“g’lang there, whoa!” mr. tisbett brought up in fine style with one of his best flourishes in front of the well-worn gate to the little brown house, and swept it with a confident gaze.
but instead of seeing joel and david, nearly overcome with joy, rush out of the house and run wildly down the pathway, there was absolutely nobody stirring that he could see, and all was quiet except the droning of the bees in the meadow across the road.
“beats all natur where they be.” the stage-driver, unable to get any satisfaction by staring, took off his old straw hat and violently scratched his head. this afforded him some peace of mind, but the silence continuing, except for the bees and the twitters of an inquisitive bird or two hopping to a near-by branch by the roadside to[263] see what it was all about, he sat back on the old leather-covered seat and drew a long breath.
“whew!” then he laid the well-worn reins down and clambered from his perch to the ground, and with a “stand still there,” to his horses,—a command they were always perfectly willing to obey,—he slouched up to the old green door and gave two emphatic raps, but nobody answered them.
now by this time mr. tisbett was convinced that the most important business in all this world was to get joel and david and start them on that long-promised ride over to cherryville on top of his stage-coach. the invitation, with a message “to be lively and not keep me waiting,” had been sent to them only the afternoon before. mr. tisbett had left it at the village store to be delivered to one of the pepper children or their mother, it being the day when mr. atkins expected some coats to be called for. but phronsie had been sick and fretfully clung to mother pepper, and as polly had a great deal more work to do than usually fell to her share, the coats were not called for, of course. and as a consequence, mr. atkins promptly forgot all about the matter until shutting-up time came.
“oh, good gracious, jonah!” he exclaimed,[264] slapping the counter and looking up with a very distressed face; “if i haven’t clean forgot all about mr. tisbett’s takin’ them pepper boys to ride to-morrow.” he ran to the door and looked up and down the long dusty road. there wasn’t a sign of a person, to say nothing of a stray boy.
“they’d be thick as a swarm if you didn’t want ’em,” said the storekeeper, discomfited. “i declare, i’ll go myself.” he pulled off his old linen coat on the way to his home, which was entered by a door from the shop leading into the ell.
“i’m goin’ out, sarah,” he said in a high sharp key, not made pleasanter by smelling the hot beefsteak pie he knew was being borne to the supper table at this very moment.
“hey?” mrs. atkins set down the pie in its place before his plate and stared at him.
“i said i was goin’ out,” repeated the storekeeper, irritably, and turning his back to the pie, while he wriggled into his out-of-door coat hanging behind the kitchen door.
mrs. atkins deserted the supper table to run over and look at his face. “you goin’ out before supper?”
[265]“yes,” said mr. atkins, sharply, and pulling his coat sleeves down; “’cause i know i won’t do it after, for no one,” it being the storekeeper’s nightly habit to fall asleep after his evening meal in the big easy-chair, and when he awoke from that, he would have neither inclination nor time to make evening calls. “i’ll tell you about it when i get home, sarah,” and he crammed his hat on his head and started for the door.
sarah atkins ran around him to get there first. “you’ll tell me now, silas,” she said quietly; “where on earth are you goin’ without your supper?”
“down to mis’ pepper’s,” said the storekeeper, brought to bay.
“down to mis’ pepper’s?” repeated his wife. “has anything happened there?”
“no,” said mr. atkins, and then the story came out.
just then there was a vigorous knocking set up at their front door. it was so imperative that both the storekeeper and his wife hastened with all speed to answer it.
“i thought you was never comin’.” little sally brown stood there on the step with a very injured countenance.
[266]“you only just knocked,” said mrs. atkins, exasperated. “now what do you want?”
“some sugar—” said sally; “two pounds—” mr. atkins, when he saw who the visitor was, had retreated a few steps with premonitions of a call to the store.
“sugar?” he now cried sharply; “at this time of night—the store’s all shet up.”
“yes,” said sally, “we’ve got comp’ny.”
this piece of news, ordinarily exciting enough to be followed up, was cut in twain by mr. atkins suddenly crying out, as he pressed forward eagerly, “see here, you’ll go to mis’ pepper’s for me, sally?”
“no,” said sally, decidedly; “i’m goin’ home.”
“you’ll go to mis’ pepper’s for me, or you’ll get no sugar from me,” declared the storekeeper, just as decidedly, mrs. atkins during this colloquy exclaiming—“so she can—sally can tell mis’ pepper,” joyfully to herself, as she followed the other two all the way through the kitchen to the shop door. for sally, wisely concluding to take the best that was offered her, finally assented to mr. atkins’s proposal, and seized the paper of sugar, saying, “yes, i’ll go.”
“be sure you’ve got the message right,” said[267] mr. atkins, holding her arm until she had gone over the message three times to make certain that there could be no mistake. “mr. tisbett is comin’ to-morrow mornin’ to take joel and david to cherryville. be ready sharp at eight o’clock.”
at last the weary storekeeper and his wife were back in their kitchen. “now that’s done,” and he took off his out-of-door coat and hung it up with an air of relief.
“the pie’s all cold,” declared mrs. atkins, in vexation, and she twitched it off the table.
“bring it back, sarah,” said her husband; “i’m hungry as a wolf.”
“it’s cold as a stone,” said mrs. atkins, pausing to turn a vexed face.
“well, cold or hot, i’m goin’ to have some,” said mr. atkins, dropping into his seat at the supper table and laying hold of his knife and fork.
so the beefsteak pie was dumped down on the table in front of his plate once more, and mrs. atkins slipped into her seat to pour out the tea.
meantime sally brown ran like a good one up the hill and down again, fully intending to drop the parcel of sugar at home and then off over cross lots to the little brown house, but dashing into the kitchen she found herself in the midst[268] of the entire family gathered around a common centre, so, dropping the brown-paper bundle on the table, she burst in among the group to hear what the excitement could be.
“oh, ain’t it too cunnin’ for anythin’!”
“yes,” said another voice, “it’s cute as can be!” and there was “cousin callena’s” little girl, part of the company, simpering and bridling with delight, and holding up a big doll in a pink satin dress and a red hat and white lace veil.
sally’s mouth opened wide, but she had no time nor breath to scream. the minute cousin callena’s little girl saw her, she lowered the doll immediately to put both arms around it. “you shan’t see it,” she declared, with all the triumph of possession.
“for shame, flora!” cried her mother, “when you’ve come visitin’.”
but flora, not considering it necessary to part with her usual manners just because she was visiting, kept on hugging her doll and swaying back and forth, repeating in a sing-song voice, “you shan’t see it—you shan’t.”
“i will,” declared sally, passionately, and with very red cheeks trying to thrust herself nearer for a better view.
[269]“and so you may,” said cousin callena, very much ashamed, and reaching over she first bestowed a smart slap on flora’s shoulder; then she twitched the doll out from her arms. “there, now, i’ll take it myself. come over here, sally, and i’ll show it to you.”
flora gave a loud scream, but, seeing it was useless to follow her mother, she threw herself flat on the floor and sobbed and kicked her heels all the while the resplendent doll in the pink satin dress and red hat and white lace veil was being exhibited in another corner of the kitchen.
and when sally brown next remembered the message to the peppers, it was along toward the middle of the following morning. she had “eaten and slept” on nothing but that magnificent doll, being unable to get it out of her thoughts for a moment. when the message did flash through her mind, she started, and without a word to any one, raced off across lots as fast as she could to the little brown house. it was as silent and empty as when the stage-driver had visited it.
“oh, well, mr. tisbett’s taken joel and davie,” said sally to herself, running all about the little brown house, and peeping into the west window where mrs. pepper usually sat sewing.[270] “an’ the rest have gone, too,” she added enviously; “an’ i hain’t never been a stage-ridin’,” and she disconsolately got herself back home.
it was just about this time that mrs. pepper, sewing away for dear life over in grandma bascom’s cottage, looked up.
“it’s time to make grandma some tea, polly,” she said.
“o dear me, so it is,” said polly, setting up the broom neatly and drawing a long breath. “mamsie, it wouldn’t be near so hard to get this floor clean if these old hens wouldn’t keep coming in. there’s one now!” and polly flew for the broom again to brandish it wildly after the marauder. “they get the feathers all over everything.”
“shut the door then, polly,” said mrs. pepper.
“oh, they come in just as easily in that hole over by the corner.” polly pointed to it with her broom.
“is there a hole there, polly?” asked mrs. pepper, in surprise.
“yes, mamsie,” said polly, “there is. i’m going to put that box up against it,” which was no sooner said than done, polly dragging up an empty soap box for the purpose. “there, now,[271] old hens, i guess you won’t get in,” she cried, rubbing her hands in satisfaction.
“ben must mend that hole just as soon as he has a chance,” said mrs. pepper, snipping off her thread, while polly set back the broom and ran over to the stove to get grandma’s tea.
“isn’t it good that phronsie sleeps so long, mamsie?” said polly at last, while she was waiting for the old kettle to boil, and coming up to her mother’s chair.
“yes,” said mrs. pepper. she looked tired and worried, but she smiled. “she’ll be all right, i think,” she hastened to say.
“i guess she’s better because you brought her over to grandma’s,” said polly, with a happy little laugh, and balancing herself first on one set of toes and then on the other. “isn’t she, mamsie?”
“maybe,” said mrs. pepper, then she laughed too, a sound that made polly happier yet. “i think the kettle has boiled, polly.”
“i believe it has,” laughed polly, skipping back to the old stove.
and then when grandma had had her tea and eaten the toast that polly had made to go with it, and polly had washed and wiped the dishes, phronsie on the other side of grandma’s big bed[272] turned over and put out her hand. “i’m so hungry, polly,” she said.
“oh, pet, are you awake?” polly ran around the old bed and covered her face with kisses; “and you’re all well, aren’t you, pet?”
“no,” said phronsie, shaking her yellow head as well as she could for polly hugging her, “but i’m very hungry, polly. i am truly.”
“well, and you shall have something,” declared polly, flying off into the kitchen to tell mrs. pepper all about it.
so mamsie dropped her sewing and went in to look at phronsie to see how she really was. and everything had to be told to grandma, who by this time was in a bad fright lest phronsie were worse. and then grandma said phronsie must have toast, too, and so polly ran out to make that. and presently phronsie was sitting up, propped against a pillow close to grandma’s, and eating with great satisfaction all around a crispy, crinkly slice of toast that polly brought to the side of the bed with a great flourish on a piece of paper, pretending it was a napkin.
and then polly curled up at the foot of the bed and laughed, and told phronsie a merry little story about parson henderson’s chickens that[273] phronsie always considered part of the eating process. and grandma “ohed” and “ahed” through it all, although she hadn’t heard a word, and everything was getting on as fine as could be, and mrs. pepper out in the kitchen gave a sigh of relief as her needle flew faster than ever. “it surely hasn’t hurt phronsie to bring her over, and grandma needed us after that chill;” for polly had run back through the lane after an early visit to the cottage, saying that “grandma is awfully cold, and she can’t get warm, and she’s all huddled up over the stove.” and mrs. pepper had bundled up phronsie in an old quilt and carried her over, telling polly to bring the coat she was trying to finish and the work-basket. and then ben and joel and davie had all hurried off to work together, for the two little boys were to help ben at deacon blodgett’s on this morning.
“it’s so funny to lock the door,” said polly to herself, as she swung the old key on her finger and skipped down the lane. “o dear me, wouldn’t it be nice to ever go off into the woods and pick flowers, and run—o dear me—and stay as long as i wanted to—just think—oh!” but here she was at grandma bascom’s, and ever so much work to be done.
[274]“i’d stop for them boys to-morrow, i declare i would,” said mr. tisbett to himself, rattling off on the way to collect his customers, “ef i warn’t engaged to bring up them folks from the city to the potter farm. that’s jest it—this busy season—it beats all to know when i can git another chance so good as this was to-day, and no one to take this ere seat with me.” he slapped his knees with his horny hand in his vexation, and set about his day’s work in no very pleasant frame of mind.
“john!” an old yellow wagon, drawn by an older horse, rattled around a curve. “i say, john, stop, will ye?”
“i’m a-stoppin’ as fast’s i kin with my horses,” said mr. tisbett, pulling up his pair with a superior air. “what d’ye want, mr. potter?”
mr. potter guided his old horse up against the stage-driver’s pair, and bawled out, “say, those folks ain’t a-comin’ to-morrow.”
“them city ones?” asked the stage-driver.
“yes,—a-comin’ friday; just had a tel’gram.” mr. potter drew himself up with dignity to see the effect on the stage-driver. “’twas brought by hiram pendleton’s son, an’ he come lickety-split—thought some one was dead, an’—”
[275]“i don’t care about that,” said mr. tisbett, dismissing the narration by a wave of his hand as of no consequence whatever. “i’ll fetch ’em from cherryville deepo friday insted of to-morrow; that’s the idee, ain’t it?”
“yes, ye see—” mr. potter stood up in his wagon, he was so anxious to get all the details of this change of plans in his city boarders well before the stage-driver’s mind, but that individual was already a good piece of his journey down the road, his horses kicking up a great dust while he cheered them on, for his spirits had risen very much indeed.
“now i’ll take the pepper boys to-morrow to cherryville,” he declared, “an’ i’ve got to go round there to-night when i come home, so i’ll tell mis’ pepper.” this new plan almost made him forget his worry that otherwise would have seized him when he thought of the little brown house all so shut up and silent.
so all this is the reason why joel and little david didn’t hear before that night that they were really and truly going to cherryville on the morrow. then the little brown house more than made up for being silent in the early morning!
[276]“oh, i wish you were going, polly!” said ben the next morning, when she ran out to the woodpile where he had to work that day to get some ready for mamsie, and he rested his busy saw a moment.
“oh, i’m going sometime,” said polly, tossing back her brown hair, and trying to speak cheerily.
ben’s face didn’t lighten a bit, as he took up his saw.
“and it’s too bad you can’t go,” said polly. “dear me!” and she clasped her hands tightly.
“oh, i’m going sometime,” said ben, repeating her words. then he burst into a laugh. “but i’ve got to have this wood sawed first.”
“and i’ve got to wash those old breakfast dishes,” said polly, skipping off to the kitchen door. “misery me!” for there was joel in a dreadful state of distress. he couldn’t find his cap; search for it high and low, it was nowhere to be seen.
“oh, i thought you were all ready, joel!” cried polly, in surprise.
“he was—he was,” gasped little davie, tearfully, and getting in everybody’s way in his efforts to help along the search.
[277]“here comes the stage,” said mrs. pepper, looking out of the window. “joel, run out and ask ben to let you take his cap.”
“oh, mamsie,” began polly, in dismay, who dearly loved, whenever any of them were going visiting, to have everything as fine as possible. but seeing mrs. pepper’s eyes, she didn’t finish with “ben’s cap will be ever so much too big for him,” as joel dashed off to ask him.
“you mustn’t keep mr. tisbett waiting,” said mrs. pepper, “so run along, boys,” as joel raced back, cramming ben’s worn cap on his head as he pranced down the path to be pulled up over the wheel by mr. tisbett, who performed the same good office for little david. at last a crack of the whip—and off they went.
down to badgertown centre the old stage-coach swung along, the horses now at a “pretty pace,” as mr. tisbett called it, for he always made a good showing down the main street, till a sharp scream struck his ears.
“hulloa there, what you about,” he called; “scaring the horses to death!” and he pulled them up shortly, and craned his neck at a woman running along the sidewalk, and shaking a small[278] bandbox tied up with a cloth cover at him. “stop—stop,” she gasped faintly.
“ain’t i a-stoppin’?” said mr. tisbett, leaning both hands holding the old leather reins on his knees. “gracious, ye don’t need to screech so, mis’ sprigg.”
“i was afraid,” panted the woman, coming up to the stage, “that—you—wouldn’t stop, mr. tisbett.” her face was very red and the drops of perspiration rolled down either side.
“well, i’m a-stoppin’ now,” said the stage-driver, while joel and david peered around him to get as much as possible of the interview; “so if you’ll state what you want, i’ll be obleeged to ye, mis’ sprigg.”
“how much is’t to cherryville?” asked mrs. sprigg, depositing her bandbox on the grass by the side of the road, and pulling out a big handkerchief to mop her hot face.
“just what it always was; a quarter,” said mr. tisbett. “the price ain’t changed any since yest’day when you asked me, mis’ sprigg.”
“i didn’t know but what you’d take less when you’d had a chance to think over what good customers we’d been when we lived over to cherryville,” said mrs. sprigg, scanning the stage-driver’s[279] face with her beady eyes. “we alwus travelled with you, mr. tisbett,” she added wheedlingly.
“and how much did you travel?” said mr. tisbett, scornfully, shifting his quid of tobacco to the other cheek; “once in a dog’s age, ye come over to badgertown.”
mrs. sprigg drew herself up to her greatest height, which wasn’t much, and her beady eyes snapped.
“well, i can’t stop here with my horses coolin’ their heels all day,” said the stage-driver. “are you goin’ to get in for cherryville or stay where ye be?” and he shook the reins suggestively.
“i’ve got to go to cherryville,” snapped the little woman, snatching up her bandbox from the grass. “my sister’s husband took sick, an’ eliza—”
“i can’t stop to hear about eliza,” retorted the stage-driver, impatiently, and dropping the reins to clamber down over the wheel. “i’ve got some customers to pick up, an’ some passels, an’ i hain’t no time to waste in talk. now, then, mis’ sprigg.” he set her bandbox inside with a hasty hand, then took hold of her arm to help her into the coach. “step lively, there!”
[280]“wait a minute—” she shook him off to peer down the road. “oh, here she comes!”
mr. tisbett flew around also to see coming down the road, making the dust fly well at every step, a small girl holding a basket which she swung back and forth vigorously.
“hold it straight,” screamed the little woman, and she stamped her foot on the grass. “martha sprigg, don’t you know no better!” but martha not hearing, as there were several noises emanating from the basket, kept up the swinging, and at last reached her mother, who first gave her a smart slap, and then, after getting the basket away from her, a shake.
“you’ve pretty near killed him, i ’xpect,” declared mrs. sprigg, bending over the basket in concern, from which a loud and indignant “mee—ow!” pealed forth. “now you go right straight back home, you naughty girl, you, and sew up that seam to that sheet, just as i told you.”
martha looked longingly at the stage-coach, and the two boys perched up on top, then her gaze fell down to her mother. “i want to go,” she said boldly.
mrs. sprigg, with her foot on the step, having first seen mr. tisbett deposit her precious basket[281] inside, turned in astonishment. “well, i never!” she ejaculated.
“let th’ little girl go, can’t ye?” said mr. tisbett, good-naturedly, on seeing martha’s face; “’twon’t cost nothin’. i’ll take her without charge.”
for one second mrs. sprigg relented, being unable to pass anything by that did not cost. “no, indeed,” then she cried decidedly; “it’ll cost over there to eliza’s for eatin’, an’ martha’s got to do th’ work to home. go right straight back!” she whipped her skirts about her feet and skipped into the stage-coach.
“well, there, ye see, i can’t take ye; your ma won’t let me,” said mr. tisbett, apologetically, to the little girl, who stood twisting her small red hands together and wistfully regarding his face.
“oh, let her come, do let her come,” begged joel, leaning forward on his high seat at the imminent risk of falling off on his nose; davie crowding up close to his shoulder trying to see, too, and crying, “please, mr. tisbett, let her come—”
“can’t,” said mr. tisbett, swinging himself up to his seat; “that cantankerous old woman won’t let me—” the last under his breath.
[282]martha, seeing her last hope which had flamed high at mr. tisbett’s words, disappear, gave a loud scream of disappointment and flung herself face downward on the grass. the stage-driver, just picking up the old leather reins, paused and looked over his shoulder. “see here, marthy, don’t cry. i’ll take ye some other day.”
mrs. sprigg poked her head, with its green veil tied carefully over her sunday bonnet, out of the window to listen greedily. martha sat up on the grass suddenly to brush away the tears.
“yes, i will,” said mr. tisbett. “you be a good girl an’ run home now, an’ i’ll come for ye some other day,” and he whirled back in his seat. “g’lang!” and mrs. sprigg was picking herself back from the opposite leather-covered seat and straightening her bonnet after the jerk of the old coach as the horses sprang off.
“oh, we can’t leave her,” screamed joel, at the end of the seat, trying to see martha; little davie in just as much distress, huddled up in the middle.
“look out—you set still,” roared mr. tisbett at joel. “if you don’t, i’ll put you off, an’ you won’t go neither,” which had such good effect that joel crowded up closely to davie. “oh,[283] i will sit still, i will, mr. tisbett,” as they rumbled off, trying to make up for lost time on the way to the store where they were to pick up the other passengers and the parcels.
when this place was reached, there was a little detention to allow an old gentleman with crutches to get helped in and settled comfortably by his daughter, who was the only other passenger. and then their trunk, a small black leather one, was swung on behind, and the various parcels (for mr. tisbett, of course, carried the express to the different families between badgertown and cherryville) were packed in, and with a “good-by, joel and david,” from mr. atkins, who came out on the steps to see them off, away they went again, not to stop except once or twice to give the horses a breathing spell, until they drew up at cherryville centre.
“it’s a dull day enough,” observed mr. tisbett, sociably, on one of these resting spells, and crossing his legs leisurely, “for trade, that is. beats all how that mis’ sprigg’s tongue goes,” he pointed backward with his tongue toward the open window.
joel, who cared little for mrs. sprigg’s tongue, now began to use his own, clamoring freshly to[284] be allowed to drive, or at least, to hold the reins when the horses were resting.
“when you’re bigger, ye may,” said mr. tisbett, pushing back his straw hat from his forehead.
“i am bigger,” said joel, straightening up.
“i see,” said the stage-driver with a loud “so ye be.”
“then can’t i take ’em?” cried joel, triumphantly.
“well, ye’ll be bigger yet in a little while—you wait and see,” said mr. tisbett. “you’ll grow faster ef you’re quiet.”
“will i?” cried joel, eagerly.
“yes, indeed,” the stage-driver nodded emphatically. “you’ll be as big as ben if you don’t look out. that’s his cap, ain’t it, you’ve got on your head?”
joel, at this, reminded of his head and what it carried, clapped his hands to it. “yes, ’tis,” he nodded.
“well, now, seem’ you’ve got ben’s cap on your head, you ought to have some sense like ben has, in your head.” the stage-driver, at that, raised the reins and “g’langed” to his horses, and away they went once more settling down to work.
[285]suddenly all three up on the top seat began to be aware that there was a lively commotion down within the old stage, and a long crutch waved out of the window, besides various cries in as many different voices, made mr. tisbett think he must pull up his horses and get down and investigate, which he did at once, thrusting his red face in the window. “what in creation—” but he got no further, the young woman who had waved her father’s crutch to attract attention and stop the coach, vying with mrs. sprigg to make herself heard. the old gentleman said nothing, but his eyes blazed.
“one of you ladies, at a time,” begged mr. tisbett, waving his hands deprecatingly. “i’d be delighted to hear it all, if one of you would wait for th’ tother—”
but that was precisely what neither would do, but mrs. sprigg got her story in shrilly above the other woman.
“my cat’s gone—he’s let it out o’ th’ basket.”
“indeed, i did not.” the old gentleman was so indignant, he found his voice.
“pa hasn’t touched her old cat,” cried the young woman, angrily. “the very idea!”
“he’s done nothin’ but poke th’ basket all[286] the while with his crutch,” declared mrs. sprigg, “ever sence he got in, an’ th’ cover’s flew up, an’ see there!” she held up the basket, and sure enough, the cover was up, and no cat there.
“well, the cat’s under th’ seat prob’ly,” said mr. tisbett, in the midst of the babel of tongues. “i’ll wait while you get down an’ get her, mis’ sprigg, but you must hurry up.” with that he rested one foot on the step and his hands on the window casing, while with many mutterings about neighbors who wouldn’t keep their meddling sticks and crutches to themselves, and just as emphatic answers that there hadn’t been any meddling sticks and crutches, and that the rickety old cover was to blame for the whole performance, mrs. sprigg slid off from the old leather swinging seat and began to prowl about in the dark corners for her straying pet, when, without a bit of warning, out shot something big and furry over mr. tisbett’s head, clawing the straw hat as it went, to land a dozen feet away on the roadside, and disappear over the stone wall.
“my land o’ goshen!” exclaimed the stage-driver, pushing back his straw hat where it had been thrust over his eyes, as mrs. sprigg’s face came up to the window. “oh, my cat!” she[287] screamed wildly, and rattling the door to get out; “catch him—catch him!”
“i’ll catch him,” cried joel, tumbling off from his seat and down over the wheel, followed by davie, who never stopped to think of what had seemed to him before to be a dangerous proceeding, and racing after joel’s heels, both boys were soon over the stone wall.
“they’ll scare him worse,” cried mrs. sprigg, now down by the side of the road, and in a thicket of straggling blackberry bushes, and she wrung her hands.
“plague take your old cat!” exclaimed mr. tisbett, in a panic over the boys. “come back here—your ma won’t like it,” he shouted, but he might as well have saved his voice, for it was carried off by the wind long before it could reach the two little flying figures, as they dashed up to the edge of a clump of bushes. but just here the unexpected happened—the cat with long leaps was making her way within the thicket, when a dog running through the bushes came face to face with her, nearly knocking her over, and joel, seizing that instant, had her, though kicking and struggling dreadfully, held fast in his arms.
“i’ve got her—i’ve got her!” he yelled clear[288] across the field, his black eyes shining in triumph, and running as fast as he could for her kicking and clawing, davie stumbling along by his side, begging him to let her go, and wild with fright as he saw a long bloody scratch on one of the little brown hands.
“no, sir—ee!” declared joel; “there, now, i’ve got your other old hind leg,” this to the cat, and gathering up the long paws with a good grip. “you can’t scratch me any more,” and presently he somehow got over the stone wall.
“now give that pesky animal to me,” commanded mr. tisbett. so joel, although he much preferred to put the cat himself into the basket, was obliged to hand it over and stand quietly by, while it was crammed into its prison. and then mr. tisbett remarking—“we won’t have no more stoppings out of this stage till you get to cherryville,” produced a rope from underneath the seat and securely tied on the cover, making it fast with a generous number of knots, and no one but davie took any notice of joel’s bloody little hands.
it wasn’t till they got to cherryville and stopped at the inn for dinner, mrs. sprigg and her cat and her bandbox having been dropped at “eliza’s,”[289] that the old gentleman as soon as he was helped up to the long piazza to sink down in one of the big chairs, said, “hey, look at that boy,” and he rapped on the floor with his crutch; then pointed to joel.
joel put his hands behind his little blue cotton blouse. he had wiped them pretty clean, but couldn’t succeed in getting off all the dingy stains.
mrs. christy, the landlady, was bustling in the doorway, preparatory to ringing the big dinner-bell. “what’s that?” she said, peering at joel.
“nothing,” he tried to say, squirming worse than ever. but little davie piped out, “it was the cat.”
“let me see your hands,” said mrs. christy, giving up all thoughts just then of ringing the dinner-bell. so joel had to show them. “o dear me!” she exclaimed. “now that’s too bad, the cat must have hurt you just awful.”
“phoh, she didn’t hurt much,” said joel, trying to edge off, little davie having the hardest work not to let the tears roll down his cheeks.
“you come right here,” said mrs. christy, “an’ wash ’em good an’ clean, an’ i’ll give you some court-plaster. then, says i, you’ll be all ready to set down an’ eat when mr. tisbett is.[290] come along and take off your cap,” she said to david.
joel clapped his hands up to his head, then stared at davie, his black eyes getting bigger than ever. little davie, having been unable all this time to look higher than joel’s poor hands, now stared back at him.
“oh—oh!” he screamed in the greatest consternation; “it’s gone—it isn’t there. oh—oh!” and in a minute the whole long piazza was in an uproar that brought every lodger to the scene. ben’s cap was not only not on joel’s head—it was nowhere to be seen.
joel cried steadily all through dinner, the tears running down his round cheeks, without the slightest thought of the boarders staring at him, as he sat back in his chair; and all attempts to make him partake of the nice things that the landlady and “mandy” piled on his plate, failed, while little davie softly sobbed next to him, until good mrs. christy and the stage-driver were almost at their wit’s end. finally the old gentleman at the other end of the long table, laid down his knife and fork, and exclaimed “hem—” in such a loud voice, everybody knew he was getting ready to say something quite important.
[291]“here, boy—look here. hem!” it was so very loud now and commanding that even joel stopped a moment. seeing this, davie listened with all his heart. could anything help them out of this dreadful trouble? ben’s cap lost! “i’ve got something for you that you’ll like a great deal better’n your old cap; it was too big anyway for you.”
“i wouldn’t like it better,” screamed joel, a great deal worse than before; “this was ben’s, and i’ve—lost—it!”
“lavinia,” said the old gentleman, giving his daughter a little key out of his waistcoat pocket, “you go to my trunk and get out that little black cap.” he dropped his voice so that no one else could hear.
“not the one you’re taking to jim!” said lavinia, whispering back.
“you do as i say,” commanded the old gentleman, fiercely. if he could have reached his crutch, he would have pounded the floor with it, but it was left in the corner of the big dining room. so lavinia went off with the little key in her hand, and presently she came back with a brand new black cloth cap in the other hand.
“now stick that on that boy’s head,” said the[292] old gentleman. “now, says i, whatever your—name—is, boy, you take ben, whoever—he—is, that cap. he’ll like it a great deal better because it’s a new one. and then come back and finish your dinner, lavinia.”
so lavinia stuck the new black cap on joel’s head as she went by his chair, and was just slipping into her own, when out jumped the stage-driver from his seat and picked it off, going up to the old gentleman at the head of the table. “thank ye, sir, kindly, but all th’ same, it’s me that’s goin’ to get a new cap fer ben pepper, seein’ his’n has blew off from joel’s head while he’s my comp’ny,” and he was just going back to his place when a frowsy-headed stable boy walked right into the dining room without waiting to ask any one’s leave.
“he said,” pointing with his thumb out toward the road, “i was to give you this to once’t. you dropped it when you was chasin’ th’ cat, and him an’ his dog found it,” and he held out ben’s cap.
