free with your fists, my boy.”
“It’s my fault,” said Joel; “I was going to pitch into Van. Don’t let
Dick say anything, Grandpapa,” he begged anxiously.
“Polly said”--began Dick; but Joel clapped his hand over his mouth--and
there were the two boys whirling round and round, the old gentleman in
the centre looking at them helplessly.
Meantime Phronsie had come over the stairs to put her hand into the old
gentleman’s. “Please stop them, Grandpapa,” she begged piteously.
“Goodness me, dear!” exclaimed Mr. King. “There, there, Phronsie child,
don’t cry.”
At the word “cry” Joel’s hand fell helplessly down from Dick’s mouth,
and he stood quite still while little Dick slid out from under his arm
triumphantly.
“If you do speak, you’ll be a mean little beggar, Dick Whitney,” cried
Van, flying over the stairs, “and Polly Pepper won’t ever tell you a
story in all this world again.”
At these words Dick closed his mouth, and concluded not to say what was
on the tip of his tongue.
“And I was just as bad as Joel, Grandpapa,” went on Van, crowding up to
the old gentleman’s side; “for I said bad things about”--
“Ugh!” exclaimed Joel, turning on him suddenly, “don’t let him tell,
Grandpapa. Make him stop.”
“Phronsie,” said old Mr. King, turning to her very much puzzled, “I
can’t make anything out of these boys; they’re in a bad way. You come
with me, child;” and he seized her little hand, and moved a step or two
away. But Phronsie gently pulled him back.
“I think I ought to stay here, Grandpapa,” she said, regarding the boys
gravely, while the tears went slowly over her round cheeks.
“Nonsense, child; you can’t do them any good. If they want to pound
each other’s heads they’ll do it; and I think myself it might be a good
dose for them both.”
“But they ought not to, Grandpapa,” said Phronsie in distress. “Polly
wouldn’t like it.”
At mention of Polly’s name Joel left pursuit of Van, and plunged up to
old Mr. King. “I won’t touch either of them,” he cried; “I don’t care
if they pound me; I’ll let them.”
“And I’m not going to pound him,” declared Van with a positive air.
“I am,” announced little Dick magnificently. “I shall knock Joel flat;”
and he beat the air with his fists.
At this old Mr. King burst into such a laugh, in which Percy and Van
and Joel joined, that the tears forgot to roll down Phronsie’s cheeks,
and David got off from the lowest stair, and came up to add himself to
the group.
“Well, now,” said Grandpapa cheerfully, “seeing everything is so nice
and comfortable, you would all do well to come into my room and see
what I’ve got for you. Put up your fists in your pocket, Dickybird,
and save them for next time.” With that he marched the whole bunch of
children before him into his own writing-room. And there, behind the
table and waiting for them, was Polly Pepper.
The children all stared at her a moment; then Phronsie piped out,
rushing tumultuously over behind the table to get into Polly’s lap. “It
is Polly. She’s got back.”
“Yes, Polly has got back,” said the old gentleman. “Now, Polly,” before
any one had a chance to say a word, “I think you would better set
right to work about that story.” And he bustled about in such a lively
manner, getting everybody into chairs, that almost before the children
knew it, there was Polly in the very midst of--
THE GREEN UMBRELLA.
And it began like this:--
“Ever and ever so many years ago,” said Polly, “there was a queer
little man; and he lived in the middle of a big city, in a perfectly
funny little house, with only one window in it besides the door, and he
had a little daughter,--she was only so high;” Polly put her hands up
above the table-top a little way,--“and she could speak thirty-seven
different languages.”
“O Polly!” exclaimed old Mr. King under his breath.
“And there wasn’t anything that would make music that she couldn’t
play on,” said Polly; “so they didn’t have to have the hand-organs
stop in front of the house. The queer little old man used to climb up
the tree in front of the perfectly funny little house, and if he saw a
hand-organ man coming along, he would scream out, ‘Go right away! my
daughter makes all the music I want.’”
[Illustration: “Go right away! my daughter makes all the music I want.”]
“Even if there was a monkey with him?” asked Joel, breaking in.
“Yes, even if there was a monkey,” said Polly, “that made no
difference; he made him go away all the same. Well, and then down the
queer little man would slide along the tree till he got to the ground;
and then he would rush into the house in a great state, and he would
cry out, ‘Come, my daughter, and play me a tune;’ and then he would
begin to dance; round and round and round and round he would spin until
his feet were all twinkling in and out underneath his coat, for I must
tell you that he wore a long coat that flapped around his heels every
step he took.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Joel, in which the others joined, Polly smiling at
them to see their brightness restored. “Well, and there he would keep
Araminta Sophia, for I forgot to tell you her name, playing away till
she almost tumbled down she was so tired; and at last, when he had
danced as much as he wanted to, he said, ‘Now take the green umbrella,
and go out and buy me some fish for breakfast.’
“So Araminta Sophia hopped up from the piano-stool, and ran out into
the shed that was tacked onto the perfectly funny little house; and
there, hanging on a gold peg, was the green umbrella.”
“Real gold, Polly Pepper?” cried Van.
“Yes,” said Polly, “real true gold; and it was--oh! so big, you can’t
think, and ever so thick through. Well, and on it dangled the green
umbrella, for that was the place where it always had to be kept
whenever Araminta Sophia brought it home. I don’t know what would have
happened if she hadn’t hung it up there.”
“Didn’t anybody ever carry it but Araminta Sophia?” asked Percy.
“Dear me, no,” said Polly; “for if they should, it would run away with
them.”
“Oh! make the queer old man carry it, and have it run away with him,”
screamed Joel; “do, Polly.”
“No, no,” said old Mr. King, seeing Polly hesitate; “I sha’n’t have
any such work as that. This story is begun, and I’m going to hear the
rest about Araminta Sophia. Go on, Polly, my girl.”
“And some other day I’ll tell you how the queer old man did carry the
green umbrella, and it did run away with him,” said Polly, with a
bright smile for all. “Well, so Araminta Sophia took down the green
umbrella from its golden peg, and then she hung a little basket on her
arm to bring the fish home in, and off she started, as nice as you
please. And just as soon as she got outside the door of the perfectly
funny little house, all the birds in the tree that hung over it, and in
the trees all around, whispered to each other, and piped and trilled,
and sang it over and over, ‘Here comes the green umbrella! Here comes
the green umbrella!’”
“What did they all say that for?” asked Joel.
“Oh! you’ll hear,” answered Polly, “if you wait. Well, that is just
what all the birds did say; they always said it whenever they saw
Araminta Sophia come out under the green umbrella. You see, if she
hadn’t got it, all the birds would have flown at her, and jumped down
on her head, and made a nest in her hair.”
“Oh, dear me!” cried all the boys together.
“And so she had to take it every single time she went out to walk,”
said Polly decidedly, “else it would have been perfectly dreadful.
Well, off she went, with the little basket that she was to bring the
fish home in, hanging on her arm; when, as she turned a sudden corner,
an old woman with a big brown cloak on, and her face all hidden in the
back of a big hood, stepped up to her and said, ‘Pretty little lady,
what have you there?’ Now Araminta Sophia, had always been told by her
father, the queer little man, not to talk to strangers; and she was
going right on under her green umbrella, when the old woman said again,
‘Pretty little lady, how your eyes shine! what have you there?’
“‘I am going to buy some fish, good woman, for my father’s breakfast,’
said Araminta Sophia, stopping just a moment. And before she could say
another word, the old woman put her hand under her long brown cloak,
and drawing it out, she bent over the little basket. ‘Look within! Look
within!’ she screamed.”
[Illustration: “Look within!” screamed the old woman.]
“What was it?” shouted Joel; and the others demanding to know the same
thing, old Mr. King’s writing-room was presently the scene of great
confusion. When it cleared away, Polly was saying, “And so Araminta
Sophia peered into the basket; and the more she looked, she couldn’t
see anything. And so she said pretty soon, ‘Good woman, I see nothing.’
“‘Give me the umbrella a minute, stupid creature,’ said the old woman;
‘I’ll hold it over your head, and do you tip up the basket with both of
your hands, and then you will get the pretty gift I have thrown within
it for you.’
“Now, Araminta Sophia wanted dreadfully the beautiful gift the old
woman had put in the basket. ‘Hold the umbrella carefully over my
head,’ she said, giving it into the skinny hand. And in a minute, as
soon as the words had left her mouth, away flew the old woman, the
green umbrella and all, into the sky.”
“Oh, dear me!” howled all the boys together. Phronsie snuggled down
into Polly’s lap, and held tightly to her.
“‘Pretty creature with the shining eyes, look out for the birds!’
screamed the old woman in the brown cloak, mounting the sky, and
holding the green umbrella tightly in her skinny hands. And then she
laughed a dreadful laugh. And Araminta Sophia sat down on a big stone
by the roadside, and put her face in her two hands, and cried as hard
as she could.”
“Oh, dear me!” said the boys again; while Phronsie gave a long sigh,
and crept within Polly’s arms closer than ever.
“Don’t feel badly,” said Polly; “but wait and see if perfectly splendid
times don’t come to Araminta Sophia. Well, there she sat, crying away
on her stone, her little basket dangling on her arm, and the birds
flying about her; and as soon as they saw the old woman mount up to the
sky carrying the green umbrella, every single bird screamed right out,
‘Oh, come, the green umbrella’s gone! the green umbrella’s gone!’ and
they all hopped down on Araminta Sophia’s head, till you couldn’t see
anything but a heap of birds, and”--
“Oh, dear me!” cried all the boys again,--and, “Do make somebody come
out and shoot them,” cried Joel in great excitement.
“Wait and see,” said Polly merrily. “Well, when Araminta Sophia felt
all the birds hopping down on her head, she spoke up very humbly, ‘Oh,
if you please, little birds, I should like to have you get off from my
head.’
“‘We can’t,’ said one of the birds, peering at her with one eye; ‘for
the old woman that has gone up into the sky won’t let us.’”
“She’s a bad old woman,” shouted Joel vindictively; “make something
come and eat her up.”
“‘Please get off from my head,’ begged Araminta Sophia, and ‘We can’t,
because the old woman up in the sky won’t let us,’ the birds kept
saying; when suddenly, when no one was looking, along came a man with
a big gun over his shoulder. ‘Ah, ha!’ he said, ‘now I’ll have those
birds.’”
“Goody!” cried Joel, slapping his hands together smartly. “Oh! make him
catch every single one, Polly.”
“Don’t let him hurt Aramin--what is her name, Polly?” begged Phronsie.
“Araminta Sophia. No, pet; she’s not to be hurt,” promised Polly,
patting Phronsie’s yellow hair. “Well, up went the man’s big gun, and
bang! bang! every single bird fell dead to the ground.”
It was impossible to describe the excitement now, and Polly felt warm
little thrills at her heart to see it all.
“And don’t you think, boys and Phronsie,” she ran on gayly, “that the
old woman in the brown cloak, who had mounted the sky carrying the
green umbrella, peered down from under it; and when she saw what was
going on she was very angry, and she cried great big tears, and she
couldn’t stop, but kept crying and crying, and the tears grew bigger
and bigger, and they fell all over her skinny hands, and washed the
handle of the green umbrella out of them; for the tears fell over them
so fast she couldn’t hold it, you know; and so away it fell down to
earth again, down, down, till it came right on top of Araminta Sophia’s
head.”
“And Ara--what is it, Polly?” cried Phronsie, greatly excited, “got her
green umbrella again, didn’t she, Polly?”
“Yes,” said Polly, nodding her head briskly; “there it was, just as
good as ever. So Araminta Sophia jumped up, and was just going off
with her little basket she was to bring home the fish in, and carrying
the green umbrella over her head, when the man with the big gun said,
‘Stay!’ so Araminta Sophia stopped right straight off where she was.
“‘Is that old woman in a brown cloak any relation of yours?’ for the
old woman was coming down from the sky, and they could just see her
cloak.
“‘Oh, no!’ said Araminta Sophia, looking out from under her green
umbrella, and getting up closer to the man with the big gun; ‘she ran
off with my green umbrella.’
“‘Flew off, you mean,’ said the man; ‘you should always say what you
mean, child. Well now, old woman with the brown cloak, you have flown
up there, and there you must stay.’
“‘Let me come down,’ squealed the old woman angrily; ‘get out of the
way, and let me come down.’
“‘No, indeed,’ said the man, and he put his big gun to his shoulder;
‘you flew up there, and there you must stay, or I’ll shoot your head
off.’”
“Whoopity-la!” howled Joel, springing to his feet, followed by Davie
and the Whitney boys, “this way;” and he put an imaginary gun to his
shoulder, and took aim at a fanciful old woman in a brown cloak up in
the sky. “Bang! bang! there you go, old woman, and your head’s off.”
“No; no, he didn’t say so,” cried Davie, running up to Joel; “the man
with the big gun said he would shoot her head off if she came down,
Joe.”
“I don’t care,” said Joel, banging away; “I’m going to shoot her,
anyway; she’s a horrible old woman, and I sha’n’t let her come down.
Bang! bang!”
“Well, that isn’t the way to do it,” said Van, twitching at the
imaginary gun; “you don’t aim high enough.”
“And couldn’t the old woman _ever_ come down, Polly?” asked Phronsie, a
troubled look beginning to settle over her face.
“No, dear,” said Polly; “there she had to stay.”
“Not _ever_ come down?” persisted Phronsie.
“No; that is,” as she looked at Phronsie’s face, “I guess the man with
the big gun would let her come down once in a while; and then Araminta
Sophia could stay in the perfectly funny little house and shut the
door, you know, so the old woman couldn’t let any more birds get in her
hair. And then back she would have to fly up into the sky again,--the
old woman with the brown cloak, I mean,--for the man with the big gun
said if she didn’t he should know it, and he would come and shoot her
head off.”
“Polly,” said Phronsie, laying her cheek against Polly’s rosy one, “I
am so very glad you let that old woman come down sometimes, because
maybe she had a little girl and she wanted to see her. I am so glad,
Polly.”
XX.
THE GREEN UMBRELLA AND THE QUEER LITTLE MAN.
“Come on,” shouted Van at the bottom of the stairs, “Polly Pepper is
going to tell the story of ‘The Green Umbrella and the Queer Little
Man.’ Come on!” and in two minutes the bunch of the youngest Peppers,
with Percy and little Dick, precipitated themselves over the stairs,
and raced along at his heels until they all brought up in Jasper’s den.
“Now, that’s fine!” exclaimed Jasper, jumping out of his chair behind
the writing-table, as they all plunged in, Van having made the
appointment in advance; “but where’s Polly?”
“Oh, she’s coming!” cried Van, rushing around and tumbling over
everybody else in his eagerness to draw up the seats; “she’s up in
Ben’s room, and they’re both coming in a minute or two. Here, you
fellows,” to Percy and Dick, “help along with these chairs, will you?”
Percy, who didn’t like to move quickly at anything that was like work,
slowly managed to draw up one chair, into which he planted himself
drawing a long sigh as he sat down.
“That’s nice,” growled Van, quite red in the face from his exertions;
“you feel smart, don’t you, to leave us to do all the work as usual.”
Percy pretended not to hear, which so enraged Van that he ran up and
planted a smart rap on Percy’s back as he leaned back composedly in his
chair.
“Do that again, will you?” he cried, whirling around to glare at Van;
“I’ll knock your head off, if you do.”
“Here, here!” exclaimed Jasper, looking up quickly from the corner
where he was piling away his school-books till it was time to fly to
work on them again. “You’ll march out of this room if you carry on like
that, I can tell you. Up and apologize to each other, now, both of you
chaps.”
“He’s always pitching into me,” cried Percy, his face getting a lively
red, for he hated above all things to miss Jasper’s approval; “and I’m
tired of it.”
“Apologize, I say,” commanded Jasper, with a bob of his head that Percy
knew meant business, “or out you go. While as for you, Van, I don’t
know but what I much better pitch you out neck and heels, as it seems
you begun it.”
“Oh! I’ll apologize; I’ll say anything you want, Jappy,” cried Van in
alarm; for invitations to Jasper’s den didn’t come often enough to be
lightly regarded; and not waiting for a reply, he ran around Percy’s
chair, and stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry; but I wish somebody else
would pitch into you, for you’re so mean and lazy.”
“Hold on!” roared Jasper at him; “that’s no apology.”
“I don’t mind it,” said Percy carelessly; and he extended his hand with
a patronizing air that made Van furious, and sent him back to his work
over the seats in anything but a sweet frame of mind.
“How Polly Pepper ever gets along with you, I don’t see,” said Jasper
in despair, as he retreated to his corner.
“Oh! we don’t act so before her,” observed Van pleasantly, pulling and
pushing some refractory chairs into place.
“Well, I should be ashamed to act worse when she is not by,” retorted
Jasper scornfully; “think how dreadfully she would feel to see you
chaps going on so.”
Percy hung his head; and Van cried out in alarm, “Oh, don’t tell her,
Jappy, don’t tell her!”
“As if I’d want to tell her,” exclaimed Jasper in greater scorn than
ever.
Meantime Polly, who had taken her recreation hour the day before to
plan out this story of “The Green Umbrella and the Queer Little Man,”
was sitting down on the floor, her head in Mother Pepper’s lap, while
Mamsie’s hands softly smoothed the brown hair.
“I don’t see how I came to say it,” she mourned for about the fortieth
time; “the words seemed to slip out, Mamsie, without my saying them;
and then I couldn’t stop.”
“No, that is generally the way,” observed Mother Pepper; “when any one
lets ill temper say the first word, good-by to all peace of mind. So
watch the first word, Polly.”
Down went Polly’s head lower than ever in Mother Pepper’s lap.
“I know you were tired of telling stories to the children,” went on
Mrs. Pepper, “but that’s no excuse; and besides, you had promised.”
“I know it,” mumbled poor Polly into Mother Pepper’s stuff gown.
“And if a body is going to do a kindness for another, it’s best to do
it cheerfully, remember that, Polly.”
Polly didn’t say anything, and the kind hands kept up their stroking of
the brown hair, and the clock on the shelf ticked away busily as much
as to say, “Remember that, Polly.”
“And now,” said Mrs. Pepper at last, quite cheerily, “I wouldn’t ever
say anything more about this. We’ve talked it over, you and I, a good
many times, and you’ve told Mr. King, so it’s no good to keep it alive.
Just do the best you can now, Polly. Only remember never to let it
happen again.”
“Mamsie!” exclaimed Polly, lifting her head from Mrs. Pepper’s lap
suddenly, and sitting quite straight on the floor, her brown eyes
shining through her tears, “I just hope there’ll be, oh! lots and lots
to do for those boys. I love to tell them stories, and I’m going to do
everything else I can think of for them too.”
“There’ll be enough you can do for them, I guess, Polly,” observed her
mother wisely; “and that’s the better way to show you’re sorry than
talking about it. There, here comes one of them now for you,” as Van
bounded in, holding out both hands, much as if Polly Pepper were a
parcel, and he was to bear her down to the waiting group below.
“O Polly! we’re ready,” he began; but she sprang to her feet and
interrupted him. “Oh! for the story, Van? All right, I’ll go;” and she
ran to the door, but she came flying back. “Good-by, Mamsie;” and she
tried to set a kiss on the smoothly banded black hair, but Mrs. Pepper
lifted her head quickly, so the soft little kiss dropped on the end of
her nose, which made them all laugh merrily.
“Here she is!” cried Van, throwing open the door of Jasper’s den, and
handing Polly Pepper in with a flourish; “and Polly wasn’t in Ben’s
room after all; I had the greatest time to find her.”
[Illustration: “Here she is!” cried Van, throwing open the door of
Jasper’s den.]
“No,” said Polly, her cheeks as red as a rose, “I was in Mamsie’s room.”
“Well, where is Ben?” cried Percy from the depths of his comfortable
chair.
“Go and find him for yourself,” Van was on the point of saying, but a
glance at Jasper made him send the words back.
“Sit here, Polly,” Jasper was saying, conducting Polly to the big chair
back of the table.
“O Jasper! that looks as if I was going to give a lecture,” laughed
Polly; “dear me, how pompous!”
“Well, you must sit there,” declared Jasper, clearing a better space on
the table. “Dear me, I make no end of a mess with my papers.”
“Never mind,” said Polly brightly, “I’ll help you, Jasper.” So together
they piled the papers up neatly, and Jasper crammed the whole budget
into the table-drawer; then he rapped with the paper-weight.
“The meeting will come to order. Does anybody know anything about Ben?”
when the door opened, and in stalked that individual.
“Had to go down town to carry my boots to be mended,” he said. “Whew,
didn’t I run home, though! Nearly knocked over an old woman with a
basket coming around the corner.”
“Did you knock her over, Bensie?” asked Phronsie, leaving the chair she
was tugging at to draw it closer to Polly, and coming up to look at
him gravely.
“No, I didn’t,” said Ben, getting into the nearest chair. “I put out
both arms, and I screamed, ‘Hi, there!’ and the old woman and basket
and all walked right into them.”
“That was nice,” observed Phronsie in great satisfaction, “then she
didn’t tumble;” and she went back to her chair, and mounted it to fold
her hands in her lap.
“Polly Pepper is to tell a special story by request,” announced Jasper
with a grandiloquent air as if addressing a large assembly, “and if
the audience will be so good as to come to order, she will begin it at
once. If you don’t stop talking and be quiet, I’ll pitch you all out of
the window,” he added in his natural voice.
“That’s a great way to address an audience, I should think,” said Ben
in pretended indignation.
“I can’t help it,” said Jasper recklessly. “Now then, Polly, they’re
still for just a minute, so you would better begin.”
“I promised to tell you the story,” began Polly brightly, “of the Green
Umbrella and the Queer Little Man, and how it danced away with him.”
“Yes, yes!” cried all the roomful. Phronsie smoothed down her white
apron in great satisfaction.
“Well, so here it is. Now, you know Araminta Sophia got the green
umbrella all safely back again when the man with the big gun”--
“Scared the old woman in the”--began Joel, but Ben plucked him by the
jacket collar. “Go on, Polly,” he said coolly; “I’ll hold this chap
still through this story.”
“Well, she hung it up on the big golden key when she got home,” ran on
Polly; “you know she had to buy the fish for her father’s breakfast
before she could go home, and”--
“What was in the basket, Polly?” asked Phronsie suddenly, stopping the
smoothing process to look at Polly.
“Why, the fish,” said Polly, “of course. I just told you that, child.”
“No, no,” said Phronsie, shaking her head, “I don’t mean the fish. I
mean the other thing, Polly.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Phronsie,” said Polly, looking around on
the group in a puzzled way.
“The other thing,” persisted Phronsie, clambering down from her chair
to come to Polly’s side. “What the old woman said she put in, Polly.”
“Oh!” said Polly; then she burst into a merry laugh. “None of you boys
remembered to ask me that, and I forgot it myself. Oh! ’twas just her
fingers, Phronsie; that was all.”