the stock of potatoes is getting low; now I could let you off this
afternoon, but it’s wiser not to live from hand to mouth, so we must
lay in another supply now.’ And that’s all she said, but she just
looked.”
“And I didn’t want to go to the store after that old meal and those old
potatoes,” blurted out Joel suddenly, not looking at any one.
“But you did go, Joel,” cried Polly immediately. “Oh, yes he did,
boys!” she repeated emphatically; “he went real good, and Mamsie was
pleased.”
Joel brightened up at that, and brought down his gaze from the tip of
one of the tallest trees on the opposite terrace, as he drew a sigh of
relief.
“‘Yes,’ said Mamsie, and I remember just exactly how she looked as she
said it; ‘it is always the right thing to get what will be needed,
before it is needed.’ And then the boys ran off, and dragged the sled
out of the woodshed, and away they ran off down the road pulling it
after them.”
“And couldn’t they go coasting as soon as they got the potatoes?”
demanded Percy.
“And the meal?” begged Van anxiously.
“Why, you see, Mr. Atkins, the man who kept the store, you know, had a
great deal to do that afternoon; and it took so long to wait on all his
customers that it was dark before the boys got home, and they had to
fill the wood-box for the next morning, and so Mamsie said they must
wait until to-morrow.”
[Illustration: The boys bringing home the meal and potatoes.]
“Oh!” exclaimed the two Whitneys.
“Well, we all went to bed early that night. Joel and David meant to
get up as soon as it was light and go out and coast, they said. It
was snowing beautifully when Mamsie looked out the last thing, and
it was dreadfully deep, and Ben said he’d be sure to find time to
give Phronsie a ride on the sled. And the first thing we knew it was
morning, only we didn’t know it was morning,” said Polly, with a funny
little laugh.
“What do you mean,--that you didn’t know it was morning?” asked Van.
“Oh! I mean--never mind, you’ll see when I get to it,” said Polly, who
never liked to be pushed ahead of her story. “Well, the first thing
I knew Mamsie was calling me, ‘Polly,’ in such a funny voice, that I
hopped right up into the middle of the big bed.
“‘Get on your clothes as quickly as possible and come out here,’ said
Mamsie. And I flew out of bed. Oh! how I wanted to just peep into the
kitchen and see what was the matter, but I knew Mamsie wouldn’t like
it; so I got dressed as fast as ever I could, and ran out. There was
Mamsie in the middle of the floor. ‘Polly, child,’ she said, ‘we’re
snowed in!’”
There was a breathless silence for a minute, that nobody seemed able to
break. “Yes,” said Polly; “and don’t you think, there we were buried up
in our Little Brown House.”
“O Polly!” cried Van in a horrified tone; “didn’t you ever get out?”
“Why, yes,” said Polly; “of course, or else we wouldn’t be here. Don’t
feel so, Van,” as she saw his face; “it didn’t hurt us any, you know,
because we all got out in good time. And we had some fun while being
shut up in our little snow-house.”
“Is that what you mean by the little snow-house the story is about?”
asked Percy, who was so bound up in the story he had lost sight of the
opportunity to laugh at Van.
“Yes,” said Polly gayly, “it was, and our Little Brown House was made
into a little snow-house; and now I’m going to tell you about it. Well,
when Mamsie said that, I just put my arms around her, and she held me
close for a minute, for, you see, we didn’t know what to do. And then I
said ‘I’m going to call Ben.’”
[Illustration: The little snow-house.]
“But Polly didn’t call us then,” said Joel in an injured tone; “and
Dave and I slept over till ever so late.”
“And so did Phronsie,” said Ben. “And I wish we could have kept you all
in bed the rest of that day.”
“But you couldn’t,” said Joel, bobbing his head; “and just as soon as
we did wake up, we found out all about it.”
“Well keep still now, Joe,” said Ben, “and let Polly finish the story.”
“It was just as dark,” Polly was saying, “oh! you can’t think how
dreadfully dark it was, till Mamsie lighted her candle; for when we
tried to look out of the window, why we couldn’t, because, you see,
there was the white snow piled up against it tight; and we couldn’t
open the door.”
“Why not?” asked little Dick.
“Because we’d go right into a big snowbank if we did, oh! ever and ever
so much higher than our heads; and, besides, the snow would tumble in
the house, and then we couldn’t shut the door again; so Mamsie told us
not to touch it. Oh, dear, dear, it was perfectly dreadful!”
A shiver passed over the group that made the “nice little creeps” run
down each back, as Polly began again, “Well, and there we were, shut up
in our Little Brown House, and we didn’t know when any one would come
to dig us out.”
“Why didn’t you run up-stairs, and look out?” cried Van, thrusting
himself forward excitedly.
“Dear me, we did that the first thing,” said Polly; “I mean, Ben did.
He tried to look out of the window in the loft, because, you know, we
didn’t have any up-stairs, but a little place in the loft where the
boys slept; and all he could see was the top of the snow where it had
blown all up everywhere, and then he ran down and told Mamsie and me in
the kitchen. Oh! you can’t think how perfectly dreadful it was those
first few minutes; we were so glad the children were fast asleep in
their beds.”
“Well, we weren’t,” grumbled Joel, who always felt defrauded out of
every one of those dreadful minutes. “Dave and I wanted to be down in
the kitchen with Mamsie and you.”
“Why, you didn’t know anything of it,” said Ben with a little laugh.
“Well, we wanted to be there if we didn’t,” said Joel, not minding the
laugh in which the others joined.
“And Mamsie said we were not to worry, for God would take care of us,”
said Polly gravely. “And then she asked Him to do it, and to send
some one to dig us out; and then she said,--and I’ll never forget
it,--‘Now, children, we must set ourselves to think what we ought to
do, and go to work, because God doesn’t help people who do not help
themselves.’ And then we all sat down to think up the best thing to do.
And Ben said he thought we ought to tie something to a long stick, and
run it out the window, and maybe”--
“No, that was Polly’s idea,” said Ben quickly; “she thought of it
first.”
“O Ben! you surely said so,” cried Polly, with rosy cheeks.
“Well, you spoke of it first, and so I said I’d do it,” declared Ben
positively. “It was Polly who thought it all out.”
“Well, you got the red blanket, and tied it on the broom,” said Polly;
“so you did it, anyway.”
“That’s nothing,” said Ben; “we all thought of the blanket because it
was red, and would show against the snow. And after that there was
nothing we could do; so we all three sat down in the kitchen, and
looked at each other.”
“Yes,” said Polly, shaking her head very mournfully, “that was the
hardest part of it all; there wasn’t anything to do. Oh, dear me! it
was perfectly dreadful; you can’t think how dreadful it all was.”
“And pretty soon Mamsie said, ‘Now, children, we’ll get breakfast the
same as usual. Thank God that we have got a large supply of meal and
potatoes in the Provision Room, so we sha’n’t starve. Look at the
clock, Polly, child.’
“And there, don’t you think,” said Polly, “the old clock in the corner
was ticking away the minutes as fast as it could; and it was half-past
eight, and we always used to get up at six o’clock--in winter, I mean.”
“Six o’clock in winter!” cried Percy in amazement, who dearly loved his
bed of a morning. “Oh, dear me! that’s the middle of the night.”
“Well, if you think that’s early, what do you think of five o’clock,”
said Ben under his breath.
“And just think of Ben,” Polly was saying, with a little pat on Ben’s
back; “he used to have all his chores done by six o’clock, because he
had to go and help other people, and earn money.”
Percy tumbled right over on the green bank, quite overcome by this, and
lay there lost in thought.
“Yes, it was half-past eight,” said Polly impressively. “And when I
looked at the clock, I jumped up, glad of something to do; for I’d been
twisting my hands together, trying not to cry,” she confessed, drooping
her brown head in a shamedfaced way.
“But you didn’t cry,” declared Ben stoutly. “Polly didn’t let a single
tear come out of her eyes; she was just splendid all the time.”
“No, I wasn’t splendid,” said Polly; but the color ran over her cheek
again, and up to the little waves of hair on her brow, as she smiled at
Ben. “And when Mamsie told us to get breakfast, why, Ben and I were
glad enough to hop up and set to work. So he ran and kindled the fire;
and pretty soon there it was blazing away, right merrily, because, you
see, we had our new stove then. What we should have done with our old
one, I’m sure I don’t know,” said Polly, holding up both hands.
“And I said, it was lucky we had such a splendid lot of wood all cut
in the woodshed,” said Ben, “when I came back to fill up the wood-box
again, after I had made the fire. And Mamsie said ‘Never say “lucky”
again, Ben, but say “faithful work provides for the future.”’ I’ve
thought of it ever since.”
“‘And that’s the reason you’ve got plenty of wood now,’ said Mamsie.”
Polly took up the story quickly. “And she said that Ben had been
plucky, instead of lucky, to stick to it when he wanted to rest. Well,
then we heard an awful noise up in the loft.”
“What was it?” cried Van, getting involuntarily nearer to Polly and
Ben. “Was it bears?”
“Worse than bears,” said Ben decidedly.
“Worse than bears?” Van was quite delighted; but he drew still farther
within the centre of the group, and cast a glance over his shoulder as
if he expected something to jump from behind the trees.
“Yes,” said Ben, nodding his head.
“Was it a snake?” asked little Dick, huddling up close to Polly to lay
his head in her lap again.
“Worse than a snake,” said Ben.
“Oh, dear, dear! what was it?” cried Van and Dick together, while Percy
got up quickly, and pushed in between the others. “What was it?” he
asked too.
“Those two boys,” said Ben, pointing to Joel and Davie; “they made more
noise than a dozen bears, as soon as they woke up and found out how
things were. I tell you, it was pretty lively then down in the kitchen.”
“And we hadn’t seen Ben run out the stick with the red blanket on,”
said Joel in a dudgeon, flinging himself flat on the grass, to drum his
heels on the green sward. “It was mean not to wake us up.”
“Well, you saw it afterward,” said Ben coolly. “And if you’d had your
way, Joe, the old broom would have rattled down a dozen times, you
wanted to shake it so hard.”
“That was to make folks see it, and come and dig us out,” said Joel,
squinting up at the sky.
“Well, let Polly tell the story,” said Jasper, who had been quiet all
this time. “And then just think what Mamsie said to those two boys.”
Here Polly jumped up to her feet. “Oh, it was so splendid!” and her
eyes kindled, and the color came and went in her cheeks; “she said,
and these are just her words, ‘Boys, you’ve maybe saved all our lives,
by giving up your play yesterday, and getting that meal and those
potatoes.’ Just think of that,” cried Polly again, clasping her hands;
“Mamsie said that to _our_ two boys. Oh, I’m so proud of them!” With
that Polly ran back to the green bank, and in a minute she had her two
arms around Joel and David. And Jasper proposed three cheers; and Van
led them off, Percy coming in in time for the end, as Phronsie gave a
delighted little gurgle.
“’Twasn’t anything,” said Joel, red and shining in his efforts to
escape all praise. “Dave and I didn’t do anything.”
“’Twas meal and potatoes,” cried little Dick, stumbling up and down the
path, and getting in everybody’s way. And then they all laughed, and
settled down for the end of the story.
“Well,” said Polly with a long breath, and beginning again, “you can’t
think how glad we were to have work to do on that dreadful day. We
washed every dish in the house, over and over, and cleaned and tidied
up; and then, when we hadn’t any more work, we sat round and told
stories.”
“Oh! will you tell us some of those stories you told in the little
snow-house, Polly Pepper?” cried Van in a shout.
“Some time,” said Polly.
“Go on, Polly,” said Ben, “and tell about sitting around the stove.”
“Oh, yes!” said Polly briskly; “you see, children, we couldn’t burn
our candles all day because Mamsie hadn’t such a very great many. And
so after Phronsie woke up, and our work was done up, we sat around the
stove, and told stories in the dark.”
“Oh! oh!” exclaimed the Whitney boys.
“Yes; and then,” said Ben, “Polly asked Mamsie if we might play
Blindman’s-Buff; she said yes--and so we did.”
“Yes; and we played Puss-in-the-Corner, and all sorts of things we
never had the time to play on other days; we played in our little
snow-house. Oh, we had a lovely time, after all!”
“And didn’t anybody come to dig you out?” asked Percy, feeling as if
the delights of such a frolic wouldn’t pay him for being shut up in a
little snow-house; and he shivered as he spoke.
“No,” said Polly; “at least not till the next day. And then all of a
sudden some one screamed, ‘Hallo, there!’ and don’t you think we heard
Deacon Brown’s voice through the snow; they’d dug quite a piece towards
us, and they were shouting to let us know they were coming.”
“And didn’t you scream back, Polly Pepper, didn’t you? didn’t you?”
cried all the Whitneys together in intense excitement.
“I rather guess we did,” said Ben, with shining eyes; “it’s a wonder
the roof of The Little Brown House didn’t fly off with the noise we
Peppers made.”
XXII.
LUCY ANN’S GARDEN.
“It was about the middle of the afternoon,” said Polly, as the little
group settled down in one corner of Mother Pepper’s room, “when I
told the others the story of Lucy Ann’s Garden. I remember the time,
because we were all feeling pretty badly to be shut up in the little
snow-house; for we always ran out-doors every now and then, you know,
even when we were working, and it seemed just like a prison, and then
we didn’t know when we would be dug out, and”--
“But you were dug out some time, weren’t you, Polly Pepper?”
interrupted Van anxiously.
A shout greeted this question.
When they came out of the laugh, Polly said, “Yes, but it was two whole
days; and every single hour seemed--oh, as long--you can’t think! You
see, everybody else was snowed in too; and great high drifts were
piled along the roads, so they couldn’t get to us, and so all we could
do was to wait. But, oh, dear me!” Polly had no further words at her
command, and her hands fell idly to her lap.
“Well, go on.” This time it was Percy who pulled her sleeve.
“So, I know all about the time when I began to tell about Lucy Ann’s
Garden,” said Polly, beginning again. “I thought I’d make up a story
about summer and flowers, and all the things we have when it is warm
and sunny, so we could look forward to it all; and that’s the reason I
told them that.”
“Tell us now,” said Jasper; “do, Polly.”
So Polly began the story in earnest. “Lucy Ann’s Garden wasn’t a bit
like any other garden in all the world; it was up on the tops of ever
so many trees”--
“Oh, oh!” exclaimed the bunch of Whitneys in delight, Jasper adding his
approval to the rest.
“This is a splendid story,” declared Joel to Van, who was next, “you
better believe.”
“Hush!” said Van, edging away; “I can’t hear Polly when you talk.”
“You see, Lucy Ann’s father had ever so many apple-trees he was going
to cut down, because they didn’t have anything on them but shrivelled
up miserable little apples; and he got his big axe, and went out one
day, and Lucy Ann saw him, and she ran after him. ‘Father, father,’ she
cried, ‘what are you going to do?’ And then he told her.
“‘Oh, dear me!’ said Lucy Ann; and then she just sat down on the grass
and cried; for she couldn’t bear to have a tree cut down around her
home, nor a chicken killed, nor anything changed.”
“How could they ever have chicken-pies, then?” asked Percy abruptly.
“Why, they had to send Lucy Ann over to spend the day with her
grandmother,” said Polly; “and then they killed all the chickens they
wanted to eat for a week. But Lucy Ann always cried quarts of tears
when she came home, and found out about it.”
“O Polly!” exclaimed Van, “Lucy Ann couldn’t cry quarts of tears--no
one could.”
“Lucy Ann isn’t like anybody else in the world,” said Polly stoutly;
“and I’m making up a girl who could cry quarts of tears, so she cried
them every time she came home and found one of those chickens killed.”
“Now, it’s hard enough to have to tell stories by the dozen as Polly
Pepper does, and be called to account for every word,” said Jasper.
“Polly has a right to say anything in her stories she has a mind to.”
“And do make it quarts,” begged Joel, glowering at Van. “Make it
gallons, Polly.”
“No,” said Polly decidedly. “Lucy Ann cried quarts of tears. Well,
so when she sat down on the grass and cried, her father fell into a
tremble, and he shook so the big axe in his hand went every way, for
he couldn’t hold it straight; and he looked at Lucy Ann, and he said,
‘Daughter, I wish you would stop crying.’
“‘I can’t,’ said Lucy Ann, crying worse than ever, till her tears ran
into the grass and off, a little stream trickling away like a tiny, wee
river.
“‘Oh, dear me!’ exclaimed her father in despair, ‘this is something
very dreadful.’ Then he set his axe carefully up against the first
tree he was going to cut off, and he went to Lucy Ann. ‘Daughter,’ he
said, ‘if you’ll stop crying this very minute by my watch, I’ll give
you this first tree I was going to cut down.’ So Lucy Ann took her
face up,--for she was bending over to sob,--and she wiped the tears
that were coming out of her eyes away with her hand; and her father
ran cheerfully back, and picked up his axe again. ‘Now, that is good,
my daughter,’ he said in a gleeful voice; and he hurried to the next
tree, and raised the axe just like this.” Here Polly swung an imaginary
axe over her shoulder, “‘Now, then’--but he didn’t bring it down, for
Lucy Ann squealed right out, ‘O father, don’t! Now I’ve got to cry some
more;’ and away she went to sobbing, just as much worse than at first
as you could think; and the tears got bigger and rounder, and they
raced through the grass so fast that they wet her feet till she began
to sneeze like everything.”
“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed little Dick in dismay.
“Well, Lucy Ann’s father, when he saw that, set down the axe again, and
he pulled his hair in distress. I forgot to tell you that he always
pulled his hair when he felt troubled about anything”--
“That was much better than to pull any one else’s hair,” observed Ben
under his breath to Jasper.
“And he said, ‘O my daughter Lucy Ann, if you only won’t cry any more,
I’ll give you all those trees this very minute; and you may do what you
want to with them.’ So Lucy Ann stopped sobbing, and wiped her eyes
again, and got up from the grass, and went around and around those
trees; she went around twenty-seven times before she could decide what
she would do with them. And at last she said, ‘Father, I’ll have a
garden up on top of them.’”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Van.
“The minute Lucy Ann said she would have a garden up on top of the
trees, her father put his fingers in his mouth, and made a perfectly
awful whistle, and”--
“Oh, I know how he did it!” exclaimed Joel, springing to his feet.
“Dave and I used to do it--this way;” and he clapped his fingers to his
mouth, but Ben pounced on him.
“No, you don’t, Joel Pepper,” he cried.
“Oh, no, no, Joey!” exclaimed Polly too, in alarm; “now be quiet,
that’s a good boy, for I’m going on with the story. Well, as soon as
the whistle echoed all over the place, there came running from every
direction ever so many men, and every one had an axe on his shoulder;
and as soon as they reached Lucy Ann’s father and Lucy Ann, they
stopped and leaned on the handles of their axes, and said, ‘Did you
call us, Master?’
“‘Stop talking,’ roared Lucy Ann’s father at them; for he wanted to be
cross with somebody, and he didn’t want to scold his daughter. ‘Do just
as she tells you to;’ and then he picked up his own axe, and ran off as
fast as his feet would carry him into the house, and shut the door and
locked it.
“‘Cut off all the tops of those trees,’ commanded Lucy Ann, pointing to
them, ‘every single snip of a leaf.’”
“I thought she didn’t want the trees cut down,” cried Percy abruptly.
“Hush!” cried Van, delighted to catch Percy interrupting, while Polly
made haste to say, “Oh! this is different. It’s only the tops she
wanted cut off;” and Ben said, “Wait, and hear the rest of the story.”
“And so the men with the axes did exactly as Lucy Ann told them; and
pretty soon all the trees were snipped off even, and just alike.
“‘Now go and bring a board big enough to set on the tops of all those
trees,’ she commanded, ‘and lay it on them, for I’m going to have a
garden up there.’”
“Oh, oh, oh!” screamed the Whitneys delightedly.
“And in just ten minutes by Lucy Ann’s little diamond watch in her
belt, it”--
“O Polly! did Lucy Ann have a watch all made of diamonds?” asked Percy.
“Ladies have them, but girls don’t.”
“Lucy Ann had one, anyway,” said Polly in her most decisive fashion;
“and hers was just one big diamond, with the minute hand and the hour
hand set in the middle”--
“Oh!” gasped Ben, tumbling back in his seat.
“And in just ten minutes,” repeated Polly, “by that little diamond
watch stuck in her belt, the board was up on top of all those trees;
and then she commanded the men to cover it all over with dirt, ever
so deep; and after that she made them build some cunning little steps
leading up to it,--two pairs of steps, ‘because I never mean to go
down the same pair I come up,’ she said to herself; and in just half an
hour from the time she began to think about it, there was her garden
all done. And her father peeped out of the window all the time, and he
called her mother, and all the people in the house; and every one took
a window, and watched to see how the work went on.”
“I should think they’d want to,” said Ben with another gasp.
“And then Lucy Ann said, ‘Now run away, just as fast as you can, every
single one of you;’ and she stamped her foot to make them run faster;
so they picked up their axes and scampered off, and she was left alone.
And then she walked around her garden twenty-seven times more, trying
to think what she would plant in it.”
“And what did she, Polly Pepper?” demanded Van eagerly. “What did she
plant in it?”
“Wait and see,” said Polly gayly. “Well, when she had got around the
twenty-seventh time, she sat down quite tired out; and then she clapped
her hands, and over the grass came running a little girl not much
bigger than she was. ‘Go and bring the flower-basket,’ commanded Lucy
Ann, ‘and be quick, Betserilda.’”
“What did she tell her to bring the flower-basket for?” asked little
Dick, crowding into the centre of the group.
“Why, because she wanted to use it,” said Polly.
“And who was Betserilda?” asked Percy.
“Why, the girl she told to bring it,” said Jasper; “don’t you
understand?”
“Oh!” said Percy.
“You see, Betsy’s name was really Betsy Amarilda,” said Polly; “but
that was too long, for sometimes Lucy Ann was in quite a hurry, and so
she always called her Betserilda.”
“Oh!” said Percy again.
“So Betserilda ran with all her might, and came back dragging the
flower-basket after her; and then the two girls took hold of the
handle, and went off into the woods after flowers.”
“Polly,” cried Phronsie suddenly, “I very much wish we might go into
the woods after flowers;” she gave a long sigh, and every one turned to
look at her.
“We can’t,” said Polly; “there aren’t any woods in this big city;” and
she sighed too.
“But think what splendid grounds these are, and what monstrous trees,”
cried Ben hastily, and pointing to them, as Joel began to kick his
heels and loudly wish he could run into the woods too. “Polly, what are
you going to say next?” asked Ben, catching her eye.
“What? oh, let me see!” cried Polly, bringing herself back from the
delightful vision of a day in the woods; “well, off they trudged, Lucy
Ann and Betserilda, and they began to dig and”--
“What did they dig, Polly?” asked Phronsie, very much interested, and
laying her little face on Polly’s arm, “the little violets under the
moss?”
“Yes,” said Polly, “lots and lots of them, Phronsie.”
“And the red berries?” Phronsie kept on, “and the long green stems, and
the cunning little cups in the moss.”
“Yes,” said Polly, “they did; all those, Phronsie.”
“Every single one, Polly?” asked Phronsie, a little flush stealing over
her cheek.