice lot altogether, anyway. Now
put them all in the wood-box.”
“Now what shall we do?” asked Joel, fidgeting about, the kindlings
all dumped in the wood-box, and going over to Mother Pepper’s big
calico-covered chair, his round face very sober.
“I believe,” said Polly meditatively, “we’d better light the
candle--it’s growing dark.”
“Why, Polly Pepper! Light the candle!” exclaimed Joel. “Mamsie
wouldn’t light it so early.”
Phronsie stopped suddenly in putting her blue and white plate on the
table. “I want my Mamsie,” she said soberly. Then she sat down in a
little bunch on the floor, and put her head in her lap.
“O dear me!” cried Polly in dismay. Would Ben _ever_ come! “I wonder if
you don’t all want me to tell you a story.”
“Oh!” screamed Joel and David together, “we do--we do!” running over to
her.
“Well, I can’t tell a story ever in all this world while Phronsie is
crying,” said Polly, at her wits’ end what to do next.
“Phronsie--stop crying!” Joel rushed over and shook her pink calico
sleeve. “Polly can’t tell a story while you’re crying. She won’t stop,”
he announced wrathfully.
For Phronsie kept on in a smothered little voice, “I want my Mamsie.”
“Phronsie,” Davie kneeled down on the kitchen floor beside her. “Please
stop. Polly wants to tell a story. You’ll make Polly sick if you don’t
stop crying.”
Up came Phronsie’s yellow head, and she wiped off the tears with one
fat little hand. “Do I make you sick, Polly?” she asked, in a tone of
deep concern.
“Yes, I think I shall be,” said Polly gravely, “if you don’t stop
crying.”
“Then I will stop,” said Phronsie brokenly. “I don’t want you to be
sick, Polly. Please don’t be.”
“Now if ever there was a good child, it’s you, Phronsie,” cried Polly,
seizing her to smother the little face with kisses. “Well, come on,
boys, we must sit around the fireplace, and I’ll tell you a story.”
“There isn’t any fireplace,” said Joel, as Polly led the way over to
the stove.
“Well, I’m going to pretend there is,” said Polly, getting down on the
floor in front of the stove, “and a splendid fire, too. My! don’t you
hear the logs crackle, and isn’t this blaze perfectly beautiful!” and
she spread out both hands.
“You’re always pretending there are things that ain’t there,” grumbled
Joel.
“Of course,” said Polly gayly, “that’s the way to have them.”
“I think the blaze is beautiful, too,” declared Davie, throwing
himself down by her side and spreading his hands.
“Well, I guess I’m going to have some of the blaze,” said Joel, in an
injured tone, and he crowded in between Polly and David.
“Well now, Phronsie, put your head in my lap,” said Polly. But she
turned a cold shoulder to Joel.
Joel fidgeted about. “Dave, you can sit next to Polly,” he whispered.
“That’s right,” Polly flashed him a smile over Phronsie’s yellow head.
“You may have the place,” said Davie, trying not to want it very much.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Polly, “how would it do for each of you to
have the place half of the time, and I’ll tell you when to change?”
A smile ran over David’s face.
“All right,” said Joel, folding his little brown hands. “Now begin.”
“Well, now, I’m going to tell you about--” said Polly.
“Oh, the circus story!” shouted Joel wildly. “Do tell about the circus
story, Polly.”
“Do you want the circus story, Davie?” asked Polly.
“Say yes, Dave. Do say yes,” said Joel, nudging him.
“Yes, I do,” said Davie in great satisfaction.
“And you’d like to hear about all the animals, Phronsie, wouldn’t you?”
asked Polly, bending over the yellow head in her lap.
“Polly,” asked Phronsie, lifting her head in great excitement, “is that
about the dear, sweet little monkey?”
“Yes, Pet,” said Polly, “it is.”
“Then,” said Phronsie, clapping her hands, “I should like to hear about
it very much indeed. Please begin right straight off, Polly,” and she
laid her head down in Polly’s lap again.
“Well, you see,” began Polly--would Ben never come!
“Don’t say, ‘you see,’” interrupted Joel impatiently; “do tell about
the animals, and have a bear--no, two bears--”
“You’re always having a bear,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “Well,
there were lots of bears in this circus I am going to tell you of.”
“How many?” demanded Joel.
“Oh, fifty,” said Polly recklessly.
“Whickets!” cried Joel in amazement.
“Now, Joel, I can’t tell any story if you’re going to say such naughty
words.”
“I won’t--I won’t,” cried Joel in alarm at losing the story. “Were
there really fifty bears, Polly?” He crowded up close to her.
“Yes,” said Polly, bobbing her brown head. “And the circus man said he
was thinking of buying two more.”
“O dear me!” cried Joel, quite overcome and snuggling down against her
arm. “Well, go on.”
“Well, there was a hip-hip-pot-amus,” Polly finally brought the whole
out with great pride.
“Yes, yes,” said Joel.
David clasped his hands in silent rapture, and kept his gaze on the
black stove that was a crackling fire on the hearth.
“And a rho-do-den-dron,” added Polly, “and--”
“What’s a rho-rho-do--what you said?” interrupted Joel, his head
bobbing up again.
“Oh, a great big creature,” said Polly.
“How big?” demanded Joel.
“Oh, my goodness--I can’t ever tell how big he was,” said Polly.
“I want to know how big he was,” grumbled Joel. “So big?” he spread his
arms wide.
“O dear me!” cried Polly, with a little laugh. “Why, that isn’t
anywhere near as big, Joey Pepper, and he splashed into the water,
and--”
“Where did he splash into the water?” cried Joel; “say, Polly, where
did he?”
“Why, there was a pond next to the circus tent,” said Polly, going on
wildly, her gaze on the window to see when Ben came around the corner
of the little brown house.
“As big as the pond over at Cherryville?” demanded Joel.
“Yes, just as big as that,” said Polly, willing to make it any size.
“Dave,” cried Joel, poking his face over David’s shoulder, “it was just
like that great big pond over at Cherryville. Only Mr. Tisbett wouldn’t
let us go near it,” he said resentfully; “he wouldn’t, Polly, when he
took us over on the stage. Well, go on,” and he threw himself back
against Polly once more. “Make him splash, and splash, that great big
thing. What was his name, Polly?”
“Rho-do-rho-do-den-dron,” said Polly, wishing she never had seen the
picture in the animal book on Mrs. Blodgett’s center-table. “Well, now,
it’s time for you and Davie to change places, Joel. Why!”
“Hulloa! So you’ve got a rhododendron, Polly.”
“Oh, Ben!” every one of the children jumped to their feet. Polly got to
him first and threw wild arms around his neck.
“We’ve been playing ‘Old Father Dubbin’,” announced Davie.
Ben choked off what he was going to ask, “Where’s Mamsie?” If “Old
Father Dubbin” had been played, something pretty bad must have
happened, for Polly to rescue the little brown house from gloom with
that game. “Well, now,” he said, “I suppose we’ve got to have that
story finished.”
“Yes, yes, we have,” howled Joel, dancing about. “Go on, Polly, do,”
and he flopped down in front of the stove and thrust out his hands.
“There’s a big fire on the hearth,” he said to Ben.
“And hear the logs crackle,” said Davie, sitting down by his side and
spreading his hands, too.
“Oh, I see,” said Ben gravely. “Now come on, Phronsie, and we’ll hear
the rest about that wonderful rhinoceros,” and he sat down, pulling her
into his lap.
“No, no, that wasn’t his name,” contradicted Joel; “’twas--oh, what was
it, Polly?” and he wrinkled up his face.
“’Twas what Ben said,” Polly hung her head.
“Your name is prettier than mine, anyway, Polly,” said Ben. “Well now
let’s hear the rest of the story.”
So Polly, quite happy now that Ben was actually there, ran her arm in
his, and launched into such a merry account of what that rhinoceros was
capable of that even Joel was satisfied and David wasn’t conscious of
breathing.
A gentle pull brought Polly to suddenly. “Tell about my dear, sweet
little monkey, do, Polly,” begged Phronsie.
“To be sure,--how could I forget you?” cried Polly remorsefully.
“Oh, I don’t want a monkey,” screamed Joel; “we can have him any day.
Do go on about that--that--”
“See here, Joe,” Ben gave him a small pat on his back, “it’s time to
rest that rhinoceros. He’s awfully big, and he gets tired easily.”
“Does he?” cried Joel.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, go on about the monkey.”
“I’m going to have my dear, sweet monkey now,” whispered Phronsie in
Ben’s ear.
“Yes, I know,” Ben whispered back. “Well, go on, Polly.”
So the monkey went through all the antics that belonged to one, and a
good many more that hadn’t anything to do with a monkey at all.
At last Ben looked up at the old clock. “_Whew!_ Well, Polly Pepper, I
should say it was time for supper!”
At that they all jumped up, and in the scuffle to get to the table
first, Polly drew Ben aside. “Mamsie’s gone to old Miss Babbitt’s,” she
whispered. “Mr. Tisbett came for her. Miss Babbitt has broken her hip.”
“_Whew!_” said Ben again.
“And how shall ever we get the children to bed,” said Polly, in a
distressed little voice, “without Mamsie?”
Ben looked all around the old kitchen with a sober face. “Same’s you’ve
done all the afternoon--keep ’em busy.”
“We can’t play ‘Old Father Dubbin’ again,” said Polly. “We must save
that for next times when things are bad.”
“That’s so,” said Ben; “then it must be blind man’s buff, or
puss-in-the-corner, I suppose.”
“What are you whispering about?” cried Joel, coming up curiously.
“You’re always getting off into a corner and whispering things.”
“Well, that’s because we can’t talk unless we do get into a corner.
You’re always poking around so, Joe,” said Ben. “Come on now, all hands
to supper!”
He swung Phronsie up to his shoulder and then into the chair that he
had made high enough for her by nailing a board across two strips of
wood. “Now says I, here you go, Puss!”
They were all so tired when they got through with blind man’s buff,
the supper dishes first being well out of the way, that Phronsie,
who wanted to be “Puss,” fell asleep on the little cricket before
they could get her into the corner. So Polly bundled her off to the
trundle-bed and tucked her up with a kiss.
“Now the worst is over,” she said, coming out of the bedroom, to Ben.
“And you two boys--it’s time you were off,” said Ben, pointing to the
loft, “or you’ll tumble asleep like Phronsie.”
“I’m not sleepy,” said Joel, digging his knuckles into his black eyes
and trying to keep awake.
“I am,” said Davie, “and my legs are tired.” And he stumbled off to the
loft stairs.
“Hoh!” exclaimed Joel, following slowly, “I ain’t sleepy a single bit.
And Polly and you are going to talk over secrets after we’re gone,” and
he turned half-way up the loft stairs to show an injured face.
“Well, you wouldn’t hear any secrets if you stayed,” declared Ben
coolly, “so you might as well take yourself off, Joe.”