yellow head positively at them all. “No, she truly didn’t; and I had my
new shoes, and they were red-topped ones,” she brought up triumphantly.
“Yes,” said Ben, “that was the hardest part of it all. Phronsie wanted
red-topped ones, and that scared Polly and me dreadfully; for there was
only a little bit of a chance that Mr. Beebe would have any, you know,
and”--
“But he did,” interrupted Phronsie eagerly, and leaning forward to look
into old Mr. King’s face. “My dear Mr. Beebe did have red-topped shoes;
he did, Grandpapa.”
The only answer the old gentleman gave was to clasp her closer to his
breast, while Polly hurried on.
“Well, _such_ a time as we had getting into old Mr. Beebe’s shop,” she
cried, holding up both hands; “dear me! I thought we never should begin
to try on those shoes, and then”--
“And there were, oh, so many shoes!” cried Phronsie, clasping her
hands, “hanging up in the window, and”--
“Yes, and rubber boots,” broke in Joel; “I always wanted them, Dave and
I did. But we never got them,” he added under his breath.
“Yes, just lots and lots of shoes,” Polly was saying; “but that wasn’t
anything to the ones inside. Why, they hung up all around the shop,
just every place a shoe could hang. Oh! and there were ever so many in
boxes too; and old Mr. Beebe keep pulling out one after another, and he
had them tucked under the shelves and everywhere else. And it did smell
so nice and lovely of beautiful leather;” she sighed in delight at the
remembrance.
[Illustration]
“Tell about the pink-and-white sticks, Polly,” begged Davie, pulling
gently at her sleeve.
“And the doughnuts,” said Joel; “I liked them best.”
“Well, I didn’t,” said David decidedly; “I liked the pink-and-white
sticks best.”
“So did I,” said Joel, “when I was eating them; but the doughnuts
lasted longer, so I liked those best.”
“And of course we couldn’t get rights and lefts,” said Polly, “because,
you know, Mamsie told us they wouldn’t wear as good; so it seemed as if
we never could get Phronsie fitted in all this world.”
“And I couldn’t see any red-topped shoes in all that shop,” declared
Ben to the group hanging on every word, “although I walked around and
around, and stared at everything with all my eyes.”
“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed all the auditors in great distress.
“No, I couldn’t; and I was just going to give it up, and make up my
mind to go home without getting Phronsie any, when don’t you think old
Mr. Beebe said--you tell them, Polly, what he said;” and Ben stopped
quite tired out.
“No, you tell,” said Polly, delighted to get Ben to talking; and she
leaned back and folded her hands restfully.
“Well, he said,” began Ben, seeing that Polly was not really to tell
it, “‘I made a pair once for the squire’s little daughter down to the
Point; but her ma didn’t take them, ’cause they were too small.’ Well,
you can just think how we didn’t dare breathe, for fear they wouldn’t
fit.”
“But they did,” cried Phronsie greatly excited; “my dear Mr. Beebe made
them fit me, he did.”
“Yes,” said Ben, drawing a long breath, “on the shoe went just as nice,
and he buttoned it up as snug as could be; and he said, ‘But perhaps
you’ll object to ’em, ’cause they’re red-topped.’ Just think of that!”
The Whitney boys screamed right out at this stage of affairs, and even
Jasper shared in the general excitement, until Phronsie’s red-topped
shoes seemed to be the same little specks of color before their eyes as
when she danced around the old kitchen to show them to Mrs. Pepper.
“Well, now,” said old Mr. King at last, in a lull, “we must let Polly
tell the rest of it. Go on, Polly my girl, what next?”
“Well, then Phronsie had to get off from the little wooden chair old
Mr. Beebe made her sit down in, and stamp in the red-topped shoes real
hard, to see if they really were a good fit; and then I paid him out
of the money in Mamsie’s purse, and he rolled up the old ones in a
newspaper; and then he gave her--don’t you think--the most _beautiful_
button-hook--oh! you can’t think, it shone just like silver, and--”
“And was it silver?” demanded Van, who, seeing the story on the wane,
was jealous of every bit of statistic by which to spin it out; “was it
really silver, Polly Pepper?”
“Sh--be still, Van,” said Jasper with a little nudge; “Polly cannot
possibly get on if you interrupt her all the time.”
“No, it wasn’t really and truly silver,” said Polly, with a bright
smile for Jasper; “but it was just as good. Oh! and then dear old Mrs.
Beebe gave us another doughnut apiece out of the big stone pot; and
then we came out of the shop, and climbed into the old green wagon and
drove home.”
“And I had my new shoes on, Grandpapa,” announced Phronsie, turning to
the old gentleman as if a wholly new fact were to be stated; “and they
were red-topped, they were!”
“Yes, she kept sticking her feet out from under the shawl Mamsie had
told me to tuck her up in every minute, to be sure the shoes were
really there,” laughed Polly. “Oh, dear! such a time as I had to get
her home, and it was most night too.”
“She stuck them out just like this,” declared Joel, running out his
feet spasmodically, regardless of his neighbors.
“Look out, Joe,” said Ben, “and keep your feet to yourself. Goodness
me! there’s some difference between them and Phronsie’s.”
“I think she put them out like this,” said little Davie, making gentle
thrusts with his shoes; “and she didn’t knock folks over.”
“Well, I don’t care,” declared Joel, pulling in his feet as suddenly as
he had sent them out, “the doughnuts were good, anyway,” veering off to
safe ground.
“So they were,” said Ben, smacking his lips.
“And it was nice to get home to mother,” said Polly with dancing
eyes--“and she had two candles lighted in the kitchen. I don’t know
when we’d had more than one at a time before; and she said she couldn’t
have done better about Phronsie’s shoes if she had gone herself--I
always remembered that;” and Polly turned a beaming face over at Mother
Pepper, busy darning the Whitney boys’ stockings.
Mrs. Pepper looked up and sent her a bright smile in return--“and
Phronsie said she was going to take her shoes to bed with her.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Whitney boys.
Jasper tried to pull all the three jackets, but only succeeded in
reaching Van, who was nearest. “Be still, can’t you?” he said under
his breath, with a glance at Phronsie sitting dewy-eyed and radiant in
Grandpapa’s lap.
“Yes,” said Polly, dashing on quickly; “and what do you think I saw
when I went to bed with Mamsie?”
“What--what?” cried the boys.
“Why Phronsie in the trundle-bed; one shoe was held tightly in her well
hand, but the other, she couldn’t hold it very well, you know, because
of the cut thumb, and there it was, tumbled right down over her nose.”
[Illustration: And there was the shoe tumbled right over her nose.]
XVIII.
THE OLD GRAY GOOSE.
“You promised,” cried Van in a loud, vindictive voice. “Now, Polly
Pepper, you did, just as true as anything.”
“Well, she didn’t promise she’d tell it now,” said Jasper. “You two
boys would tire her to death, if you had your way. Polly, I wouldn’t
oblige them; they’re perfect tyrants.”
“Well, she did promise,” repeated Van positively, and shaking his brown
head; “and when she says she’ll do anything, Polly Pepper always does
it,” he brought up triumphantly.
“Yes, I did promise them, Jasper,” said Polly, stifling a sigh, as she
thought of the hole in her time that the story would cut. “So I’ll do
it, boys.”
“Oh, goody!” exclaimed Percy, who had kept still through fear of not
standing well in Jasper’s eyes. Van turned a somersault in the middle
of the library floor, and came up bright and smiling, but speechless.
“Let her off, boys,” begged Jasper, seeing Polly’s face; “she’ll tell
you just as good a one some other time.”
“No, no,” howled Van in alarm; “it’s got to be now. You said so, Polly,
this very morning at breakfast,--that you’d tell it just as soon as you
got through with your music-lesson, so there!”
“And so I will, Vanny,” said Polly brightly. “I’m going to begin it
this very minute; that is, as soon as you’ve called Joel and David
and Phronsie and Ben. We couldn’t ever in all this world have a story
without them.”
“We might without Joel,” said Van, making lively progress toward the
door, having certain reasons of his own for a cooling off toward that
individual since the contest in strength with the fists of the little
country lad.
“For shame!” cried Jasper after him; “we all want Joel.”
“Van doesn’t like Joel since Joe beat him,” said Percy pleasantly, who
dearly loved to take Van down.
“Well, I could have beat him as easy as not,” shouted back Van,
rushing out into the hall with a very red face to execute his errand;
“but he was company, and I didn’t want to hit hard.”
“Ha,--ha!” laughed Percy in derision, and doubling up in amusement.
Polly stood quite still, and looked at him long and intently. As far
back as she could remember no one had ever talked so in The Little
Brown House! and over her came at this moment an intense longing to
be back in the dear old kitchen, where all was bright and cheery and
sunny. Percy, being unable to get away from her gaze, grew very red
and uncomfortable. At last he said, “Van is such a nuisance,” as he
fidgeted from one foot to the other. Still Polly didn’t say anything.
“And he’s always boasting of what he can do.” Percy now was in such
distress that he had no more words at his command, and he looked ready
to cry, as he stood helplessly before her. But there was no chance
for Polly to say anything; for in burst Joel and David, with Phronsie
flying along in the rear, Van having gone to look up Ben, both of them
presently making their appearance.
“Now, that’s good of you, Polly,” said Ben, beaming at her; “for it’s
raining so dismally it’s just the thing to have a story.” So that Polly
felt quite cheered, and glad already that she was to tell the story.
“Isn’t it?” cried Van quite importantly. “Well, I made her.”
Percy made a movement involuntarily, as if he were about to speak; but
thinking better of it, he went to the outside of the group, and sat
down quietly on the corner of the sofa, the others drawing up chairs
and crickets to a circle around Polly.
“Well,” said Polly with a flourish--then she looked over and saw Percy.
“Oh, come over here!” she cried to him. “Here, Jasper, let Percy sit
next;” so Jasper moved away from Polly’s side; and pretty soon Percy,
dragging up a chair, was sitting close to Polly, and she was smiling
down at him as if nothing had happened.
“Now, I thought I would tell you about the old gray goose,” she began,
but a shout interrupted her. “Oh, that’s fine!” cried Van, when the
noise died away.
“Because it rains just about as badly as it did on that November day
when the black chicken ran away and spoiled our Thanksgiving pie,” said
Polly, with warm little thrills at her heart to see the happy faces
before her; “so you see it’s just the time to have the story.”
“Do begin,” urged Percy, unable to keep still longer.
“Well, the old gray goose had lived with us, you know, ever since I
could remember,” ran on Polly; “so she was awfully tough--why, we never
thought of killing her to eat”--
“But you did,” cried little Dick with big eyes; “you said so, Polly
Pepper.”
[Illustration: “You said so, Polly Pepper,” cried little Dick with big
eyes.]
“Dear me, yes!” said Polly, bobbing her brown head; “but that was
afterward, when we had to. But before the black chicken ran away, why,
no one ever in all this world thought of killing that old gray goose to
eat. Well, she was so old and tough, and she had grown cross, and one
day she bit Sally Brown.”
“Tell about it, Polly, do!” begged Van, Percy so far forgetting all
unpleasantness that he begged eagerly too.
“Yes,” said Polly; “I am going to. Well, you know Sally Brown was
Deacon Brown’s daughter, and she lived in”--
“Did her father let you take the big green wagon when Phronsie had her
new shoes?” asked Van abruptly.
“Yes, he did.”
“Oh! I do so wish we had a Deacon Brown, who would let us have a big
green wagon and go off to places,” said Percy enviously.
“Well, ’twouldn’t be Badgertown, I can tell you that,” said Joel,
swelling up importantly, delighted to see Percy’s face.
“No, you needn’t expect to have such good times as the Peppers had in
their Little Brown House,” said Jasper decidedly; “because you can’t,
no matter where you are. I know, for I’ve been there.”
“Jappy always feels so big,” said Van irritably, “because he’s seen The
Little Brown House. Well, do go on, Polly,” he added quickly.
“So I will,” said Polly with a merry laugh, “if you boys will let me;
but you interrupt me so all the while that sometimes I don’t know where
I am.”
“I should think so too,” said Jasper. “Polly, I wouldn’t tell them
another thing unless they’d promise to keep still.”
Thereupon such an alarm lest Polly should stop altogether seized the
group, that everybody kept still as Polly ran on,--
“Well, you see, Sally Brown lived in a big red house; her father was
awfully rich, and he had two barns--oh! and a big henhouse, and a great
pen, where the pigs were kept.”
At this there was every appearance of an outbreak, but a glance at
Jasper made them clap their hands over their mouths.
“Yes; oh! and there were cows, and sometimes cunning little calves, and
everything just nice and splendid at Deacon Brown’s, till you couldn’t
think of anything he didn’t have. Why, they had milk every single day
to drink--the Brown children had. Well, one day Sally Brown’s mother
sent her to our house to ask Mamsie to come over to help Mrs. Brown to
make soft soap.”
“_What!_” exclaimed both Whitney boys together. But Jasper shot
them such a keen glance from his dark eyes that they both ducked
simultaneously without another word.
“Yes,” said Polly, hurrying on. “You see, Mamsie was always so very
glad whenever anybody wanted help about anything, because we were very
poor, you know, and the money got us some Indian meal and molasses.”
“Oh!” said the boys.
“Well, Sally Brown says she ran across the meadows--you see, Deacon
Brown’s house was off on the road to Cherry Brook, and so whenever
we went to the Brown’s, or they came over to see us,--that is, we
children,--why, we would run ’cross lots, and”--
“What’s ’cross lots?” broke in Van.
“Ha, ha! don’t know what ’cross lots is,” laughed Joel heartily.
“For shame, Joe!” said Ben, and--“Why, Joey, how could they know what
’tis to run ’cross lots, when they’ve never lived in the country,” said
Polly.
“Well, ’cross lots is just prime!” exclaimed Joel lustily; “it’s
to jump and race and tear and holler over the grass and the corn,
and through folks’ orchards, and over the stone walls, lickety
split--whoop-la!”
He jumped up, and began prancing through an imaginary race; down the
long apartment, steering clear of the oaken furniture and damask
furnishings, with a keen eye for the distance.
“Come on, Dave,” he shouted over his shoulder, “let’s show them what
it’s like;” while the Whitney boys sat transfixed with longing at every
step.
“No, you don’t, Joe,” commanded Ben sharply, “in the house. Stop this
minute;” and little Davie said quietly, “We ought to wait till we get
out-of-doors.”
“Well, come on out now, then,” cried Joel, whirling around in his
tracks, and looking like a race-horse held up against his will.
“Why, Polly’s telling about how our old gray goose bit Sally Brown,”
said David, getting closer to Polly; “we can’t now, Joey.”
“I don’t want to hear about Sally Brown,” grumbled Joel, very much out
of sorts; “and I wish the old gray goose had bit her worse, I do.”
“O Joey!” reproved Polly; “think how good Deacon Brown was to us, and
Mrs. Brown too.”
“Well, Sally wasn’t,” said Joel shamefacedly, digging his toes into the
soft carpet. “She bit me once, and scratched my face.”
“Well, then, I suppose you were bad to her,” said Ben coolly. “So come
back, Joe, and don’t interrupt this story again. Besides, it’s raining
like everything.”
“Well, we can go on the veranda,” said Joel; but he came reluctantly
back and sat down again.
“Well, so Sally ran ’cross lots,” said Polly, picking up the narrative
again; “she told us all about it, you know; and she says she never
saw the old gray goose till just as she ran into the lane, down by
Grandma Bascom’s. And the first thing she heard was a ‘_Hiss--hiss!_’”
exclaimed Polly, suddenly stretching up her neck as much like a goose
as possible, so that every one of her auditors jumped; and the Whitney
boys looked at the door involuntarily, as if expecting to see an old
gray goose walking in, at which they all laughed right merrily, so that
old Mr. King popped his head in the door to see what it all meant.
“Sally Brown is biting the old gray goose,” piped out Phronsie, flying
to him, at which they all laughed worse than ever; so that it really
seemed as if Polly never would finish that story in the world.
[Illustration: Sally Brown and the old gray goose.]
At last everything quieted down, and Polly was under way again in the
midst of the narration. “So just as she turned into the lane down by
Grandma Bascom’s, ‘_Hiss--hiss!_’ came something after her; and looking
over her shoulder, she saw our old gray goose running on its sticks
of legs as fast as it could, with its long neck stuck out straight at
her, and screaming and hissing like everything. Oh, dear me! and Sally
was so frightened she couldn’t run another step; and so she just sat
down on the grass, and covered up her eyes with her two hands.”
“She always was a silly,” declared Joel in scorn; “why didn’t she just
turn and stare at that old goose? That’s the way I’d done, and then,
says I, I’d taken a stick and run after her, and whacked her over the
head.”
“And what did the old gray goose do then?” demanded Van Whitney, with
one ear out for what Joel would have done.
“Why, that dreadful old bird just climbed up into Sally Brown’s lap,
and nipped a little bit of her arm into her bill, and bit it. And Sally
squealed perfectly awfully; and Grandma Bascom heard her, and she came
out of her door, and shook her broom at the old gray goose, so then she
went away”--
“Who did--Sally?” asked Percy with a puzzled air.
“No, the old gray goose did,” said Polly; “she took her sticks of legs
out of Sally’s lap, and she pulled her long neck in, and went off; and
Sally came crying over to us, and”--
“And she _always_ was a silly,” said Joel again with a snort of
disdain, “and a cry-baby too.”
“And Mamsie tied up Sally’s arm with opodeldoc,” said Polly, glad she
could do so well with the long word.
“What’s opodel, and the rest of it, Polly?” asked Percy, who was always
uncomfortable if he couldn’t get the smallest detail of a story.
“Oh! I don’t know,” said Polly, wishing very much that she had learned
all about it so as to be able to tell now; “it’s green stuff, like
herbs, you know; and Mamsie always soaked some, and tied it on us when
we got hurt.”
“I thought you said Phronsie had her toe tied up in worm something,”
said Percy in a literal way, “when it was pounded.”
“Wormwood? Oh, yes, so she did,” said Polly. “Well, Grandma Bascom gave
us that; I suppose we didn’t have any opodeldoc in the house that day.
But sometimes Mamsie would have wormwood too, because we used to get
hurt, some of us, pretty often, of course, and we had to be tied up,
you know, till we got well.”
“What were you tied up to?” broke in little Dick with big eyes.
“Oh! we weren’t tied up,” said Polly with a little laugh; “I mean our
fingers and toes were tied up when they got cut and pounded.”
“Oh!” said Van.
“Why, it’s cleared off!” screamed Joel, springing up and pointing to
the window; “see the rainbow! Come on Dave, now let’s run ’cross lots
out-doors!”
XIX.
THE GREEN UMBRELLA.
Polly was at her wits’ end to think of anything to make a story out of.
She was longing to run out into the conservatory and be with Turner in
his work among the flowers, and it seemed as if her feet must carry her
off in spite of herself. But there were all four of the boys standing
in a row before her, and Phronsie’s little face expectantly lifted
waiting for Polly to begin.
“Oh, dear me!” she exclaimed with an impatient little flounce, “I do
wish”--
“Is that the story, Polly?” asked Phronsie wonderingly.
“No, it isn’t,” said Van. “And I don’t believe she means to tell us
any.” The faces all fell dismally at that.
“Don’t you, Polly?” asked Phronsie anxiously.
“Well, you see, pet,” Polly began, half ashamed of her ill humor.
“No, she doesn’t mean to,” declared Joel, scanning Polly’s face
closely; “she’s going off somewhere, maybe with Ben, and she won’t tell
us where. I’m going to tag them.”
“Oh, no, I’m not, Joe!” said Polly quickly. “I was going into the
conservatory to help Turner work over the flowers.”
“Oh, bother that old conservatory!” exclaimed Joel, who was always lost
in wonder over Polly’s love for flowers; “it’s mean not to stay and
tell us a story,” he added in a dudgeon; “we haven’t heard one for ever
so long.”
“Polly wants to work over the flowers,” said Phronsie. Yet she looked
very grave as she said it.
“Yes, I do,” said Polly, and she turned back and regarded the little
group of boys most decidedly; “and I’m tired to death telling you
children stories. I want to have a nice time once in a while myself;”
and a little red spot began to come on each cheek.
The boys all stared at her without a word; and Phronsie crept nearer,
and put her little hand against Polly’s dress.
“And you tease and tease the life out of me,” cried Polly, who, now
that she had begun, found it impossible to stop herself; “and I wish
you’d go away and let me alone.” And there stood Mother Pepper; how she
got there, no one ever knew, but there she was in the doorway.
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, and there was a look in her black eyes that
made Polly’s brown ones droop, “you needn’t tell any story just now.”
[Illustration: “Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn’t tell any story
just now.”]
“O Mamsie!” cried Polly, all the color gone from her cheek; and
bursting into a torrent of tears she rushed to Mother Pepper’s side,
“please let me--oh, do! I’d rather tell a story than do anything else;
I would, truly.”
“Oh, we don’t want any story!” screamed Joel, breaking away from the
others to precipitate himself into Mrs. Pepper’s arms, his face working
frightfully in his efforts not to cry. The other boys stood helplessly
by, lost in astonishment.
“No, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper firmly, “not now; the story must wait.
And now, children, you can go away and shut the door.”
“Can I stay?” begged Phronsie, two tears rolling down her round cheeks,
as she came up and stood imploringly by Mother Pepper’s side.
“No, dear.” So Phronsie crept off like a hurt little thing after the
others, and carefully shut the door. Then they all sat down on the
lowest stairs to think about it.
“Was that really Polly Pepper?” asked Van in an awe-struck whisper,
after a long silence.
“Who did you think it could be if it wasn’t Polly?” demanded Percy
crossly, and turning on him.
“Some old witch dressed up in Polly’s clothes,” said Van stoutly.
Little Davie laid his head down on the stair above him, “Nobody could
get into Pol--Polly’s clothes,” he sobbed convulsively.
“Of course not,” said Percy gloomily; “it’s only because Van is such a
silly, that he says so.”
“And if you say that again about an old witch getting our Polly’s
clothes, I’ll pitch into you,” cried Joel with a very red face; and
doubling up his stout little fists, he made a lunge at Van.
Van pretended not to be afraid, but managed to get on the other side of
Percy.
“Oh, dear--dear!” wailed David steadily.
“And you’ve made Dave cry,” cried Joel; “and I’ll pound and bang you
for that.” This time he managed to reach Van; but in the same moment,
“Hoity-toity!” exclaimed a voice above them; and there at the top of
the stairs, and looking down at them, was Grandpapa.
“What are you all doing?” he asked, regarding them fixedly.
“We’re just sitting here,” said Percy, who was the only one to find
his tongue, and looking up sidewise.
“So I perceive,” said the old gentleman.
“Joel was pitching into Van, Grandpapa,” cried little Dick in the most
cheerful of tones, and scrambling up-stairs at a very rapid rate, “and
Polly”--
“Ugh!” screamed Joel after him, “don’t let him tell, Grandpapa,” he
begged, bounding over the steps to rush past Dick and reach the old
gentleman’s side first.
“You pushed me,” cried little Dick savagely, and coming up red-faced
and shining. “He pushed me, Grandpapa;” and he doubled up his fists at
Joel.