“I’D TRY TO LEARN”
“Now, David, it’s your turn.” Mr. Atkins leaned both hands on the
counter. “What did you want?”
“Three pounds of Indian meal, if you please.”
“That’s easy got, an’ it’s fresh an’ sweet.” The storekeeper went over
to the big box in the corner. “Thought I never should get round to wait
on you. Beats all how some women trade. That Miss Pride ’ud finger
everything in the place, an’ finally buy a lemon. Well, here you be!”
He twisted up the paper bag with an extra twirl and handed it over the
counter. “Well now, how’s things over to the little brown house?”
David reached up with a shaking hand for the paper bag.
Mr. Atkins picked up the knife and cut off a snip from the big yellow
cheese, and began to chew it. “He’s too little,” he said to himself;
“no, I’ve got to find some other way to help ’em. _Hem!_ well--” and he
cut off another snip, “I s’pose Polly finds it pretty easy to keep the
little brown house goin’ these days, don’t she?”
David’s face turned quite white. If he could only forget how he had run
out that very morning to get the kindlings behind the wood-pile, and
Ben and Polly were talking!
“It’s every bit,” said Ben, turning his old leather purse upside down,
“ten cents, Polly.”
“O dear--dear! What shall we do, Ben? The potatoes are ’most gone and
everything is so much worse!”
“Don’t feel so bad, Polly. Things will get better, I guess,” said Ben.
And then Davie, peering around the wood-pile, saw him pat Polly’s
shoulder.
“Ben,” said Polly, and she threw her arms around his neck, “we must
think up some more ways to help Mamsie. We _must_, Ben.”
Ben held Polly closely, but he said nothing, for he couldn’t for his
life think of a word of comfort, and his face worked dreadfully.
“O dear me!” cried Polly in dismay when she saw that; “don’t look so,
Ben. And _you_ mustn’t feel bad.”
“Polly,” said Ben, drawing a long breath, “we’ll both think hard, and
meantime, you and I mustn’t stop our work. We ought to be at it this
very minute.”
“That’s so,” said Polly, breaking away from him, “and Mamsie told me to
send Davie down to the store for some Indian meal.”
At that Davie ducked behind the wood-pile, and then ran after Polly
into the little brown house. And now here he was in all his misery,
standing before the counter, with Mr. Atkins asking this dreadful
question!
“Hem!” said the storekeeper again. Seeing Davie’s face, he couldn’t
keep eating cheese all day, so he threw down the knife, and before he
knew it, he was saying, “How would you like to come here an’ help me
keep store a little while every now and then?”
Davie’s blue eyes flew open at their widest, and he had all he could do
to hang to the paper bag of Indian meal.
“You could set here an’ watch things,” Mr. Atkins ran on, surprised to
find how very much he needed a small boy for that very thing, that
hadn’t occurred to him before. “An’ then when I want to go to dinner,
I’d admire to have th’ store kep’ open.” At last he stopped suddenly.
“What d’ye say, Davie?”
Davie found his voice after swallowing very hard.
“Could I really help you, Mr. Atkins?” he burst out, standing on his
tiptoes, the very idea making him quite tall.
“_Sure!_” declared the storekeeper, slapping his thigh. “Beats all why
I didn’t think of it before. Well, what d’ye say, David?”
The color rushed all over David’s face till it became rosy red. “Oh,
Mr. Atkins,” and he dropped the bag, “can I come here and help keep the
store?” and he clasped his hands.
“That’s what I been a-sayin’ to you,” cried the storekeeper, his pale
green eyes sparkling.
“Can I really?”
“Sure as shootin’--I’d like it first rate. You’d be an awful help. You
see, you could find out what folks wanted, an’ come an’ call me when
I’m in th’ house.” Mr. Atkins pointed his big thumb over to the door
that shut off the place where he ate and slept.
“Yes,” cried Davie, eagerly, “I could, Mr. Atkins.”
“An’ then you--you could hand me th’ string when I wanted to tie up th’
bundles.”
“Yes, I could.”
“An’ then,” said Mr. Atkins, casting about in his mind for the other
things that now loomed up as most important in which he was to be
helped, “why then, you could hand me th’ paper.”
“Yes,” said Davie, “an’ couldn’t I sometimes tie up bundles, Mr.
Atkins?” he asked anxiously.
“I shouldn’t wonder if you could,” cried Mr. Atkins; “you’re so smart,
Davie Pepper, you’d learn real easy,” and he slapped his thigh again.
“I’d try to learn,” cried David in a glow, “and then I could help you,
couldn’t I, Mr. Atkins, keep store when I could tie up bundles?”
“You’d help me splendid before you learn to tie up bundles,” declared
Mr. Atkins just as excited, “just bein’ here an’ waitin’ on me.”
“And I’m going to learn to tie up bundles,” cried David in a transport.
Then he looked down at the paper bag of Indian meal at his feet, and
he hung his head. “I’m so sorry,” he faltered. Oh, now Mr. Atkins
wouldn’t want him, of course. A boy who dropped bundles all over the
place wasn’t to be trusted; and this splendid chance to help Mamsie was
gone.
“’Tain’t such a dreadful thing to do,” observed the storekeeper,
leaning his long figure over the counter to take note of the trouble.
“I dropped bundles when I was a boy, Davie.”
“Did you?” said David, greatly relieved that a boy who grew up to be
such a smart man as the village storekeeper did such a thing; and he
picked up the paper bag with hope once more springing in his heart.
“_Sure!_” declared Mr. Atkins, “I was a great deal bigger than you be.”
“How much bigger, Mr. Atkins?” asked David, clutching his bag.
“Oh, I guess ’most a foot taller,” said Mr. Atkins, scratching his
head, “an’ once I dropped a ’lasses jug.”
“Oh, Mr. Atkins!” exclaimed David, quite overwhelmed.
“Yes, I did,” said the storekeeper, delighted to see the comfort this
revelation gave. “An’ ’twas in th’ dusty road. Just think of that,
David Pepper!”
“Can I help fill molasses jugs when people want them?” asked Davie
suddenly. If that could ever be allowed, his happiness would be
complete indeed.
Mr. Atkins whirled around. “Well--p’raps,” he began slowly. Then he saw
David’s face. “Now I shouldn’t wonder ef you could before long learn to
fill them jugs. An’ that would be a most dreadful help, David, for it’s
slow work as stock still, I tell you. Now run along an’ ask your ma ef
you can come an’ help me in th’ store a little now and then. You never
must go into anythin’, you know, without askin’ her.”
“An’ ef ever I see a boy run,” reported Mr. Atkins that day at dinner
to his wife, “’twas Davie Pepper, Ma; when I said that, his legs jest
twinkled.” And the storekeeper sat back in his chair to laugh. He even
forgot to ask for a second helping of pie.
“Mamsie!” Davie sprang into the little brown house, swinging his bag
of Indian meal, nearly upsetting Phronsie coming to meet him, Seraphina
upside down in her arms.
“Goodness me, Davie!” exclaimed Polly, coming out of the provision
room, the tin pail of bread in her hand, “what _is_ the matter?”
“Where’s Mamsie?” cried Davie, his blue eyes shining, and turning a
very red face on her.
“She’s gone to Grandma Bascom’s,” said Polly, dropping the pail to
seize his little calico blouse, “and do give me that bag, Davie.”
Davie gave up the bag and tore himself away from Polly’s hold. “I must
ask Mamsie,” he shouted, running to the door.
“My senses!” cried Polly, “what _is_ the matter?” She wanted to rub
her eyes to see if it really was Davie who stood before her. “Wait!
Mamsie’s coming home in a few minutes. Why, here she is now!” glancing
out of the window.
David sprang out. “Oh, Mamsie,” he precipitated himself upon Mother
Pepper half-way up the path. “He wants me to help him, and I’m going to
learn to tie up bundles, and he said he thought some time I could fill
molasses jugs, if you’d say yes. Can’t I, Mamsie?”
“Dear me!” Mrs. Pepper held him by both little shoulders. “What is it
all about, Davie? No, no, don’t try to speak now,” she added, seeing
his face. “Come in and tell Mother.”
And pretty soon, over by her big old calico-covered rocker, the story
got out, Polly hanging over them both, and Phronsie, who had dropped
Seraphina on the way, leaning, perfectly absorbed, against Mother
Pepper’s knee.
“To think of my boy being wanted to help Mr. Atkins!” cried Mrs. Pepper
with shining eyes. “Oh, Davie!”
“Can I--can I?” cried David, feeling as if he couldn’t wait another
minute for the “yes” that all his hopes were hanging upon.
“Can you? Yes, yes, Davie.” Mrs. Pepper gathered him up into her lap.
“Oh, what a help you’ll be to Mother, if you are a good boy and learn
to do everything in the store that Mr. Atkins tells you!”
Polly ran down the road a good piece to meet Ben when he came home from
Deacon Blodgett’s. Joel had scampered on ahead. “Where are you going?”
he had screamed as Polly flew past.
“Going to walk home with Ben,” she had shouted, flying along.
“My goodness, Polly,” cried Ben, as she rushed up to him, “is the house
afire?”
“Mercy no!” Polly gasped for breath. “You can’t think,” she panted.
“Hold on!” Ben pounded her on the back. “You’re going like a steam
engine, Polly.”
“Well, I feel like a steam engine,” said Polly, with another gasp. “Oh,
Ben, you--can’t ever guess--what’s happened.”
“Come on over here.” Ben dragged her off to the stone wall. “There now,
tell me all about it.”
“Well, in the first place,” said Polly, sitting down on the wall, Ben
by her side, and drawing a long breath, “I don’t ever mean to be so bad
as I was this morning, Ben.”
She folded her hands in her lap, and a sorrowful little look came into
her brown eyes.
“You weren’t bad,” contradicted Ben stoutly; “and anyway, if you were,
I was worse.”
“Oh, no, Ben,” said Polly quickly; “you are never as bad as I am, and
you always see something better ahead.”
“Indeed I don’t, Polly,” declared Ben, “you’re the one to pretend that
things are good, and you have such splendid plans. I never can think of
anything. Well, anyway, tell what’s happened at home.”
“Ben,” said Polly, suddenly lifting her face, the color rushing all
over it, “just when the potatoes are all gone, and there isn’t much
bread in the pail, what do you think--you can’t guess, so I’ll tell
you. Mr. Atkins has asked Davie to come now and then to help him in his
store.”
“Not our Davie!” exclaimed Ben, nearly tumbling off the stone wall;
“why, he’s too little. You must be dreaming, Polly.”
“Indeed I’m not dreaming,” declared Polly indignantly; “and Davie
wouldn’t ever say things that aren’t so. You know that, Ben Pepper.”
“Yes, I know,” said Ben--but he looked very puzzled.
“And anyway, even if we don’t understand it,” said Polly wisely, “why
it’s so. And just think what a help to Mamsie. And it’s come when I
was so bad this very morning.”
“You weren’t bad,” declared Ben again. And there they had it all over
again.
“But you will be--we shall both be,” he wound up with a laugh, “if we
sit here on this stone wall much longer.”
“That’s so,” said Polly, with a little laugh, and hopping off from the
wall, they both ran off, hand in hand, down the road to the little
brown house.
When they got there everything was in a truly dreadful state. There
lay Joel, face down on the floor, crying as if his heart would break.
“I want to go to help in the store,” he screamed over and over, till
nobody else had a chance to be heard. David was hanging over him in the
greatest distress, saying, “I won’t go, Joey--you may go, Joey.”
Mrs. Pepper shook her head, and said quietly, “Oh, yes, Davie, you must
go; you have promised Mr. Atkins.”
“I want to tie up bundles,” screamed Joel, kicking his heels on the
floor. “O dear--dear--boo--hoo--hoo!”
“Perhaps,” Davie ran over to Mother Pepper’s chair, “Mr. Atkins would
let Joey come and help him instead of me,” he said.
“No, Davie,” said Mother Pepper, shaking her head worse than ever, “Mr.
Atkins asked you, and you have promised. Always remember a promise once
given must be kept,” and she patted his flushed cheek. “Joel, come
here!” It was impossible for Joel to stay on the floor kicking his
heels and screaming when Mamsie spoke in that tone, so he got up and
drew slowly near to her, digging his knuckles into his streaming eyes.
“Davie couldn’t ask Mr. Atkins to let you take his place, even if he
hadn’t promised, for you are so much bigger than Davie, that he isn’t
strong enough to help Ben pile wood as you do. Why, you are my big boy,
Joey!” She patted his stubby black hair affectionately.
“So I am,” said Joel, as if a wholly new idea had struck him, and
wiping off the last tear on the back of his little brown hand. “You
see, I couldn’t go, Dave, instead of you, to help Mr. Atkins in the
store, for I am so much bigger than you, and I’ve got to pile wood and
help Mamsie.”
Davie drew a long breath of relief.
“So you have,” he said. Then he laughed gleefully.
“And I’m so hungry,” announced Joel, the matter all settled now
comfortably. “O dear, isn’t dinner ready?”
“Yes,” said Polly, running over to the stove, “and we’ve got mush
to-day--Indian meal mush--just think. Do get the molasses pitcher, Ben!”
“No, let me,” begged Davie, all aglow with the delightful visions of
molasses jugs being filled by his hands from the big barrel in Mr.
Atkins’ store.
“So you may, Davie,” said Polly, putting the big dish of mush on the
table.