“halloa, joel!” mr. atkins left the bundle of brown sugar he was doing up for the widow smollett, and hurried around the counter to the door. “wait a minute.” but joel was off on the wind.
“i never see such a boy for getting over the ground,” the storekeeper exclaimed, discomfited, turning back to his customers.
“i’m goin’ by the little brown house, an’ i’ll tell mis’ pepper anythin’,” volunteered a man, waiting his turn to be served.
“well, you tell her i’ve got a job for joel,” said the storekeeper, getting nimbly back of the counter again, to resume work on the brown-sugar bundle.
“pshaw!—what can that little chap do?” said the man, jamming one hand deep in his trousers pocket and laughing.
[204]“he’s little, but he’s smart as a cricket,” said mr. atkins.—“no, i hain’t had any eggs brought in to-day, miss bassett.—good land o’ goshen, hiram, all them pepperses have got git up an’ git to ’em.—no, i said i hadn’t had any brought in to-day. i was just a-tellin’ miss bassett so.”
“and i sh’d as soon set a cricket to work,” said hiram, still laughing, “but i’ll take th’ message all right to mis’ pepper.”
“an’ them children’ll do more some day for badgertown ’n all o’ us folks put together. that’s my bible belief,” declared mr. atkins, snapping the string off short.—“there’s your sugar, mrs. smollett, four cents a pound; it orter be four an’ a half, but i hain’t riz on it yet.—i’ll wait upon you,” in reply to an irate question, as to how long he was expected to stand there “doin’ nothin’,” from an impatient applicant for saleratus.—“yes, well, you tell mrs. pepper i’ve got a job for joel; that’s all you’ve got to do, hiram.—now, i’ll ’tend to you first; you’ve ben waitin’ some time.” and he turned off to a customer at the end of the counter.
and hiram’s several bundles having been done up, and deposited in his wagon, mr. atkins[205] felt quite relieved in his mind, and very sure that joel would be down as soon as ever the message got to him.
which happened exactly so. there he was, with david at his heels, and pounding on the counter. “what is it, mr. atkins?” he cried, his black eyes sparkling in excitement. it was the very first time in his life that a job had ever been waiting for him in this important way.
“there’s a person been in here, joel,” said mr. atkins, “this morning who wants a boy to help him; and i thought of you, ’cause i knew you wanted to be like ben an’ help your ma.”
“yes, i do,” said joel, standing very tall, “and i’m going to have a job and be like ben; just exactly like ben, mr. atkins,” and his black eyes shone.
little david could not conceal his admiration, and beamed on him affectionately.
“so you shall,” declared the storekeeper, with great enthusiasm, “and i got you this job, joel. i expect you’re goin’ to be master smart at it.”
“i’m going to be. oh, what is it—what you said?” declared joel, with energy, and getting up now to his tiptoes.
[206]“master smart,” repeated mr. atkins, with emphasis. “well, now, joel, you’ve got to begin your job to-morrow at old man peters’s.”
“what?” down went joel to stand flat, and his hands left off pounding the counter to fall to his sides.
“old man peters was a-goin’ to get another boy,” mr. atkins was talking in a perfect stream, now; “but i spoke for you, joel. an’ you’ve got to go an’ take that job, ’cause it’s the only one there is to be had,” and he shot a keen glance into joel’s black eyes.
“i ain’t going to work for old man peters,” declared joel, in a great dudgeon, and marching to the door, his hands now thrust into his pockets, and his head quite high. “come on, dave.”
“see here, joel.” the storekeeper leaned over his counter. “you come here a minute.”
“i ain’t going to work for old man peters,” declared joel, stoutly, standing quite still to regard the storekeeper with anything but pleasure.
just as decidedly, “yes, you will,” mr. atkins said; “’cause if you don’t, you can’t help your ma, and be big like ben.”
“i ain’t going,” began joel. then his voice died down, “o dear me, i ain’t,—i ain’t.”
[207]“i don’t blame ye,” broke in two or three voices. “i wouldn’t do a stroke for sech a skin-flint,” added another. the storekeeper cast a reproachful glance in that direction, and said sharply, “i’m a-talkin’ to joel pepper just at present.”
joel was wringing his small hands now, the picture of distress as he stood in the middle of the store, with little davie quite gone in despair at this dreadful state of affairs, huddling up against him.
“to help mamsie.” he could do it if he would only take this job that mr. atkins had gotten for him, and “be big like ben.” “o dear me!” joel didn’t see any of the men, nor the one sympathetic woman who hovered on the edge of the group to see how matters would turn out. he was lost to everything around him. and when at last mr. atkins said very coldly, “oh, well, if you don’t want to help your ma, joel, why—” he burst out, “oh, i do, i do,” and dashed up to seize the storekeeper by the arm, and hang to it screaming, “i’ll go to old man peters’s, mr. atkins, i will!”
“that’s a good boy, joel,” said the storekeeper, quite mollified, who had really been[208] quite put to his wits to find something that one of the brood in the little brown house might do to help eke out the store of pennies that kept the wolf from the door. and lately, when mrs. pepper brought back the coats she made, he was struck with dismay, to see how white her cheek was, and how tired the bright eyes looked.
“she’s getting all beat out,” he said on one such occasion to his wife, as he locked up for the night and went home, which only consisted in going into the extension of the store built on to accommodate the growing needs of his family.
“can’t you find her somethin’ for th’ boys to do, ’biah?” said that good woman, setting the tea-pot down after taking off a cupful for herself. “no halfway stuff for me,” she always said; then it must be filled to the brim for mr. atkins, who couldn’t bear it strong.
“ben’s doin’ all he can,” said the storekeeper, sitting down heavily. “well, i never have ben on my legs so much as to-day, jane.”
“i don’t mean ben,” said mrs. atkins, quickly, and taking up the tea-pot to pour the boiling water in. “i’m sure that boy’ll work himself to death if somebody don’t stop him. i’m talkin’ of joel an’ david.”
[209]“them little chaps,” cried her husband; “what are you thinkin’ of, jane? the idea o’ settin’ them to work.”
“now, there’s lots o’ work small fingers can do,” observed jane, nowise dashed, and tipping up the tea-kettle deftly, she poured the boiling water in. “that won’t keep you awake, ’biah,” she said, with a glance of scorn for the cup she set beside his plate.
“an’ if mrs. pepper breaks down, why, i can’t tell what would happen to those little-brown-house folks.” she suddenly took up one corner of her brown checked apron, and do what she would to prevent it, mr. atkins distinctly heard a sniffle, as she abruptly disappeared in the pantry.
“i can’t help it, jane; i’m sure ’tain’t my fault.” the storekeeper turned uneasily on his chair, put in a spoonful of sugar too much in his tea, then tried to cover up the mistake by getting in a double portion of milk. “you’ll have to get me another cup, jane,” at last he called to his wife, who on that summons hastily emerged from the pantry, trying to look gay of countenance as if the conversation had been of the cheeriest description.
[210]“now, ’biah,” she said, her heart smiting her at a sight of his face, “don’t you worry no more about th’ pepperses; th’ lord’ll provide,” and she twitched up his cup, poured off the contents in the sink, and came back with a fresh one steaming hot.
“th’ lord ain’t a-goin’ to take care o’ folks in badgertown, so long as he’s put other people here to look after ’em,” said the storekeeper, this time with a careful hand to deal himself the right seasoning for his cup, “an’ i do b’lieve i better find somethin’ for joel to do. he’s awful smart, jane.”
“that’s so,” said mrs. atkins, getting into her seat opposite her husband. then she wiped her eyes again, for jane had a tender place in her heart. “but don’t let it be too hard,” she begged.
“i’ll have to take what i can get,” said mr. atkins, stirring his tea, and beginning to feel a bit relieved at the prospect of lightening the burden settling down on the little brown house.
“i’ll ask every one who comes into th’ store to-morrow, jane, an’ somewhere’s there must be a boy wanted to do chores, i’ll be bound.”
[211]“so do,” nodded his wife, and, delighted to see him more cheerful, she took a long draught from her black-looking tea, and switched off the conversation into more entertaining gossip.
but no matter how much mr. atkins pushed his inquiries among his customers to unearth the needs of a small boy to do chores in or around badgertown, not only to-morrow but several days thereafter passed, and no one seemed ready to acknowledge any such need. at last the storekeeper was reduced to despair, and to cudgel his brains for some other plan to give timely assistance to a person who would not accept money.
at this moment, the rattle of wagon wheels and a sudden plunge as a long-suffering horse was brought to a quick stop by a loud and angry “whoa!” proclaimed the arrival of a rich but by no means desirable customer.
“now i suppose ‘old man peters’ will want a pail o’ lard for nothin’,” muttered the storekeeper, his vexation noways alleviated by the sight of a customer who usually brought into his shop more plague than profit.
when the trifling matters of trade that always lengthened out by long dickering were at last[212] brought to a conclusion, and mr. eli peters buttoned up in his waistcoat pocket his wallet that had not suffered greatly in the business transaction, much to the storekeeper’s disgust, he paused, and said in a sharp high key, “you don’t know of a boy, d’ye, atkins, that i can hire?”
“what kind of a boy?” demanded the storekeeper, irritably.
“oh, a smart, likely one; he don’t need to be big. ye don’t know of one, do ye?”
“i know a smart, likely boy as ever stepped,” said mr. atkins, determined not to give any names, “but i don’t know as he could do your work, mr. peters.”
old mr. peters’s little ferret eyes gleamed. “hey, well, who is’t?” he tapped on the floor with his stick that he always carried in the wagon to help his progress as soon as he stepped on the ground. “who is’t? come, speak up lively, i hain’t no time to lose; time’s money.”
“i guess it is,” said the storekeeper, with a snap to his thin lips, and a lively memory of the half-hour wasted over this unprofitable customer, whom, after all, it never would do to offend.
[213]“well, this boy i know of is smart enough, my gracious, but he ain’t big enough to work hard. what you want to set him at?”
“oh, little odd jobs,” said the old man, carelessly; “some of ’em in th’ house to help th’ women folks.”
“oh, if that’s the case,” said mr. atkins, who was friendly to mrs. peters and miss miranda,—“as different from that old scrooge,” he had said in the privacy of his home, “as light is from darkness,”—“why, i’ll give you his name; it’s joel pepper.”
“oh, that boy.” old man peters’s eager face fell, and the light in the ferret eyes went out. “i d’no’s i want him,” he said slowly.
“not want one o’ them pepper children!” exclaimed the storekeeper, in astonishment, as if the greatest blessing the earth could yield had been ignored. “well, i never!”
“i don’t think i like that joel,” said mr. peters, beginning to work his way to the door.
“well, i can tell you that joel pepper is th’ smartest boy around here for miles and miles,” cried the storekeeper, taking up quick cudgels, “an’ i don’t b’lieve his ma would let him come to you anyway,” he added with venom. “so,[214] we’ll say no more about it; she’s awful particular where any o’ ’em go,” he added, not caring if his words did lose him, for good and all, the chance of seeing the rich old man darken his door again.
“hey, what’s that?” squeaked old man peters, this quite deciding him, and suddenly whirling about. “well, i’m willing to try joel, only he come to my house once, his ma sent him on an errant, an’ he was awful sassy.”
“sassy, was he?” then mr. atkins laughed; he couldn’t help it. “well, i guess that’s all right; you don’t mind what a shaver as little as him says, i s’pose.”
“i d’no’s i do,” replied the old man, grudgingly; “well, send him along; tell him to come to-morrow.” and he stumped out, untied his old horse, upon whom, as soon as he got into the wagon, he bestowed a stinging blow from the whip, and rattled off at a smart rate down the road.
the storekeeper leaned his hands on the counter. “sassy, was he?” he ejaculated with delight. “well, i guess joel can take care o’ hisself wherever he goes. an’ it’s th’ only place there is. yes, i’ll advise him to try it.”
[215]and on the morrow, sure enough, joel, as tidy as possible (for although the material might be well worn down to its bones, mrs. pepper always kept the clothes of the children clean and wholesome), set forth on his long walk to old mr. peters’s house. the worst of it was, that david was not allowed to go. he had not been asked by the prospective employer, so, of course, he must stay at home, and he now plastered his face against the small-paned window as joel went out of the old kitchen and off to his work. he felt very big, and he tried to walk just like ben, pushing up his little shoulders sturdily, holding his head high, and clutching his bundle of dinner, that polly had put up for him, under his arm.
“make it a big one, do, polly,” he had begged, prancing after her as she went to the bread-pantry.
“yes, i will, joey,” she cried. “o dear me!” she was just going to say, “you mustn’t go to old man peters’s.” then she remembered what the mother had said, “we can’t choose our work, polly, and we’d ought to be thankful that joel has got the chance,” and she stifled the sigh, and cut off a generous slice, bemoaning[216] all the while to herself that it wasn’t cake.
“if we only had something nice to give him, mammy,” she mourned, hurrying over to mrs. pepper’s chair when joel had raced off to wash his face for the last time.
“it’s the best we’ve got,” said mrs. pepper, bravely. yet she looked tired, and a little white line was beginning to come around her mouth.
“sometime, we are going to be rich; oh, awfully rich, mamsie,” cried polly, when she saw that. then she danced off to the old bread-box again, and pretty soon joel’s dinner was all ready, and he was kissed and pulled into shape by polly, and then phronsie had to be hugged, and last of all, mamsie, because little davie was not to be counted, as he clung to joel through the whole time.
“joel,” mrs. pepper laid down her needle and looked into his black eyes, “we’re going to be very glad that you’re working for mr. peters.”
joel squirmed at the name, but he never took his gaze from her face.
“and the little brown house is never to be ashamed for anything, joey.”
[217]“i’m going to be good,” declared joel, with a smart bob of his black head.
“see that you are,” said mrs. pepper, firmly. then she took up the needle again, because that had to fly in and out, or else the wolf would surely get in at the door; and off joel sped, to whirl around and wave his hand at the turn of the road.
“don’t feel bad, davie,” cried polly, gazing over his head at the little figure disappearing down the thoroughfare. “o dear me! davie, don’t,” for little david, quite beside himself with grief at this first separation from joel, threw himself on the old kitchen floor, and burst into a passion of tears.
“never mind, polly.” mrs. pepper got out of her chair, “you can take phronsie out of doors to play—there, there, davie, mother’s boy,” and she was down on her knees stroking the soft light hair away from his forehead, as polly took phronsie’s hand and led her softly out.
“what is the matter with davie?” asked phronsie, in a troubled voice. “oh, polly, i don’t want to go out and play.”
“well, you must,” said polly, in a thick voice, and a desperate feeling at her heart. supposing[218] david was going to be sick! oh, it might kill him to be kept away from joel! and there was joel going to work for that dreadful hard, cross old man. oh, how cruel he was to keep joel and not pay him on that day when mamsie had sent him with the coat and told him to wait for the money. she sank down on the grass under the old scraggy apple tree, and buried her face in her hands.
phronsie tugged at her apron. “polly,” she said gently, but polly did not hear.
“polly!” this time the voice was a very grieved little one, so that polly flung down her hands, and seized her hungrily, covering her face with kisses. “oh, i’m a bad, selfish old pig, phronsie,” she cried remorsefully.
“you are not a bad old pig, polly,” said phronsie, “and i love you very much, i do.”
“oh, yes, i am,” declared polly. “i’m just as bad as i can be, when mamsie sent me out here to play with you. o dear me, come on, pet.” she sprang to her feet so suddenly, she nearly overthrew the little figure, and held out her hands.
“but, i don’t want to play,” said phronsie, now standing quite still and regarding her gravely.[219] “i want to go into the kitchen, and see what is the matter with davie; i do, polly.”
“no,” said polly, in her most decided fashion. “you can’t do that, phronsie, and i can’t go in there either, for mamsie sent us out. o dear me! i’m going to play tag. come on, phronsie!” and she dashed around the old apple tree, and in a minute, there was phronsie, merrily flying after her, little peals of delight sounding all through the dismal old kitchen.
“now, then.” mrs. pepper was wiping off the last tears from davie’s little cheeks as he sat in her lap. “mother’s boy is going out to play with phronsie, and let polly come in and finish her work.”
david shivered at the word “play” and crouched down lower within her arms. “must i?” he said.
“not if you don’t want to,” said mrs. pepper, “but you’ll help polly ever so much, and that will help me.”
david gave a long sigh. “then i’ll go, mamsie,” he said, and slid out of her lap.
“now, that’s mother’s good boy,” cried mrs. pepper, kissing his pale cheek into which a little pink color began to come at her praise. “you[220] can’t think what a comfort you’ll be to me for doing that, davie.”
“am i a comfort?” asked little davie, the pink beginning to get very bright, “am i, truly, mamsie?”
“yes, indeed!” declared mrs. pepper, in her heartiest fashion, and with another kiss. “you’re just as much help as joel is. remember that, davie.”
“oh, mamsie!” little david was so surprised, he stared at her in wonder. “joel’s earning money,” at last he said.
“well, and you’re helping me to earn money,” said mrs. pepper, cheerily; “so run along and play prettily with phronsie, so that polly can come back to her work,” and she dismissed him with a little pat on his shoulder.
“dear me, i ought to fly off to mine.” and she burst into a merry little laugh, so like to polly’s own, that davie felt his heart grow light at once, and he laughed, too, and ran off as fast as his feet would carry him.
meantime, joel, who had trudged on happily, every step of the way feeling big and important, the minute he saw the big, rambling, old red house, known as the peters farm, felt his feet[221] begin to lag, and when he really reached the gate hanging, by one hinge, why, he almost turned right straight around to fly home to mamsie! but there sat old man peters on the porch.
“hey, so you’re here at last, you pepper boy,” he called out, “a quarter of an hour late.”
“i’m not late,” said joel, in a loud voice, and trudging in at the gate feeling big at once, and able to defend himself. “mamsie said i had half an hour, and if i didn’t stop, i could get here in plenty of time. and i didn’t stop a single bit, but i walked on and on.” joel brought this out wrathfully, and sank down hot and red on the lower step.
“don’t you contradict me, you pepper boy,” snarled old man peters, knocking with his cane the well-worn piazza floor, “and i don’t care what your mother says. my time’s what i go by.”
“my mother is always right,” said joel, proudly, and fixing the wizened face above him with his black eyes.
“pa, don’t badger the boy when he’s first come,” said miss miranda, making her appearance in the doorway. “look how red his face is; he’s awful tired.”
[222]“you go in an’ ’tend to your work,” commanded her father, shaking his stick at her, “an’ i’ll see to my business. now then, boy,” he got out of his chair, “i’ll set you to doin’ somethin’. mebbe that’ll stop your sassy tongue.”
so joel got off from the lowest step and followed the old man as he stumped off over the patchy grass, and the remains of a once good vegetable garden, where everything straggled off in its own sweet will, trying to hide behind its neighbors as if ashamed to be seen in old man peters’s domain.
at last, behind the big barn, many of whose shingles seemed about to part acquaintance with their fellows, while the big door, and the shed tacked on to the rear partook of the general decay, the old man paused and pointed with his stick. “that’s your work, joel, or whatever your name is, and the sooner you set at it, the better it will be.”
joel stared on all sides and burst out, “i don’t see any work.”
old man peters broke into a laugh that was more of a cackle than anything else, and that showed all his gums, for most of his teeth were gone long ago.
[223]“ha, ha! it’s there all the same. you’re to clean out th’ pig-pen.”
now, the pig-pen at old mr. peters’s place hadn’t been cleaned out for so long that no one could remember the exact time, and it wouldn’t have been done now, only for the reason that the owner had at last made up his mind that if the big barn were not strengthened by some good work being put out on it, it would result in a great loss to him, for it was sagging dreadfully in that corner, and, beside, when the work of putting in new timbers was being accomplished, then was the time, if ever, to put on an ell, and increase its size. but, first of all, the pig-pen must be cleaned out; and, to do this, a small boy, who needn’t be paid very much, was the best sort of a person to set to work on it.
“get down, joel, and go at it,” said old man peters, now in a very good humor indeed. “i’ve taken the pigs to t’other shed, so you can set to work at once.”
“i shan’t,” said joel, wrathfully, and the color flying all over his cheek, “do it ever; not a single thing.”
“you won’t?” cried the old man, in a passion, and he raised his stick. but as joel looked at[224] him without even so much as a glance from his black eyes at the stick, he thought better of it, and his hand carrying it, dropped to his side. “you engaged to come and do my work,” he snarled.
“i didn’t,” said joel, stoutly, “say i’d come and do your pig-pen; so there, now.”
“you’re a pretty boy,” said old mr. peters, shaking with wrath and at the prospect of losing him; “what kind of a mother have you got, i’d like to know, to bring you up like that?”
“she didn’t bring us up,” cried joel, his black eyes blazing, and advancing on him so furiously that the old man stepped involuntarily back against the barn.
“no, i sh’d say not,” he cackled.
“and you aren’t going to say anything about my mother,” declared joel, doubling up his small brown fists, and throwing back his head.
“stop—get off,” said old man peters, edging farther away; “well, she didn’t teach you to keep your promises,” he sneered.
“she did—she did,” cried joel, wildly, “and you’re a bad old man, and i hate you.”
“well, i sh’d s’pose if you think so much of her, you wouldn’t want to worry her,” said mr. peters, seeing his advantage. “how’d she like[225] it to have you go home and say you’d shirked your work, hey?”
down went joel’s angry little fists to his sides, and his black head dropped.
“an’, beside, see,” said the old man, now quite elated, “that if you go home, an’ say you wouldn’t do my work, like enough she won’t ever let you take another job. then, says i, joel pepper, where’d you be?”
where joel would be in such a dreadful state of affairs was more than he could say. and by this time he was beyond reasoning, so he dropped down to his knees on the edge of the dreadful mess in the pig-pen and began to crawl over under the sill of the barn.
“i’ll throw you a broom an’ a shovel,” said the old man, in great glee. and presently that was done, a worn down broom and an old shovel with a broken handle tumbled in, and then, after minute directions how the work was to be done, mr. peters stumped back to the house.
“well, i’ve set that lazy boy to work,” he said, rubbing his hands in delight as he sat down in the kitchen.
“what’s he doin’?” asked mrs. peters, rolling out pie-crust on the baking table. it didn’t[226] in the least look like what mrs. deacon blodgett considered worthy to cover her “apple filling,” mr. peters not allowing any such waste of lard and other necessary material. but it was called “pie” and as such had to be made regularly—so many a week.
“never you mind,” mr. peters stopped chuckling to emit the sour reprimand. then he sank back in his big chair and rubbed his hands again harder than ever.
mrs. peters exchanged a glance with her daughter, who caught the last words, as she was coming into the kitchen, her dust-pan in her hand. “hush, don’t say nothin’,” she said as miranda passed her to throw the sweepings into the stove, and she shook her head over in the direction of mr. peters in the big chair.
“i’ll find out for myself,” determined miranda, and going out with her dust-pan for another accumulation. “beats all what makes pa act so like kedar; what’s he ben up to, i wonder.”
meantime, joel worked on like a beaver; not only his hands and face were grimy, but his clothes were smeared from head to foot, while as for his shoes, well,—they were so covered[227] with mud and straw and the general mess of the old pen, that no one would have known that they were shoes. but after he was fairly at work, joel thought nothing of all this, but pegged away, his face streaming with perspiration, one happy thought running through his mind,—“i’m earning money, and helping mammy,”—and he actually forgot his dinner, tucked away by polly, in the paper bundle that he had carried under his arm, and set down carefully by the side of the barn before beginning his work. it was only when he heard a voice that he looked up.
“o my!” it was a boy considerably bigger than joel looking over the pig-pen rail.
“what you doin’?”
“working,” said joel, shortly. he didn’t like this boy, and mamsie didn’t approve in the least of him, so joel had strict orders, whenever they met in the village on errands to the store, to keep as good a distance off as possible. so now he bent over his work again.
“hah! he goin’ to pay you?” demanded the boy, pointing with a dingy thumb toward the house.
at the word “pay,” joel straightened up. “yes,” he said, feeling very big and important.
[228]“how much?” the boy looking over the railing cried eagerly, his green eyes glistening.
“i don’t know,” said joel.
“hah, hah, hah! you are a greeny,” cried the other boy. then he doubled up with laughing, and slapped his patched knee.
“stop your laughing,” cried joel, lifting a face that would have looked very red, could it have been seen for the mud.
at this, the other boy laughed harder than ever.
“if you don’t stop laughing, i’ll come up and punch you,” cried joel, forgetting all about mamsie and what she had told him, and he lifted black, wrathful eyes that snapped vengeance.
but the other boy, preferring to keep on laughing, did so, until he rolled on the mangy grass, holding his sides, only to hop to his feet, when he saw a small but determined figure advancing dangerously near.
“i’m going to punch you,” announced joel, his fists in two hard little knots; “i said i would.”
“hah!” began the other boy, but he hadn’t time to finish, for joel, having announced his intentions, did pitch in, and the visitor, who began by thinking it an easy matter to whip the smaller[229] boy, was now principally occupied in trying to see how he could best avoid the hard thwacks the sturdy little fists were dealing him.
“ma! ma!” cried miranda, at last spying them as she was shaking out her dust-cloth. “there are two boys fighting down by th’ barn,” she screamed over the stairs.
“oh, you don’t say so,” cried mrs. peters back again. “dear me, i hope they won’t go near th’ pepper boy. if anythin’ sh’d happen to him, his ma never’d forgive me.”
“it is th’ pepper boy who’s fightin’, ma,” proclaimed miranda, running her head out of the window; “oh, goodness me!” then she pulled it in, and hurried over the stairs.
“you go right straight out an’ separate them boys,” commanded old mrs. peters, in a dreadful state of mind. “here, take th’ broom, mirandy, and tell ’em—i d’no what you will tell ’em, but you git ’em apart anyway.”
miranda, having a pretty good notion of her own what she would say when she got there, sped over the grass, waving her broom as she went.
“here, you,” at last, as she reached the spot, her long light braids of hair streaming out behind, and her breath almost gone, “stop!” and she[230] shook her broom at them. “o dear me, joel pepper, i am s’prised!”
“there, you see,” exclaimed the other boy, getting up from the grass where joel had just neatly deposited him underneath himself, “what she says.”
“oh, it’s you, jim potts, is it?” said miranda, with a look of scorn. “well, if you ever let me see you here again, i’ll pitch into you myself. get out!” and she shook her broom at him, and not caring to make the acquaintance of joel any further, he slunk away, first calling to a yellow dog, nosing around the barn.
“you take that miserable dog away,” screamed miranda peters after him; and the dog seeing the broom, for which household implement he had no special fondness, at once set into a lively run in which his master joining, they were soon lost to view.
“if ever i see such a sight in my life as you be, joel pepper,” exclaimed miranda, with extreme disfavor. “my, and phew! what have you been doin’?” she wrinkled up as much nose as she possessed, and pulled her calico gown well away, to be sure it couldn’t possibly hit any part of his muddy clothes.
[231]“cleaning out the pig-pen,” said joel, pointing a very grimy finger at it.
“cleanin’ out th’ pig-pen!” exclaimed miranda peters. “o my, and o my! what will mrs. pepper say?”
“oh, don’t tell mamsie,” pleaded joel, crowding up closely to her.
“oh, you get away!” cried miranda, edging off, and whipping her gown tighter than ever around her feet; “don’t you dars’t to come no nearer, joel pepper. well, first i must clean you up,” and she took up the broom she had dropped in her agitation.
“oh, i’m going back,” said joel, preparing to descend again to his work.
“you come right straight here,” commanded miranda, shrilly, “an’ don’t you stir one step into that nasty hole. o dear me, i’m afraid as death of what mrs. pepper’ll say.”
“i must finish it,” joel began.
“you come here,” and back he had to go, and then she swept him all over with her broom, knocking off the clinging straws and pig-pen litter, all the time exclaiming: “o dear me! what will mrs. pepper say!”
“mamsie wouldn’t want me to stop my work,”[232] said joel, wrathfully, who didn’t like this sort of proceeding at all.
“you be still.” miranda whirled him about picking at his sleeve gingerly, wherever she could find a place least besmeared, “that ain’t your work, an’ pa ought to have ben ashamed to set you at it. o dear me, what a scrape he’s got us into,” she said to herself; “for ma an’ me has got to get this boy clean enough to go home. oh, mercy, do stand still,” she said aloud.
“my mother won’t want me to leave my work,” said joel, loudly, at her, his black eyes flashing, “and i ain’t going to, so there.”
“well, you keep still; i’ll give you some work to do.”
“will you?”
“yes, yes, do stand still; oh, mercy, what a mess!”
“what shall i do?” demanded joel, smiling now. it was all right since he was going to work, and carry home some money to mamsie. “say, miss miranda, what’ll i do?”
“oh, i don’t know. do be still,” she twitched him into position again.
“you said you had some work for me,” said joel, loudly. “you said so, your very own self.”
[233]“well, so i will give you some,” promised miss miranda, pushed into a corner. “there, you’re brushed, all i can get off of the nasty stuff. now, you must come into th’ house.”
“will you give me the work, then?” asked joel, determined to have that settled before starting.
“yes, yes.”
“well, wait, i’m going to get my dinner,” for the first time this now coming into his mind, and he ran off to the side of the barn, where he had tucked his paper bundle.
“why, where,—” he began, getting down on all fours. then he sprang up. “it’s gone!” he shouted, with a very red face, over to miss miranda.
“what’s gone?” she screamed back.
“my dinner,—my whole dinner; and polly did it up.”
joel by this time was prancing about and shaking a piece of brown paper violently, but no dinner appeared. it was gone as completely as if there never had been any in the bundle.
“what was in it?” asked miranda, leaning over to scrutinize the empty paper.
“my dinner!” choked joel, waving the paper wrathfully.
[234]“well, what was it?” said miranda, contemptuously.
“bread.”
“bread! o dear me, well, i wouldn’t cry about that,” said miranda.
“i’m not crying,” declared joel, passionately.
“and was that all?”
“no, there was a potato and nice, nice salt.”
at this, joel, remembering how he had seen polly put it up, and how very hungry he was at this present moment, turned away and began to sob, trying to keep it all back, so that miss miranda shouldn’t see.
“there, i wouldn’t feel bad, joel,” she said, not unkindly; “i’ll give you some dinner. i s’pose jim potts’s dog eat it up.”
all the sorrow went out of joel’s face, and he whirled about, dashing off the tears from his black eyes. “i’ll punch him for that,” he said.
“no, you won’t, either,” said miranda, and picking his sleeve again. “you let that jim potts alone, joel pepper. he’s a bad boy, an’ as for that poor dog o’ his, he’s hungrier ’n you be. come along, an’ i’ll give you some dinner.”
and presently joel was seated before a plate on which were scraps of cold corned beef, very[235] red and stringy, it is true, but tasting perfectly delicious, and a little pile of cold cabbage and potatoes. he wasn’t in the kitchen, it is true, because neither mrs. peters nor miranda thought it the least desirable that mr. peters should meet him. but in the wash-shed, back of the big tubs, he sat on a little stool, and ate away with only one thought—“oh, how good it was! and wouldn’t it be prime if they could ever have such splendid things at the little brown house for dinner!”
“we must give him something to eat before we clean him up, ma,” miranda had whispered out in the kitchen, after closing the wash-shed door, “for he’s half starved. my, what will mrs. pepper say, an’ how could pa git us in such a scrape!”
but after the last morsel was carefully scraped from his plate, miranda, remarking that it looked as if it had been washed, joel straightened up and clamored for work again.
“what’ll we put him at?” she whispered, carrying out the plates and knife and fork to the kitchen sink.
“my land, i’m sure i don’t know,” said old mrs. peters, helplessly. “there’s enough work,[236] goodness knows, in th’ house to do, but nothin’ to set a boy on. it beats me, mirandy.”
“well, there’s some that’s got to be found,” said miranda, decidedly. “meanwhilst, we’ll just whip off his clothes, an’ i’ll run ’em through th’ tub.”
“what’ll he put on?” cried the old lady, aghast.
“why, there’s john’s things up in th’ attic,” said miranda; “i’ll run up and fetch ’em.”
which she did, and although john, when he left home to go to sea, was a lad twice the size of joel pepper, and his garments left behind had been hanging in the garret ever since, to the great delight of the moths, joel not only made no objections to being inducted into them, but his face actually shone with pleasure at the prospect. now, he was big, indeed!
“i can roll up your sleeves,” said miss miranda, reassuringly, as the well-worn edges dangled over his hands.
“did john roll ’em up?” asked joel, regarding her movements with suspicion.
“no, of course not,” said miranda, briskly, “but he was bigger’n you be. why, he was almost a man.”
[237]“then, i don’t want ’em rolled up,” said joel, trying to get away from her long fingers, “and i’m almost a man, too. see how big i am, miss miranda.”
but, notwithstanding, miranda went on pinching and rolling the sleeve-ends, and at last she threw joel’s little blue cotton jacket and trousers into the nearest tub. “there,” she said, surveying him and her work, “at least, you’re clean.”
“an’ i’ve thought of some work he could do,” said old mrs. peters, looking in at the door.
“that’s th’ best thing of all,” said miranda, soaping the stains vigorously; “i can wash an’ iron, but i can’t pick out work for a boy. what is’t, ma? it’s got to be somethin’ not near to pa,” she said in a lower tone.
“your pa can’t hear nor see this,” said mrs. peters. “it’s to pick over apples down cellar. they’re all a-rottin’ an’ spilin’ like all possessed.”
“the very thing!” exclaimed miranda, joyfully. “now, you run along, joel, with ma. she’ll set you to work.”
it was impossible for joel to run in the garments that he now was in, but that seemed to him of small importance, since a man was not supposed to run down the cellar stairs.
[238]so, down he went, and presently he was seated in the peterses’ cellar on an old butter-tub, turned upside down, and before a great pile of apples, from which he was to pick out the decayed ones.
“and mind, joel, don’t put any specked ones in there.” old mrs. peters pointed a long thin finger over to the big basket set for the purpose.
“no, i won’t,” said joel, all his eyes on the great pile of apples, and his mouth watering.
“an’ you may have one.” the old lady leaned over john’s coat sleeve, to whisper it, as if afraid that the ceiling above would tell the story to pa, snoring in his big chair in the kitchen.
“can i?” cried joel. “oh, goody!”
“hush, hush,” said mrs. peters, catching his arm. “yes, you may have two, only you must take specked ones, joel.”
“well, that boy’s fixed.” mrs. peters came toiling up the cellar stairs and into the wash-shed. “so he’s quiet about some work to do. but how’ll we pay him, mirandy?”
mirandy leaned her soapy hands on the rim of the tub. “i s’pose i’ll have to break into that egg money,” she said.
