“Then, I don't want to be one,” said Joel, veering round with a sigh of
relief, “and besides I'd rather have a pair of horses like Mr. Slocum's,
and then I could go everywheres, I guess!”
“And sell tin?” asked Polly, “just like Mr. Slocum?”
“Yes,” said Joel; “this is the way I'd go--Gee-whop! gee-whoa!” and Joel
pranced with his imaginary steeds all around the room, making about as
much noise as any other four boys, as he brought up occasionally against
the four-poster or the high old bureau.
“Well!” said a voice close up by Polly's chair, that made her skip with
apprehension, it was so like Miss Jerusha Henderson's--Joel was whooping
away behind the bedstead to his horses that had become seriously
entangled, so he didn't hear anything. But when Polly said, bashfully,
“I can't see anything, ma'am,” he came up red and shining to the
surface, and stared with all his might.
“I came to see you, little girl,” said Miss Jerusha severely, seating
herself stiffly by Polly's side.
“Thank you, ma'am,” said Polly, faintly.
“Who's this boy?” asked the lady, turning around squarely on Joel, and
eying him from head to foot.
“He's my brother Joel,” said Polly.
Joel still stared.
“Which brother?” pursued Miss Jerusha, like a census-taker.
“He is next to me,” said Polly, wishing her mother was home; “he's nine,
Joel is.”
“He's big enough to do something to help his mother,” said Miss
Jerusha, looking him through and through. “Don't you think you might do
something, when the others are sick, and your poor mother is working so
hard?” she continued, in a cold voice.
“I do something,” blurted out Joel, sturdily, “lots and lots!”
“You shouldn't say 'lots,” reproved Miss Jerusha, with a sharp look over
her spectacles, “tisn't proper for boys to talk so; what do you do all
day long?” she asked, turning back to Polly, after a withering glance at
Joel, who still stared.
“I can't do anything, ma'am,” replied Polly, sadly, “I can't see to do
anything.”
“Well, you might knit, I should think,” said her visitor, “it's dreadful
for a girl as big as you are to sit all day idle; I had sore eyes once
when I was a little girl--how old are you?” she asked, abruptly.
“Eleven last month,” said Polly.
“Well, I wasn't only nine when I knit a stocking; and I had sore eyes,
too; you see I was a very little girl, and--”
“Was you ever little?” interrupted Joel, in extreme incredulity, drawing
near, and looking over the big square figure.
“Hey?” said Miss Jerusha; so Joel repeated his question before Polly
could stop him.
“Of course,” answered Miss Jerusha; and then she added, tartly, “little
boys shouldn't speak unless they're spoken to. Now,” and she turned back
to Polly again, “didn't you ever knit a stocking?”
“No, ma'am,” said Polly, “not a whole one.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Miss Jerusha; “did I ever!” And she raised her
black mitts in intense disdain. “A big girl like you never to knit a
stocking! to think your mother should bring you up so! and--”
“She didn't bring us up,” screamed Joel, in indignation, facing her with
blazing eyes.
“Joel,” said Polly, “be still.”
“And you're very impertinent, too,” said Miss Jerusha; “a good child
never is impertinent.”
Polly sat quite still; and Miss Jerusha continued:
“Now, I hope you will learn to be industrious; and when I come again, I
will see what you have done.”
“You aren't ever coming again,” said Joel, defiantly; “no, never!”
“Joel!” implored Polly, and in her distress she pulled up her bandage
as she looked at him; “you know mammy'll be so sorry at you! Oh, ma'am,
and” she turned to Miss Jerusha, who was now thoroughly aroused to the
duty she saw before her of doing these children good, “I don't know what
is the reason, ma'am; Joel never talks so; he's real good; and--”
“It only shows,” said the lady, seeing her way quite clear for a little
exhortation, “that you've all had your own way from infancy; and that
you don't do what you might to make your mother's life a happy one.”
“Oh, ma'am,” cried Polly, and she burst into a flood of tears, “please,
please don't say that!”
“And I say,” screamed Joel, stamping his small foot, “if you make Polly
cry you'll kill her! Don't Polly, don't!” and the boy put both arms
around her neck, and soothed and comforted her in every way he could
think of. And Miss Jerusha, seeing no way to make herself heard,
disappeared feeling pity for children who would turn away from good
advice.
But still Polly cried on; all the pent-up feelings that had been so long
controlled had free vent now. She really couldn't stop! Joel, frightened
to death, at last said, “I'm going to wake up Ben.”
That brought Polly to; and she sobbed out, “Oh, no, Jo--ey--I'll stop.”
“I will,” said Joel, seeing his advantage; “I'm going, Polly,” and he
started to the foot of the stairs.
“No, I'm done now, Joe,” said Polly, wiping her eyes, and choking back
her thoughts--“oh, Joe! I must scream! my eyes aches so!” and poor Polly
fairly writhed all over the chair.
“What'll I do?” said Joel, at his wits' end, running back, “do you want
some water?”
“Oh, no,” gasped Polly; “doctor wouldn't let me; oh! I wish mammy'd
come!”
“I'll go and look for her,” suggested Joel, feeling as if he must do
something; and he'd rather be out at the gate, than to see Polly suffer.
“That won't bring her,” said Polly; trying to keep still; “I'll try to
wait.”
“Here she is now!” cried Joel, peeping out of the window; “oh! goody!”
JOEL'S TURN
“Well,” Mrs. Pepper's tone was unusually blithe as she stepped into the
kitchen--“you've had a nice time, I suppose--what in the world!” and she
stopped at the bedroom door.
“Oh, mammy, if you'd been here!” said Joel, while Polly sat still, only
holding on to her eyes as if they were going to fly out; “there's been
a big woman here; she came right in--and she talked awfully! and Polly's
been a-cryin', and her eyes ache dreadfully--and--”
“Been crying!” repeated Mrs. Pepper, coming up to poor Polly. “Polly
been crying!” she still repeated.
“Oh, mammy, I couldn't help it,” said Polly; “she said--” and in spite
of all she could do, the rain of tears began again, which bade fair to
be as uncontrolled as before. But Mrs. Pepper took her up firmly in her
arms, as if she were Phronsie, and sat down in the old rocking-chair and
just patted her back.
“There, there,” she whispered, soothingly, “don't think of it, Polly;
mother's got home.”
“Oh, mammy,” said Polly, crawling up to the comfortable neck for
protection, “I ought not to mind; but 'twas Miss Jerusha Henderson; and
she said--”
“What did she say?” asked Mrs. Pepper, thinking perhaps it to be the
wiser thing to let Polly free her mind.
“Oh, she said that we ought to be doing something; and I ought to knit,
and--”
“Go on,” said her mother.
“And then Joel got naughty; oh, mammy, he never did so before; and I
couldn't stop him,” cried Polly, in great distress; “I really couldn't,
mammy--and he talked to her; and he told her she wasn't ever coming here
again.”
“Joel shouldn't have said that,” said Mrs. Pepper, and under her breath
something was added that Polly even failed to hear--“but no more she
isn't!”
“And, mammy,” cried Polly--and she flung her arms around her mother's
neck and gave her a grasp that nearly choked Mrs. Pepper, “ain't I
helpin' you some, mammy? Oh! I wish I could do something big for you?
Ain't you happy, mammy?”
“For the land's sakes!” cried Mrs. Pepper, straining Polly to her heart,
“whatever has that woman--whatever could she have said to you? Such a
girl as you are, too!” cried Mrs. Pepper, hugging Polly, and covering
her with kisses so tender, that Polly, warmed and cuddled up to her
heart's content, was comforted to the full.
“Well,” said Mrs. Pepper, when at last she thought she had formed
between Polly and Joel about the right idea of the visit, “well, now we
won't think of it, ever any more; 'tisn't worth it, Polly, you know.”
But poor Polly! and poor mother! They both were obliged to think of it.
Nothing could avert the suffering of the next few days, caused by that
long flow of burning tears.
“Nothing feels good on 'em, mammy,” said Polly, at last, twisting her
hands in the vain attempt to keep from rubbing the aching, inflamed eyes
that drove her nearly wild with their itching, “there isn't any use in
trying anything.”
“There will be use,” energetically protested Mrs. Pepper, bringing
another cool bandage, “as long as you've got an eye in your head, Polly
Pepper!”
Dr. Fisher's face, when he first saw the change that the fateful visit
had wrought, and heard the accounts, was very grave indeed. Everything
had been so encouraging on his last visit, that he had come very near
promising Polly speedy freedom from the hateful bandage.
But the little Pepper household soon had something else to think of more
important even than Polly's eyes, for now the heartiest, the jolliest
of all the little group was down--Joel. How he fell sick, they scarcely
knew, it all came so suddenly. The poor, bewildered family had hardly
time to think, before delirium and, perhaps, death stared them in the
face.
When Polly first heard it, by Phronsie's pattering downstairs and
screaming: “Oh, Polly, Joey's dre-ad-ful sick, he is!” she jumped right
up, and tore off the bandage.
“Now, I will help mother! I will, so there!” and in another minute she
would have been up in the sick room. But the first thing she knew, a
gentle but firm hand was laid upon hers; and she found herself back
again in the old rocking-chair, and listening to the Doctor's words
which were quite stern and decisive.
“Now, I tell you,” he said, “you must not take off that bandage again;
do you know the consequences? You will be blind! and then you will be a
care to your mother all your life!”
“I shall be blind, anyway,” said Polly, despairingly; “so 'twon't make
any difference.”
“No; your eyes will come out of it all right, only I did hope,” and the
good doctor's face fell--“that the other two boys would escape; but,”
and he brightened up at sight of Polly's forlorn visage--“see you do
your part by keeping still.”
But there came a day soon when everything was still around the once
happy little brown house--when only whispers were heard from white lips;
and thoughts were fearfully left unuttered.
On the morning of one of these days, when Mrs. Pepper felt she could not
exist an hour longer without sleep, kind Mrs. Beebe came to stay until
things were either better or worse.
Still the cloud hovered, dark and forbidding. At last, one afternoon,
when Polly was all alone, she could endure it no longer. She flung
herself down by the side of the old bed, and buried her face in the gay
patched bed-quilt.
“Dear God,” she said, “make me willing to have anything,” she
hesitated--“yes, anything happen; to be blind forever, and to have Joey
sick, only make me good.”
How long she staid there she never knew; for she fell asleep--the first
sleep she had had since Joey was taken sick. And little Mrs. Beebe
coming in found her thus.
“Polly,” the good woman said, leaning over her, “you poor, pretty
creeter, you; I'm goin' to tell you somethin'--there, there, just to
think! Joel's goin' to get well!”
“Oh, Mrs. Beebe!” cried Polly, tumbling over in a heap on the floor, her
face, as much as could be seen under the bandage, in a perfect glow, “Is
he, really?”
“Yes, to be sure; the danger's all over now,” said the little old lady,
inwardly thinking--“If I hadn't a-come!”
“Well, then, the Lord wants him to,” cried Polly, in rapture; “don't he,
Mrs. Beebe?”
“To be sure--to be sure,” repeated the kind friend, only half
understanding.
“Well, I don't care about my eyes, then,” cried Polly; and to Mrs.
Beebe's intense astonishment and dismay, she spun round and round in the
middle of the floor.
“Oh, Polly, Polly!” the little old lady cried, running up to her, “do
stop! the doctor wouldn't let you! he wouldn't really, you know! it'll
all go to your eyes.”
“I don't care,” repeated Polly, in the middle of a spin; but she
stopped obediently; “seems as if I just as soon be blind as not; it's so
beautiful Joey's going to get well!”
SUNSHINE AGAIN
But as Joel was smitten down suddenly, so he came up quickly, and his
hearty nature asserted itself by rapid strides toward returning health;
and one morning he astonished them all by turning over suddenly and
exclaiming:
“I want something to eat!”
“Bless the Lord!” cried Mrs. Pepper, “now he's going to live!”
“But he mustn't eat,” protested Mrs. Beebe, in great alarm, trotting for
the cup of gruel. “Here, you pretty creeter you, here's something nice.”
And she temptingly held the spoon over Joel's mouth; but with a grimace
he turned away.
“Oh, I want something to eat! some gingerbread or some bread and
butter.”
“Dear me!” ejaculated Mrs. Beebe. “Gingerbread!” Poor Mrs. Pepper saw
the hardest part of her trouble now before her, as she realized that the
returning appetite must be fed only on strengthening food; for where it
was to come from she couldn't tell.
“The Lord only knows where we'll get it,” she groaned within herself.
Yes, He knew. A rap at the door, and little David ran down to find the
cause.
“Oh, mammy,” he said, “Mrs. Henderson sent it--see! see!” And in the
greatest excitement he placed in her lap a basket that smelt savory and
nice even before it was opened. When it was opened, there lay a little
bird delicately roasted, and folded in a clean napkin; also a glass of
jelly, crimson and clear.
“Oh, Joey,” cried Mrs. Pepper, almost overwhelmed with joy, “see what
Mrs. Henderson sent you! now you can eat fit for a king!”
That little bird certainly performed its mission in life; for as Mrs.
Beebe said, “It just touched the spot!” and from that very moment Joel
improved so rapidly they could hardly believe their eyes.
“Hoh! I haven't been sick!” he cried on the third day, true to his
nature. “Mammy, I want to get up.”
“Oh, dear, no! you mustn't, Joel,” cried Mrs. Pepper in a fright,
running up to him as he was preparing to give the bedclothes a lusty
kick; “you'll send 'em in.”
“Send what in?” asked Joel, looking up at his mother in terror, as the
dreadful thought made him pause.
“Why, the measles, Joey; they'll all go in if you get out.”
“How they goin' to get in again, I'd like to know?” asked Joel, looking
at the little red spots on his hands in incredulity; say, ma!
“Well, they will,” said his mother, “as you'll find to your sorrow if
you get out of bed.”
“Oh, dear,” said Joel, beginning to whimper, as he drew into bed again,
“when can I get up, mammy!”
“Oh, in a day or two,” responded Mrs. Pepper, cheerfully; “you're
getting on so finely you'll be as smart as a cricket! Shouldn't you
say he might get up in a day or two, Mrs. Beebe?” she appealed to that
individual who was knitting away cheerily in the corner.
“Well, if he keeps on as he's begun, I shouldn't know what to think,”
replied Mrs. Beebe. “It beats all how quick he's picked up. I never see
anything like it, I'm sure!”
And as Mrs. Beebe was a great authority in sickness, the old, sunny
cheeriness began to creep into the brown house once more, and to bubble
over as of yore.
“Seems as if 'twas just good to live,” said Mrs. Pepper, thankfully
once, when her thoughts were too much for her. “I don't believe I shall
ever care how poor we are,” she continued, “as long as we're together.”
“And that's just what the Lord meant, maybe,” replied good Mrs. Beebe,
who was preparing to go home.
Joel kept the house in a perfect uproar all through his getting well.
Mrs. Pepper observed one day, when he had been more turbulent than
usual, that she was “almost worn to a thread.”
“Twasn't anything to take care of you, Joe,” she added, “when you were
real sick, because then I knew where you were; but--well, you won't ever
have the measles again, I s'pose, and that's some comfort!”
Little David, who had been nearly stunned by the sickness that had laid
aside his almost constant companion, could express his satisfaction and
joy in no other way than by running every third minute and begging to do
something for him. And Joel, who loved dearly to be waited on, improved
every opportunity that offered; which Mrs. Pepper observing, soon put a
stop to.
“You'll run his legs off, Joel,” at last she said, when he sent David
the third time down to the wood-pile for a stick of just the exact
thickness, and which the little messenger declared wasn't to be found.
“Haven't you any mercy? You've kept him going all day, too,” she added,
glancing at David's pale face.
“Oh, mammy,” panted David, “don't; I love to go. Here Joe, is the best I
could find,” handing him a nice smooth stick.
“I know you do,” said his mother; “but Joe's getting better now, and he
must learn to spare you.”
“I don't want to spare folks,” grumbled Joel, whittling away with
energy; “I've been sick--real sick,” he added, lifting his chubby face
to his mother to impress the fact.
“I know you have,” she cried, running to kiss her boy; “but now, Joe,
you're most well. To-morrow I'm going to let you go down-stairs; what do
you think of that!”
“Hooray!” screamed Joel, throwing away the stick and clapping his hands,
forgetting all about his serious illness, “that'll be prime!”
“Aren't you too sick to go, Joey?” asked Mrs. Pepper, mischievously.
“No, I'm not sick,” cried Joel, in the greatest alarm, fearful his
mother meant to take back the promise; “I've never been sick. Oh, mammy!
you know you'll let me go, won't your?”
“I guess so,” laughed his mother.
“Come on, Phron,” cried Joel, giving her a whirl.
David, who was too tired for active sport, sat on the floor and watched
them frolic in great delight.
“Mammy,” said he, edging up to her side as the sport went on, “do you
know, I think it's just good--it's--oh, it's so frisky since Joe got
well, isn't it, mammy?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Pepper, giving him a radiant look in return for
his; “and when Polly's around again with her two eyes all right--well, I
don't know what we shall do, I declare!”
“Boo!” cried a voice, next morning, close to Polly's elbow, unmistakably
Joel's.
“Oh, Joel Pepper!” she cried, whirling around, “is that really you!”
“Yes,” cried that individual, confidently, “it's I; oh, I say, Polly,
I've had fun up-stairs, I tell you what!”
“Poor boy!” said Polly, compassionately.
“I wasn't a poor boy,” cried Joel, indignantly; “I had splendid things
to eat; oh, my!” and he closed one eye and smacked his lips in the
delightful memory.
“I know it,” said Polly, “and I'm so glad, Joel.”
“I don't suppose I'll ever get so many again,” observed Joel,
reflectively, after a minute's pause, as one and another of the wondrous
delicacies rose before his mind's eye; “not unless I have the measles
again--say, Polly, can't I have 'em again?”
“Mercy, no!” cried Polly, in intense alarm, “I hope not.”
“Well, I don't,” said Joel, “I wish I could have 'em sixty--no--two
hundred times, so there!”
“Well, mammy couldn't take care of you,” said Ben; “you don't know what
you're sayin', Joe.”
“Well, then, I wish I could have the things without the measles,” said
Joel, willing to accommodate; “only folks won't send 'em,” he added, in
an injured tone.
“Polly's had the hardest time of all,” said her mother, affectionately
patting the bandage.
“I think so too,” put in Ben; “if my eyes were hurt I'd give up.”
“So would I,” said David; and Joel, to be in the fashion, cried also, “I
know I would;” while little Phronsie squeezed up to Polly's side, “And
I, too.”
“Would what, Puss?” asked Ben, tossing her up high. “Have good things,”
cried the child, in delight at understanding the others, “I would
really, Ben,” she cried, gravely, when they all screamed.
“Well, I hope so,” said Ben, tossing her higher yet. “Don't laugh at
her, boys,” put in Polly; “we're all going to have good times now,
Phronsie, now we've got well.”
“Yes,” laughed the child from her high perch; “we aren't ever goin' to
be sick again, ever--any more,” she added impressively.
The good times were coming for Polly--coming pretty near, and she
didn't know it! All the children were in the secret; for as Mrs. Pepper
declared, “They'd have to know it; and if they were let into the secret
they'd keep it better.”
So they had individually and collectively been intrusted with the
precious secret, and charged with the extreme importance of “never
letting any one know,” and they had been nearly bursting ever since with
the wild desire to impart their knowledge.
“I'm afraid I shall tell,” said David, running to his mother at last;
“oh, mammy, I don't dare stay near Polly, I do want to tell so bad.”
“Oh, no, you won't, David,” said his mother encouragingly, “when you
know mother don't want you to; and besides, think how Polly'll look when
she sees it.”
“I know,” cried David in the greatest rapture, “I wouldn't tell for all
the world! I guess she'll look nice, don't you mother?” and he laughed
in glee at the thought.
“Poor child! I guess she will!” and then Mrs. Pepper laughed too, till
the little old kitchen rang with delight at the accustomed sound.
The children all had to play “clap in and clap out” in the bedroom while
it came; and “stage coach,” too--“anything to make a noise,” Ben said.
And then after they got nicely started in the game, he would be missing
to help about the mysterious thing in the kitchen, which was safe since
Polly couldn't see him go on account of her bandage. So she didn't
suspect in the least. And although the rest were almost dying to be
out in the kitchen, they conscientiously stuck to their bargain to keep
Polly occupied. Only Joel would open the door and peep once; and then
Phronsie behind him began. “Oh, I see the sto----” but David swooped
down on her in a twinkling, and smothered the rest by tickling her.
Once they came very near having the whole thing pop out. “Whatever is
that noise in the kitchen?” asked Polly, as they all stopped to
take breath after the scuffle of “stage coach.” “It sounds just like
grating.”
“I'll go and see,” cried Joel, promptly; and then he flew out where his
mother and Ben and two men were at work on a big, black thing in the
corner. The old stove, strange to say, was nowhere to be seen! Something
else stood in its place, a shiny, black affair, with a generous supply
of oven doors, and altogether such a comfortable, home-like look about
it, as if it would say--“I'm going to make sunshine in this house!”
“Oh, Joel,” cried his mother, turning around on him with very black
hands, “you haven't told!”
“No,” said Joel, “but she's hearin' the noise, Polly is.”
“Hush!” said Ben, to one of the men.
“We can't put it up without some noise,” the man replied, “but we'll be
as still as we can.”
“Isn't it a big one, ma?” asked Joel, in the loudest of stage whispers,
that Polly on the other side of the door couldn't have failed to hear if
Phronsie hadn't laughed just then.
“Go back, Joe, do,” said Ben, “play tag--anything,” he implored, “we'll
be through in a few minutes.”
“It takes forever!” said Joel, disappearing within the bedroom door.
Luckily for the secret, Phronsie just then ran a pin sticking up on the
arm of the old chair, into her finger; and Polly, while comforting her,
forgot to question Joel. And then the mother came in, and though she had
ill-concealed hilarity in her voice, she kept chattering and bustling
around with Polly's supper to such an extent that there was no chance
for a word to be got in.
Next morning it seemed as if the “little brown house,” would turn inside
out with joy.
“Oh, mammy!” cried Polly, jumping into her arms the first thing, as Dr.
Fisher untied the bandage, “my eyes are new! just the same as if I'd
just got 'em! Don't they look different?” she asked, earnestly, running
to the cracked glass to see for herself.
“No,” said Ben, “I hope not; the same brown ones, Polly.”
“Well,” said Polly, hugging first one and then another, “everybody looks
different through them, anyway.”
“Oh,” cried Joel, “come out into the kitchen, Polly; it's a great deal
better out there.”
“May I?” asked Polly, who was in such a twitter looking at everything
that she didn't know which way to turn.
“Yes,” said the doctor, smiling at her.
“Well, then,” sang Polly, “come mammy, we'll go first; isn't it just
lovely--oh, MAMMY!” and Polly turned so very pale, and looked as if she
were going to tumble right over, that Mrs. Pepper grasped her arm in
dismay.