chapter i. the little brown house.
“o children!” said phronsie softly, “what are you doing?”
“they’re pulling all the hair out of my mamsie’s cushion,” shouted king-fisher, in a tone of
anger; and, struggling with the two delinquents on the floor, he bestowed several smart pulls on
the chubby shoulders bent over their task.
“oh, oh!” cried phronsie, dropping needle and scissors, and the little sheer lawn bit destined to
adorn mamsie’s head, the lace trailing off by itself across the old kitchen floor, as she sprang to
her feet. “how can you, king?”
“stop pulling all the hair out of my mamsie’s cushion, barby,” screamed king-fisher, very red in
the face. “look at that, now! i’ll bite you, if you don’t stop!”
“o king!” phronsie seized his arm, as he began to set his white teeth on the little fat arm.
barby sat still in the middle of the floor, both hands grasped tightly around the old calico cushion,
which she huddled close to her small bosom. “go ’way!” she commanded, her blue eyes flashing
at him from her tangle of brown hair. “go right ’way, bad, naughty boy!”
“i’ll take care of him. there, now, see if you come biting round here, mister king!” the other
figure deserted the old hair cushion pulled out of the rocking-chair, and, throwing itself on the
unsuspecting king, rolled over and over, pommelling and puffing furiously.
“o children, children!” cried phronsie in great dismay. just then the door opened, and in walked
old mr. king, bending his handsome white head to clear the doorway.
“well—well—well! this is beautiful upon my word!” then he burst out laughing.
“o grandpapa!” exclaimed phronsie, clasping her hands in distress, “this is so very dreadful! do
make them stop!”
“nonsense! let them alone,” said the old gentleman, in the midst of his laugh. “i don’t doubt
king-fisher has been putting on airs, and polly’s boy is aching to take it out of him. that’s right,
elyot, give it to him! i dare say he deserves it all, every bit.”
“grandpapa,” begged phronsie, hurrying up to clasp his arm entreatingly, “do please make them
stop. they’re in the little brown house, grandpapa; only just think, the little brown house. please
make them stop!”
“to be sure,” said old mr. king, pulling himself out of his amusement, and wiping his face, “that
is a consideration. come, now, boys, hold up there; you must finish all this out-of-doors, if you’ve
got to.”
“o grandpapa!” interposed phronsie, “please tell them not to finish at all. make them stop
always.”
“well, at any rate, you must stop now, this minute; do you hear?” he stamped his shapely foot,
and the combatants ceased instantly, king, in the sudden pause, finding himself at last on top.
“i could have beaten him all to nothing,” he declared, puffing violently; “but he jumped whack on
me, and my arm got twisted under, and—and”—
“never mind the rest of it,” said grandpapa coolly; “of course you’d have beaten if you could.
well, elyot, you did pretty good for a boy of five.”
“he was biting my sister,” declared elyot, squaring up, with flushed cheeks, and clinching his
small fists.
“oh—oh!” cried barby, who had held her breath in delighted silence while the encounter was in
progress; and running up, her brown hair flying away from her face, she presented a fat arm for the
old gentleman’s inspection.
“i don’t see any bite,” he said, after a grave scrutiny of it all over.
“not yet,” said barby, shaking her brown head wisely; “but it was coming — it truly was,
grandpapa.”
“don’t worry till your miseries do come, little woman;” he swung her up over his white head, then
put her on his shoulder.
“there phronsie used to perch,” he said, smiling over at the young girl.
“o grandpapa, she’s too big—why, she’s aunt phronsie, and she’s most dreadful old,” said
barby, leaning over to look at him.
“well, she used to sit just where you are, miss,” repeated the old gentleman. “now, you be sure
you’re always number two.” he pinched her toes, making her squirm and squeal.
“what’s numtwo?” she asked at length, all out of breath from play.
“lucky you don’t know,” said the old gentleman, his mouth close to her ear; “well, it’s just always
after number one, and never gets in front. there, now, jump down, and help phronsie patch it up
with the boys.” he put her on the floor, and went over to the corner, to sit down and view
operations.
phronsie, meanwhile, had a boy each side of her, both trying to get into her lap at once.
“it would just kill mamsie,” she said mournfully, “to think of you two boys behaving so, and she’s
only gone a week!”
there was an awful pause. the old gentleman over in the corner kept perfectly still; and barby,
finding all obstructions removed, placidly engaged in completing the destruction of mother
fisher’s cushion.
“and you promised her, king, you’d be a good boy, and be nice to the children.”
“i—forgot,” blurted out king, winking very fast, and not looking at elyot. “i—i—did. don’t look
so, phronsie,” he mumbled; and instantly after his head went over in his sister’s lap, and he sobbed
in her dress, “don’t write her, phronsie—don’t!”
“and to think,” said phronsie, gravely regarding elyot, “that you should fly at him, when he only
wanted to protect mamsie’s dear old cushion. o elyot! i am so surprised at you for pulling it to
pieces.”
“i only wanted to see inside it; you said mamsie and uncle ben made a santa claus wig of it
once; i was going to put it right back,” said elyot stoutly. yet he looked at the ceiling diagonally,
not trusting himself a glance into phronsie’s brown eyes. “say, you don’t suppose grandmamsie
will know?” he asked suddenly.
“i suppose i must tell mamsie everything,” said phronsie soberly. “i promised to, you know. and,
besides, we always have.”
elyot shivered all over his small frame, while king howled, and burrowed deeper than ever in
phronsie’s lap.
“but i can tell her how sorry you two boys are,” phronsie went on, “and that you never, never will
do such a naughty thing again; that is, if you never will, boys.”
“there! i got it all out alone by myself,” said barby.
“oh, we never will!” they both protested over and over; and king came up out of his shelter, and
wiped his eyes, and the two put their arms around each other, and made up splendidly; then turned
to hear barby say, “there, i got it all out alone by myself;” and there was the hair out of mamsie’s
cushion all sprawled over the floor.
while the children were picking this up, and crowding it back into the big calico cover, phronsie
making elyot do the best part of the work, as he was older, and had helped barby along, king
working vigorously, as penance, old mr. king called, “now, phronsie, i want you, as those
youngsters seem to be straightened out;” and she had gone and sat on his knee, her usual place in a
conference.
“well, i’ve just done such a good stroke of work, child,” he said complacently, pulling softly the
golden waves of hair that lay over her cheek.
“what, grandpapa?” she asked, as he seemed to wait her reply.
“yes, such a good piece of work,” he ran on. then he chuckled, well pleased. “you must know,
phronsie,” for he was determined to tell it in a way to suit himself, “that i was sitting on the back
veranda—polly’s gone to town to-day, you know.”
“yes, grandpapa.”
“well, and the house was quiet, thanks to you and the little brown house, and i had a chance to
read the morning paper in peace.” this he said, unconscious of the fact that every one knew quite
well he courted the presence of the children on any and every occasion. “well, i had considerable
to read; the news, strange to say, is very good, really very good to-day, so it took me quite a long
time.” he forgot to mention that he had lost himself a half-hour or so in a nap; these occurrences
were never to be commented on in the family. “and i was turning the paper—it’s abominable that
editors mix things up so; it’s eternally turning and returning the sheet, to find what you want. it’s
very hard, phronsie, when we pay such prices for articles, that we cannot have them to suit us,
child.”
“yes, grandpapa,” said phronsie patiently.
“well, don’t look at those youngsters, phronsie; they’re all right now. they won’t fight any more
to-day.”
“o grandpapa!”
“i mean it, child. well, i was turning that contemptible paper for about the fiftieth time,—i wanted
to read brinkerhoff’s editorial,—when i caught sight of a figure making around the lawn to the
front veranda. thinks i, ‘that looks wonderfully like roslyn may.’”
the pink glow in phronsie’s round cheek went suddenly out.
“and so it was, as sure as you’re here on my knee.” he had her hand in both of his, and was
affectionately pressing it. “yes, phronsie, there was that fellow. so i jumped up, and told johnson
to send him around to me; and he came.”
old mr. king drew a long breath of pleased reminiscence. phronsie sat quite still, the afternoon
sunlight that streamed through the western window glinting her yellow hair. her hands lay in
grandpapa’s, and her eyes never wavered from his face. but she said nothing.
“you don’t ask me anything, phronsie,” said the old gentleman at last. “hey, child?” pinching her
ear.
“no, grandpapa, because you will tell me yourself.”
“and so i will; you are a good girl not to badger me with questions. well, he came about the same
thing, phronsie,—wanted to see you, and all that. but i couldn’t allow it, of course; for, if i did,
the next thing, you would be worried to death by his teasing. and that’s all out of the question.
besides being decidedly unpleasant for you, it would kill me.”
“would it, grandpapa?” phronsie leaned forward suddenly, and held him with her brown eyes.
“not a shadow of doubt,” he answered promptly; “i shouldn’t live a month if you went off and got
married, phronsie.”
“i wouldn’t go off and get married, grandpapa!” exclaimed phronsie. “i could stay with you then;
didn’t roslyn say we could, and you would always go with us if we went away? o grandpapa,
you didn’t think i would ever leave you!” she threw her arms around his neck, and clung to him
convulsively.
“yes, yes, that’s right,” said the old gentleman, immensely pleased, and patting her on the back as
if she were a child of three; “but you see this is nothing to the point, phronsie, nothing at all.”
then he went on testily, “you’d belong to somebody else besides me, and that would be the same
as being a thousand miles away. and as long as i’m sure you don’t love him, phronsie,”—which
he had found out by taking care not to ask her,—“why, i’ve done just the very best thing for you,
to send him away about his business.”
“did he ask to see me?” phronsie sat up quite straight now, and waited quietly for the answer.
“why, of course he did; but i knew it would only trouble you to see him.”
“o grandpapa—just one little minute—i wouldn’t have let him stay long. couldn’t you have sent
him over here just for one minute?”
“nonsense! you’re so tender of his feelings, it would only have been hard for you. no, i thank my
stars, phronsie, i saved you from all this trouble. what you would do, child, if it were not for your
old granddaddy, i’m sure i don’t know. well, he’s gone, and i told him never to come back again
with that errand in view; and i only hope to goodness it’s the last time i shall be so worried by
him.”
“there, we’ve got the hair all in,” announced king triumphantly, rushing up, followed by the other
two, barby wiping her grimy little hands in great satisfaction over her white apron. “now please
say we’ve been good boys, and”—
“and a good girl,” chimed in barby, flying after with red cheeks.
“and sew up the old cushion,” begged elyot. this would be almost as good fun as the pulling it
open had been, to see phronsie sewing it tight, and she could tell them stories meanwhile.
“let the cushion wait,” began mr. king.
“but, grandpapa, the hair may get spilled out again,” said phronsie gently, and getting off from his
knee. “i really think i ought to do it now, grandpapa dear.”
“yes—yes,” cried all the children, hopping up and down; “do it now—do it now, phronsie.”
so phronsie found her thimble and scissors once more, and got out the coarse brown thread from
her little sewing-bag, and sewed the big seam in the old calico cushion fast again, the children
taking turns in poking the wisps of hair in the crevice.
“now tell all what you used to do when you lived here—just here,” demanded elyot, patting the
old floor with his hand, “every single thing, phronsie;” for the children, except on rare occasions,
never called her “aunt.” “don’t leave out anything you did in the little brown house. now begin.”
“o elyot,” said phronsie, “i couldn’t tell it all if i tried ever so hard.”
“polly tells the best stories,” said king, pushing and picking the hair into place in the last corner.
“so she does,” said phronsie; “there now, king-fisher, that’s all you can do. look out; my needle
is coming up there,” as king with a final pull settled the last little wisp into place.
“let me—let me,” begged barby, thrusting her little hand in. “i want to do it last. let me, king.”
“no,” said king stoutly, hanging to the corner. “i shall; it’s my mother’s cushion.”
“o king,” began phronsie gently, “mamsie would like it better if you let barby do it. she’s so
little.”
“she’s always pushing, just the same,” said king stoutly, “as if she was big folks.”
“well, if you want to please mamsie, you’ll let her do it,” went on phronsie, pausing with needle
in mid-air. “hurry, now, children; i can’t wait any longer.”
“you may, barby,” declared king, relinquishing with a mighty effort the pinched- up corner.
“there, go ahead,” and he winked fast at her great satisfaction while she pushed and poked the
wisps in with her fat little finger, humming contentedly meanwhile.
phronsie flashed a smile over at king. “now, children,” she said, “you must know we were very
poor in those days, and”—
“what is poor?” asked barby, stopping singing.
“i know,” said elyot; “it’s wearing rags like the ashman. oh, i wish i could!”
“oh, no!” cried phronsie in horror; “that isn’t poor; that’s shiftless, mamsie always used to say.
oh, we were just as nice! well, you can’t think, children, how spick and span everything was!”
“what’s spick ’n’ span?” demanded barby.
“make her stop,” cried elyot crossly; “we shall never hear all about it if she keeps asking
questions every minute. now go on, phronsie.”
“well,” said phronsie, “now that corner’s all done beautifully, barby; take care, or i shall prick
your finger. why, polly would scrub and scrub the floor and the table, till i used to try to see my
face in them, they were so bright.”
“they’re bright now,” declared both the boys, jumping off to investigate. barby pushed her hair
back from her round cheeks, and leaned over. “i don’t see my face, phronsie,” she exclaimed.
“no, and i couldn’t see mine; but i always tried to, for polly kept them so bright, and one day i
remember i was scrubbing seraphina, and”—
“who’s seraphina?” burst in barby, coming back to crouch at phronsie’s feet.
“ow! be still!” cried elyot, with a small pinch.
“seraphina was my very first doll, the only child i ever had until grandpapa gave me all the rest,”
phronsie sent a smile over to the old gentleman in the corner, “and she’s in mamsie’s big bureau
in the bedroom now.”
“i’m going to see,” declared all three children at once, hopping up.
“oh, no! you mustn’t,” said phronsie; “not till this cushion is done. then, if you’re very good, i’ll
show her to you.”
“we’ll be just as good,” they all cried, “as we can be,” and running back to sit down on the floor
again at her feet. “do go on,” said elyot.
“you see, i wanted seraphina to be just as nice as polly kept things; and so i was scrubbing her
with soap and water one day, when polly called out, ‘o phronsie! the big dog’s out here that
scared the naughty organ-man; and the boy;’ and before she could wipe my hands and my face, for
you see i’d got the soap all over me too, i ran to see them, and jasper kissed me, and got the soft
soap all in his mouth.”
“ugh!” cried king, with a grimace.
“yes, that’s just the way japser looked, and that’s what he said too!” said phronsie, going on with
the recital.
“who was japser?” demanded barby.
“why, he was our popsie,” said elyot, who had heard the story many times. “now do stop talking,
barby. well, go on,” he begged, turning back to phronsie.
“and i couldn’t say jasper,” said phronsie, “and then sometimes we called him jappy.”
“oh, goody! here comes mr. tisbett,” howled king.
“how funny!” laughed all three. “oh, goody! here comes mr. tisbett,” howled king in a sudden
rapture, lifting his head to see the top of the old stage through the window. “why, he’s stopping
here! he’s stopping here!” and, tumbling over the other two, king found his feet, and pranced off
over the big flat doorstone, and down the path, elyot and barby flying after, to see mr. tisbett
open the stage-door with a, “here you be, ma’am, and the boy too.”
“grandpapa,” cried phronsie, taking one look out of the window, “it’s mrs. fargo and johnny!”
“the mercy it is!” exclaimed the old gentleman ruefully. “well, good-by, phronsie, to any sort of
peace, now that boy’s come!”
