“no, children,” mrs. pepper shook her head, and bent closer over her sewing in the west window.
there was an awful silence in the old kitchen. only phronsie moved uneasily and put her hand up to polly’s chin to turn the face down, so that she might see into the brown eyes. but polly wouldn’t look.
“oh, we can’t give it up, mamsie,” at last she burst out passionately. and that set joel off.
“no, no,” he howled, “we can’t, mamsie.” and then little davie blubbered; he couldn’t help it on hearing joel, and he hid his face on his sleeve.
“can’t is a very poor word to use, polly,” said mrs. pepper, dryly, “when folks know what ought to be done.”
“but, mamsie,” cried polly, deserting the[240] ring of children sitting on the floor, to rush tumultuously over to the sewing corner. phronsie immediately got up and pattered after her, joel following after, little david sitting quite still, and sobbing softly into his sleeve, “don’t you see, oh, don’t you see, mamsie, that we’ve never had a chance to go,—to go to cherryville before, and we’ve wanted to for so long.”
she thrust her face with a little white line around the mouth, up against the buttonhole where mrs. pepper was setting fine stitches.
“we’ve wanted to,” cooed phronsie, who didn’t yet half know what it was all about, only that polly wanted something dreadfully, and she patted her mother’s knee to attract attention.
“take care, polly,” warned mrs. pepper; “you almost stuck that needle into you.”
“oh, i don’t care,” said polly, recklessly, and brushing back her hair from her flushed face. but she dodged the busy needle. “you see, mamsie.”
“yes, you see, mamsie,” shouted joel.
“i see,” said mrs. pepper, gravely. she lifted her face for a minute, and polly’s heart smote her when she saw how very pale it was; then the stitches were set as quickly as ever.
[241]“and if we’ve got to give it all up—” polly really couldn’t stop by this time, but the words came rushing out over each other for all the world just like a noisy little brook tumbling over the stones in its way, “all the fun driving in miss parrott’s coach, to stay with grandma bascom all day,—why, we can’t, mamsie!” down went her brown head in mother pepper’s lap; and she sobbed as if her heart would break.
“no, we can’t,” cried joel, in a loud voice. “see polly cry, mamsie!” he pointed a surprised and shaking finger at the brown head buried in mother pepper’s work. at that, phronsie gave a sharp little scream. mrs. pepper put aside mr. atkins’s coat with its last-but-one buttonhole half done.
“joel!” she said.
when mother pepper spoke in that tone, it was not necessary for further reproof. and joel immediately hung his head and blubbered out something. but phronsie continued to scream on, and flung her arms around polly’s shaking figure.
“now phronsie’s mother’s little girl.” mrs. pepper drew her off to the side of her chair. “stop crying and look up here, child.”
[242]phronsie raised her head obediently and wiped off the tears on her fat little hand. “polly’s crying,” she announced, her lip still quivering.
“i know it; mother’ll take care of polly,” said mrs. pepper; “now you go with joel, and play out of doors till i call you.”
“dave must go, too,—can’t he, mamsie?” broke in joel.
“yes, davie can go, too,” mother pepper tried to smile over at him where he crouched on the floor. “now go along and be good children.”
“i want polly,” said phronsie, with a lingering glance at the figure still half-hidden in mamsie’s lap.
“no, polly must stay with me. go along, phronsie, and be mother’s good child.”
“i will be mother’s good child,” hummed phronsie. so joel took her hand, and somehow little david found his feet, and stumbled out after them, and shut the green door fast.
in about half an hour, “tap,—tap,” on one of the little window panes. there was mrs. pepper rapping with her thimble.
“hi—yi!” screamed joel, catching sight of her face in the midst of a merry game of tag.[243] “she says, come in!” and off he plunged for the house.
“we must wait for phronsie,” said little david. but joel was already in the old kitchen, and at last david found phronsie on her knees watching the progress of a fuzzy yellow caterpillar in the middle of the grass-plot. she had forgotten all about “tag,” in which she was supposed to be an active participant.
“see, davie, one of his legs is sick,” she cried, “poor little thing.”
“oh, no, he isn’t sick,” said david; “he’s only slow. come, phronsie, and leave the old woolly boy alone.”
“no, he’s sick, the poor little woolly boy,” persisted phronsie, “and i’m going to take him in to mamsie.”
“well, mamsie wants us to come in,” said david, impatiently; “so do hurry, phronsie.”
“does mamsie want us to come in?” asked phronsie.
“yes, she does. she called us from the window.”
“then i shall go in,” declared phronsie, getting up from her knees and patting her hands clean, “but i’m going to take my little woolly[244] boy in, davie.” so she picked him off gently from the grass, and setting him on her other hand, came slowly after david, who was running on before.
“do hurry, phronsie,” he begged, coming back to hasten matters; “there, don’t you see your woolly boy isn’t lame? he’s walking up your arm like everything.”
“he likes it,” said phronsie, subduing all desire to get free, since this promenade appeared to be so well suited to the caterpillar. “he’s getting all well, davie.”
“well, he isn’t going to walk up your arm like that,” declared davie, unceremoniously picking off the caterpillar; “now, mister woolly boy, i’ll carry you.”
“oh, no, no, davie, let me,” cried phronsie, holding out her hands; “he’s my very own woolly boy, and i like him.”
“well, hold him in your hand, then,—like this.” davie doubled over phronsie’s fat little thumb and the fingers. “not too tight or you’ll squash him.”
“what’s squash?” asked phronsie, trying to peek in the cracks between her fingers at her treasure.
[245]“why, smash,” said david; “you’d smash him all to bits, and then there wouldn’t be anything left of him but his fur coat and the juice.”
“what’s juice?” asked phronsie.
“oh, that’s his insides,” said davie; “take care now, don’t squeeze him.”
“wouldn’t there be any little woolly boy inside of his fur coat?” asked phronsie, stumbling along with the greatest difficulty, both eyes fastened on her closed hand.
“no, not a single thing,” asserted davie, positively; “why, here’s polly!”
“well, children,” said polly, running down to meet them, “why didn’t you come in when mamsie called?”
“oh, phronsie found an old caterpillar,” said david, discontentedly. to have missed any of mamsie’s calls put him out dreadfully.
“no, he’s a woolly boy,” corrected phronsie; “see, polly, and he’s sick.” she held up her hand for polly to look through the cracks.
“well, never mind, pet,” said polly; “mamsie wants us now, and we must hurry, for we are all to go to grandma bascom’s.”
“aren’t we going to—” began david.
“no,” said polly, quickly. “we are going[246] to grandma’s, and we are going to have a real good time, davie.”
with that she took phronsie’s disengaged hand, “come on,” and away they all sped into the little brown house.
and in five minutes it really seemed as if no such wonderful invitation had been received as that which miss parrott had sent down in a prim little note this morning. it had begged mrs. pepper to allow the four children (ben was away at work on deacon blodgett’s woodpile) to drive over to cherryville, under the care of her coachman, who had to take the big family barouche there for some slight repairs. was ever such a wonderful treat! and just the day before they had promised grandma bascom, who was sick in bed with the rheumatism, to spend this very morning with her. polly was to bake the bread and tidy up the little cottage, and the two boys were to split the kindlings and feed the hens; phronsie’s part being to sit on the gay patched bedquilt by grandma’s side and read aloud to her, the old lady being deaf as a post, and the book generally upside down never making any difference in the enjoyment.
“now, then,” mother pepper had deserted[247] her sewing, and was bustling around helping to get the children started.
“you better take grandma a piece of that butter, polly,” she said; “put it in the blue bowl.”
“not the butter mrs. henderson sent us, mammy?” said polly, pausing in getting phronsie’s clean pink pinafore over her head.
“yes, and you can toast her some bread,” said mrs. pepper. “and, boys, you must hurry. you better start first, and tell grandma that polly and phronsie are coming.”
“tell grandma i’m coming,” piped phronsie, as polly whirled her around to button up the back of the pinafore.
“hooray,—come on, dave!” shouted joel, banging out of the doorway with little davie at his heels.
and at last, polly and phronsie were on the flat door-stone, ready to start.
“o dear me!” polly, the little blue bowl in her hand, turned back. “oh, mamsie, i’m so sorry!” and she hid her face in mother pepper’s neck.
“there,—there, polly!” mrs. pepper patted the brown head with firm fingers, “that’s all[248] been settled now; remember it only wastes time to fret over the past. hurry along to grandma; she needs you.”
“i will, mamsie,” promised polly, struggling with her tears. “come, phronsie.”
but phronsie had to turn back, too. “oh, mamsie,” she begged, just as if she hadn’t said the same thing a dozen times before, “do take care of my poor little woolly boy, ple—ase, mamsie!”
“i will, i will,” nodded mother pepper, smiling at her baby. so hand in hand polly and phronsie hurried off, and mrs. pepper went back to the kitchen window to watch for the parrott coach, which having in any case to pass on this road to cherryville, would waste no time in stopping at the little brown house.
“so i can give him the message, as well as to send word to miss parrott, that the children can’t go,” she said, as she picked up her neglected work to fly at it faster than ever; for that coat and the other three finished ones must be taken to mr. atkins just as soon as all were completed. notwithstanding her hurry, mrs. pepper stopped once or twice to brush something away from her black eyes, that seemed to trouble her. at last she said, “bless them—pleasure and good[249] times will come to them sometime,—they must!” and then her needle flew faster than ever, to make up for lost time.
“now, boys,” said polly, when the four children had scampered down the lane, bringing up breathlessly at the door of the little cottage, “you must go right to work, after you’ve said ‘good morning,’ to grandma, on splitting the kindlings in the shed, and pile ’em up nicely. and, joel, don’t ask her any questions; you know how to do it all.”
“grandma may want ’em done different to-day,” said joel, stoutly.
“no, she won’t,” said polly, decidedly; “shoo, there!” this to an old hen who stepped out to the flat door-stone, as polly opened the door.
“let me shoo ’em! i’ll do it,” cried joel, excitedly, pushing past polly and flapping his arms; “shoo, there; scat you!”
“so will i,” cried david, following suit, and screaming with all his might, the poor old hen flying wild and squawking dismally.
phronsie sat right down on the old flat stone. “don’t let ’em do it, polly,” she begged; “grandma’s poor old biddies; polly, please stop them,” lifting a distressed little face.
[250]“boys,—boys!” called polly. but they had raced around the cottage. meantime a big white hen stepped out from under the old kitchen table and hopped leisurely out past phronsie sitting on the door-stone.
“misery me!” exclaimed polly, “there’s ever so many in here. grandma didn’t see them probably when she shut the door. there, make her go off, phronsie. shoo—shoo!” and polly flew around the little old kitchen brandishing a dish-towel, thereby making two or three other hens waddle and squawk in great distress.
“i’ll help you,” cried phronsie, diverted from her lively interest over the white hen, and slipping off from the door-stone she ran into the kitchen. “biddy—biddy—biddy,” only succeeding in getting dreadfully in the way, so that the hens squawked and flew about worse than ever.
“it’s a mercy that grandma can’t hear them,” said polly, pausing a minute to wipe her hot face. “oh, you stupid things, can’t you see the open door? there, phronsie, you stand over in that corner, that’s a good girl, and drive them this way. there, says i!”
but despite all this nice plan, the big clumsy[251] creatures preferred to hop and dive under the table and chairs, and back of the wood-box, and any and everywhere but out of doors.
at last polly sank down in a chair. “they won’t go out. o dear me, what shall i do!”
“won’t they ever go out of grandma bascom’s kitchen?” asked phronsie, deserting her corner to run over to polly. “say, polly, won’t they ever?” as joel with davie at his heels whooped in.
“oh, whickets!” exclaimed joel, at sight of the hens. then began such a lively chase that polly had all she could do to restrain the boys and comfort phronsie, while the little old kitchen rang with the noise. at last, out flew and plunged the hens over the flat door-stone and joel screamed with delight, “there, sir, they’re all gone!” and davie wiped his hot face and panted out, “yes, they’re all gone!”
“no, they haven’t, joel,” polly exclaimed; “there’s one going into the bedroom. o dear me!”
“i’ll drive her out,” cried joel, in huge delight and prancing across the little old kitchen.
“no, you mustn’t, joe,” declared polly, seizing his arm. “you’ll scare grandma to death. here, give me that broom.”
[252]“you can’t do it as good as me,” grumbled joel, while they all followed polly, broom in hand, into the bedroom.
“oh, you pretty creeters, you,” cried grandma, raising her head in its big ruffled cap, from the high pillow of the four-poster and beaming at the whole bunch. “so you’ve come to see grandma, haven’t you?”
“there’s a hen under your bed,” announced joel, without any preamble, and marching up to the bedside.
“hush, joe,” said polly. then she laid her rosy cheek against the withered one under the big flapping ruffles.
“good morning, grandma.”
“you needn’t sweep up just yet,” said grandma, with an eye for polly’s broom.
“i’m not sweeping,” said polly, rosier than ever.
then she tried to lift phronsie up on to the gay patched bedquilt by grandma’s side.
for the first time in visiting grandma bascom, phronsie pulled back. “i want to tell poor old biddy to go out,” she whispered, struggling violently; “let me tell her, polly, do,” she implored.
[253]“no, no, phronsie,” said polly, holding her fast, “you must do as i say, pet, or else you’ll have to go home.”
so phronsie, two big tears splashing their way down the pink cheeks, was set on the bed by grandma’s side.
“o dear me!” exclaimed the old lady, in the greatest distress at the sight of these, “what in the world is the matter? didn’t she want to come to see grandma?” so polly had to lean over and scream as much of the whole story about the hens as was possible into the old lady’s ear.
meantime, joel had determined to see to the old hen himself; so he had crawled under the bed, and by dint of wriggling smartly back and forth had at last caught her by one leg; since forgetting how she had crept in under the valance, she ran round and round in a vain effort to get out.
and presently amid a terrible squawking, out he came, flushed and triumphant, dragging her after him.
“i did get her,—bad old thing!” he cried jubilantly, his black eyes flashing. “see, polly, see, grandma!” and he swung the poor bird up before them.
[254]phronsie gave a loud scream.
“joel pepper!” cried polly, bounding after him. but joel was already out through the kitchen, and with a wave of his hand sending the clumsy old hen over to the grass-plot in front of the door. “shoo, now, scat!” he said, which being just what best suited the hen at this time, she plunged in under the currant bushes, to relate her story to some other hens who came running to the spot.
all this delayed the work of the morning. but at last polly saw the two boys splitting and piling the kindlings neatly, and phronsie was reading most importantly aloud to grandma, who alternately dozed, and opened her eyes, saying, “you pretty creeter, you!” while polly herself was busy as a bee over her housewifely tasks.
at last the bread was baked (mrs. pepper having run over and made it the night before) and polly drew a long breath, then ran into the little bedroom. “well, phronsie, pet, now you must hop down and play, and i’ll stay with grandma,” and there was phronsie fast asleep, one hand up across grandma’s little plaid bed-shawl, while fox’s “book of martyrs” had slipped to the floor.
“she’s tired to death,” cried polly, to herself; “well, now she shall have a good nap. and grandma is asleep, too, so that’s a comfort.”
and she went out softly and closed the door; then ran around to the woodshed where the boys were.
“oh, polly!” cried joel, pitching a stick of kindling over on the pile. “see what we’ve done!” and his round cheeks glowed with delight. little drops of perspiration were rolling down davie’s face.
“oh, i never saw such a pile!” exclaimed polly, “and grandma’ll be so pleased. now you two boys may stop working.”
“goody!” cried joel, picking up another stick to give it a good fling, and prancing off to the door, “come on, dave.—oh, polly, i’m so hungry.”
“so you must be,” said polly, sympathetically. “stop, davie, didn’t you hear me say you needn’t work any more? dear me, how hot you are!”
“i just want to finish this stick, polly,” said little davie, holding it up, while joel kept calling: “oh, come along, dave,” ending with, “i’m so hungry, polly.”
[256]“well, just that one,” said polly, relenting; “then you two boys are to go home and wash your hands and faces, and you’ll find the bread and the mush and molasses in the pantry, mamsie said.”
“have we got to come over here afterward?” asked joel, with impatient black eyes.
“yes, of course,” said polly, “but you are not to split kindlings any more. mamsie said only do that once. and you’ve such a nice pile, boys.”
“it’s just a bully pile!” cried joel, running over to regard it affectionately, and kicking a stray stick with his foot.
“joel, what did you say?” cried polly, in dismay.
joel hung his black head, and dug the toe of his old shoe into the woodshed floor.
“mamsie wouldn’t like that,” said polly, soberly, “so you must never, never, as long as you live and breathe, joel pepper, say it again.”
“oh, i won’t, i won’t,” promised joel, eagerly. “polly, i won’t, truly.”
“that’s right,” said polly. “now run along and get your bread and mush, and then come right back here.” and off the boys clattered.
[257]and as soon as phronsie woke up, then she was hungry, so polly took her hand and raced down the lane, for mother pepper had told the children to come home for anything to eat, and there polly found the two boys sitting by the kitchen table busy over their mush-bowls.
“it’s good,” declared joel, just putting in a big spoonful, and he smacked his lips.
“o misery, what a face, joe!” exclaimed polly, with a grimace; “the molasses is all up to your ear.”
“that’s because dave jogged my arm,” said joel, composedly, and going on with his consumption of mush.
“well, go and wash it off,” said polly; “yes, yes, pet, i’ll get you some mush, but you must have on your eating-apron first.”
“i don’t want to wash my face yet,” grumbled joel, eating away faster than ever. “it’ll get all dirt again; dave’ll joggle me some more.”
“oh, no, i won’t,” declared little davie, in distress, “and i didn’t mean to before, only i was trying to get the molasses pitcher. truly, i didn’t, polly.”
he laid down his spoon, and his blue eyes filled with tears.
[258]“i know, davie,” polly stopped to smile at him, as she came back with phronsie’s eating-apron and tied it under her chin. then she lifted her up to her high-chair.
“yes, joel, for shame to want to sit still and eat with such a sticky face.”
“i’m going to kiss phronsie, first,” said joel, dropping his spoon and springing out of his seat.
“no indeed, joel pepper,” cried polly, putting up both hands, “the very idea; you’ll stick her all up.”
“then i’ll kiss dave,” declared joel, bursting into a laugh.
but little david, ducking his head beneath his arm and polly saying, “joel pepper!” in a way that he never remembered disobeying, joel marched off to the sink, and presently came back, his round face red and shiny, to bestow attention again on his mush-bowl.
but they didn’t go back to grandma bascom’s after all that day, for just then in came mother pepper, her black eyes shining.
“mamsie!” they all screamed in joy, phronsie laying down her spoon and beginning to clamber out of her high-chair.
“there, there, baby, sit still.” mother pepper[259] put her hand on the fat little shoulder. “all of you children stay just where you are. no, no, polly, i’ll take off my bonnet. yes, mother’s got home sooner than expected, for mrs. blodgett has had company come; so when i got there, after taking back the coats to mr. atkins, there wasn’t anything to do.”
it was a long speech for mrs. pepper to make, and then she went into the bedroom and the children’s spoons clicked faster than ever.
“now we must be good as can be,” said polly to the others, “and run right back to grandma’s without making any fuss.”
“i shall tell mamsie i don’t wan’t to go,” announced joel, having eaten as much as he could, and giving a long stretch, “i’m awful tired, polly.”
“awfully,” corrected polly, who was very particular about her speech as well as other matters; “you do say such perfectly dreadful things, joel.”
“it is awful,” persisted joel, obstinately.
“no,” said polly, shaking her head, “it isn’t; you must say ‘awfully,’ joe.”
“but i don’t want to,” said joel, setting his little white teeth together firmly.
[260]davie at that turned to him in a worried way. “oh, do say it, joe,” he begged.
“what is it?” asked mrs. pepper, coming out from the bedroom and looking from one to the other.
“oh, i will,” cried joel, swallowing very hard. “i will, polly. it is awfly; polly, it is.”
he got out of his chair, and ran around to her side.
“polly,” he whispered, pulling her ear down to his mouth, “it is awfly.”
“all right.” polly turned, and set a little kiss on his red cheek.
“well, now, children,” mrs. pepper was saying, with a happy smile over at the two, “i don’t want any of you to go back to grandma’s, for i am going myself.”
“oh, mamsie!” exclaimed polly, in dismay, “do let us. really and truly, mamsie, we want to.”
“no, i don’t think it’s best,” said mother pepper, decidedly. “you’ve all been good children i know, and—”
“we’ve made the biggest pile of kindlings, dave and me,” cried joel, excitedly flying over to her; “look in the woodshed, mammy.”
[261]“so i believe,” cried mrs. pepper, in a pleased way; “i’ll look in the woodshed, joe and davie,” and she beamed at them both.
“and i read to grandma,” said phronsie, bobbing her yellow head over her mush-bowl at her mother. “i did; and grandma, she liked it, she did.”
“that’s a good child,” cried mrs. pepper, going over to her baby.
“well, now you may all have the afternoon to play in, for i am going to take care of grandma myself.”
“oh, whoopity!” screamed joel, making for the door.
