shoulders shaking with her efforts not to cry aloud.
Phronsie, who had turned in her chair where she had been looking out
of the window, at the unusual disturbance in the old kitchen, now got
down very gravely, and came over to Mother Pepper’s corner.
“What is the matter with Polly?” she asked with wide, disapproving eyes.
“Mamsie will take care of Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“She’s sick, I guess,” said little Davie wonderingly.
At that Phronsie uttered a low cry, “Oh, don’t let my Polly be
sick--don’t let her, Mamsie!” then she screamed in dismay.
“Polly,” said Mother Pepper, putting the stockings into the big
mending-basket with a hasty hand, and drawing Phronsie to her lap,
“now I guess you’ll have to do your best, my child, to set matters
right.--There, there, Phronsie, stop screaming,--Polly’s all well.”
Polly felt for the first minute as if she could never lift her head
and speak cheerily to the children. Oh, how much she would give to be
Phronsie’s age, and be cuddled and allowed to have her cry out! But
Mamsie’s words! She swallowed hard the terrible lump in her throat,
wiped off the tears, and said brokenly, “I’m all right,--there, see,
Pet,” and put up her head.
When Phronsie saw that Polly could really move, she stopped screaming;
and Davie began to smile, “I guess she ain’t sick.”
“No, indeed,” said Polly, finding it easier to control herself since
she had begun, and hopping to her feet; “I’m going back to my baking,”
she cried.
“So do,” cried mother Pepper approvingly, with a little smile over at
Polly, that ran right down into the sad little heart.
“May I bake?” cried Phronsie, the last tear rolling off by itself in a
lonely fashion. “May I, Polly, may I?” and she scrambled down from her
mother’s lap, and ran over to the table.
“Yes, indeed,” cried Polly, delighted at the change in affairs.
“Then I shall,” said Davie; “at least when Joel gets out. May I call
him, Mamsie?” he begged.
“No,” said Mrs. Pepper, picking up the stocking again, and attacking
the biggest hole; “Joel must wait till he knows he’s right.”
“Then, I don’t want to bake yet,” said David with a sigh.
Polly flew around at her preparations for baking, making a great
clatter with the things, and keeping up a cheery little chat with
Phronsie. But all the while her heart was sore over Joel sitting lonely
and disconsolate in the old Provision Room. It seemed as if she could
not bear it another minute longer, when suddenly she heard the door
open slowly, and his feet coming over the rickety steps. Mrs. Pepper
mended steadily on, and did not turn her head. Polly held her breath,
as Joel, without a glance for any one else, marched straight past the
baking-table, and over to Mamsie’s side.
“I’m sorry I was bad, Mamsie,” he began. But he never got any further,
for Mother Pepper had him in her arms, and there he was cuddled to his
heart’s content. And Polly deserted the baking-table, leaving Phronsie
to work her own sweet will among the materials, while she rushed over
and dropped a kiss on Joel’s stubby head, telling him it was she who
was so naughty, and she never was going to do it again. And little
David clasped his hands, and beamed at them all in great satisfaction.
“Now you had better see what Phronsie is about,” advised Mrs. Pepper
wisely.
“I don’t care,” cried Polly in a glad recklessness, and plunging over
to the baking-table, with both boys at her heels. “Oh, my goodness me!
what have you been doing, Phronsie?”
“Baking a cake,” hummed Phronsie, in a state of bliss. She had upset
the flour-pan in trying to pull it toward her; and what didn’t fly over
the floor was on her face and pinafore, while she patted the yeast in
the cracked cup with her spoon.
“Hoh--hoh--how you look!” laughed Joel and David, “just like the old
ash-man, with that brown flour all over your face.”
But Phronsie didn’t care; so while Polly shook off the flour, and
cleaned things up, taking great care to get the yeast-cup the length of
the table away from the little fingers, she was singing all the time,
“I’m going to bake a cake--Polly said so.”
At last the bread was made, and, covered with an old towel, was set
down to rise by the stove; Phronsie’s cake was set in her own little
tin patty-pan, and tucked into the oven; and then the three children
stood and looked at each other. It was still dark, the rain going
patter--patter--patter worse than ever on the roof.
“Mamsie, do you mind if I tell them a story?” asked Polly, looking at
them all.
“No, indeed,” cried Mrs. Pepper cheerily. “Just the very thing, Polly.
I’m glad you thought of it. I sh’d like to hear it too, myself.”
“Would you, Mamsie?” cried Polly, quite delighted.
“Yes, indeed. Seems as if my needle would go in and out faster if I
could hear something meanwhile,” replied Mother Pepper.
So Polly, feeling quite important at being about to tell a story that
Mother Pepper was to listen to, gathered the three children in a knot
about her on the floor ready to begin.
“I wish Ben was here,” began Joel.
“It’s good Ben has wood to saw at Mr. Blodgett’s,” spoke up Mrs. Pepper
quickly. “He’s in that nice tight woodshed, so the rain won’t hurt him:
and just think, children, of the money he’ll bring home.”
Polly couldn’t help but give a little sigh. How perfectly lovely it
would be if she weren’t a girl, but could go off and earn money just
like Ben to keep the little brown house going! But Mother Pepper didn’t
hear the sigh, it was such a tiny one, as Polly saw by glancing over
at her. And so away flew the story-teller as fast as she could, on her
entertainment.
“Now, children,” began Polly, hoping Mamsie would like the story, and
racking her brains to make it up as she went along, “I’m going to tell
you to-day about an old Tea-Kettle.”
“Hoh! hoh!” jeered Joel, knocking his heels together; “that isn’t any
story.”
“That’s funny,” laughed little David, looking over at the Pepper
tea-kettle humming away on the stove. “Was it like ours, Polly?”
“Yes,” said Polly, “as like as two peas. Well, this Tea-Kettle lived in
a house where there weren’t any children, only an old woman and a cat.”
“It’s Grandma Bascom she means,” shouted Joel, very much disappointed.
“Don’t tell about any one we know, Polly; we’ve seen her old tea-kettle
lots of times, and”--
“And I sh’d think it would be better to let Polly tell the story in her
own way,” said Mother Pepper, “if there is to be any story.”
“Oh, she may--she may!” cried Joel, casting an alarmed glance over his
shoulder on the comfortable figure in the old chair, mending away. “Go
on, Polly,--do go on.”
“Well, it isn’t Grandma Bascom,” said Polly, “this old woman isn’t. My
old woman with the Tea-Kettle and the cat lived on the edge of a wood
and”--
“And there were bears and hyenas and dreadful things there,” cried Joel
delightedly. “I know now,--and you’re going to have ’em come out nights
and bite her.”
“No,” said Polly, “we’ve had so many bears lately, you don’t want any
more, Joe.”
“Yes I do too,” contradicted Joel flatly; “we can’t have too many
bears. I sh’d think you might give ’em to us, Polly,” he added
wheedlingly.
“Well, there aren’t any in this story,” declared Polly firmly. “Wait
till I get through; you’ll like it, I guess.”
“Yes; wait till she gets through,” echoed Davie. “Go on, Polly, please.”
Phronsie patted her pink pinafore, and pulled it into shape patiently.
Polly hurried on.
“Well, this old woman who lived on the edge of the wood used to go out
every single day, and pick up pieces of branches of trees to burn. You
see, she didn’t have any children to go for her. And the cat stayed
home to mind the house, and there was nobody to talk to but the old
Tea-Kettle.”
“Oh, dear me!” said David.
“Now, the old Tea-Kettle was cross sometimes,” said Polly; “she was so
very old.”
“How old?” interrupted Joel.
“Oh! I don’t know. Fifty years, I guess,” said Polly at a venture.
“And she was black all over, oh! as black as she could be--blacker’n
anything I see round here,” said Polly, glancing at the rusty little
shoes stuck out before her. “Well, and she was tired too, besides being
black; because, you see, she had sung and hummed and buzzed every
single day for all that long time just in that one spot. Oh! she was so
tired, she just wanted to roll down on the floor, and off and away to
see the world. And one morning the old woman put on her big black cap
over her white one, and took down her thick stick with a knob on the
end of it.
“‘Mind the house now,’ she said to the cat, who sat by the fire. And
off she went to the wood to get her branches and sticks.
[Illustration: “Mind the house, now,” she said to the cat.]
“Suddenly there was a big noise just like this,”--and Polly gave a hiss
as near like a bubbling-hot tea-kettle as she could manage,--“and then
a voice said ‘Hem.’
“‘Oh! that’s you, Mrs. Tea-Kettle,’ said the cat, without turning her
head.
“‘Who else would it be but me?’ said the old Tea-Kettle sharply; ‘when
there’s not a soul comes in here day after day. Come, you cross thing,
why don’t you talk?’ for the cat looked as if she were going to sleep
that very minute.
“‘I haven’t anything to talk about,’ said the cat sleepily.
“‘Well, I have,’ snapped the Tea-Kettle--‘puff--puff,--and I’m very
angry indeed. And I’m tired of staying in this old place day after day.
And I tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to jump right down, and
go off to see the world. Yes I am.’
“‘You can’t,’ said the cat, still not turning her head; ‘for you
haven’t any legs.’
“‘As if that was any matter,’ snorted the old Tea-Kettle. Then she
raised her lid, and sent out angry little whiffs of steam, so that the
cat moved uneasily. ‘I don’t have to depend on legs, like you great
lazy things. I can roll just as good.’ With that she gave a great
lunge, and over she went on her fat side, and off with a bang to the
floor. The cat, not knowing which way she might come, wisely sprang for
the old table, and peered at her over the side. Like this,” said Polly,
hanging over an imaginary table-edge.
The children screamed with delight, and Mamsie set a whole row of
stitches briskly into place while she smiled contentedly over her needle.
“‘Oh you bad, naughty thing!’ cried the cat; ‘Phif--spit--meow! to do
such things and run away while the mistress is gone.’
“‘I can’t help it,’ said the old Tea-Kettle, rolling busily on toward
the door, while a pool of hot water trailed off into little streams on
the floor. ‘I’m tired to death sitting in a hump on that old stove day
in and day out. You can go out and see the world. It’s all very well
for you to talk.’
“‘I have to mind the house,’ said the cat, sitting up stiffly on the
table, her tail lashed around her body, and her green eyes staring at
the old Tea-Kettle.
“‘Nonsense!’ The Tea-Kettle had got through puffing, because, you see,
there wasn’t any steam left in her; and now she began to roll along
more slowly. At last she knocked up against the door with a bump.
“‘You can’t get out,’ exclaimed the cat, ‘anyway, for you don’t know
how to open the door.’ And she laughed softly under her whiskers to
herself sitting there on the table.
“The old Tea-Kettle lifted its long nose angrily in the air. ‘Jump down
this minute,’ she cried, ‘and open it for me. Come, I’m in a hurry, for
I’m going to see the world.’
“‘I sha’n’t open the door,’ declared the cat with great composure,”
said Polly, feeling very glad she had slipped over the big word so
well; “‘so there!’ and she lashed her tail stiffer than ever around her
legs.
“The old Tea-Kettle cried and whimpered and begged, but it was no use.
The cat sat up like a wooden cat, and just stared at her. At last the
Tea-Kettle rolled over on her side, and laid her long turned-up nose on
the floor.
“‘I’m afraid she’s dead,’ said the cat to herself. ‘And’”--
“And was she dead?” asked little Davie; “was she, Polly?”
“You’ll see,” she cried, “pretty soon. Well, so the cat was so awfully
afraid the poor old Tea-Kettle was dead, that she stepped down from the
table, and went and bent over and looked at her. And no sooner had she
touched her with her paw to feel and be sure about it, than the old
Tea-Kettle hopped up as quick as a wink; and the cat flew back, and
then she had to run, oh, so dreadfully fast! because the Tea-Kettle
began to roll at her. And round and round the room they went, and the
Tea-Kettle kept always between the table and the cat, so she couldn’t
jump on that; and she couldn’t hop on the stove because it was hot; so
she had to open the door. And before she could shut it, there was the
Tea-Kettle close behind her!”
“And did she get away?” cried Joel; “clear off to see the world?”
“Yes,” said Polly; “and she never came back. She screamed out
as she rolled down the long hill before the cottage door,
‘Goo-d--by--o-old--o-o-ld--cat.’”
“Oh, dear, dear!” said both boys. And “Go-o-d--by--ol-d--cat,” sang
Phronsie.
“And did she ever come--oh, see--see!” screamed Joel looking up,
and nearly upsetting David as he jumped clear past him, “blue
sky--see--come on, Dave, out-doors!”
X.
THE PINK AND WHITE STICKS.
“Were they as nice as dear Mrs. Beebe’s pink and white sticks?” asked
Joel anxiously.
“And dear Mr. Beebe’s,” added Phronsie; “were they, Polly?”
“Yes--no; that is, they couldn’t be quite as nice, Pet. No pink and
white sticks could be, you know. But they were very nice indeed, and
they all lived together in a candy-jar.”
“Oh--oh! Tell about it, Polly,” they all begged.
So Polly got the little bunch of Peppers together in “the
breathing-spell,” as the edge of the twilight was called, when it was
too soon to light a candle, because mother Pepper couldn’t afford any
light in the old kitchen except when it was absolutely necessary; and
then she began:
“Yes, they all lived together in the big candy-jar.”
“Where was it?” cried Joel insistently, at which the others clamored
immediately to be told the same thing.
“In the window of the little shop, just like Mr. Beebe’s, only it
wasn’t Mr. Beebe’s,” said Polly.
“And was my dear, sweet Mrs. Beebe in there, and all the little shoes?”
demanded Phronsie excitedly.
“No, no, Pet; I said it wasn’t Mr. Beebe’s shop, so of course Mrs.
Beebe wasn’t there, nor the shoes,” answered Polly; “but it was like
Mr. Beebe’s.”
“Did it have a green door?” asked Joel, “and a big knocker that went
clang--clang--like this?” and he jumped up and sent out his arm after
an imaginary brass knocker hanging on a big green door.
“Yes,” said Polly. “I guess my shop-door had a big knocker on it, all
shiny like Mr. Beebe’s.”
“Your shop? oh! is it your shop?” broke in little Davie incredulously.
“O Polly!”
“Of course it’s my shop,” cried Polly gayly, “’cause I make it up out
of my head, so I own all the things in it too.”
“Oh! give me some of the candy then,” howled Joel, plunging into the
middle of the group. “I want some right away, Polly.”
“Why, I’m giving you some now,” said Polly, laughing at his face. The
children all looked puzzled enough.
“You see, you’re getting some of the pink and white sticks in the
story; and if I didn’t make it up, you couldn’t have any. Now you must
just play you’re eating candy. My, isn’t it nice!” Polly held up long
imaginary pink and white sticks, and took a good bite off from one of
them.
Joel’s sharp black eyes followed her closely. “I’d rather have the real
sticks,” he said slowly.
“Of course,” said Polly; “but if you can’t have real ones, it’s better
to have make-believe story ones. Well, now I’m going to begin.”
“Yes, go on,” said Joel, bringing down his gaze as Polly’s hands fell
to her lap. “You said they were in the big candy-jar, Polly;” smacking
his lips.
“Yes--oh! and it stood on the shelf that ran along inside the window;
and there was a little bit of a man who kept the shop, and he had a
little bit of a wife who helped him, and”--
“Why ain’t they big as Mr. Beebe, and big as Mrs. Beebe?” cried Joel,
putting his hands out as far as he could reach in front of him; “I like
’em big. Why ain’t they, Polly?”
“Because they aren’t Mr. and Mrs. Beebe,” said Polly. “Now, if you are
going to interrupt every minute, I can’t tell the story.”
“I wish we could hear about those pink and white sticks,” said little
Davie patiently, and drawing a long sigh.
“Yes, you see the others want to hear about it, Joel,” said Polly; “and
it keeps us all back when you stop me so much.”
“I want the pink and white sticks,” said Phronsie, stretching out her
feet. “Please hurry, Polly.”
So Joel clapped one hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting Polly
again, and she began once more.
“Yes; old Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle were little and dried
up, just like two little withered nuts; and they had ever so many
little Periwinkleses, and so they had to work very hard to keep shoes
and stockings on their feet, and to get them enough to eat. So Mrs.
Periwinkle used to make candy and doughnuts and”--
“Oo!” exploded Joel, forgetting himself. Then he clapped the other
hand, too, upon his mouth.
“And then Mrs. Periwinkle would run out into the shop, and say to Mr.
Periwinkle, ‘Here’s another batch of candy, my dear;’ or ‘Look what
I’ve brought you,’ sliding a pan of doughnuts on the counter just in
time for the folks opening the green door and coming into the shop to
buy things. Well, one day a perfectly dreadful thing happened!” Polly
drew a long breath, and gazed at her audience.
“What was it?” cried little Davie breathlessly. Phronsie sat quite
still with clasped hands, and wide eyes fixed on Polly’s face. Joel was
cramming his fists up against his mouth in great distress.
“Why, the pink and white candy sticks were gone, and there was the big
jar all tumbled down on its side!” said Polly, with a very impressive
air; “just think of that, children!”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the two little Peppers, while Joel nodded his
stubbly black head.
“Yes, they were,” said Polly, still more impressively; “every single
one of all those pink and white sticks.”
“How many were there--ugh!” cried Joel, forgetting himself. Then he
clapped his hands up to his mouth again.
“Oh! I don’t know--yes, there were six--no, I guess eleven of those
pink and white sticks,” said Polly thoughtfully; “six white ones and
five pink ones.”
“I’d rather have had six pink ones,” said little Davie reflectively.
“Well, I’ll change them,” said Polly accommodatingly, “and let the
white ones be five. Yes, that’s best after all,--there were six pink
ones, children. Well, and so”--
“I’d rather have the white ones be six,” cried Joel in a roar, and
dropping his fists; “they’re best, any way. Mrs. Beebe’s white ones
were bigger’n the pink ones, and lots sweeter. Let the white ones be
six, Polly, do!”
Thereupon an animated discussion began, as to which should be six, and
which should be five, between the two boys, little David taking an
unusually firm stand, as he insisted on the pink ones. So at last Polly
broke in: “I’ll tell you, children, what we will do; there shall be
twelve sticks, six pink and six white ones; now, that’s fine.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” cried Joel and David together. “Well, go on, Polly.”
“Now, where do you suppose those pink and white sticks could have
gone to?” cried Polly, clasping her hands. “Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs.
Periwinkle hadn’t sold them--what _could_ have become of them?”
The little Peppers shook their heads. “And the little Periwinkleses
hadn’t touched them--oh, no indeed!” declared Polly in a tone of
horror--“so what could really have become of them?”
“What?” It was Phronsie who asked this, and she crept into Polly’s lap,
and put her little hand up on Polly’s neck.
[Illustration: She crept into Polly’s lap, and put her little hand up
on her neck.]
“Well, nobody knew,” said Polly, stopping only long enough to give
Phronsie a hug and ever so many kisses. “And then, what do you think,
children, they found had happened to the pink and white sticks?”
At this there was great excitement, the children protesting they
couldn’t guess, and wouldn’t Polly hurry and tell them? So she dashed
along,--
“Well, Mr. Periwinkle said he was going to sit up that night and
watch, and Mrs. Periwinkle said she was going to, and all the little
Periwinkleses said they were going to do the same thing. So nobody went
to bed at all.”
“Oh, dear me!” said David.
“Didn’t the littlest little Peri--what is it, Polly?” asked Phronsie in
a troubled way.
“Periwinkleses,” said Polly.
“Yes, didn’t the very littlest get into the trundle-bed?” asked
Phronsie.
“No, not even the littlest of the Periwinkleses,” said Polly. “She was
the baby; and she sat up in Mrs. Periwinkle’s lap.”
“Oh!” said Phronsie.
“Well, along about ten o’clock,--no, I guess it was about the middle
of the night,” said Polly, “all the Periwinkleses were keeping just as
still as could be, you know; and there they sat on their chairs and
crickets with their eyes wide open, staring at that big jar--oh! I
forgot to tell you that Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle had put some
more pink and white sticks in it, so as to see what would happen to
them, and”--
“Were there six pink and six white ones?” screamed Joel, before the
others could say a word.
“Yes, I guess there were just exactly so many,” said Polly; “and there
they stood up, as tall and splendid in the jar.”
“Oo!” Joel smacked his lips.
“Well, along in the middle of the night,--nobody stirred, but all the
eyes were staring at those pink and white sticks, when suddenly there
was a little wee, faint noise.”
Phronsie snuggled up closer to Polly.
“It came from under the counter; and pretty soon they all heard a faint
voice say, ‘Is it time to come out and do it?’”
“‘Yes,’ said another voice; ‘the clock has just struck twelve, and all
the big Periwinkles and the little Periwinkleses are asleep.’”
“But they ain’t, Polly,” broke in Phronsie, suddenly sitting straight
in Polly’s lap.
“I know, Pet; but these little things with the voices under the counter
thought so, you see. And now I’m going to tell you all about it. Well,
so out they crept--and they crept--and they crept”--
Joel and David huddled up as close as they could get to Polly, till
they were almost in her lap--“And there, in the middle of the floor,
were two little brown mice!”
Phronsie clapped her hands in glee.
“I’d rather have had a bear,” said Joel, falling back disappointed.
“I hadn’t,” said David; “go on, Polly, do.”
“And those two little brown mice didn’t seem to see Mr. Periwinkle and
Mrs. Periwinkle and all the little Periwinkleses sitting round on their
chairs and crickets, but they just danced off towards the big jar in
the shop-window.”
“O Polly! are they going to take more pink and white sticks?” cried
Phronsie, coming out of her glee, and looking very sober.
“You’ll see, Pet. Well, and in a minute out jumped from their hole
under the counter Father and Mother Mice, oh! just as big as you
please, and just as smart; and they said, ‘Wait, my children, you can’t
move the jar, you’re too little;’ and with one spring apiece they
were up on the shelf; and then they ran up on the top of the jar, and
tumbled down inside among the pink and white sticks.”
“Oh, oh!” cried the little Peppers.
“Yes; and ‘Stand away there, my children,’ came in very faint tones
from the jar, ‘or you’ll be killed;’ and one of the great big mice--it
was Mr. Father Brown Mouse--stood on the very tip most top of the jar,
and let his tail dangle over.
“‘Now run down, my dear,’ he said to his wife, Mrs. Mother Mouse, ‘and
stand on the ground,’--he called the shelf the ground, you know,--‘and
pull my tail as hard as you did last night, you know; then you must
fly, just as you did last night too, when you see the jar coming, or
you will be killed.’ So Mrs. Mother Mouse promised she would do it all
just as he told her, and she did. And over came the jar on its side on
the shelf!”
“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the little Peppers.
“Then in rushed the two little brown mice, and after them pell-mell
the two big brown mice, to drag out the pink and white sticks. But Mr.
Periwinkle hopped up, and so did Mrs. Periwinkle, and all the little
Periwinkleses, and he said, ‘No, sir, and No, ma’am, and no, you little
Mousiekins, you don’t take my pink and white sticks, and’”--
[Illustration: The pink and white sticks.]
“O Polly!” cried Phronsie, grasping Polly’s arm, “please do let the
poor, sweet little brown mousies have the pink and white sticks.
Please, Polly!” she begged, dreadfully excited.