THE LETTER
The little wrinkled face of a monkey appeared, dragging a chain at
the end of which came his master. He had set the organ up against the
little shop.
Mrs. Goodsell, not knowing how she got there, was standing on the
bench, her calico gown whipped tightly around her, the shawl-ends wound
over that, and screaming loudly. Old Mrs. Beebe hurried in with both
hands raised, while the little shoemaker, trying to drive out both the
monkey and the man, didn’t succeed in doing either, but got tangled up
with the chain.
“Pa--Pa, let him go!” cried Mrs. Beebe, wringing her hands. “I’ll get
th’ broom,” disappearing to come back with it, when she found things in
a much worse state. For the monkey, shaking the chain free from both
the little shoemaker and his master, was now on the upper shelf in the
row that occupied one side of the shop, twitching off the covers of the
boxes, and throwing down the shoes and rubbers and slippers in a heap
to the floor.
In the midst of all this confusion, David Pepper opened the door.
“O my senses!” screamed Mrs. Goodsell from the bench, where she was
constantly hopping from one foot to the other in terrified distress,
“here’s that boy again--ah--_oof_!” as the monkey stopped his work a
second to fasten his little eyes on her.
Davie quickly closed the door and stood on the big flat stone, his
heart beating wildly. Then he opened it again. “I’ll help you,” he
said, going in.
“Davie, he’ll bite you!” screamed old Mrs. Beebe, waving her broom.
Davie shut his eyes, as he thought so, too. Then he opened them and
began to climb the lowest shelf to reach the end of the dangling chain.
The monkey stopped regarding the screaming woman on the bench, whom he
had almost made up his mind he would leap for, and peered over at the
boy, and as quick as lightning, he twitched up the chain and grinned
in Davie’s face.
“Now, you’ve done it,” exclaimed the organ man, with a word that wasn’t
pretty at all, and he glared at Davie.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Davie, sliding to the floor. His face was very
red, and his blue eyes went down in shame.
“Don’t feel bad,” old Mr. Beebe gasped out the words, and leaned, quite
spent, against the counter where he did up his bundles for customers.
“Get something to eat,” the organ man growled it out at the shoemaker’s
wife, “then he’ll come down and I’ll lick him ’most to death.”
“Oh, you mustn’t,” cried Davie, forgetting his shame to rush over to
the organ man.
“Mustn’t, hey? You stand out of th’ way, you beggar-boy, you,” looking
down contemptuously at Davie’s little patched shoes, and he pushed him
roughly off.
“You let that boy alone,” commanded old Mr. Beebe, puffing up. The man
laughed in the fat little shoemaker’s face. “Get somethin’ to eat, I
tell you,” he roared.
“Oh, I will--I will,” old Mrs. Beebe trotted off, and came back with
two doughnuts in her trembling hands.
“You hold ’em up,” said the organ man. “He won’t come down for me.”
“Oh, I can’t,” Mrs. Beebe shook all over.
“Let th’ boy hold ’em,” said the man; “he butted in there an’ lost us
th’ chain, and now he can git him down.”
David cast a wild look up at the little beast, whose sharp eyes were
roving from his master to the small boy that had interfered with the
chain.
“No, no, Davie,” began the little shoemaker--but intent only on the
organ man’s charge that he was to blame, Davie took the doughnuts out
of old Mrs. Beebe’s hands, before she realized it.
“You mustn’t whip him,” he said, looking back at the man, before he
held them up.
But he didn’t need to, for there was a sudden leap from the high shelf,
the end of the chain rattled off, and the monkey came down on Davie’s
little shoulder, knocking him to the floor in among the shoes and
slippers and rubbers scattered about.
They never knew quite how it all ended, but when Davie picked himself
up, the organ man was dragging the monkey, swallowing the last piece of
the second doughnut, out of the shop.
“He mustn’t whip him,” cried Davie, gasping from his fright, and
darting after.
“You come back,” commanded the little shoemaker. “See!” and David
having nothing to do but to obey, he was led over to look out of the
window. There was the monkey perched on the organ slung on the back of
the man, who was getting over the cobble-stones at a lively rate. “Now
you can help me to pick up these,” added old Mr. Beebe, pointing to the
havoc made in his merchandise sprawled over the floor.
Old Mrs. Beebe had sunk down in a chair, and clasped her hands.
“I’ll help you,” cried Davie, springing to the work, yet with a heavy
heart as he thought of the monkey.
Mrs. Goodsell stood quite still on the bench, her surprise not allowing
her to take her eyes off from Davie. Now she peered down at him,
gathering up the shoes, rubbers, and slippers. “I thought you was
scared of monkeys,” she said slowly. Then she put one large foot down
and began to descend to the floor.
“Did you go home, Davie?” asked the little shoemaker quickly.
“Yes,” said Davie, handing him two or three rubbers; “I did, and Mamsie
sent me back to ask you to please finish mending my shoe.”
“So I will,” said old Mr. Beebe, “as soon as we get these things
gathered up. Your Ma will look after Phronsie, I s’pose she told you.”
“Yes,” said Davie, “she did.”
“Well now, I’m glad you went home an’ told your ma there was an organ
man in Badgertown ’cause there ain’t no Jasper here now, with his big
dog. Heard anythin’ from him lately?”
“Yes,” said Davie, “Mr. Atkins gave Mamsie a letter yesterday.”
“Sho now!” exclaimed Mr. Beebe, much gratified. He ached to ask what
was in it, but for all the world he couldn’t bring himself to such a
thing.
“What did the letter say?” demanded Mrs. Goodsell.
Davie turned his blue eyes up to her. “It was Mamsie’s letter,” he said
simply.
“Yes, yes, I heerd you. Well, what did it _say_? I ain’t cur’ous, but I
jest thought I’d ask. Hey?”
But she got no answer, David being busy handing the shoes, slippers,
and rubbers up to old Mr. Beebe’s waiting hands.
“Well, of all the impident boys I ever see!” exclaimed Mrs. Goodsell,
slapping the shawl-ends indignantly around her big figure, “you beat
’em all!”
“There--there--” declared the little shoemaker, straightening up, “my
shop ain’t big enough to hold folks who talk against th’ Peppers. So,
good mornin’ to you, Mis Goodsell.”
“An’ I shake th’ dust off from my feet,” cried Mrs. Goodsell, shaking
her shawl-ends instead, “an’ I wouldn’t demean myself by stayin’, Mr.
Beebe,--what with your Pepperses an’ monkeys an’ letters.” She slammed
the door, and disdaining the flat stone, strode over the cobble-stones.
Davie, to whom her words brought a memory he was trying to put in the
background, sighed.
“Now you’re gettin’ all tired out,” said Mrs. Beebe, in a worried way.
“Don’t let him work any more, Pa.”
“Oh, no, I’m not tired,” said Davie, raising his flushed face. “I want
to put all the things back. Do let me, Mr. Beebe,” he begged. He longed
to say that it was old Mr. King’s letter to Mamsie that was bothering
him. But that belonged to Mamsie.
How could they ever let Polly go from the little brown house to
visit in the city! Mamsie had written “No” twice before to Mr. King;
but yesterday after reading this particular letter, Mother Pepper
had looked very sober. “She must think about it,” she had told the
children. Think about it! Davie didn’t imagine that it needed a second
thought. They couldn’t let Polly go! even if Jasper was sick, and the
doctor said there must be some little friend invited to cheer things
up. Oh, no, they couldn’t!
When the shoes and rubbers and slippers were all neatly put back in
their respective boxes, and on the shelf once more, old Mrs. Beebe,
who had gone off into the kitchen, came back with a blue plate on which
were two doughnuts. “Now while Pa is a-mendin’ your shoe, you can set
an’ eat ’em,” she said.
Davie, well pleased, curled up on the bench and munched the sugary
things slowly to make them last. He wanted to ask if he couldn’t take
one home for Phronsie, but then that was as good as begging one--for
old Mrs. Beebe would trot out to her big stone pot, and get him
another. So he watched his shoe having the finishing touches put to its
repairs, while he ate.
“Now says I,” the little shoemaker held up the completed work, as David
swallowed the last crumb of the doughnuts, “that job is done as good
as th’ next one, if I do say it. Now, Davie, that will last you a long
spell.”
“I am so glad.” Davie hopped off from the bench, and sitting down on
the floor, he pulled on the shoe with great satisfaction.
“That string ain’t very strong,” said Mr. Beebe, “I guess I better get
you another.” He went across the shop and pulled out a drawer.
Davie stopped trying to tie the shoestring. “Mamsie didn’t say that I
was to get a new string,” he said.
“Oh, you ain’t goin’ to buy this,” said old Mr. Beebe, coming back.
“I’m goin’ to give it to you. Give me the shoe, Davie, and we’ll see
about that string.”
So Davie pulled off his shoe, and old Mr. Beebe sat down and pretty
soon there was a brand-new shoestring in it, and the old one lay on the
floor.
“I think th’ mate to that string is pretty poor,” said the little
old shoemaker, peering at Davie’s other foot critically; “give me
that shoe, Davie,” and when it was in his hand, he pulled out the
shoestring. “Yes, it’s wore in spots,” he declared.
At last Davie was on his way home. Didn’t the shoes feel good though;
the mended one all strong and just as good as ever, and with new
shoestrings, too! He wanted to dance--but stopped suddenly. There was
Polly--was she going away for a visit to the city? He went slowly up
the path leading to the little brown house, and opened the green door.
There were Mamsie and the others, and David knew by her face what she
was going to say.
“Children,” she began, “you know how good Jasper has been to us! And
think of Phronsie!” She gathered her up in her arms to hold her tightly
to her breast, and her voice broke. “What can we ever do for him!”
“But, Mamsie,” began Ben, “Polly--we can’t--” He couldn’t get any
farther, and his head went down to hide his face on his knees.
“Oh, I’m not going!” cried Polly passionately, a little red spot coming
on either cheek. “You needn’t think of it, Ben,” and she threw her
arms around his shoulders--while Joel roared, “She isn’t going--she
isn’t!” and he ran over to throw his arms across Polly’s--till Ben was
nearly smothered. David longed to add himself to them, and he started,
but catching Mother Pepper’s eye, he settled back and held his hands
tightly together in dread of what was coming, for Mrs. Pepper was
speaking.
“Don’t say that, Polly,” she said reprovingly. “You must think, child,
before you speak.”
“Oh, I don’t want to think, Mamsie!” cried Polly, wildly, and deserting
Ben, she plunged over to Mrs. Pepper’s chair and threw herself on her
knees. “Mamsie, don’t make me go!” she begged, burying her face on
Phronsie’s small feet.
“I never should _make_ you go, Polly,” Mrs. Pepper stroked the brown
hair. “Mother feels badly enough to think of your going. It must be as
you say, Polly.”
So there it was left. And every now and then Polly would break away
from whatever she was doing, even if setting the supper-table, and rush
up in a torrent of tears. “Oh, I can’t go--Mamsie, I _can’t_!” And then
she would fly back to her work to creep up presently with “Jasper saved
Phronsie for us, Mamsie!”
“I know, Polly,” Mother Pepper would say softly, and Polly would know
that all Mamsie’s objections to the visit had not only flown away, but
that instead, there would be an approval of it if Polly should decide
to go.
“Now, children,” after the supper dishes were cleared away, and
everything was “spick and span” again, and Mother Pepper had sat down
to get a little more of the waning light to sew by before the evening
really set in, “I think,” she said, “you better have that day in the
woods to-morrow, for you have been waiting for it so long.”
“Mamsie,” cried Davie, looking up at his mother with shining eyes, “can
we _really_ go to the woods to-morrow?”
“I think so, Davie.” Mrs. Pepper smiled at him. “Don’t scream so, Joel.
Yes, you may all go to-morrow.” She looked around for Polly--who had
drawn off in a corner with Ben, their heads together and filled with
sad thoughts, as she very well knew. The day in the woods was the only
thing she could plan by which she might divert the sadness, at least
for a time.
“Mamsie,” Davie crowded up to her chair, “can we stay when we get there
in the woods--can we?” he asked, dreadfully excited.
“Yes indeed--a whole long day if you want to,” said Mother Pepper
decidedly. “Now run over and tell Polly and Ben how glad you are about
it.”
“And can we carry things to eat?” demanded Joel, precipitating himself
upon her, his black eyes waiting impatiently for her answer.
“Of course, you can take your dinner,” and Mother Pepper laughed. “Who
ever heard of spending a day in the woods without anything to eat! And
I expect you’ll be very hungry, Joel.”
“I’m hungry now,” said Joel reflectively.
“Oh, Joey--you’ve only just finished your supper,” said Mrs. Pepper. At
his words, she began to sew away brisker than ever.
“There wasn’t half enough,” said Joel, looking over his shoulder at the
cleared table set up against the wall. “Why isn’t there ever any more
to eat, Mamsie?”
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Pepper, stitching fast. “Well, now, to-morrow
you shall have a good deal. You will like the basket I shall pack for
you,” she added cheerily.
“What’s to be in it?” cried Joel, smacking his lips, “candy, and a pie?”
“O dear me! Joe--not those things,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“Then some cake,” said Joel, hanging over her knee, so that his small
elbows dragged her work down.
“No indeed,” she slipped the sewing away, but let the elbows remain,
“cake isn’t the best thing for children to eat in the woods. But, Joel,
just think, Mother is going to give you some nice thick slices of bread
and--butter.”
“Not butter?” cried Joel, quite overcome.
“Yes,” Mrs. Pepper nodded.
“And spread it thick, do, Mamsie,” cried Joel, dreadfully excited, “as
thick as that.” He took off his elbows to put his little brown hands a
good distance apart.
Mrs. Pepper laughed. “You never would relish butter again if you had it
as thick as that, Joey,” she said. “Now run over and tell Ben and Polly
all about it.”
Her work fell down for a minute, as he dashed off--and a shadow swept
across her face; but it was gone as quickly, and the needle flew all
the faster.
Joel rushed up to the two in the corner. “We are going to have butter
to-morrow, Polly Pepper,” he announced.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ben, pulling himself out of his gloom. “You’ve
been dreaming, Joe.”
“I haven’t, either,” retorted Joel indignantly. “Mamsie said so.” He
darted across the kitchen. “Didn’t you, Mamsie?” he cried, plunging up
to her chair. “Ben says I’ve been dreaming.”
“Didn’t I do what, Joel?”
“Didn’t you say you were going to give us butter to-morrow to eat in
the woods?”
“I certainly did, Joey,” said Mrs. Pepper. She looked over his head and
nodded to the three in the corner. “Come over here, children. Wait a
minute; Phronsie.”
Phronsie, who had been undressing Seraphina for bed, always a slow
process, laid the rag doll on a chair, and came up wonderingly to her
mother’s knee.
“Now it’s just this way,” began Mrs. Pepper, looking at them all,
“to-morrow must be the very happiest day of the whole year. And in
order to get ready for it and make it happy--why, we must all begin
to-night. Now, Joel and Davie, you’d better run off to bed, so that you
can hop up bright and early in the morning.”
“I don’t want to,” Joel grumbled. But seeing his mother’s face, he
finished, “All right--come on, Dave.” Then he ran back when half-way
up the loft stairs. “Please spread it thick, Mamsie,” he begged.
“Come, Phronsie,” Polly held out her hand. She tried to make the sad
little smile a brighter one, but it was a sorrowful face, after all,
that she carried off.
“Oh, no, no,” cried Phronsie, in distress. “My child hasn’t her nightie
on,” and she ran back to the chair where Seraphina waited to be gotten
ready for bed.
“I’ll help you,” said Polly, “for you must get into your own nightie.
There, you run back and kiss Mamsie, and I’ll get Seraphina ready.”
So Phronsie, well pleased to be cuddled by Mamsie, ran back and
scrambled into Mother Pepper’s lap.
“Be a good girl, Phronsie, and don’t trouble Polly, but hop right into
bed,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“I’ll be a good girl,” cooed Phronsie, her lips against Mother Pepper’s
neck. Then she slid off from Mamsie’s lap, and was soon fast asleep in
the trundle-bed, Seraphina huddled up in her arms.
And Polly, down on her knees by the big old bed, her head on the gay
patchwork quilt, was saying, “I’ll go.”