all running down my back.”
“Is it?” said Polly, bursting out into a laugh; “never mind, Phronsie,
I'll dry you.”
“Dear me, Polly!” said Mrs. Pepper, who had looked up in time to see the
tub racing along by itself towards the “Provision Room” door, a stream
of dish-water following in its wake, “she will be wet clear through; do
get off her things, quick.”
“Yes'm,” cried Polly, picking up the tub, and giving two or three quick
sops to the floor. “Here you are, Pussy,” grasping Phronsie, crying as
she was, and carrying her into the bedroom.
“Oh, dear,” wailed the child, still holding the wet dish towel; “I won't
ever do it again, if you'll only let me do 'em all to-morrow.”
“When you're big and strong,” said Polly, giving her a hug, “you shall
do 'em every day.”
“May I really?” said little Phronsie, blinking through the tears, and
looking radiant.
“Yes, truly--every day.”
“Then I'll grow right away, I will,” said Phronsie, bursting out
merrily; and she sat down and pulled off the well-worn shoes, into which
a big pool of dish-water had run, while Polly went for dry stockings.
“So you shall,” said Polly, coming back, a big piece of gingerbread in
her hand; “and this'll make you grow, Phronsie.”
“O-o-h!” and Phronsie's little white teeth shut down quickly on the
comforting morsel. Gingerbread didn't come often enough into the Pepper
household to be lightly esteemed.
“Now,” said Mrs. Pepper, when order was restored, the floor washed
up brightly, and every cup and platter in place, hobnobbing away to
themselves on the shelves of the old corner cupboard, and Polly had come
as usual with needle and thread to help mother--Polly was getting so
that she could do the plain parts on the coats and jackets, which
filled her with pride at the very thought--“now,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you
needn't help me this morning, Polly: I'm getting on pretty smart; but
you may just run down to the parson's, and see how he is.”
“Is he sick?” asked Polly, in awe.
To have the parson sick, was something quite different from an ordinary
person's illness.
“He's taken with a chill,” said Mrs. Pepper, biting off a thread, “so
Miss Huldy Folsom told me last night, and I'm afraid he's going to have
a fever.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, in dire distress; “whatever'd we do, mammy!”
“Don't know, I'm sure,” replied Mrs. Pepper, setting her stitches
firmly; “the Lord'll provide. So you run along, child, and see how he
is.”
“Can't Phronsie go?” asked Polly, pausing half-way to the bedroom door.
“Well, yes, I suppose she might,” said Mrs. Pepper, assentingly.
“No, she can't either,” said Polly, coming back with her sun-bonnet in
her hand, and shutting the door carefully after her, “cause she's fast
asleep on the floor.”
“Is she?” said Mrs. Pepper; “well, she's been running so this morning,
she's tired out, I s'pose.”
“And her face is dreadfully red,” continued Polly, tying on her bonnet;
“now, what'll I say, mammy?”
“Well, I should think 'twould be,” said Mrs. Pepper, replying to the
first half of Polly's speech; “she cried so. Well, you just tell Mrs.
Henderson your ma wants to know how Mr. Henderson is this morning, and
if 'twas a chill he had yesterday, and how he slept last night, and--”
“Oh, ma,” said Polly, “I can't ever remember all that.”
“Oh, yes, you can,” said Mrs. Pepper, encouragingly; “just put your mind
on it, Polly; 'tisn't anything to what I used to have to remember--when
I was a little girl, no bigger than you are.”
Polly sighed, and feeling sure that something must be the matter with
her mind, gave her whole attention to the errand; till at last after a
multiplicity of messages and charges not to forget any one of them, Mrs.
Pepper let her depart.
Up to the old-fashioned green door, with its brass knocker, Polly went,
running over in her mind just which of the messages she ought to give
first. She couldn't for her life think whether “if 'twas a chill he had
yesterday?” ought to come before “how he slept?” She knocked timidly,
hoping Mrs. Henderson would help her out of her difficulty by telling
her without the asking. All other front doors in Badgertown were
ornaments, only opened on grand occasions, like a wedding or a funeral.
But the minister's was accessible alike to all. So Polly let fall the
knocker, and awaited the answer.
A scuffling noise sounded along the passage; and then Polly's soul sank
down in dire dismay. It was the minister's sister, and not gentle little
Mrs. Henderson. She never could get on with Miss Jerusha in the least.
She made her feel as she told her mother once--“as if I don't know what
my name is.” And now here she was; and all those messages.
Miss Jerusha unbolted the door, slid back the great bar, opened the
upper half, and stood there. She was a big woman, with sharp black eyes,
and spectacles--over which she looked--which to Polly was much worse,
for that gave her four eyes.
“Well, and what do you want?” she asked.
“I came to see--I mean my ma sent me,” stammered poor Polly.
“And who is your ma?” demanded Miss Jerusha, as much like a policeman as
anything; “and where do you live?”
“I live in Primrose Lane,” replied Polly, wishing very much that she was
back there.
“I don't want to know where you live, before I know who you are,” said
Miss Jerusha; “you should answer the question I asked first; always
remember that.”
“My ma's Mrs. Pepper,” said Polly.
“Mrs. who?” repeated Miss Jerusha.
By this time Polly was so worn that she came very near turning and
fleeing, but she thought of her mother's disappointment in her, and the
loss of the news, and stood quite still.
“What is it, Jerusha?” a gentle voice here broke upon Polly's ear.
“I don't know,” responded Miss Jerusha, tartly, still holding the door
much as if Polly were a robber; “it's a little girl, and I can't make
out what she wants.”
“Why, it's Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Mrs. Henderson, pleasantly. “Come
in, child.” She opened the other half of the big door, and led the
way through the wide hall into a big, old-fashioned room, with painted
floor, and high, old side-board, and some stiff-backed rocking-chairs.
Miss Jerusha stalked in also and seated herself by the window, and began
to knit. Polly had just opened her mouth to tell her errand, when the
door also opened suddenly and Mr. Henderson walked in.
“Oh!” said Polly, and then she stopped, and the color flushed up into
her face.
“What is it, my dear?” and the minister took her hand kindly, and looked
down into her flushed face.
“You are not going to have a fever, and be sick and die!” she cried.
“I hope not, my little girl,” he smiled back, encouragingly; and then
Polly gave her messages, which now she managed easily enough.
“There,” broke in Miss Jerusha, “a cat can't sneeze in this town but
everybody'll know it in quarter of an hour.”
And then Mrs. Henderson took Polly out to see a brood of new little
chicks, that had just popped their heads out into the world; and to
Polly, down on her knees, admiring, the time passed very swiftly indeed.
“Now I must go, ma'am,” she said at last, looking up into the lady's
face, regretfully, “for mammy didn't say I was to stay.”
“Very well, dear; do you think you could carry a little pat of butter?
I have some very nice my sister sent me, and I want your mother to share
it.”
“Oh, thank you, ma'am!” cried Polly, thinking, “how glad Davie'll be,
for he does so love butter! only--”
“Wait a bit, then,” said Mrs. Henderson, who didn't seem to notice the
objection. So she went into the house, and Polly went down again in
admiration before the fascinating little puff-balls.
But she was soon on the way, with a little pat of butter in a blue bowl,
tied over with a clean cloth; happy in her gift for mammy, and in the
knowledge of the minister being all well.
“I wonder if Phronsie's awake,” she thought to herself, turning in at
the little brown gate; “if she is, she shall have a piece of bread with
lots of butter.”
“Hush!” said Mrs. Pepper, from the rocking-chair in the middle of the
floor. She had something in her arms. Polly stopped suddenly, almost
letting the bowl fall.
“It's Phronsie,” said the mother, “and I don't know what the matter is
with her; you'll have to go for the doctor, Polly, and just as fast as
you can.”
Polly still stood, holding the bowl, and staring with all her might.
Phronsie sick!
“Don't wake her,” said Mrs. Pepper.
Poor Polly couldn't have stirred to save her life, for a minute; then
she said--“Where shall I go?”
“Oh, run to Dr. Fisher's; and don't be gone long.”
Polly set down the bowl of butter, and sped on the wings of the wind for
the doctor. Something dreadful was the matter, she felt, for never had
a physician been summoned to the hearty Pepper family since she could
remember, only when the father died. Fear lent speed to her feet; and
soon the doctor came, and bent over poor little Phronsie, who still lay
in her mother's arms, in a burning fever.
“It's measles,” he pronounced, “that's all; no cause for alarm; you ever
had it?” he asked, turning suddenly around on Polly, who was watching
with wide-open eyes for the verdict.
“No, sir,” answered Polly, not knowing in the least what “measles” was.
“What shall we do!” said Mrs. Pepper; “there haven't any of them had
it.”
The doctor was over by the little old table under the window, mixing up
some black-looking stuff in a tumbler, and he didn't hear her.
“There,” he said, putting a spoonful into Phronsie's mouth, “she'll get
along well enough; only keep her out of the cold.” Then he pulled out a
big silver watch. He was a little thin man, and the watch was immense.
Polly for her life couldn't keep her eyes off from it; if Ben could only
have one so fine!
“Polly,” whispered Mrs. Pepper, “run and get my purse; it's in the top
bureau drawer.”
“Yes'm,” said Polly, taking her eyes off, by a violent wrench, from
the fascinating watch; and she ran quickly and got the little old
stocking-leg, where the hard earnings that staid long enough to be put
anywhere, always found refuge. She put it into her mother's lap, and
watched while Mrs. Pepper counted out slowly one dollar in small pieces.
“Here sir,” said Mrs. Pepper, holding them out towards the doctor; “and
thank you for coming.”
“Hey!” said the little man, spinning round; “that dollar's the Lord's!”
Mrs. Pepper looked bewildered, and still sat holding it out. “And the
Lord has given it to you to take care of these children with; see that
you do it.” And without another word he was gone.
“Wasn't he good, mammy?” asked Polly, after the first surprise was over.
“I'm sure he was,” said Mrs. Pepper. “Well, tie it up again, Polly, tie
it up tight; we shall want it, I'm sure,” sighing at her little sick
girl.
“Mayn't I take Phronsie, ma?” asked Polly.
“No, no,” said Phronsie. She had got mammy, and she meant to improve the
privilege.
“What is 'measles' anyway, mammy?” asked Polly, sitting down on the
floor at their feet.
“Oh, 'tis something children always have,” replied Mrs. Pepper; “but I'm
sure I hoped it wouldn't come just yet.”
“I sha'n't have it,” said Polly, decisively; “I know I sha'n't! nor
Ben--nor Joe--nor--nor Davie--I guess,” she added, hesitatingly, for
Davie was the delicate one of the family; at least not nearly so strong
as the others.
Mrs. Pepper looked at her anxiously; but Polly seemed as bright and
healthy as ever, as she jumped up and ran to put the kettle on the
stove.
“What'll the boys say, I wonder!” she thought to herself, feeling
quite important that they really had sickness in the house. As long
as Phronsie wasn't dangerous, it seemed quite like rich folks; and she
forgot the toil, and the grind of poverty. She looked out from time to
time as she passed the window, but no boys came.
“I'll put her in bed, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, in a whisper, as
Phronsie closed her eyes and breathed regularly.
“And then will you have your dinner, ma?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, “I don't care--if the boys come.”
“The boys'll never come,” said Polly, impatiently; “I don't
believe--why! here they are now!”
“Oh, dear,” said Joel, coming in crossly, “I'm so hungry--oh--butter!
where'd you get it? I thought we never should get here!”
“I thought so too,” said Polly. “Hush! why, where's Ben?”
“He's just back,” began Joel, commencing to eat, “and Davie; something
is the matter with Ben--he says he feels funny.”
“Something the matter with Ben!” repeated Polly. She dropped the cup she
held, which broke in a dozen pieces.
“Oh, whocky!” cried Joel; “see what you've done, Polly Pepper!”
But Polly didn't hear; over the big, flat door-stone she sped, and
met Ben with little David, coming in the gate. His face was just like
Phronsie's! And with a cold, heavy feeling at her heart, Polly realized
that this was no play.
“Oh, Ben!” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck, and bursting
into tears; “don't! please--I wish you wouldn't; Phronsie's got 'em, and
that's enough!”
“Got what?” asked Ben, while Davie's eyes grew to their widest
proportions.
“Oh, measles!” cried Polly, bursting out afresh; “the hate-fullest,
horridest measles! and now you're taken!”
“Oh no, I'm not,” responded Ben, cheerfully, who knew what measles were;
“wipe up, Polly; I'm all right; only my head aches, and my eyes feel
funny.”
But Polly, only half-reassured, controlled her sobs; and the sorrowful
trio repaired to mother.
“Oh, dear!” ejaculated Mrs. Pepper, sinking in a chair in dismay, at
sight of Ben's red face; “whatever'll we do now!”
The prop and stay of her life would be taken away if Ben should be laid
aside. No more stray half or quarter dollars would come to help her out
when she didn't know where to turn.
Polly cleared off the deserted table--for once Joel had all the bread
and butter he wanted. Ben took some of Phronsie's medicine, and
crawled up into the loft, to bed; and quiet settled down on the little
household.
“Polly,” whispered Ben, as she tucked him in, “it'll be hard buckling-to
now, for you, but I guess you'll do it.”
MORE TROUBLE
“Oh, dear,” said Polly to herself, the next morning, trying to get a
breakfast for the sick ones out of the inevitable mush; “everything's
just as bad as it can be! they can't ever eat this; I wish I had an
ocean of toast!”
“Toast some of the bread in the pail, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.
She looked worn and worried; she had been up nearly all night, back and
forth from Ben's bed in the loft to restless, fretful little Phronsie in
the big four-poster in the bedroom; for Phronsie wouldn't get into the
crib. Polly had tried her best to help her, and had rubbed her eyes
diligently to keep awake, but she was wholly unaccustomed to it, and her
healthy, tired little body succumbed--and then when she awoke, shame and
remorse filled her very heart.
“That isn't nice, ma,” she said, glancing at the poor old pail, which
she had brought out of the “Provision Room.” “Old brown bread! I want to
fix 'em something nice.”
“Well, you can't, you know,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a sigh; “but you've
got butter now; that'll be splendid!”
“I know it,” said Polly, running to the corner cupboard where the
precious morsel in the blue bowl remained; “whatever should we do
without it, mammy?”
“Do without it!” said Mrs. Pepper; “same's we have done.”
“Well, 'twas splendid in Mrs. Henderson to give it to us, anyway,” said
Polly, longing for just one taste; “seems as if 'twas a year since I
was there--oh, ma!” and here Polly took up the thread that had been so
rudely snapped; “don't you think, she's got ten of the prettiest--yes,
the sweetest little chickens you ever saw! Why can't we have some,
mammy?”
“Costs money,” replied Mrs. Pepper. “We've got too many in the house to
have any outside.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, with a red face that was toasting about as much
as the bread she was holding on the point of an old fork; “we never have
had anything. There,” she added at last; “that's the best I can do; now
I'll put the butter on this little blue plate; ain't that cunning, ma?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, approvingly; “it takes you, Polly.” So Polly
trotted first to Ben, up the crooked, low stairs to the loft; and while
she regaled him with the brown toast and butter, she kept her tongue
flying on the subject of the little chicks, and all that she saw on the
famous Henderson visit. Poor Ben pretended hard to eat, but ate nothing
really; and Polly saw it all, and it cut her to the heart--so she talked
faster than ever.
“Now,” she said, starting to go back to Phronsie; “Ben Pepper, just as
soon as you get well, we'll have some chickens--so there!”
“Guess we sha'n't get 'em very soon,” said Ben, despondently, “if I've
got to lie here; and, besides, Polly, you know every bit we can save has
got to go for the new stove.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, “I forgot that; so it has; seems to me
everything's giving out!”
“You can't bake any longer in the old thing,” said Ben, turning over and
looking at her; “poor girl, I don't see how you've stood it so long.”
“And we've been stuffing it,” cried Polly merrily, “till 'twon't stuff
any more.”
“No,” said Ben, turning back again, “that's all worn out.”
“Well, you must go to sleep,” said Polly, “or mammy'll be up here; and
Phronsie hasn't had her breakfast either.”
Phronsie was wailing away dismally, sitting up in the middle of the old
bed. Her face pricked, she said, and she was rubbing it vigorously with
both fat little hands, and then crying worse than ever.
“Oh me! oh my!” cried Polly; “how you look, Phronsie!”
“I want my mammy!” cried poor Phronsie.
“Mammy can't come now, Phronsie dear; she's sewing. See what Polly's got
for you--butter: isn't that splendid!”
Phronsie stopped for just one moment, and took a mouthful; but the toast
was hard and dry, and she cried harder than before.
“Now,” said Polly, curling up on the bed beside her, “if you'll stop
crying, Phronsie Pepper, I'll tell you about the cunningest, yes, the
very cunningest little chickens you ever saw. One was white, and he
looked just like this,” said Polly, tumbling over on the bed in a heap;
“he couldn't stand up straight, he was so fat.”
“Did he bite?” asked Phronsie, full of interest.
“No, he didn't bite me,” said Polly; “but his mother put a bug in his
mouth--just as I'm doing you know,” and she broke off a small piece of
the toast, put on a generous bit of butter, and held it over Phronsie's
mouth.
“Did he swallow it?” asked the child, obediently opening her little red
lips.
“Oh, snapped it,” answered Polly, “quick as ever he could, I tell you;
but 'twasn't good like this, Phronsie.”
“Did he have two bugs?” asked Phronsie, eying suspiciously the second
morsel of dry toast that Polly was conveying to her mouth.
“Well, he would have had,” replied Polly, “if there'd been bugs enough;
but there were nine other chicks, Phronsie.”
“Poor chickies,” said Phronsie, and looked lovingly at the rest of the
toast and butter on the plate; and while Polly fed it to her, listened
with absorbed interest to all the particulars concerning each and every
chick in the Henderson hen-coop.
“Mother,” said Polly, towards evening, “I'm going to sit up with Ben
to-night; say I may, do, mother.”
“Oh no, you can't,” replied Mrs. Pepper; “you'll get worn out; and then
what shall I do? Joel can hand him his medicine.”
“Oh, Joe would tumble to sleep, mammy,” said Polly, “the first
thing--let me.”
“Perhaps Phronsie'll let me go to-night,” said Mrs. Pepper,
reflectively.
“Oh, no she won't, I know,” replied Polly, decisively; “she wants you
all the time.”
“I will, Polly,” said Davie, coming in with an armful of wood, in time
to hear the conversation. “I'll give him his medicine, mayn't I, mammy?”
and David let down his load, and came over where his mother and Polly
sat sewing, to urge his rights.
“I don't know,” said his mother, smiling on him. “Can you, do you
think?”
“Yes, ma'am!” said Davie, straightening himself up.
When they told Ben, he said he knew a better way than for Davie to
watch; he'd have a string tied to Davie's arm, and the end he'd hold in
bed, and when 'twas time for medicine, he'd pull the string, and that
would wake Davie up!
Polly didn't sleep much more on her shake-down on the floor than if she
had watched with Ben; for Phronsie cried and moaned, and wanted a drink
of water every two minutes, it seemed to her. As she went back into her
nest after one of these travels, Polly thought: “Well, I don't care, if
nobody else gets sick; if Ben'll only get well. To-morrow I'm goin' to
do mammy's sack she's begun for Mr. Jackson; it's all plain sew-in',
just like a bag; and I can do it, I know--” and so she fell into a
troubled sleep, only to be awakened by Phronsie's fretful little voice:
“I want a drink of water, Polly, I do.”
“Don't she drink awfully, mammy?” asked Polly, after one of these
excursions out to the kitchen after the necessary draught.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper; “and she mustn't have any more; 'twill hurt
her.” But Phronsie fell into a delicious sleep after that, and didn't
want any more, luckily.
“Here, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, the next morning, “take this coat up to
Mr. Peterses; and be sure you get the money for it.”
“How'll I get it?” asked Joe, who didn't relish the long, hot walk.
“Why, tell 'em we're sick--Ben's sick,” added Mrs. Pepper, as the most
decisive thing; “and we must have it; and then wait for it.”
“Tisn't pleasant up at the Peterses,” grumbled Joel, taking the parcel
and moving slowly off.
“No, no, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn't do that,” seeing
Polly take up some sewing after doing up the room and finishing the
semi-weekly bake; “you're all beat out with that tussle over the stove;
that sack'll have to go till next week.”
“It can't, mammy,” said Polly, snipping off a basting thread; “we've got
to have the money; how much'll he give you for it?”
“Thirty cents,” replied Mrs. Pepper.
“Well,” said Polly, “we've got to get all the thirty centses we can,
mammy dear; and I know I can do it, truly--try me once,” she implored.
“Well.” Mrs. Pepper relented, slowly.
“Don't feel bad, mammy dear,” comforted Polly, sewing away briskly;
“Ben'll get well pretty soon, and then we'll be all right.”
“Maybe,” said Mrs. Pepper; and went back to Phronsie, who could scarcely
let her out of her sight.
Polly stitched away bravely. “Now if I do this good, mammy'll let me do
it other times,” she said to herself.
Davie, too, worked patiently out of doors, trying to do Ben's chores.
The little fellow blundered over things that Ben would have accomplished
in half the time, and he had to sit down often on the steps of the
little old shed where the tools were kept, to wipe his hot face and
rest.
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “hadn't you better stop a little? Dear me!
how fast you sew, child!”
Polly gave a delighted little hum at her mother's evident approval.
“I'm going to do 'em all next week, mammy,” she said; “then Mr. Atkins
won't take 'em away from us, I guess.”
Mr. Atkins kept the store, and gave out coats and sacks of coarse linen
and homespun to Mrs. Pepper to make; and it was the fear of losing the
work that had made the mother's heart sink.
“I don't believe anybody's got such children as I have,” she said; and
she gave Polly a motherly little pat that the little daughter felt clear
to the tips of her toes with a thrill of delight.
About half-past two, long after dinner, Joe came walking in, hungry as a
beaver, but flushed and triumphant.
“Why, where have you been all this time?” asked his mother.
“Oh, Joe, you didn't stop to play?” asked Polly, from her perch where
she sat sewing, giving him a reproachful glance.
“Stop to play!” retorted Joe, indignantly; “no, I guess I didn't! I've
been to Old Peterses.”
“Not all this time!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper.
“Yes, I have too,” replied Joel, sturdily marching up to her. “And
there's your money, mother;” and he counted out a quarter of a dollar
in silver pieces and pennies, which he took from a dingy wad of paper,
stowed away in the depths of his pocket.
“Oh, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, sinking back in her chair and looking at
him; “what do you mean?”
Polly put her work in her lap, and waited to hear.
“Where's my dinner, Polly?” asked Joel; “I hope it's a big one.
“Yes, 'tis,” said Polly; “you've got lots to-day, it's in the corner of
the cupboard, covered up with the plate--so tell on, Joe.”
“That's elegant!” said Joel, coming back with the well-filled plate,
Ben's and his own share.
“Do tell us, Joey,” implored Polly; “mother's waiting.”