pointing to Phronsie.
“Oh, I mean her littlest dolly; she always calls her 'Baby,” said Polly.
“Come, Phronsie, and have your face washed, and a clean apron on.”
When Phronsie could be fairly persuaded that Prince would not run
away during her absence, she allowed herself to be taken off; and soon
re-appeared, her own, dainty little self. Ben, in the meantime, had
been initiating Jasper into the mysteries of cutting the wood, the
tool-house, and all the surroundings of the “little brown house.” They
had received a re-inforcement in the advent of Joel and David, who
stared delightedly at Phronsie's protector, made friends with the dog,
and altogether had had such a thoroughly good time, that Phronsie,
coming back, clapped her hands in glee to hear them.
“I wish mammy was home,” said Polly, polishing up the last cup
carefully.
“Let me put it up,” said Jasper, taking it from her, “it goes up here,
don't it, with the rest?” reaching up to the upper-shelf of the old
cupboard.
“Yes,” said Polly.
“Oh, I should think you'd have real good times!” said the boy,
enviously. “I haven't a single sister or brother.”
“Haven't you?” said Polly, looking at him in extreme pity. “Yes, we do
have real fun,” she added, answering his questioning look; “the house is
just brimful sometimes, even if we are poor.”
“We aren't poor,” said Joel, who never could bear to be pitied. Then,
with a very proud air, he said in a grand way, “At any rate, we aren't
going to be, long, for something's coming!”
“What do you mean, Joey?” asked Ben, while the rest looked equally
amazed.
“Our ships,” said Joel confidently, as if they were right before their
eyes; at which they all screamed!
“See Polly's stove!” cried Phronsie, wishing to entertain in her turn.
“Here 'tis,” running up to it, and pointing with her fat little finger.
“Yes, I see,” cried Jasper, pretending to be greatly surprised; “it's
new, isn't it?”
“Yes,” said the child; “it's very all new; four yesterdays ago!”
And then Polly stopped in sweeping up and related, with many additions
and explanations from the others, the history of the stove, and good Dr.
Fisher (upon whom they all dilated at great length), and the dreadful
measles, and everything. And Jasper sympathized, and rejoiced with them
to their hearts content, and altogether got so very home-like, that they
all felt as if they had known him for a year. Ben neglected his work a
little, but then visitors didn't come every day to the Peppers; so
while Polly worked away at her bread, which she was “going to make like
biscuits,” she said, the audience gathered in the little old kitchen was
in the merriest mood, and enjoyed everything to the fullest extent.
“Do put in another stick, Bensie dear,” said Polly; “this bread won't be
fit for anything!”
“Isn't this fun, though!” cried Jasper, running up to try the oven; “I
wish I could ever bake,” and he looked longingly at the little brown
biscuits waiting their turn out on the table.
“You come out some day,” said Polly, sociably, “and we'll all try
baking--mammy'd like to have you, I know,” feeling sure that nothing
would be too much for Mrs. Pepper to do for the protector of little
Phronsie.
“I will!” cried Jasper, perfectly delighted. “You can't think how
awfully dull it is out in Hingham!”
“Don't you live there?” asked Polly, with a gasp, almost dropping a tin
full of little brown lumps of dough she was carrying to the oven.
“Live there!” cried Jasper; and then he burst out into a merry laugh.
“No, indeed! I hope not! Why, we're only spending the summer there,
father and I, in the hotel.”
“Where's your mother?” asked Joel, squeezing in between Jasper and
his audience. And then they all felt instinctively that a very wrong
question had been asked.
“I haven't any mother,” said the boy, in a low voice.
They all stood quite still for a moment; then Polly said, “I wish you'd
come out sometime; and you may bake--or anything else,” she added; and
there was a kinder ring to her voice than ever.
No mother! Polly for her life, couldn't imagine how anybody could feel
without a mother, but the very words alone smote her heart; and there
was nothing she wouldn't have done to give pleasure to one who had done
so much for them.
“I wish you could see our mother,” she said, gently. “Why, here she
comes now! oh, mamsie, dear,” she cried. “Do, Joe, run and take her
bundle.”
Mrs. Pepper stopped a minute to kiss Phronsie--her baby was dearer than
ever to her now. Then her eye fell on Jasper, who stood respectfully
waiting and watching her with great interest.
“Is this,” she asked, taking it all in at the first glance--the boy with
the honest eyes as Ben had described him--and the big, black dog--“is
this the boy who saved my little girl?”
“Oh, ma'am,” cried Jasper, “I didn't do much; 'twas Prince.”
“I guess you never'll know how much you did do,” said Mrs. Pepper. Then
looking with a long, keen gaze into the boy's eyes that met her own so
frankly and kindly: “I'll trust him,” she said to herself; “a boy with
those eyes can't help but be good.”
“Her eyes are just the same as Polly's,” thought Jasper, “just such
laughing ones, only Polly's are brown,” and he liked her on the spot.
And then, somehow, the hubbub ceased. Polly went on with her work, and
the others separated, and Mrs. Pepper and Jasper had a long talk. When
the mother's eyes fell on Phronsie playing around on the floor, she gave
the boy a grateful smile that he thought was beautiful.
“Well, I declare,” said Jasper, at last, looking up at the old clock in
the corner by the side of the cupboard, “I'm afraid I'll miss the stage,
and then father never'll let me come again. Come, Prince.”
“Oh, don't go,” cried Phronsie, wailing. “Let doggie stay! Oh, make him
stay, mammy!”
“I can't, Phronsie,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling, “if he thinks he ought
to go.”
“I'll come again,” said Jasper, eagerly, “if I may, ma'am.”
He looked up at Mrs. Pepper as he stood cap in hand, waiting for the
answer.
“I'm sure we should be glad if your father'll be willing,” she added;
thinking, proudly, “My children are an honor to anybody, I'm sure,” as
she glanced around on the bright little group she could call her own.
“But be sure, Jasper,” and she laid her hand on his arm as she looked
down into his eyes, “that you father is willing, that's all.”
“Oh, yes, ma'am,” said the boy; “but he will be, I guess, if he feels
well.”
“Then come on Thursday,” said Polly; “and can't we bake something then,
mammy?”
“I'm sure I don't care,” laughed Mrs. Pepper; “but you won't find much
but brown flour and meal to bake with.”
“Well, we can pretend,” said Polly; “and we can cut the cakes with the
heart-shape, and they'll do for anything.
“Oh, I'll come,” laughed Jasper, ready for such lovely fun in the old
kitchen; “look out for me on Thursday, Ben!”
So Jasper and Prince took their leave, all the children accompanying
them to the gate; and then after seeing him fairly started on a smart
run to catch the stage, Prince scampering at his heels, they all began
to sing his praises and to wish for Thursday to come.
But Jasper didn't come! Thursday came and went; a beautiful, bright,
sunny day, but with no signs of the merry boy whom all had begun to
love, nor of the big black dog. The children had made all the needful
preparations with much ostentation and bustle, and were in a state of
excited happiness, ready for any gale. But the last hope had to be given
up, as the old clock ticked away hour after hour. And at last Polly
had to put Phronsie to bed, who wouldn't stop crying enough to eat her
supper at the dreadful disappointment.
“He couldn't come, I know,” said both Ben and Polly, standing staunchly
up for their new friend; but Joel and David felt that he had broken his
word.
“He promised,” said Joel, vindictively.
“I don't believe his father'd let him,” said Polly, wiping away a sly
tear; “I know Jasper'd come, if he could.”
Mrs. Pepper wisely kept her own counsel, simply giving them a kindly
caution:
“Don't you go to judging him, children, till you know.”
“Well, he promised,” said Joel, as a settler.
“Aren't you ashamed, Joel,” said his mother, “to talk about any one
whose back is turned? Wait till he tells you the reason himself.”
Joel hung his head, and then began to tease David in the corner, to make
up for his disappointment.
The next morning Ben had to go to the store after some more meal. As he
was going out rather dismally, the storekeeper, who was also postmaster,
called out, “Oh, halloa, there!”
“What is it?” asked Ben, turning back, thinking perhaps Mr. Atkins
hadn't given him the right change.
“Here,” said Mr. Atkins, stepping up to the Post-office department,
quite smart with its array of boxes and official notices, where Ben had
always lingered, wishing there might be sometime a letter for him--or
some of them. “You've got a sister Polly, haven't you?”
“Yes,” said Ben, wondering what was coming next.
“Well, she's got a letter,” said the postmaster, holding up a nice big
envelope, looking just like those that Ben had so many times wished
for. That magic piece of white paper danced before the boy's eyes for a
minute; then he said, “It can't be for her, Mr. Atkins; why, she's never
had one.”
“Well, she's got one now, sure enough,” said Mr. Atkins; “here 'tis,
plain enough,” and he read what he had no need to study much as it had
already passed examination by his own and his wife's faithful eyes:
“Miss Polly Pepper, near the Turnpike, Badgertown'--that's her, isn't
it?” he added, laying it down before Ben's eyes. “Must be a first time
for everything, you know, my boy!” and he laughed long over his own
joke; “so take it and run along home.” For Ben still stood looking at
it, and not offering to stir.
“If you say so,” said the boy, as if Mr. Atkins had given him something
out of his own pocket; “but I'm afraid 'tisn't for Polly.” Then
buttoning up the precious letter in his jacket, he spun along home as
never before.
“Polly! Polly!” he screamed. “Where is she, mother?”
“I don't know,” said Mrs. Pepper, coming out of the bedroom. “Dear me!
is anybody hurt, Ben?”
“I don't know,” said Ben, in a state to believe anything, “but Polly's
got a letter.”
“Polly got a letter!” cried Mrs. Pepper; “what do you mean, Ben?”
“I don't know,” repeated the boy, still holding out the precious letter;
“but Mr. Atkins gave it to me; where is Polly?”
“I know where she is,” said Joel; “she's up-stairs.” And he flew out in
a twinkling, and just as soon reappeared with Polly scampering after him
in the wildest excitement.
And then the kitchen was in an uproar as the precious missive was put
into Polly's hand; and they all gathered around her, wondering and
examining, till Ben thought he would go wild with the delay.
“I wonder where it did come from,” said Polly, in the greatest anxiety,
examining again the address.
“Where does the postmark say?” asked Mrs. Pepper, looking over her
shoulder.
“It's all rubbed out,” said Polly, peering at it “you can't see
anything.”
“Do open it,” said Ben, “and then you'll find out.”
“But p'raps 'tisn't for me,” said Polly, timidly.
“Well, Mr. Atkins says 'tis,” said Ben, impatiently; “here, I'll open it
for you, Polly.”
“No, let her open it for herself, Ben,” protested his mother.
“But she won't,” said Ben; “do tear it open, Polly.”
“No, I'm goin' to get a knife,” she said.
“I'll get one,” cried Joel, running up to the table drawer; “here's one,
Polly.”
“Oh, dear,” groaned Ben; “you never'll get it open at this rate!”
But at last it was cut; and they all holding their breath, gazed
awe-struck, while Polly drew out the mysterious missive.
“What does it say?” gasped Mrs. Pepper.
“Dear Miss Polly,” began both Ben and Polly in a breath. “Let Polly
read,” said Joel, who couldn't hear in the confusion.
“Well, go on Polly,” said Ben; “hurry!”
“Dear Miss Polly, I was so sorry I couldn't come on Thursday--”
“Oh, it's Jasper! it's Jasper!” cried all the children in a breath.
“I told you so!” cried Ben and Polly, perfectly delighted to find their
friend vindicated fully--“there! Joey Pepper!”
“Well, I don't care,” cried Joe, nothing daunted, “he didn't come,
anyway--do go on, Polly.”
“I was so sorry I couldn't come--” began Polly.
“You read that,” said Joel.
“I know it,” said Polly, “but it's just lovely; 'on Thursday; but my
father was sick, and I couldn't leave him. If you don't mind I'll come
again--I mean I'll come some other day, if it's just as convenient for
you, for I do so want the baking, and the nice time. I forgot to say
that I had a cold, to,' (here Jasper had evidently had a struggle in his
mind whether there should be two o's or one, and he had at last decided
it, by crossing out one) but my father is willing I should come when I
get well. Give my love to all, and especially remember me respectfully
to your mother. Your friend,
“JASPER ELYOT KING.”
“Oh, lovely! lovely!” cried Polly, flying around with the letter in her
hand; “so he is coming!”
Ben was just as wild as she was, for no one knew but Polly just how the
new friend had stepped into his heart. Phronsie went to sleep happy,
hugging “Baby.”
“And don't you think, Baby, dear,” she whispered sleepily, and Polly
heard her say as she was tucking her in, “that Jasper is really comin';
really--and the big, be-you-ti-ful doggie, too!”
PHRONSIE PAYS A DEBT OF GRATITUDE
“And now I tell you,” said Polly, the next day, “let's make Jasper
something; can't we, ma?”
“Oh, do! do!” cried all the other children, “let's; but what'll it be,
Polly?”
“I don't know about this,” interrupted Mrs. Pepper; “I don't see how you
could get anything to him if you could make it.”
“Oh, we could, mamsie,” said Polly, eagerly, running up to her; “for Ben
knows; and he says we can do it.”
“Oh, well, if Ben and you have had your heads together, I suppose it's
all right,” laughed Mrs. Pepper, “but I don't see how you can do it.”
“Well, we can, mother, truly,” put in Ben. “I'll tell you how, and
you'll say it'll be splendid. You see Deacon Blodgett's goin' over to
Hingham, to-morrow; I heard him tell Miss Blodgett so; and he goes right
past the hotel; and we can do it up real nice--and it'll please Jasper
so--do, mammy!”
“And it's real dull there, Jasper says,” put in Polly, persuasively;
“and just think, mammy, no brothers and sisters!” And Polly looked
around on the others.
After that there was no need to say anything more; her mother would have
consented to almost any plan then.
“Well, go on, children,” she said; “you may do it; I don't see but what
you can get 'em there well enough; but I'm sure I don't know what you
can make.”
“Can't we,” said Polly--and she knelt down by her mother's side and put
her face in between the sewing in Mrs. Pepper's lap, and the eyes bent
kindly down on her--“make some little cakes, real cakes I mean? now
don't say no, mammy!” she said, alarmed, for she saw a “no” slowly
coming in the eyes above her, as Mrs. Pepper began to shake her head.
“But we haven't any white flour, Polly,” began her mother. “I know,”
said Polly; “but we'll make 'em of brown, it'll do, if you'll give us
some raisins--you know there's some in the bowl, mammy.”
“I was saving them for a nest egg,” said Mrs. Pepper; meaning at some
future time to indulge in another plum-pudding that the children so
loved.
“Well, do give 'em to us,” cried Polly; “do, ma!”
“I want 'em for a plum-pudding sometime,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“Ow!--” and Joel with a howl sprung up from the floor where he had been
trying to make a cart for “Baby” out of an old box, and joined Mrs.
Pepper and Polly. “No, don't give 'em away, ma!” he screamed; “let's
have our plum-pudding--now, Polly Pepper, you're a-goin' to bake up all
our raisins in nasty little cakes--and--”
“Joey!” commanded Mrs. Pepper, “hush! what word did you say!”
“Well,” blubbered Joel, wiping his tears away with his grimy little
hand, “Polly's--a-goin'--to give--”
“I should rather you'd never have a plum-pudding than to say such
words,” said Mrs. Pepper, sternly, taking up her work again. “And
besides, do you think what Jasper has done for you?” and her face grew
very white around the lips.
“Well, he can have plum-puddings,” said Joel, whimpering, “forever an'
ever, if he wants them--and--and--”
“Well, Joey,” said Polly, “there, don't feel bad,” and she put her arms
around him, and tried to wipe away the tears that still rolled down his
cheeks. “We won't give 'em if you don't want us to; but Jasper's sick,
and there isn't anything for him to do, and--” here she whispered slyly
up into his ear, “don't you remember how you liked folks to send you
things when you had the measles?”
“Yes, I know,” said Joel, beginning to smile through his tears; “wasn't
it fun, Polly?”
“I guess 'twas,” laughed Polly back again, pleased at the return of
sunshine. “Well, Jasper'll be just as pleased as you were, 'cause we
love him and want to do somethin' for him, he was so good to Phronsie.”
“I will, Polly, I will,” cried Joel, completely won over; “do let's make
'em for him; and put 'em in thick; oh! thick as you can;” and determined
to do nothing by halves, Joel ran generously for the precious howl of
raisins, and after setting it on the table, began to help Polly in all
needful preparations.
Mrs. Pepper smiled away to herself to see happiness restored to the
little group. And soon a pleasant hum and bustle went on around the
baking table, the centre of attraction.
“Now,” said Phronsie, coming up to the table and standing on tip-toe to
see Polly measure out the flour, “I'm a-goin' to bake something for my
sick man, I am.”
“Oh, no, Phronsie, you can't,” began Polly.
“Hey?” asked Joel, with a daub of flour on the tip of his chubby nose,
gained by too much peering into Polly's flour-bag. “What did she say,
Polly?” watching her shake the clouds of flour in the sieve.
“She said she was goin' to bake something for Jasper,” said Polly.
“There,” as she whisked in the flour, “now that's done.”
“No, I didn't say Jasper,” said Phronsie; “I didn't say Jasper,” she
repeated, emphatically.
“Why, what did you say, Pet?” asked Polly, astonished, while little
Davie repeated, “What did you say, Phronsie?”
“I said my sick man,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head; “poor sick
man.”
“Who does she mean?” said Polly in despair, stopping a moment her
violent stirring that threatened to overturn the whole cake-bowl.
“I guess she means Prince,” said Joel. “Can't I stir, Polly?”
“Oh, no,” said Polly; “only one person must stir cake.”
“Why?” asked Joel; “why, Polly?”
“Oh, I don't know,” said Polly, “cause 'tis so; never mind now, Joel. Do
you mean Prince, Phronsie?”
“No, I don't mean Princey,” said the child decisively; “I mean my sick
man.”
“It's Jasper's father, I guess she means,” said Mrs. Pepper over in the
corner; “but what in the world!”
“Yes, yes,” cried Phronsie, perfectly delighted at being at last
understood, and hopping on one toe; “my sick man.”
“I shall give up!” said Polly, tumbling over in a chair, with the cake
spoon in her hand, from which a small sticky lump fell on her apron,
which Joel immediately pounced upon and devoured. “What do you want to
bake, Phronsie?” she gasped, holding the spoon sticking up straight, and
staring at the child.
“A gingerbread boy,” said the child, promptly; “he'd like that best;
poor, sick man!” and she commenced to climb up to active preparations.
A LETTER TO JASPER
“Mamsie, what shall we do?” implored Polly of her mother.
“I don't know,” said her mother; “however did that get into her head, do
you suppose?”
“I am sure I can't tell,” said Polly, jumping up and beginning to stir
briskly to make up for lost time. “P'r'aps she heard us talking about
Jasper's having to take care of his sick father, and how hard it must be
to be sick away from home.”
“Yes,” said Phronsie, “but he'll be glad to see my gingerbread boy, I
guess; poor, sick man.”
“Oh, Phronsie,” cried Polly, in great distress, “you aren't ever going
to make a 'gingerbread boy' to-day! see, we'll put in a cunning little
cake for Mr. King--full of raisins, Phronsie; won't that be lovely!”
and Polly began to fill a little scalloped tin with some of the cake
mixture.
“N-no,” said the child, eying it suspiciously; “that isn't like a
'gingerbread boy,' Polly; he'll like that best.”
“Mamsie,” said Polly, “we can't let her make a dreadful, horrid
'gingerbread boy' to send Mr. King! he never'll let Jasper come here
again.”
“Oh, let her,” cried Joel; “she can bake it, and Dave an' I'll eat it,”
and he picked up a raisin that had fallen under the table and began
crunching it with great gusto.
“That wouldn't be fair,” said Polly, gloomily. “Do get her off from it,
mammy.”
“Phronsie,” said Mrs. Pepper, going up back of the child, who sat
patiently in her high chair waiting for Polly to let her begin, “hadn't
you rather wait and give your 'gingerbread boy' to Jasper for his
father, when he comes?”
“Oh, no, no,” cried Phronsie, twisting in her chair in great
apprehension, “I want to send it now, I do.”
“Well, Polly,” said her mother, laughing, “after all it's best, I think,
to let her; it can't do any harm anyway--and instead of Mr. King's
not letting Jasper come, if he's a sensible man that won't make any
difference; and if he isn't, why, then there'd be sure to something come
up sometime to make trouble.”
“Well,” said Polly, “I suppose she's got to; and perhaps,” as a
consoling idea struck her, “perhaps she'll want to eat it up herself
when it's done. Here, Phronsie,” giving her a handful of the cake
mixture, which she stiffened with flour to the right thickness, “there,
you can call that a 'gingerbread boy;' see, won't it make a beautiful
one!”
“You needn't think,” said Mrs. Pepper, seeing Phronsie's delighted face,
and laughing as she went back to her work, “but what that gingerbread
boy'll go?”
When the little cakes were done, eight of them, and set upon the table
for exhibition, they one and all protested that they never saw so fine a
lot. Polly was delighted with the praise they received, and her mother's
commendation that she was “growing a better cook every day.” “How glad
Jasper'll be, won't he, mamsie?” said she.
The children walked around and around the table, admiring and pointing
out the chief points of attraction, as they appeared before their
discriminating eyes.
“I should choose that one,” said Joel, pointing at one which was
particularly plummy, with a raisin standing up on one end with a festive
air, as if to say, “there's lots of us inside, you better believe!”
“I wouldn't,” said Davie, “I'd have that--that's cracked so pretty.”
“So 'tis,” said Mrs. Pepper; “they're all as light as a feather, Polly.”
“But my 'gingerbread boy,” cried Phronsie, running eagerly along with a
particularly ugly looking specimen of a cake figure in her hand, “is the
be-yew-tifullest, isn't it, Polly?”
“Oh, dear,” groaned Polly, “it looks just awfully, don't it, Ben!”
“Hoh, hoh!” laughed Joel in derision; “his leg is crooked, see
Phronsie--you better let Davie an' me have it.”
“No, no,” screamed the child in terror; “that's my sick man's
'gingerbread boy,' it is!”
“Joe, put it down,” said Ben. “Yes, Phronsie, you shall have it; there,
it's all safe;” and he put it carefully into Phronsie's apron, when she
breathed easier.
“And he hasn't but one eye,” still laughed Joel, while little Davie
giggled too.
“He did have two,” said Polly, “but she punched the other in with her
thumb; don't, boys,” she said, aside, “you'll make her feel bad; do stop
laughing. Now, how'll we send the things?”
“Put 'em in a basket,” said Ben; “that's nicest.”
“But we haven't got any basket,” said Polly, “except the potato basket,
and they'd be lost in that.”
“Can't we take your work-basket, mamsie?” asked Ben; “they'd look so
nice in that.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Pepper, “that wouldn't do; I couldn't spare it, and
besides, it's all broken at the side, Ben; that don't look nice.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, sitting down on one of the hard wooden chairs
to think, “I do wish we had things nice to send to sick people.” And her
forehead puckered up in a little hard knot.
“We'll have to do 'em up in a paper, Polly,” said Ben; “there isn't
any other way; they'll look nice in anything, 'cause they are nice,” he
added, comfortingly.
“If we only had some flowers,” said Polly, “that would set 'em off.”
“You're always a-thinkin' of flowers, Polly,” said Ben. “I guess the
cakes'll have to go without 'em.”