“polly,” said phronsie, “i wish we could have cake every day.” she held carefully, a small bit saved after nibbling slowly around the edge of the piece in her hand, “why can’t we, polly?”
“why can’t we what, phronsie?” polly, rushing around the old kitchen, the dish-cloth, which she had forgotten to put down, still in her hand, picked up a small bowl from the table and, knocking off a spoon that it had concealed, sent it clattering to the floor. “o dear me, i do wish joel would ever put his things up,” she exclaimed in vexation.
“i’ll pick it up,” cried phronsie, forgetting her cake-crumb so that it went flying off to the floor, too. “let me, polly, do,” she begged, running over to the table.
[294]“oh, no, never mind, pet,” exclaimed polly, very much ashamed of her impatience; “there, i have it,—well, oh, what did you want, phronsie? o dear me,” she cried again, “i wonder when these old dishes will ever be done!”
“i’ll do them,” cried phronsie, running after her eagerly as she bore them off to the big pan of water waiting for them, the dish-towel flapping from polly’s arm; “please, polly, i’m so big; do let me.”
“nonsense, you’re no bigger’n a chicken,” exclaimed polly, merrily setting down joel’s mush-bowl and spoon among the other things the pepper family had used at their simple breakfast.
“i’m not a chicken,” said phronsie, in a grieved little voice, and standing quite tall.
“oh, yes, you are,” declared polly, gayly. then, as she caught sight of phronsie’s face, she turned her back on the big dish-pan, and seized her for a good hug. “a sweet, puffy little chicken,—there, and there, phronsie pepper!”
“am i just like mrs. henderson’s chickens?” asked phronsie, slowly, a light breaking over her face.
[295]“yes, as like as two peas,” declared polly, shaking her head decidedly. “oh, you can’t think, phronsie. you’re just exactly like one of mrs. henderson’s chickens, every single bit.” with that she gave her another hug.
“am i like the little yellow one, polly?” asked phronsie, as polly at last set her free, and flew off to her long-delayed dish-washing, only to find the water cold. “am i, polly?”
“eh, what?” asked polly, wrinkling up her brow in dismay. “now what shall i do,—that old stove!— and the fire’s out, of course. o dear me, pet, what is it?”
“am i like the little yellow one, polly?” asked phronsie, thrusting her face in between polly and the dish-pan. “am i, polly?”
“the little yellow what?” asked polly, all her thoughts on her delayed morning work, and her hurry to pull out all those basting-threads on the coats mamsie had just finished for mr. atkins, to surprise mrs. pepper when she had come home from deacon blodgett’s where she had gone to help in the spring cleaning.
“you said i was like mrs. henderson’s chickens,” said phronsie, her lip beginning to tremble, “and can’t i be like the little yellow one? please[296] make me, polly.” a big tear she was trying to keep back wouldn’t stay in its place, but ran down over the round cheek.
“dear me, yes, of course, you can be like the little yellow chicken, phronsie,” promised polly, bursting into a merry laugh, and throwing her arms around her again, quite in dismay at the tear. “now, then, just think, phronsie, how cunning he was when he hopped all around after his mother, and—”
“just like this,” laughed phronsie, her tears all gone; and tumbling to all fours, she began to bob over the kitchen floor as a very fat, yellow chicken would be supposed to get along on its quite new little legs.
“hah—hah!” scud,—scud, scamper,—and two boys came bounding in. “see phronsie!” screamed joel to little david, who came plunging after.
“i’m mrs. henderson’s little yellow chicken,” announced phronsie, lifting a flushed face, and having very hard work to keep her pink apron from tripping her up.
“hoh,—hoh, come on, dave,” screamed joel, flinging himself flat on the floor; “we’ll be the old hens. no, i’m going to be the rooster.[297] cock-a-doodle-doo!” with that he gave a terrible crow, and sprawled after phronsie.
little david, who very much wished to be the rooster, smothered a sigh, and immediately became one of mrs. henderson’s old gray hens. and being perfectly familiar with their proceedings from the many visits the children had been allowed to make to the parsonage hen-coop, he was soon clucking at a great rate, and following joel and phronsie about till the old kitchen rang with the noise of a farm-yard.
“goodness me!” cried polly, turning away from the dish-pan where she was trying to believe the water was hot enough to make the dishes as nice as usual. “oh, what fun!” she rested her hands for a moment on the rim. dear me, didn’t she just long to be down on the floor, and be an old hen with the others rampaging around the kitchen! but mamsie was coming soon, and there were those basting-threads,—and beside, the dish-water would then be cold as a stone. it would never do to even think of it. so she flew back again, and made a great bustle with the cups and bowls and spoons trying to shut out the delightful noise. this was the reason she didn’t hear what followed.
[298]“oh, whickets!” joel couldn’t help saying what mamsie had reproved him for. here was what looked like a piece of cake. it couldn’t be, really, for cake didn’t come to the pepper household often enough to be found on the floor. but it surely looked like it; and joel lost sight of the fact that he was a rooster, and rubbed his eyes. yes, it surely was, and white cake, too, with even a bit of sugar frosting clinging to it. and yes, really and truly, there was half a raisin hiding in the corner. and joel forgot still more that he was mrs. henderson’s rooster, and he sat down and gobbled up the bit, wishing that his farm-yard would always yield such rich pickings. if it would, he’d be willing to be a rooster forever.
“let’s play mrs. henderson is going to feed us now,” david was saying, over in the other corner, to the little yellow chicken.
“yes,” gurgled phronsie, in delight; forgetting how tired she was, if only mrs. henderson was going to give them all their breakfast, and beginning to hop again.
“look at joel,” cried davie, pointing a finger over where the rooster still sat, absorbed in the delightful memory of swallowing that cake-bit.[299] then the old gray hen flapped over there followed with very uneven plunges by the little yellow chicken who tried desperately to keep up. “we’re going to have some corn,” he shouted. “hurry up, joe, mrs. henderson’s coming with our breakfast.”
joel at that was brought to. “huh!” he sniffed, “i’ve had cake,” just as phronsie came tumbling up, a very sorry looking, hot little chicken. she heard the word “cake.” “oh, joel,” she cried in a pleased little voice, and, trying to sit straight, only succeeded in rolling over in a heap. both boys hopped over to her and pulled her up.
“oh, where is it, joey?” she cried, holding out both hands.
“where’s what?” cried joel, “—oh, the corn. come on, dave, mrs. henderson’s calling us. cock-a-doodle-doo!” away he hopped, and david, supposing phronsie in the merry chase, hopped after, flapping his wings and calling to his chickens in just that motherly way he had admired so often in the parsonage old gray hens. phronsie left alone, sat quite straight for a moment, then, despairing of being heard in the babel, began to search diligently for the precious[300] cake-bit, that had been slowly saved till the last, because of that very corner of frosting and that half a raisin.
“where’s phronsie?” cried david, missing her from the corn breakfast. joel whirled around, sending keen glances over the old kitchen. “there she is,” spying her pink apron back of mamsie’s big calico-covered rocking-chair. “come on, phron,” he called.
phronsie put out a worried little face around the calico valance. “i can’t find it,” she said.
“she’s lost something,” said davie. with that he forgot he was an old gray hen, and sprang to his feet and ran over. joel preferred to still be a rooster, so he hopped after, reaching the spot to hear david say, “she says she’s lost some cake.”
“cake?” cried joel, tumbling back to sit on his heels, and his black eyes stuck out.
“yes,” said davie, but he looked puzzled enough. “oh, phronsie, when did you have any cake?” he demanded incredulously. “we never have cake, you know. you’re playing.”
“no,” said phronsie, shaking her yellow head very positively; “i did have some, really and truly. polly gave it to me, and i lost it.”[301] with that she began to feel carefully along the depths of the chair valance.
“o dear me!” it wasn’t in the least like a brave “cock-a-doodle-doo!” that the big rooster now emitted, as joel roared out something, and flew for polly.
“take care, joe!” she warned, with her hands full of the dishes she was just going to pile on the shelves. “you ’most knocked off mamsie’s cup!” and she turned pale with fright.
“i’ve eat it up!” wailed joel, burying his black, stubby head in polly’s apron.
“no, you haven’t broken it,” cried polly, “don’t worry, joe, i didn’t mean to scare you.”
“it’s eat, and i can’t give it back,” screamed joel, burrowing deeper into her apron, thereby making all the dishes in polly’s hands tremble violently.
“joe pepper,” cried polly; “stop this minute. o dear me, every single thing will be smashed! what will mamsie say?” at mention of mamsie, joel, although he still wailed on, stopped his struggling so that she was able to set the dishes safely on the table. “now, see here.” she grasped his two shoulders and made him turn his face. “o dear me, what is the matter?” she cried aghast.
[302]“i’ve eat it,” cried joel, breaking into a roar, and not looking up, his black eyes raining tears.
“eat what?” cried polly, in great distress. “stop screaming, joe, and tell me this minute. what have you done?” she gave a great gasp, and instinctively turned a quick eye over to the corner where she could see david and phronsie moving about, probably still as chickens, and not disturbed by joel’s roars, supposing it a new phase of his playing at being a rooster.
“oh, i’ve eat it,—don’t you understand, polly?” screamed joel, in a fresh burst, and stamping in his impatience; “and i can’t give it back.”
“eat what?” demanded polly, in bewilderment.
“the cake!” roared joel. this time it was so very loud, no one could possibly think it was a rooster. so little davie cried joyfully, “oh, he’s found it, phronsie,” and they both scuffed over.
“oh, don’t let her come,” screamed joel, in terror, and trying to hide behind polly’s apron. but it was too late.
“he’s found it!” piped phronsie, in a gleeful little voice, and holding up both hands. “oh, give it to me, polly, do.”
[303]“oh!” screamed joel, huddling around polly’s other side, and twirling her apron.
“take care, joe, you’ll break the strings,” she warned. “now, children, you two go and sit down,” pointing to the wooden chairs ranged against the wall every day after breakfast was over, and the floor swept up, “just a minute, and i’ll come over to you.”
“but i want my cake, polly, i do,” said phronsie, reproachfully, and very much astonished at this delay, for polly always attended to her at once. “please, polly, give it to me now,” she begged.
at this, joel, on polly’s other side, began to struggle in and out the apron depths worse than ever.
“joe, be still,” commanded polly, in her sternest tones. “if you don’t, you will have to go into the ‘provision room.’”
at these dreadful words little davie’s cheek turned quite pale. what had joel done? but phronsie’s mind was all on her cake, and she continued to gaze at polly in grieved astonishment, and to beg, “please, polly, give it to me now.”
“see here, phronsie,” said polly, at her wit’s end what to do; “you must be a good girl now,[304] and do just as i say, else mamsie will be so sorry when she comes home; so you must go and sit down in that chair till i go over to you.”
to make mamsie sorry was as much worse than the loss of any cake could possibly be, and davie saying, “yes, come, phronsie,” and taking her fat little hand, the two children went over to the spot indicated, and climbed up to the chairs just as polly had told them to; little david with an awful feeling at his heart that joel was in trouble.
“now, joel,” said polly, mustering up as much cheer as she could, “you and i will go to the ‘provision room’ and—”
the two children over on their chairs with their ears pricked up for every word, heard “provision room,” and davie screamed out, “oh, don’t make him go there, polly!”
“oh, we’re going together,” said polly, cheerfully, getting hold of joel’s hand. “joey has something he is going to tell me.”
“ow!” exclaimed joel, shrinking deeper into the apron.
“so come along, joey.” and away they went, joel wiping off the tears on the back of one grimy hand while polly held fast to the other.
[305]“there, now.” polly sat down on the little stool in the middle of the old “provision room,” where, whenever the children were very naughty, mother pepper always had them sit alone until such time as she considered the punishment should be over. “you must tell me all about it, joey.” he had flung himself down on the earth floor, and buried his head in her lap.
“i tell you i’ve eat it,” said joel, in smothered gasps. “o dear me, boo—hoo!”
“eat what?” asked polly, still not understanding.
“the cake! i didn’t know it was phronsie’s,” mumbled joel, in a fresh burst. “oh! and it was on the floor, and—and— o dear me! i was mrs. henderson’s— o dear me.”
“yes, i know,” said polly, quickly, glad to help him over the hard places, “one of the hens.”
“no, not the hen,” snorted joel, in scorn, and raising his black head; “dave was that, and i was the rooster—that big one, you know, polly.”
“yes, i know,” nodded polly, quite pleased that he could be diverted even for a moment; “and so you picked up the cake from the floor. was that it, joe?”
[306]“yes,” down went joel’s head again. “i didn’t know it was phronsie’s, and now i can’t give it back,” he wailed, in a fresh burst.
“um, mm—” polly was lost in thought for a minute. what could she do to make up for this dreadful loss? she never could get another piece of cake to replace it. such windfalls as this one, which mrs. atkins had given her the other day, didn’t happen often. and polly, remembering how she had turned back on her way home from her errand to the store, when the wife of the storekeeper who lived in the ell, had rapped with her thimble on the window, and then with the words, “i had comp’ny to tea las’ night, an’ i want you should have this to eat on th’ way home, child,” she had put the precious portion in polly’s hand, and polly had run every speck of the way home, deciding to put it away to give to phronsie sometime when it should most be needed, for the bit wasn’t large enough to be divided between the three “children,” as polly and ben always called the others. and now, only to think what trouble had come from it all!
“i’ve eat it,” joel kept saying, in a steady refrain, and feeling it very cold comfort indeed[307] to be brought to the “provision room,” by polly, with no help to give. “o dear me!” he wailed on.
“i’ll tell you, joel,” polly exclaimed, and she gave a little jump from the stool so suddenly, that he nearly tumbled over on his back, “what you can do. it will be splendid, i think. now, understand, joel, you oughtn’t to have eaten up that cake when you found it. i gave it to phronsie.”
“where’d you get it?” demanded joel, in great surprise.
so polly related the whole story of the cake, only taking breath when joel blurted out, “i wish mrs. atkins had given you a bigger piece.”
“for shame, joe,” reproved polly, sitting down on the stool again, and taking both of his hands in hers. “she was very good to give me this. yes, you shouldn’t have eaten it up when you found it, but brought it to me. never mind if you were the big rooster, the cake didn’t belong to you. but now it is eaten up, why, it must be made up to phronsie in some way. and i’ll tell you how; but you’ve got to work because you ate the cake, you know.”
joel nodded his black head and wiped off the last tear. since polly was going to fix it,[308] it was going to be all right, and phronsie would be pleased. “tell on, polly,” he begged eagerly.
“well,” said polly, “you know phronsie has been wanting a little pie ever since mr. beggs, the ragman, gave her that cunning little tin plate with the letters all around the edge. now, if mamsie will let us use the flour, i’ll—”
“you’ll bake her one,” cried joel, in glee. “oh, hooray!” he jumped to his feet and shouted.
david with phronsie, their hands folded in their laps, sitting up stiffly on their chairs in the old kitchen, gave a great sigh of relief at that shout. everything was quite right with joel once more, to be sure.
“well, but,” said polly, “you’ve got to work, you know, joel.”
“i’ll make the pie,” declared joel, turning a somersault, “and roll out the crust, and everything.”
“oh, no, joe,” cried polly, in horror; “the very idea! why, you never made a pie in your life.”
“but i’m going to this time,” declared joel, pausing on the edge of another somersault, and cocking up one black eye at her. “you said so yourself, polly pepper, that i’d got to work; so there, now.”
[309]“but i didn’t mean in that way, joel,” said polly. “o dear me!”
“well, how will i have to work, then?” demanded joel, getting up to his feet and regarding her with disfavor.
“well, you know you ought not to have eaten up that cake,” said polly, emphatically; “so, of course, you must work to pay it back. so you will have to pick berries, because there isn’t anything to make a pie of but berries. and you must pick them.”
“o dear me, i don’t want to,” grumbled joel, who had his own ideas of what he intended to do the rest of that day. and no berries could be found nearer than a mile-and-a-half hot walk.
“for shame, joe,” cried polly, hotly, “you’ve eaten up phronsie’s cake, and the only thing in this world i can think of to pay her back is to make her a pie on her own little new tin plate, and she can’t have it if you don’t go after the berries.”
“i’ll go,—i’ll go,” promised joel, in alarm, his only fear now being that something would happen to prevent phronsie from being paid back for her lost piece of cake, “but dave’s got to go with me to pick the berries.”
[310]“no, he hasn’t, joel,” said polly, firmly; “not unless he really wants to. and you must pick all the berries for phronsie’s pie, anyway, and what davie picks, if he really wants to go, must be brought home to mamsie.”
so joel, quite relieved that phronsie was really to have her pie, if mamsie would let them have the flour, and quite as sure that davie would go to pick berries if invited, pranced off at polly’s heels out of the “provision room.”
but the story was not told to phronsie that day, for just as polly ran over the rickety little steps into the old kitchen, a rap on the green door was heard. “there’s our mr. beebe,” screamed david, craning his neck to look out of the window. and phronsie clapped her hands, and then they all rushed to the door. and there on the big flat stone was good mrs. beebe, and coming slowly up the path was mr. beebe, and there was the big black cloth bag hanging on mrs. beebe’s arm, and joel smelt doughnuts before she ever got into the kitchen.
“you dear, precious, little creeters, you!” exclaimed old mrs. beebe, as they all surrounded her. “get her mamsie’s chair, joel, do,” said polly, “and i’ll untie your bonnet.”
[311]“let me,” begged phronsie, standing on tiptoe, and putting up both hands. “i want to, dear mrs. beebe, i do.”
“so you shall,” said old mrs. beebe, smiling at her.
“oh, phronsie, you can’t do it,” said polly in dismay.
“oh, yes, i can,” declared phronsie; “i want to, i do.”
“and so you shall, honey-bird,” declared mrs. beebe. so phronsie was lifted up to the old lady’s lap, where she was kept from slipping off by polly holding on to her, while she fumbled among the black ribbon strings, every minute getting them more mixed than ever; mrs. beebe smiling above them, and protesting she wouldn’t have any one but phronsie pepper untie them for the world.
“o dear me!” said polly, the color rushing all over her round cheek. “do let me help you, phronsie. joel, you come and hold phronsie on to mrs. beebe’s lap. now, pet, i’ll show you how.”
“no, no,” protested phronsie, shaking her yellow head, “my dear sweet mrs. beebe wants me to untie it, and i must do it all by myself.”
[312]“she’s mussing them dreadfully,” polly felt obliged to whisper over phronsie’s head into mrs. beebe’s ear, but the old lady only smiled and said, “never mind, i’ll run a hot flat-iron over ’em when i get home.”
all this time mr. beebe had found a chair for himself, and sat down, blowing his nose on his big bandanna, and alternately entertained by little david and joel, who ran back and forth from him to mrs. beebe, as the untying of the bonnet was in progress.
“she never’ll get it done,” grumbled joel, unable to keep his eyes from the big black bag that still dangled from mrs. beebe’s arm. it bulged generously, and the smell of its contents was getting into the very corners of the old kitchen. at last the bonnet was lifted from the old lady’s head, and polly bore it carefully off to lay on the big four-poster in mamsie’s bedroom.
“there, i did do it all myself,” announced phronsie, clasping her hands in much satisfaction, as she slipped to the floor.
“so you did, dear.” old mrs. beebe beamed at her and leaning over her she imprinted a kiss on the pink cheek. “well, now, don’t you want to see what i’ve brought for you?” and[313] she slipped the handles of the bag from her arm, and opened its mouth.
“yes, i do,” said phronsie, “very much indeed, dear mrs. beebe.”
“bless your heart, you shall, and joel and david, too,” said mrs. beebe. it was impossible for joel to get closer to her than he at present was, and little davie was wedged in the other side of phronsie, as polly came back from the bedroom.
“now come, polly,” said old mrs. beebe, as she drew out from the bag a big clean cloth that, unrolled, displayed a good half dozen of the sugariest doughnuts of most ample proportions, “there’s just one apiece, and one for your ma,” she announced in huge satisfaction.
old mr. beebe sat and laughed and mopped his face with his big bandanna all through the scene that ensued, as the children sat down on the floor and at once began work on their doughnuts, polly first running to the closet to lay the two for mamsie and ben on a clean blue plate, and to shut the door fast.
“oh, it’s so good of you, dear mrs. beebe,” she cried, dancing back to whisper this into the old lady’s ear.
[314]“well, now, you sit down and eat yours, polly, child,” said old mrs. beebe. but first polly had to run over to old mr. beebe’s chair because he nodded to her mysteriously and beckoned with a long finger.
“i’ve got some pep’mint sticks in my pocket,” he announced in a loud whisper, when she reached his side, “but ma kinder thought ’twas better fer you to give ’em to th’ children to-morrow, an’ not on top o’ th’ doughnuts,” and he smuggled a wad into her hand. so polly had to run off and slip that into the cupboard, too. oh, such richness, and lasting over until to-morrow! “did ever anybody have such a dear, good mr. beebe, and such a dear, good mrs. beebe as we have!” cried polly, to herself as she tucked away her treasures. at last, there she was on the floor with the others and in the midst of the doughnut feast. and wasn’t it a feast, though!
joel was through first, every crumb carefully picked up and swallowed. little davie, having eaten quite slowly, was just on the point of breaking off part of his doughnut to give to him, when old mr. beebe called out, “now, then, joel, my boy, you come along of me: i’m goin’ out to look at my horse.” so joel clattered off with the old gentleman, well pleased with the invitation,[315] and the kitchen toned down to quiet, only broken by phronsie’s soft cooing to herself between the bites from her doughnut. at last she laid it down in polly’s lap. “i’m going to get seraphina and give her some,” she whispered.
“where’s she goin’?” asked old mrs. beebe.
“she’s gone to get her doll,” said polly, as phronsie ran into mamsie’s bedroom. when seraphina wasn’t played with, she was laid in the bottom drawer of the old bureau, where the precious red-topped shoes were kept. and, presently, out came phronsie hugging seraphina and telling her all about the doughnuts and good mrs. beebe, who was her own dear, sweet mrs. beebe, until the old lady sat back and laughed till the tears came, and david and polly had finished their doughnuts. and, then, back came old mr. beebe and joel, who was in a great state of excitement, whooping it all out as soon as he got within the door. “mr. beebe’s going to take us to ride,” he screamed, “can’t we go, polly,—say, can’t we,—can’t we?”
“yes, do let ’em,” said mrs. beebe, “i’m goin’ to set an’ be comfortable in your ma’s chair, an’ you go too, polly,” she added. “there’s plenty of room, th’ boys can set in the back o’ th’ wagon.”
[316]“oh, i can’t,” said polly, with a wistful glance out of the window at the big green wagon and the old white horse; “i’ve got to pick out basting-threads.”
“can’t you leave ’em, polly?” asked the old lady, kindly, with a glance at the flushed face.
“no,” said polly, pushing back the brown rings of hair from her forehead, “because mamsie wants to take the coats home to mr. atkins to-day. i ought not to have stopped so long,” she said remorsefully.
old mrs. beebe gave a sigh, “i ain’t any good at pickin’ bastin’s,” she said; “my fingers is all thumbs at such work. well, polly, you fly and get th’ others ready, an’ then sometime pa’ll come an’ give you a drive.”
so polly flew to get phronsie’s things on. joel already was in the big wagon hallooing for david to hurry up. and then seraphina’s bonnet must be tied on, for, of course, she must go too. and at last the three children, phronsie carrying the remains of her doughnut to eat on the way, were off. old mrs. beebe watched them from the window, and polly hurried back up the path to fly to work over the basting-threads.
