hugely as the children, when a heavy step sounded in the middle of the
room, and a voice spoke in such a tone that everybody skipped.
“Well, I should like to know what all this means! I've been all over the
house, and not a trace of anybody could I find.”
“Oh father!” cried Mrs. Whitney. “Van, dear, get up and get grandpapa a
chair.”
“No, no!” said the old gentleman, waving him off impatiently. “I'm not
going to stay; I must go and lie down. My head is in a bad condition
to-day; very bad indeed,” he added.
“Oh!” said Phronsie, popping up her head and looking at him. “I must get
right down.”
“What's the matter, Phronsie?” asked Mrs. Pepper, trying to hold her
back.
“Oh, but I must,” said Phronsie, energetically wriggling. “My poor sick
man wants me, he does.” And flying out of her mother's arms, she ran up
to Mr. King, and standing on tiptoe, said softly, “I'll rub your head,
grandpa dear, poor sick man; yes I will.”
“And you're the best child,” cried the old gentleman, catching her
up and marching over to the other side of the room where there was a
lounging chair. “There now, you and I, Phronsie, will stay by ourselves.
Then my head will feel better.”
And he sat down and drew her into his arms.
“Does it ache very bad?” said Phronsie, in a soft little voice. Then
reaching up she began to pat and smooth it gently with one little hand,
“Very bad, dear grandpa?”
“It won't,” said the old gentleman, “if you only keep on taking care of
it, little Phronsie.”
“Then,” said the child, perfectly delighted, “I'm going to take all care
of you, grandpa, always!”
“So you shall, so you shall!” cried Mr. King, no less delighted than she
was. “Mrs. Pepper!”
“Sir?” said Mrs. Pepper, trying to answer, which she couldn't do very
well surrounded as she was by the crowd of little chatterers. “Yes, Sir;
excuse me what is it, sir?”
“We've got to come to an understanding about this thing,” said the old
gentleman, “and I can't talk much to-day, because my headache won't
allow it.”
Here the worried look came into Phronsie's face again, and she began to
try to smooth his head with both little hands.
“And so I must say it all in as few words as possible,” he continued.
“What is it, sir?” again asked Mrs. Pepper, wonderingly.
“Well, the fact is, I've got to have somebody who will keep this house.
Now Marian, not a word!” as he saw symptoms of Mrs. Whitney's joining
in the conversation. “You've been good; just as good as can be under the
circumstances; but Mason will be home in the fall, and then I suppose
you'll have to go with him. Now I,” said the old gentleman, forgetting
all about his head, and straightening himself up suddenly in the chair,
“am going to get things into shape, so that the house will be kept for
all of us; so that we can come or go. And how can I do it better than to
have the Peppers--you, Mrs. Pepper, and all your children--come here and
live, and--”
“Oh, father!” cried Jasper, rushing up to him; and flinging his arms
around his neck, he gave him such a hug as he hadn't received for many a
day.
“Goodness, Jasper!” cried his father, feeling of his throat. “How can
you express your feelings so violently! And, besides, you interrupt.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Jasper, swallowing his excitement, and trying to
control his eagerness.
“Do you say yes, Mrs. Pepper?” queried the old gentleman impatiently.
“I must get this thing fixed up to-day. I'm really too ill to be worried
ma'am.”
“Why sir,” stammered Mrs. Pepper, “I don't know what to say. I couldn't
think of imposing all my children on you, and--”
“Imposing! Who's talking of imposing!” said Mr. King in a loud key.
“I want my house kept; will you live here and keep it? That is the
question.”
“But sir,” began Mrs. Pepper again, “you don't think--”
“I do think; I tell you, ma'am, I do think,” snapped the old gentleman.
“It's just because I have thought that I've made up my mind. Will you do
it Mrs. Pepper?”
“What are you goin' to do, mamsie?” asked Joel quickly.
“I don't know as I'm going to do anything yet,” said poor Mrs. Pepper,
who was almost stunned.
“To come here and live!” cried Jasper, unable to keep still any
longer--and springing to the children. “Don't you want to, Joe?”
“To live!” screamed Joel. “Oh whickety, yes! Do ma, do come here and
live--do!”
“To live?” echoed Phronsie, over in the old gentleman's lap. “In this
be-yew-ti-ful place? Oh, oh!”
“Oh, mamsie!” that was all Polly could say.
And even Ben had his arms around his mother's neck, whispering “Do” into
her ear, while little Davie got into her lap and teased her with all his
might.
“What shall I do!” cried the poor woman. “Did ever anybody see the
like?”
“It's the very best thing you could possibly do,” cried the old
gentleman. “Don't you see it's for the children's advantage? They'll get
such educations, Mrs. Pepper, as you want for them. And it accommodates
me immensely. What obstacle can there be to it?”
“If I was only sure 'twas best?” said Mrs. Pepper doubtfully.
“Oh, dear Mrs. Pepper,” said Mrs. Whitney, laying her hand on hers. “Can
you doubt it?”
“Then,” said Mr. King, getting up, but still holding on to Phronsie,
“we'll consider it settled. This is your home, children,” he said,
waving his hand at the five little Peppers in a bunch. And having thus
summarily disposed of the whole business, he marched out with Phronsie
on his shoulder.
POLLY'S DISMAL MORNING
Everything had gone wrong with Polly that day. It began with her boots.
Of all things in the world that tried Polly's patience most were the
troublesome little black buttons that originally adorned those useful
parts of her clothing, and that were fondly supposed to be there when
needed. But they never were. The little black things seemed to be
invested with a special spite, for one by one they would hop off on the
slightest provocation, and go rolling over the floor, just when she was
in her most terrible hurry, compelling her to fly for needle and thread
on the instant. For one thing Mrs. Pepper was very strict about--and
that was, Polly should do nothing else till the buttons were all on
again, and the boots buttoned up firm and snug.
“Oh dear!” said Polly, sitting down on the floor, and pulling on her
stockings. “There now, see that hateful old shoe, mamsie!” And she
thrust out one foot in dismay.
“What's the matter with it?” said Mrs. Pepper straightening the things
on the bureau. “You haven't worn it out already, Polly?”
“Oh no,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “I hope not yet, but it's
these dreadful hateful old buttons!” And she twitched the boot off from
her foot with such an impatient little pull, that three or four more
went flying under the bed. “There now--there's a lot more. I don't care!
I wish they'd all go; they might as well!” she cried, tossing that boot
on the floor in intense scorn, while she investigated the state of the
other one.
“Are they all off?” asked Phronsie, pulling herself up out of a little
heap in the middle of the bed, and leaning over the side, where she
viewed Polly sorrowfully. “Every one, Polly?”
“No,” said Polly, “but I wish they were, mean old things; when I was
going down to play a duet with Jasper! We should have had a good long
time before breakfast. Oh, mayn't I go just once, mamsie? Nobody'll
see me if I tuck my foot under the piano; and I can sew 'em on
afterwards--there'll be plenty of time. Do, just once, mamsie!”
“No,” said Mrs. Pepper firmly, “there isn't any time but now. And piano
playing isn't very nice when you've got to stick your toes under it to
keep your shoes on.”
“Well then,” grumbled Polly, hopping around in her stocking-feet, “where
is the work-basket, mamsie? Oh--here it is on the window-seat.” A rattle
of spools, scissors and necessary utensils showed plainly that Polly had
found it, followed by a jumble of words and despairing ejaculations as
she groped hurriedly under chairs and tables to collect the scattered
contents.
When she got back with a very red face, she found Phronsie, who had
crawled out of bed, sitting down on the floor in her little nightgown
and examining the boot with profound interest.
“I can sew 'em, Polly,” she said, holding up her hand for the big needle
that Polly was trying to thread--“I can now truly; let me, Polly, do!”
“Dear no!” said Polly with a little laugh, beginning to be very much
ashamed. “What could you do with your little mites of hands pulling
this big thread through that old leather? There, scamper into bed again;
you'll catch cold out here.
“Tisn't very cold,” said Phronsie, tucking up her toes under the
night-gown, but Polly hurried her into bed, where she curled herself
up under the clothes, watching her make a big knot. But the knot
didn't stay; for when Polly drew up the long thread triumphantly to
the end--out it flew, and away the button hopped again as if glad to be
released. And then the thread kinked horribly, and got all twisted up in
disagreeable little snarls that took all Polly's patience to unravel.
“It's because you're in such a hurry,” said Mrs. Pepper, who was getting
Phronsie's clothes. And coming over across the room she got down on
one knee, and looked over Polly's shoulder. “There now, let mother see
what's the matter.”
“Oh dear,” said Polly, resigning the needle with a big sigh, and leaning
back to take a good stretch, followed by Phronsie's sympathizing eyes;
“they never'll be on! And there goes the first bell!” as the loud sounds
under Jane's vigorous ringing pealed up over the stairs. “There won't
be time anyway, now! I wish there wasn't such a thing as shoes in the
world!” And she gave a flounce and sat up straight in front of her
mother.
“Polly!” said Mrs. Pepper sternly, deftly fastening the little buttons
tightly into place with quick, firm stitches, “better be glad you've got
them to sew at all. There now, here they are. Those won't come off in a
hurry!”
“Oh, mamsie!” cried Polly, ignoring for a moment the delights of the
finished shoe to fling her arms around her mother's neck and give her a
good hug. “You're just the splendidest, goodest mamsie in all the world.
And I'm a hateful, cross old bear, so I am!” she cried remorsefully,
buttoning herself into her boots. Which done, she flew at the rest of
her preparations and tried to make up for lost time.
But 'twas all of no use. The day seemed to be always just racing ahead
of her, and turning a corner, before she could catch up to it, and Ben
and the other boys only caught dissolving views of her as she flitted
through halls or over stairs.
“Where's Polly?” said Percy at last, coming with great dissatisfaction
in his voice to the library door. “We've called her, I guess a million
times, and she won't hurry.”
“What do you want to have her do?” asked Jasper, looking up from the
sofa where he had flung himself with a book.
“Why, she said she'd make Van and me our sails you know,” said Percy,
holding up a rather forlorn looking specimen of a boat, but which the
boys had carved with the greatest enthusiasm, “and we want her now.”
“Can't you let her alone till she's ready to come?” said Jasper quickly.
“You're always teasing her to do something,” he added.
“I didn't tease,” said Percy indignantly, coming up to the sofa, boat
in hand, to enforce his words. “She said she'd love to do 'em, so there,
Jasper King!”
“Coming! coming!” sang Polly over the stairs, and bobbing into the
library, “Oh--here you are, Percy! I couldn't come before; mamsie wanted
me. Now, says I, for the sails.” And she began to flap out a long white
piece of cotton cloth on the table to trim into just the desired shape.
“That isn't the way,” said Percy, crowding up, the brightness that had
flashed over his face at Polly's appearance beginning to fade. “Hoh!
those won't be good for anything--those ain't sails.”
“I haven't finished,” said Polly, snipping away vigorously, and longing
to get back to mamsie. “Wait till they're done; then they'll be good--as
good as can be!”
“And it's bad enough to have to make them,” put in Jasper, flinging
aside his book and rolling over to watch them, “without having to be
found fault with every second, Percy.”
“They're too big,” said Percy, surveying them critically, and then
looking at his boat.
“Oh, that corner's coming off,” cried Polly cheerfully, giving it a
sharp cut that sent it flying on the floor. “And they won't be too big
when they're done, Percy, all hemmed and everything. There,” as she held
one up for inspection, “that's just the way I used to make Ben's and
mine, when we sailed boats.”
“Is it?” asked Percy, looking with more respect at the piece of cloth
Polly was waving alluringly before him. “Just exactly like it, Polly?”
“Yes,” said Polly, laying it down again for a pattern--“oh, how does
this go--oh--that's it, there--yes, this is just exactly like Bensie's
and mine--that was when I was ever so little; and then I used to make
Joel's and Davie's afterwards and--”
“And were theirs just like this?” asked Percy, laying his hand on the
sail she had finished cutting out.
“Pre-cisely,” said Polly, with a pin in her mouth. “Just as like as two
peas, Percy Whitney.”
“Then I like them,” cried Percy, veering round and regarding them with
great satisfaction--as Van bounded in with a torrent of complaints, and
great disappointment in every line of his face.
“Oh now, that's too bad!” he cried, seeing Polly fold up the remaining
bits of cloth, and pick up the scraps on the floor. “And you've gone
and let her cut out every one of 'em, and never told me a word! You're a
mean, old hateful thing, Percy Whitney!”
“Oh don't!” said Polly, on her knees on the floor.
“I forgot--” began Percy, “and she cut 'em so quick--and--”
“And I've been waiting,” said Van, in a loud wrathful key, “and
waiting--and waiting!”
“Never mind, Van,” said Jasper consolingly, getting off from the sofa
and coming up to the table.
“They're done and done beautifully, aren't they?” he said, holding up
one.
But this only proved fresh fuel for the fire of Van's indignation.
“And you shan't have 'em, so!” he cried, making a lunge at the one on
the table, “for I made most of the boat, there!”
“Oh no, you didn't!” cried Percy in the greatest alarm, hanging on to
the boat in his hand. “I cut--all the keel--and the bow--and--”
“Oh dear!” said Polly, in extreme dismay, looking at Jasper. “Come, I'll
tell you what I'll do, boys.”
“What?” said Van, cooling off a little, and allowing Percy to edge into
a corner with the beloved boat and one sail. “What will you, Polly?”
“I'll make you another pair of sails,” said Polly groaning within
herself as she thought of the wasted minutes, “and then you can see me
cut 'em, Van.”
“Will you really,” he said, delight coming all over his flushed face.
“Yes, I will,” cried Polly, “wait a minute till I get some more cloth.”
And she started for the door.
“Oh now, that's too bad!” said Jasper. “To have to cut more of those
tiresome old things! Van, let her off!”
“Oh no, I won't! I won't!” he cried in the greatest alarm, running up to
her as she stood by the door. “You did say so, Polly! You know you did!”
“Of course I did, Vanny,” said Polly, smiling down into his eager face,
“and we'll have a splendid pair in just--one--minute!” she sang.
And so the sails were cut out, and the hems turned down and basted, and
tucked away into Polly's little work-basket ready for the sewing on the
morrow. And then Mr. King came in and took Jasper off with him; and the
two Whitney boys went up to mamma for a story; and Polly sat down in
mamsie's room to tackle her French exercise.
POLLY'S BIG BUNDLE
The room was very quiet; but presently Phronsie strayed in, and seeing
Polly studying, climbed up in a chair by the window to watch the birds
hop over the veranda and pick up worms in the grass beside the carriage
drive. And then came Mrs. Pepper with the big mending basket, and
ensconced herself opposite by the table; and nothing was to be heard but
the “tick, tick” of the clock, and an occasional dropping of a spool
of thread, or scissors, from the busy hands flying in and out among the
stockings.
All of a sudden there was a great rustling in Cherry's cage that swung
in the big window on the other side of the room. And then he set up a
loud and angry chirping, flying up and down, and opening his mouth as if
he wanted to express his mind, but couldn't, and otherwise acting in a
very strange and unaccountable manner.
“Dear me!” said Mrs. Pepper, “what's that?”
“It's Cherry,” said Polly, lifting up her head from “Fasquelle,”
“and--oh, dear me!” and flinging down the pile of books in her lap on a
chair, she rushed across the room and flew up to the cage and began to
wildly gesticulate and explain and shower down on him every endearing
name she could think of.
“What is the matter?” asked her mother, turning around in her chair in
perfect astonishment. “What upon earth, Polly!”
“How could I!” cried Polly, in accents of despair, not heeding her
mother's question. “Oh, mamsie, will he die, do you think?”
“I guess not,” said Mrs. Pepper, laying down her work and coming up to
the cage, while Phronsie scrambled off from her chair and hurried to the
scene. “Why, he does act queer, don't he? P'raps he's been eating too
much?”
“Eating!” said Polly, “oh mamsie, he hasn't had anything.” And she
pointed with shame and remorse to the seed-cup with only a few dried
husks in the very bottom.
“Oh, Polly,” began Mrs. Pepper; but seeing the look on her face, she
changed her tone for one more cheerful. “Well, hurry and get him some
now; he'll be all right, poor little thing, in a minute. There, there,”
she said, nodding persuasively at the cage, “you pretty creature you! so
you sha'n't be starved.”
At the word “starved,” Polly winced as though a pin had been pointed at
her.
“There isn't any, mamsie, in the house,” she stammered; “he had the last
yesterday.”
“And you forgot him to-day?” asked Mrs. Pepper, with a look in her black
eyes Polly didn't like.
“Yes'm,” said poor Polly in a low voice.
“Well, he must have something right away,” said Mrs. Pepper, decidedly.
“That's certain.”
“I'll run right down to Fletcher's and get it,” cried Polly.
“Twon't take me but a minute, mamsie; Jasper's gone, and Thomas, too, so
I've got to go,” she added, as she saw her mother hesitate.
“If you could wait till Ben gets home,” said Mrs. Pepper, slowly. “I'm
most afraid it will rain, Polly.”
“Oh, no, mamsie,” cried Polly, feeling as if she could fly to the ends
of the earth to atone, and longing beside for the brisk walk down town.
Going up to the window she pointed triumphantly to the little bit of
blue sky still visible. “There, now, see, it can't rain yet awhile.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Pepper, while Phronsie, standing in a chair with her
face pressed close to the cage, was telling Cherry through the bars “not
to be hungry, please don't!” which he didn't seem to mind in the least,
but went on screaming harder than ever! “And besides, 'tisn't much use
to wait for Ben. Nobody knows where he'll get shoes to fit himself and
Joe and Davie, in one afternoon! But be sure, Polly, to hurry, for it's
getting late, and I shall be worried about you.
“Oh, mamsie,” said Polly, turning back just a minute, “I know the way to
Fletcher's just as easy as anything. I couldn't get lost.”
“I know you do,” said Mrs. Pepper, “but it'll be dark early on account
of the shower. Well,” she said, pulling out her well-worn purse from her
pocket, “if it does sprinkle, you get into a car, Polly, remember.”
“Oh, yes, I will,” she cried, taking the purse.
“And there's ten cents for your bird seed in that pocket,” said Mrs.
Pepper, pointing to a coin racing away into a corner by itself.
“Yes'm,” said Polly, wild to be off.
“And there's a five-cent piece in that one for you to ride up with,”
said her mother, tying up the purse carefully. “Remember, for you to
ride up with. Well, I guess you better ride up anyway, Polly, come to
think, and then you'll get home all the quicker.”
“Where you going?” asked Phronsie, who on seeing the purse knew there
was some expedition on foot, and beginning to clamber down out of the
chair. “Oh, I want to go too, I do. Take me, Polly!”
“Oh, no. Pet, I can't,” cried Polly, “I've got to hurry like
everything!”
“I can hurry too,” cried Phronsie, drawing her small figure to its
utmost height, “oh, so fast, Polly!”
“And it's ever so far,” cried Polly, in despair, as she saw the small
under lip of the child begin to quiver. “Oh, dear me, mamsie, what shall
I do!”
“Run right along,” said Mrs. Pepper, briskly. “Now, Phronsie, you and I
ought to take care of Cherry, poor thing.”
At this Phronsie turned and wiped away two big tears, while she gazed up
at the cage in extreme commiseration.
“I guess I'll give him a piece of bread,” said Mrs. Pepper to herself.
At this word “bread,” Polly, who was half way down the hall, came
running back.
“Oh, mamsie, don't,” she said. “It made him sick before, don't you know
it did--so fat and stuffy.”
“Well, hurry along then,” said Mrs. Pepper, and Polly was off.
Over the ground she sped, only intent on reaching the bird store, her
speed heightened by the dark and rolling bank of cloud that seemed to
shut right down suddenly over her and envelop her warningly.
“It's good I've got the money to ride up with,” she thought to herself,
hurrying along through the busy streets, filled now with anxious crowds
homeward rushing to avoid the threatening shower. “Well, here I am,” she
said with a sigh of relief, as she at last reached Mr. Fletcher's big
bird store.
Here she steadily resisted all temptations to stop and look at the new
arrivals of birds, and to feed the carrier-pigeons who seemed to be
expecting her, and who turned their soft eyes up at her reproachfully
when she failed to pay her respects to them. Even the cunning
blandishments of a very attractive monkey that always had entertained
the children on their numerous visits, failed to interest her now.
Mamsie would be worrying, she knew; and besides, the sight of so many
birds eating their suppers out of generously full seed-cups, only filled
her heart with remorse as she thought of poor Cherry and his empty one.
So she put down her ten cents silently on the counter, and took up the
little package of seed, and went out.
But what a change! The cloud that had seemed but a cloud when she went
in, was now fast descending in big ominous sprinkles that told of a
heavy shower to follow. Quick and fast they came, making everybody fly
to the nearest shelter.
“I don't care,” said Polly to herself, holding fast her little package.
“I'll run and get in the car--then I'll be all right.”
So she went on with nimble footsteps, dodging the crowd, and soon came
to the corner. A car was just in sight--that was fine! Polly put her
hand in her pocket for her purse, to have it all ready--but as quickly
drew it out again and stared wildly at the car, which she allowed to
pass by. Her pocket was empty!
“Oh, dear,” she said to herself, as a sudden gust of wind blew around
the corner, and warned her to move on, “now what shall I do! Well, I
must hurry. Nothing for it but to run now!”
And secretly glad at the chance for a good hearty run along the hard
pavements, a thing she had been longing to do ever since she came to the
city, Polly gathered her bundle of seed up under her arm, and set out
for a jolly race. She was enjoying it hugely, when--a sudden turn of the
corner brought her up against a gentleman, who, having his umbrella down
to protect his face, hadn't seen her till it was too late.
Polly never could tell how it was done; but the first thing she knew she
was being helped up from the wet, slippery pavement by a kind hand; and
a gentleman's voice said in the deepest concern:
“I beg your pardon; it was extremely careless in me.”
“It's no matter,” said Polly, hopping up with a little laugh, and
straightening her hat. “Only--” and she began to look for her parcel
that had been sent spinning.
“What is it?” said the gentleman, bending down and beginning to explore,
too, in the darkness.
“My bundle,” began Polly. “Oh, dear!”
No need to ask for it now! There lay the paper wet and torn, down at
their feet. The seed lay all over the pavement, scattered far and wide
even out to the puddles in the street. And not a cent of money to get
any more with! The rain that was falling around them as they stood there
sent with the sound of every drop such a flood of misery into Polly's
heart!
“What was it, child?” asked the gentleman, peering sharply to find out
what the little shiny things were.
“Bird-seed,” gasped Polly.