stood round in the greatest excitement.
“Why,” cried Phronsie, “it's a stove--don't you know, Polly?” But Polly
gave one plunge across the room, and before anybody could think, she was
down on her knees with her arms flung right around the big, black thing,
and laughing and crying over it, all in the same breath!
And then they all took hold of hands and danced around it like wild
little things; while Dr. Fisher stole out silently--and Mrs. Pepper
laughed till she wiped her eyes to see them go.
“We aren't ever goin' to have any more burnt bread,” sang Polly, all out
of breath.
“Nor your back isn't goin' to break any more,” panted Ben, with a very
red face.
“Hooray!” screamed Joel and David, to fill any pause that might occur,
while Phronsie gurgled and laughed at everything just as it came along.
And then they all danced and capered again; all but Polly, who was
down before the precious stove examining and exploring into ovens and
everything that belonged to it.
“Oh, ma,” she announced, coming up to Mrs. Pepper, who had been obliged
to fly to her sewing again, and exhibiting a very crocky face and a
pair of extremely smutty hands, “it's most all ovens, and it's just
splendid!”
“I know it,” answered her mother, delighted in the joy of her child.
“My! how black you are, Polly!”
“Oh, I wish,” cried Polly, as the thought struck her, “that Dr. Fisher
could see it! Where did he go to, ma?”
“I guess Dr. Fisher has seen it before,” said Mrs. Pepper, and then
she began to laugh. “You haven't ever asked where the stove came from,
Polly.”
And to be sure, Polly had been so overwhelmed that if the stove had
really dropped from the clouds it would have been small matter of
astonishment to her, as long as it had come; that was the main thing!
“Mammy,” said Polly, turning around slowly, with the stove-lifter in her
hand, “did Dr. Fisher bring that stove?”
“He didn't exactly bring it,” answered her mother, “but I guess he knew
something about it.”
“Oh, he's the splendidest, goodest man!” cried Polly, “that ever
breathed! Did he really get us that stove?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, “he would; I couldn't stop him. I don't know
how he found out you wanted one so bad; but he said it must be kept as a
surprise when your eyes got well.”
“And he saved my eyes!” cried Polly, full of gratitude. “I've got a
stove and two new eyes, mammy, just to think!”
“We ought to be good after all our mercies,” said Mrs. Pepper
thankfully, looking around on her little group. Joel was engaged in the
pleasing occupation of seeing how far he could run his head into the
biggest oven, and then pulling it out to exhibit its blackness, thus
engrossing the others in a perfect hubbub.
“I'm going to bake my doctor some little cakes,” declared Polly, when
there was comparative quiet.
“Do, Polly,” cried Joel, “and then leave one or two over.”
“No,” said Polly; “we can't have any, because these must be very nice.
Mammy, can't I have some white on top, just once?” she pleaded.
“I don't know,” dubiously replied Mrs. Pepper; “eggs are dreadful dear,
and--”
“I don't care,” said Polly, recklessly; “I must just once for Dr.
Fisher.”
“I tell you, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “what you might do; you might
make him some little apple tarts--most every one likes them, you know.”
“Well,” said Polly, with a sigh, “I s'pose they'll have to do; but some
time, mammy, I'm going to bake him a big cake, so there!”
A THREATENED BLOW
One day, a few weeks after, Mrs. Pepper and Polly were busy in
the kitchen. Phronsie was out in the “orchard,” as the one scraggy
apple-tree was called by courtesy, singing her rag doll to sleep under
its sheltering branches. But “Baby” was cross and wouldn't go to sleep,
and Phronsie was on the point of giving up, and returning to the house,
when a strain of music made her pause with dolly in her apron. There
she stood with her finger in her mouth, in utter astonishment, wondering
where the sweet sounds came from.
“Oh, Phronsie!” screamed Polly, from the back door, “where are--oh,
here, come quick! it's the beau-ti-fullest!”
“What is it?” eagerly asked the little one, hopping over the stubby
grass, leaving poor, discarded “Baby” on its snubby nose where it
dropped in her hurry.
“Oh, a monkey!” cried Polly; “do hurry! the sweetest little monkey you
ever saw!”
“What is a monkey?” asked Phronsie, skurrying after Polly to the gate
where her mother was waiting for them.
“Why, a monkey's--a--monkey,” explained Polly, “I don't know any
better'n that. Here he is! Isn't he splendid!” and she lifted Phronsie
up to the big post where she could see finely.
“O-oh! ow!” screamed little Phronsie, “see him, Polly! just see him!”
A man with an organ was standing in the middle of the road playing away
with all his might, and at the end of a long rope was a lively little
monkey in a bright red coat and a smart cocked hat. The little creature
pulled off his hat, and with one long jump coming on the fence, he made
Phronsie a most magnificent bow. Strange to say, the child wasn't in the
least frightened, but put out her little fat hand, speaking in gentle
tones, “Poor little monkey! come here, poor little monkey!”
Turning up his little wrinkled face, and glancing fearfully at his
master, Jocko began to grimace and beg for something to eat. The man
pulled the string and struck up a merry tune, and in a minute the monkey
spun around and around at such a lively pace, and put in so many queer
antics that the little audience were fairly convulsed with laughter.
“I can't pay you,” said Mrs. Pepper, wiping her eyes, when at last the
man pulled up the strap whistling to Jocko to jump up, “but I'll give
you something to eat; and the monkey, too, he shall have something for
his pains in amusing my children.”
The man looked very cross when she brought him out only brown bread and
two cold potatoes.
“Haven't you got nothin' better'n that?”
“It's as good as we have,” answered Mrs. Pepper.
The man threw down the bread in the road. But Jocko thankfully ate his
share, Polly and Phronsie busily feeding him; and then he turned and
snapped up the portion his master had left in the dusty road.
Then they moved on, Mrs. Pepper and Polly going back to their work in
the kitchen. A little down the road the man struck up another tune.
Phronsie who had started merrily to tell “Baby” all about it, stopped a
minute to hear, and--she didn't go back to the orchard!
About two hours after, Polly said merrily:
“I'm going to call Phronsie in, mammy; she must be awfully tired and
hungry by this time.”
She sang gayly on the way, “I'm coming, Phronsie, coming--why, where!--”
peeping under the tree.
“Baby” lay on its face disconsolately on the ground--and the orchard was
empty! Phronsie was gone!
“It's no use,” said Ben, to the distracted household and such of the
neighbors as the news had brought hurriedly to the scene, “to look any
more around here--but somebody must go toward Hingham; he'd be likely to
go that way.”
“No one could tell where he would go,” cried Polly, wringing her hands.
“But he'd change, Ben, if he thought folks would think he'd gone there,”
said Mrs. Pepper.
“We must go all roads,” said Ben, firmly; “one must take the stage to
Boxville, and I'll take Deacon Brown's wagon on the Hingham road, and
somebody else must go to Toad Hollow.”
“I'll go in the stage,” screamed Joel, who could scarcely see out of his
eyes, he had cried so; “I'll find--find her--I know.
“Be spry, then, Joe, and catch it at the corner!”
Everybody soon knew that little Phronsie Pepper had gone off with “a
cross organ man and an awful monkey!” and in the course of an hour
dozens of people were out on the hot, dusty roads in search.
“What's the matter?” asked a testy old gentleman in the stage, of Joel
who, in his anxiety to see both sides of the road at once, bobbed the
old gentleman in the face so often as the stage lurched, that at last he
knocked his hat over his eyes.
“My sister's gone off with a monkey,” explained Joel, bobbing over to
the other side, as he thought he caught sight of something pink that
he felt sure must be Phronsie's apron. “Stop! stop! there she is!”
he roared, and the driver, who had his instructions and was fully in
sympathy, pulled up so suddenly that the old gentleman flew over into
the opposite seat.
“Where?”
But when they got up to it Joel saw that it was only a bit of pink
calico flapping on a clothes-line; so he climbed back and away they
rumbled again.
The others were having the same luck. No trace could be found of the
child. To Ben, who took the Hingham road, the minutes seemed like hours.
“I won't go back,” he muttered, “until I take her. I can't see mother's
face!”
But the ten miles were nearly traversed; almost the last hope was gone.
Into every thicket and lurking place by the road-side had he peered--but
no Phronsie! Deacon Brown's horse began to lag.
“Go on!” said Ben hoarsely; “oh, dear Lord, make me find her!”
The hot sun poured down on the boy's face, and he had no cap. What cared
he for that? On and on he went. Suddenly the horse stopped. Ben doubled
up the reins to give him a cut, when “WHOA!” he roared so loud that the
horse in very astonishment gave a lurch that nearly flung him headlong.
But he was over the wheel in a twinkling, and up with a bound to a small
thicket of scrubby bushes on a high hill by the road-side. Here lay a
little bundle on the ground, and close by it a big, black dog; and over
the whole, standing guard, was a boy a little bigger than Ben, with
honest gray eyes. And the bundle was Phronsie!
“Don't wake her up,” said the boy, warningly, as Ben, with a hungry look
in his eyes, leaped up the hill, “she's tired to death!”
“She's my sister!” cried Ben, “our Phronsie!”
“I know it,” said the boy kindly; “but I wouldn't wake her up yet if I
were you. I'll tell you all about it,” and he took Ben's hand which was
as cold as ice.
SAFE
“It's all right, Prince,” the boy added, encouragingly to the big dog
who, lifting his noble head, had turned two big eyes steadily on Ben.
“He's all right! lie down again!”
Then, flinging himself down on the grass, he told Ben how he came to
rescue Phronsie.
“Prince and I were out for a stroll,” said he. “I live over in Hingham,”
pointing to the pretty little town just a short distance before them in
the hollow; “that is,” laughing, “I do this summer. Well, we were out
strolling along about a mile below here on the cross-road; and all of a
sudden, just as if they sprung right up out of the ground, I saw a man
with an organ, and a monkey, and a little girl, coming along the road.
She was crying, and as soon as Prince saw that, he gave a growl, and
then the man saw us, and he looked so mean and cringing I knew there
must be something wrong, and I inquired of him what he was doing with
that little girl, and then she looked up and begged so with her eyes,
and all of a sudden broke away from him and ran towards me screaming--'I
want Polly!' Well, the man sprang after her; then I tell you--” here the
boy forgot his caution about waking Phronsie--“we went for him, Prince
and I! Prince is a noble fellow,” (here the dog's ears twitched very
perceptibly) “and he kept at that man; oh! how he bit him! till he had
to run for fear the monkey would get killed.”
“Was Phronsie frightened?” asked Ben; “she's never seen strangers.”
“Not a bit,” said the boy, cheerily; “she just clung to me like
everything--I only wish she was my sister,” he added impulsively.
“What were you going to do with her if I hadn't come along?” asked Ben.
“Well, I got out on the main road,” said the boy, “because I thought
anybody who had lost her, would probably come through this way; but if
somebody hadn't come, I was going to carry her in to Hingham; and the
father and I'd had to contrive some way to do.”
“Well,” said Ben, as the boy finished and fastened his bright eyes on
him, “somebody did come along; and now I must get her home about as fast
as I can for poor mammy--and Polly!”
“Yes,” said the boy, “I'll help you lift her; perhaps she won't wake
up.”
The big dog moved away a step or two, but still kept his eye on
Phronsie.
“There,” said the boy, brightly, as they laid the child on the wagon
seat; “now when you get in you can hold her head; that's it,” he added,
seeing them both fixed to his satisfaction. But still Ben lingered.
“Thank you,” he tried to say.
“I know,” laughed the boy; “only it's Prince instead of me,” and he
pulled forward the big black creature, who had followed faithfully down
the hill to see the last of it. “To the front, sir, there! We're coming
to see you,” he continued, “if you will let us--where do you live?”
“Do come,” said Ben, lighting up, for he was just feeling he couldn't
bear to look his last on the merry, honest face; “anybody'll tell you
where Mrs. Pepper lives.”
“Is she a Pepper?” asked the boy, laughing, and pointing to the
unconscious little heap in the wagon; “and are you a Pepper?”
“Yes,” said Ben, laughing too. “There are five of us besides mother.
“Jolly! that's something like! Good-bye! Come on, Prince!” Then away
home to mother! Phronsie never woke up or turned over once till she was
put, a little pink sleepy heap, into her mother's arms. Joel was there,
crying bitterly at his forlorn search. The testy old gentleman in the
seat opposite had relented and ordered the coach about and brought
him home in an outburst of grief when all hope was gone. And one after
another they all had come back, disheartened, to the distracted mother.
Polly alone, clung to hope!
“Ben will bring her, mammy; I know God will let him,” she whispered.
But when Ben did bring her, Polly, for the second time in her life,
tumbled over with a gasp, into old Mrs. Bascom's lap.
Home and mother! Little Phronsie slept all that night straight through.
The neighbors came in softly, and with awestruck visages stole into the
bedroom to look at the child; and as they crept out again, thoughts
of their own little ones tugging at their hearts, the tears would drop
unheeded.
NEW FRIENDS
Up the stairs of the hotel, two steps at a time, ran a boy with a big,
black dog at his heels. “Come on, Prince; soft, now,” as they neared a
door at the end of the corridors.
It opened into a corner room overlooking “the Park,” as the small
open space in front of the hotel was called. Within the room there was
sunshine and comfort, it being the most luxurious one in the house,
which the proprietor had placed at the disposal of this most exacting
guest. He didn't look very happy, however--the gentleman who sat in an
easy chair by the window; a large, handsome old gentleman, whose whole
bearing showed plainly that personal comfort had always been his, and
was, therefore, neither a matter of surprise nor thankfulness.
“Where have you been?” he asked, turning around to greet the boy who
came in, followed by Prince.
“Oh, such a long story, father!” he cried, flushed; his eyes sparkling
as he flung back the dark hair from his forehead. “You can't even
guess!”
“Never mind now,” said the old gentleman, testily; “your stories are
always long; the paper hasn't come--strange, indeed, that one must needs
be so annoyed! do ring that bell again.”
So the bell was pulled; and a porter popped in his head.
“What is it, sir?”
“The paper,” said the old gentleman, irritably; “hasn't it come yet?”
“No, sir,” said the man; and then he repeated, “taint in yet, please,
sir.”
“Very well--you said so once; that's all,” waving his hand; then as the
door closed, he said to his son, “That pays one for coming to such an
out-of-the-way country place as this, away from papers--I never will do
it again.”
As the old gentleman, against the advice of many friends who knew his
dependence on externals, had determined to come to this very place, the
boy was not much startled at the decisive words. He stood very quietly,
however, until his father finished. Then he said:
“It's too bad, father! supposing I tell you my story? Perhaps you'll
enjoy hearing it while you wait--it's really quite newspaperish.”
“Well, you might as well tell it now, I suppose,” said the old
gentleman; “but it is a great shame about that paper! to advertise that
morning papers are to be obtained--it's a swindle, Jasper! a complete
swindle!” and the old gentleman looked so very irate that the boy
exerted himself to soothe him.
“I know,” he said; “but they can't help the trains being late.”
“They shouldn't have the trains late,” said his father, unreasonably.
“There's no necessity for all this prating about 'trains late.' I'm
convinced it's because they forgot to send down for the papers till they
were all sold.”
“I don't believe that's it, father,” said the boy, trying to change the
subject; “but you don't know how splendid Prince has been, nor--” “And
then such a breakfast!” continued the old gentleman.
“My liver certainly will be in a dreadful state if these things
continue!” And he got up, and going to the corner of the room, opened
his medicine chest, and taking a box of pills therefrom, he swallowed
two, which done, he came back with a somewhat easier expression to his
favorite chair.
“He was just splendid, father,” began the boy; “he went for him, I tell
you!”
“I hope, Jasper, your dog has not been doing anything violent,” said the
old gentleman. “I must caution you; he'll get you into trouble some day;
and then there'll be a heavy bill to pay; he grows more irritable every
day.”
“Irritable!” cried the boy, flinging his arms around the dog's neck, who
was looking up at the old gentleman in high disdain. “He's done the most
splendid thing you ever saw! Why, he saved a little girl, father, from
a cross old organ-man, and he drove that man--oh! you ought to have seen
him run!”
And now that it was over, Jasper put back his head and laughed long and
loud as he remembered the rapid transit of the musical pair.
“Well, how do you know she wasn't the man's daughter?” asked his father,
determined to find fault someway. “You haven't any business to go around
the country setting your dog on people. I shall have an awful bill
to pay some day, Jasper--an awful bill!” he continued, getting up and
commencing to pace up and down the floor in extreme irritation.
“Father,” cried the boy, half laughing, half vexed, springing to his
side, and keeping step with him, “we found her brother; he came along
when we were by the side of the road. We couldn't go any further, for
the poor little thing was all tired out. And don't you think they live
over in Badgertown, and--”
“Well,” said the old gentleman, pausing in his walk, and taking out
his watch to wonder if that paper would ever come, “she had probably
followed the organ-man; so it served her right after all.”
“Well, but father,” and the boy's dark eyes glowed, “she was such a
cunning little thing! she wasn't more than four years old; and she had
such a pretty little yellow head; and she said so funny--'I want Polly.”
“Did she?” said the old gentleman, getting interested in spite of
himself; “what then?”
“Why, then, sir,” said Jasper, delighted at his success in diverting
his thoughts, “Prince and I waited--and waited; and I was just going to
bring her here to ask you what we should do, when--” “Dear me!” said
the old gentleman, instinctively starting back as if he actually saw the
forlorn little damsel, “you needn't ever bring such people here, Jasper!
I don't know what to do with them, I'm sure!”
“Well,” said the boy, laughing, “we didn't have to, did we, Prince?”
stroking the big head of the dog who was slowly following the two as
they paced up and down, but keeping carefully on the side of his master;
“for just as we really didn't know what to do, don't you think there was
a big wagon came along, drawn by the ricketiest old horse, and a boy in
the wagon looking both sides of the road, and into every bush, just as
wild as he could be, and before I could think, hardly, he spied us, and
if he didn't jump! I thought he'd broken his leg--”
“And I suppose he just abused you for what you had done,” observed the
old gentleman, petulantly; “that's about all the gratitude there is in
this world.”
“He didn't seem to see me at all,” said the boy. “I thought he'd eat the
little girl up.”
“Ought to have looked out for her better then,” grumbled the old
gentleman, determined to find fault with somebody.
“And he's a splendid fellow, I just know,” cried Jasper, waxing
enthusiastic; “and his name is Pepper.”
“Pepper!” repeated his father; “no nice family ever had the name of
Pepper!”
“Well, I don't care,” and Jasper's laugh was loud and merry; “he's
nice anyway,--I know; and the little thing's nice; and I'm going to see
them--can't I, father?”
“Dear me!” said his father; “how can you, Jasper? You do have the
strangest tastes I ever saw!”
“It's dreadful dull here,” pleaded the boy, touching the right string;
“you know that yourself, father, and I don't know any boys around here;
and Prince and I are so lonely on our walks--do permit me, father!”
The old gentleman, who really cared very little about it, turned away,
muttering, “Well, I'm sure I don't care; go where you like,” when a
knock was heard at the door, and the paper was handed in, which broke up
the conversation, and restored good humor.
The next day but one, Ben was out by the wood-pile, trying to break up
some kindlings for Polly who was washing up the dishes, and otherwise
preparing for the delights of baking day.
“Hulloa!” said a voice bethought he knew.
He turned around to see the merry-faced boy, and the big, black dog who
immediately began to wag his tail as if willing to recognize him.
“You see I thought you'd never look round,” said the boy with a laugh.
“How's the little girl?”
“Oh! you have come, really,” cried Ben, springing over the wood-pile
with a beaming face. “Polly!”
But Polly was already by the door, with dish-cloth in hand. “This is my
sister, Polly,” began Ben--and then stopped, not knowing the boy's name.
“I'm Jasper King,” said the boy, stepping upon the flat stone by Polly's
side; and taking off his cap, he put out his hand. “And this is Prince,”
he added.
Polly put her hand in his, and received a hearty shake; and then she
sprang over the big stove, dish-cloth and all, and just flung her arms
around the dog's neck.
“Oh, you splendid fellow, you!” said she. “Don't you know we all think
you're as good as gold?”
The dog submitted to the astonishing proceeding as if he liked it, while
Jasper, delighted with Polly's appreciation, beamed down on them, and
struck up friendship with her on the instant.
“Now, I must call Phronsie,” said Polly, getting up, her face as red as
a rose.
“Is her name Phronsie?” asked the boy with interest.
“No, it's Sophronia,” said Polly, “but we call her Phronsie.”
“What a very funny name,” said Jasper, “Sophronia is, for such a little
thing--and yours is Polly, is it not?” he asked, turning around suddenly
on her.
“Yes,” said Polly; “no, not truly Polly; it's Mary, my real name is--but
I've always been Polly.”
“I like Polly best, too,” declared Jasper, “it sounds so nice.”
“And his name is Ben,” said Polly.
“Ebenezer, you mean,” said Ben, correcting her.
“Well, we call him Ben,” said Polly; “it don't ever seem as if there was
any Ebenezer about it.”
“I should think not,” laughed Jasper.
“Well, I must get Phronsie,” again said Polly, running back into the
bedroom, where that small damsel was busily engaged in washing “Baby”
in the basin of water that she had with extreme difficulty succeeded in
getting down on the floor. She had then, by means of a handful of soft
soap, taken from Polly's soap-bowl during the dish-washing, and a bit of
old cotton, plastered both herself and “Baby” to a comfortable degree of
stickiness.
“Phronsie,” said Polly--“dear me! what you doing? the big dog's out
there, you know, that scared the naughty organ-man; and the boy--” but
before the words were half out, Phronsie had slipped from under her
hands, and to Polly's extreme dismay, clattered out into the kitchen.
“Here she is!” cried Jasper, meeting her at the door. The little soapy
hands were grasped, and kissing her--“Ugh!” he said, as the soft soap
plentifully spread on her face met his mouth.
“Oh, Phronsie! you shouldn't,” cried Polly, and then they all burst out
into a peal of laughter at Jasper's funny grimaces.
“She's been washing 'Baby,” explained Polly, wiping her eyes, and
looking at Phronsie who was hanging over Prince in extreme affection.
Evidently Prince still regarded her as his especial property.