"Mr. Persons," this time the floor-walker got back of the big office chair, and whispered the information as to who the boy was, without Joel's hearing a word.
Mr. Persons nodded. "Well," he said to Joel, his face not moving a muscle, "you may give me a dollar, my lad, and we'll consider that everything is all squared up in regard to the injury to that doll."
So Joel counted out a dollar from his hoarded silver pieces and put them into Mr. Persons's hand, the floor-walker staring in amazement at his employer. Then he fastened up his pocket again, sticking Mamsie's big shawl-pin in tighter than ever.
"All right, thank you, sir," and he marched out through the rows of men at their desks in the big counting room, all curiously staring at him as he passed.
Outside he found Ben and Polly making anxious inquiries of every one; David following closely, beyond saying a word, and Phronsie, who didn't know that he was lost, only that the poor sick doll had to be left to get a new head on.
"Whathaveyou been about, Joe?" cried Ben, for even David was not quite clear how it all had happened.
"Oh, something—" said Joel, carelessly craning his neck to look about on all sides. "Oh, whickets! There she is." And he was gone again, this time in chase of a small cash-girl.
When everything was finally all explained, and the cash-girl had stepped off with a radiant face, Ben drew his charges off into a quiet corner, and said quite decidedly, "See here, now, we'll buy Grandpapa's present first, and make sure of it."
"Yes, do," said Polly, "for we never will get through in all this world. Well, what shall we choose, Ben?"
"What do you choose?" asked Ben, looking only at her.
"Oh, I know, I know," said Joel, eagerly.
"Hush, Joe, let Polly say."
"I don't know," said Polly.
"Polly doesn't know," broke in Joel, "let me tell; I know something splendid, Ben."
"You be still, Joe," said Ben, "and let Polly think."
"Why, I thought perhaps he'd like books," said Polly, slowly, wrinkling up her brows in little puckers.
"Hoh!" exclaimed Joel, in great disgust, "books aren't any good. I know—"
"Books will be fine, Polly," said Ben, smiling approval. "Anything else for second choice?"
"No," said Polly, "I can't think of another thing. Grandpapa has got just every single thing in the world, I do believe," she brought up with a sigh.
"I heard him say he'd broken his gold pen," said Ben, "the other day."
"Oh, Bensie!" cried Polly, with sparkling eyes, and seizing his arm, "how perfectly splendid you are to always think up the right things."
"No, I don't, Polly." Ben was guilty of contradiction, but his cheek glowed. "You always get ahead of me with twenty plans while I'm thinking up one."
"But your one is the best," laughed Polly, squeezing his arm affectionately. "Oh, now let's hurry and buy the gold pen."
"Well, do you children want it?" asked Ben, looking around at them, "because it must be something that we all like, else Grandpapa won't care anything for it."
"Phoo!" cried Joel, horribly disappointed at such a quiet present. "What's an old pen, anyway? Can't write with it, without a handle."
"Well, we are going to give the handle, of course," said Ben, "only it must be a black one, for we haven't money enough for a solid gold one."
"And did you suppose we'd give Grandpapa a pen without a handle, Joey?" said Polly, quite horror-stricken at the very idea.
"Well, you said pen," persisted Joel.
"And so it is pen," said Ben, gayly, his spirits rising fast, "and handle, too. Well, now, do you vote for it, Joe?" and he slapped his back.
"Yes," said Joel, "if you'll give the handle, too."
And David saying "yes," then Polly had to explain it all to Phronsie. "And just think, pet, you can sit by him at his table, and watch him write with it," she finished.
"Oh, I want to buy my dear Grandpapa a pen," cried Phronsie, dreadfully excited and hopping up and down; "do, Bensie, please get it now, this very one minute!"
So a pen was bought, and a lovely gold-mounted black handle, all the children hanging over the purchase in rapt attention. And it was left to be marked with Grandpapa's initials and to be sent to Ben in two days, in order to be actually sure to be on hand in time for Christmas, which now was only a week away. "For suppose it shouldn't be there in time!" breathed Polly. At which the rest of the Pepper children took alarm. "Oh, won't it?" gasped Joel, in distress, trying to fly back to the counter, as the whole bunch moved away in great delight at this momentous undertaking accomplished.
"Here, you!" Ben seized his jacket and pulled him back, then he slipped away himself, while Polly reassured Joel that she was only supposing that if they hadn't bought Grandpapa's present this very day what might have happened, so that she didn't see Ben go, until, as he hurried back, "Why, where—" she began, looking around.
"Nothing," said Ben, answering her question, and his face grew red, "only I thought you'd better have the parcel sent to you," for he remembered just in time how dearly Polly loved to receive bundles addressed to her own self.
"Oh, Ben!" exclaimed Polly, in dismay, "you shouldn't have done so. I'm going back to tell them to change it."
"Indeed you won't," declared Ben, bursting into a laugh, "I guess changing it once is enough. Come on, Polly."
But once outside they couldn't get along for the throng.
"What is it?" cried David, who happened to be first, Joel hanging back to look at the things on the last counter. "A fire. Oh, Polly, it must be!"
"A fire!" Joel caught the last word. "Oh, good, that's prime!" He cleared the steps with a bound. But Ben was after him and had him fast.
It was impossible to see what the commotion was about, the people pressing up to the curbstone in such a throng.
"It isn't any fire at all," declared Joel, with a sniff, quite willing to be led back by Ben. "There aren't any fire-engines or anything! Come on, let's go to Gallagher's."
"Gallagher's" was the best all-round shop in town, and it was the children's perfect delight whenever allowed to go there.
"But something has happened," said Polly, standing on her tiptoes, and craning her neck to look up the street where the group was the thickest. "O dear me! It's a woman, and she's hurt!"
"Tried to go across the street and got knocked down," volunteered a man, who, having seen all he wanted to, kindly made way for Polly to take his place.
"O dear me!" she began, then she caught sight of the face. "Ben," she clutched his sleeve, "it's Joel's old lady!"
Sure enough, the face, now as white as the big puffs of hair above it, came into view as two men lifted the owner, a big, stately woman, to the sidewalk. They came close to the little Peppers, so that the stiff black silk coat, now plentifully besprinkled with mud, brushed them as it passed. Joel gave a howl as she was carried by. "It's that cross old woman!" he exclaimed.
"Hush, Joel!" Polly pulled his arm.
"Get out of the way!" said the men, pushing with their burden into the drug store, two doors off.
The bystanders, having seen all that satisfied their curiosity, rushed off to the delayed Christmas shopping. Only the Pepper children were left.
"Polly," said Ben, hoarsely, and his blue eyes shone, "just think, supposing she belonged to us."
"She couldn't," said Joel, decidedly, "she's awful cross."
"For shame, Joel," said Ben, sternly. "I'm going in to see." He hurried after just as the men laid down the old woman on the marble floor.
"Blest if I know who she is!" said one of them, wiping his forehead as the perspiration rushed off.
"She run right in front of the wagon, I seen her myself," said the other.
"Well, I guess she's dead," said the first man. Ben pushed up nearer, motioning for the rest of the children who had followed to keep back. Meantime the proprietor ran to the telephone. "I would thank you to call my carriage," said the old lady, the eyes in the white face flying open. The two men who had brought her in, and the little fringe of spectators, principally composed of the druggist's clerks and the little group of Peppers, tumbled back suddenly.
"She's out of her head," said one of the men behind his hand. "She didn't have no carriage." Ben pushed by him, the old woman's eyes closing again, when Polly knelt down by her side, and forgetting how scared she had been by that face the last time she saw it, she seized the poor stiff hand in its black glove. "Oh, ma'am," she cried, "can't you tell me who you are, and we will get you home?"
The eyes flew wide open again, and the face was quite as terrible, where she lay on the floor of the druggist's shop; the Roman nose and the big white puffs stood up in such a formidable way.
"Oh!" the keen black eyes bored into Polly's face; but "lift me up, and call my carriage," was all she said.
Ben heard, as did the others, and he rushed up to the proprietor just as the doctor, a dapper little man with a very big instrument case, came importantly in.
"I don't want anything done to me," said the old lady, viewing the new arrival from head to foot. She was now sitting up, having made Polly help her to that position. "And see here, boy," she glanced around for Ben, "I'd thank you to give me a hand," and disdaining the proffered assistance of the young medical man, she was on her feet, and proceeding, though somewhat unsteadily, toward the door.
"There he is," she raised one of her black gloves, "there's Carson," pointing to a coachman driving a spirited pair of bays down the street, anxiety written all over his florid face, as he looked to right and to left. "Here, stop him."
Which was easy to do, as Ben rushed tumultuously out, for the coachman turned when down at the corner, driving slowly back to scan once more every shop door, and the passers-by on either side.
"I thought I'd walk over to Summer Street," said the old lady, "and I told Carson to wait there, when the wagon knocked me down." Meanwhile she clung to Polly's hand.
"Are you sure, madam, that you are not hurt?" the young physician pushed up. "Such an accident as yours should be attended to."
"When I require your services I can inform you," said the old lady, turning on him with so much vigor that he fell back involuntarily. "I shall call my own physician when I reach home. That's right, girl, help me to my carriage," and clinging to Polly's hand she went down the drug-shop steps, Carson ejaculating "O Lord!" in great relief at seeing her, and nervously slapping his knee, though it had been all her own fault that she was in such a plight.
"Um!" She wouldn't groan, but it was perilously near it as she got into the carriage with Polly's and Ben's help and settled back on the cushions with a grimace.
"Oh, youarehurt!" cried Polly, the color dying from her cheek, and looking in the window in great concern.
"Nonsense!" said the old woman, in her sharpest tone. Then she drew her breath hard. "Your name, girl, and your brother?" She looked inquiringly at Ben.
"Yes," said Polly, with a glad little smile up at him; "he's Ben."
"What's the last name?"
"Pepper." Ben and Polly said it together, and the three others crowded up to the carriage door, crying out, "We're all Peppers."
"Um!" said the old woman, looking them all over, but her gaze rested the longest on Joel.
"I'm sorry you got hurt," he blurted out with a very red face, and wishing he had remained in the background.
"And where do you live?" asked the old woman, without the slightest attention to his remark.
"At Mr. King's," said Ben. "He's my own dear Grandpapa," announced Phronsie, pressing up closely, "and I've bought him a dear little cat," holding it as high as she could.
"Drive home, Carson," was all the old woman said. So Carson, almost beside himself with delight that she was safely inside, went off at his best pace, and the carriage was soon lost to view around the corner.
"Well," said Ben, "she'll soon be home now," with a sigh of relief. "We must make haste and get to Gallagher's."
When they came out of Gallagher's an hour later, they were so laden down with bundles, little and big, for the children insisted on carrying everything home, that Polly and Ben had all they could do, what with their own parcels, to pilot the three younger ones along.
Everything had gone off splendidly, just the right presents had been found and bought, and, bubbling over with joy, the little group hurried along to get home to Mamsie, knocking into everybody and being knocked about in return by big and crisscrossed bundles of every description, as their owners endeavored to wind their way along the crowded streets.
"O dear, where is Papa Doctor?" cried Polly, for the third time, when the coffee was brought in at dinner, and the children, who couldn't take any, were busy over the nuts and raisins. The shopping expedition had been hilariously told by the whole bunch, all except Phronsie, who had been too sleepy to more than mumble to Mamsie her purchase of the little cat, before she hid it in the under drawer of the big mahogany bureau. She wanted dreadfully to take it to bed with her, but that would never do, as it was to be a Christmas gift. So she patted it lovingly good-by, and, after her nursery tea, was popped into bed herself.
"O dear me!" Polly ended with a sigh, for she never felt just comfortable unless she could tell Doctor Fisher everything, so half the pleasure of the recital was lost to her.
"He is busy with a case, I suppose," said Mother Fisher, yet she looked worried and cast an anxious glance at the door.
"Working himself to death," observed old Mr. King, from the head of the table, yet his eyes gleamed with delight. "Just what I said," he was revolving in his own mind; "if he would come to the city, he could lead the profession."
Polly gave a little start and grew pale.
"Grandpapa doesn't mean that," whispered Ben; "don't, Polly," when the door opened and the little doctor marched in, head erect and his eyes shining behind their big spectacles.
"Well, well," he declared breezily, "I thought you'd be through dinner," and without a bit of warning he went up to Polly's and Ben's chairs. "I don't know which of you children I'm proudest of," he began.
Everybody stared and laid down knives and forks, while the little doctor, as if he had the happiest sort of a tale to unfold when the proper time came, nodded over to his wife. "I've been attending Mrs. Van Ruypen," this time he bobbed his head over toward Mr. King.
"What, is Mrs. Van Ruypen sick?" asked the old gentleman, quickly.
"Got knocked down in the street," the little doctor brought it out jerkily.
When the little Peppers heard that they all started, and Joel exclaimed, "Oh!" and slunk down in his chair, wishing he could go under the table, while old Mr. King started a rapid fire of questions. Little Doctor Fisher, skipping into his seat, replied as fast as he could, till the accident and its result was pretty generally known around the table.
"But what have the children to do with it?" at last demanded Mr. King, in a puzzled way, as he was never able to take his mind off very long from the Peppers and their affairs.
The little doctor burst into a happy laugh, he was so pleased, and it was so very contagious that before long everybody at the table had joined, until any one looking in would have said, "Well, well, it's no use to wait for Christmas to be jolly, for here we are merry as a grig now!"
"I don't know in the least what I'm laughing at," said old Mr. King, at last, "but you are enough, Fisher, to start us off always. Now be so good as to tell me what it is all about," and he wiped his eyes.
"Why, the old lady, Mrs. Van Ruypen, whatever her name is, wasn't so very much hurt," said Ben, his blue eyes shining.
"And it's so very lovely, Grandpapa," cried Polly, her cheeks very red, and clapping her hands, even if she were at the table.
"It's prime!" shouted Joel, coming up straight in his chair, his black eyes shining. But at the next remark, down he slid again, wishing he hadn't said anything.
"Oh, it isn't that!" said Doctor Fisher, quickly, "I'm glad enough I can fix the old lady up; but it's my children." Then he set his glasses straight, which had slipped down his nose, and beamed affectionately on the four faces.
Mrs. Fisher slipped her hand on his tired one, as it rested on his lap. "What is it, Adoniram?" she asked.
"Why, that old—I mean Mrs. Van Ruypen,—I should just as soon think of a stone gate-post breaking out—says our children helped her, and she's overcome with gratitude. Think of it, Mary, that old stone post!"
"Oh!" cried Joel, burrowing deeply, till his face was almost obscured.
"And she can't say enough about them. Wants them to come over to-morrow."
"Ugh!" with that Joel wholly disappeared, sliding down under the table.
"Where are you going, Joe?" Ben exclaimed, and the butler hurrying over, Joel was soon drawn out and installed once more on his chair. This time he was the centre for all eyes.
"Oh, Joel!" Mother Fisher's delight which had spread over her face died out so suddenly, that Joel blurted out, dreadfully distressed, "I didn't mean to, Mamsie," and he choked back the tears, not to add to his disgrace.
"Brighten up, Joel," said little Doctor Fisher, cheerily. "We'll forgive him this time, Mary, for Mrs. Van Ruypen sent her love to him, and particularly wants him to come to-morrow, and—"
"No, no," howled Joel, this time all lost to control, "I was bad to her," and every bit of blood rushed up to his round face.
"Why, she says she was bad to you," observed the little doctor, demurely; "anyway you are to go with the others to-morrow, Joe, so it's all right, my boy."
Joel protested up to the very last that he couldn't go to see the big lady in the black silk coat.
"But maybe she won't have it on," said David, who had been anxiously hanging on Joel's every word, and surveying his round countenance in fear. Supposing Joel shouldn't really go! This would be worse than all, and David clasped and unclasped his hands nervously.
"Of course she won't have it on!" exclaimed Polly, briskly. "Why, the very idea, she wouldn't wear that in the house!"
"Now you see, Joel," cried David, much relieved, and his face brightening, "she won't, really, for Polly says so."
"Well, you've got to go anyway," declared Ben, in a downright way there was no mistaking. "So say no more, Joe, but get your cap."
The other Pepper children were all in a bunch in the wide hall revolving around Joel, who felt, as long as he postponed getting his coat and cap, he was surely safe from making the awful expedition. But now, seeing Ben's blue eyes upon him, he set out for the closet in the back hall where the boys' outer garments were kept, grumbling at every step.
"O dear me! This is too dreadful for anything," sighed Polly, sinking down on the last step of the stairs. When Phronsie saw her do this, she hurried over, and snuggled up in her fur-trimmed coat as close as she could get to her side.
"I wish Jasper was home," said Ben, with a long breath, and going across to stand in front of the two.
"So we wish all the time," said Polly, "but then, he can't come till Friday, and that's just forever."
Little David, left alone, thought the best thing he could do would be to run after Joel. So he precipitated himself upon that individual, who, just knocking down his cap from its hook, was beginning to prowl around the floor in the corner of the closet.
"Can't find it," growled Joel, knocking off more things in his irritation.
"Oh, let me!" cried David, delighted to help. "Let me, Joel; I'll get it!"
"You keep off," cried Joel, lifting a hot, red face; "I'll get it myself. And I won't go to see that old woman!" he declared savagely.
"Oh, yes, you must, Joe!" cried David, in alarm.
"I won't, I won't, I won't!" declared Joel, feeling with each repetition of the word a happy independence.
"Yes, indeed, the children have gone," a voice suddenly proclaimed above the stairs, as somebody opened the door and came out into the upper hall. "Yes, Mrs. Whitney, they have gone to Mrs. Van Ruypen's."
"It's Mamsie," gasped David, clutching Joel's shoulders, who ducked back into his corner so suddenly that they both went down in a little heap.
"Did she hear?" gasped Joel, holding his breath for the answer.
"I don't believe so," said David, when he could extricate himself from Joel sufficiently, who now grasped him by both hands in a way very uncomfortable for conversation. "No, I don't really believe she did, Joel, 'cause she said we'd gone."
"She'll hear us now, anyway," said Joel, thrust into the depths of gloom, his independence completely deserting him; "what'll we do?"
Little David found his feet and tiptoed out to listen under the stairs. "She's going into her room," he announced in a whisper, coming back to the closet. "Come, Joey, do hurry."
So Joel picked up his cap and crammed it on his head, and stepped out of the closet, but he had a very gloomy air when the two boys presented themselves in the front hall.
"O there! now you see," said Polly to Ben, quite in despair, "just how very dreadful it's all going to be, when Joel goes with such a face."
"Well, come on," said Ben, setting his lips tightly together. So Polly and Phronsie got off from the stair, and if the expedition was not begun in hilarity, it was at least started.
But when they reached the big house of Mrs. Van Ruypen, that loomed up across the square like a heavy, dark brown fortress, the situation was much worse.
"I'm not going in," declared Joel, all his terrors returning, and he planted his feet firmly on the pavement, determined not to go up the first step. How it was done, he never knew, but the next moment he was at the top of the flight under Ben's hands, who released him enough to ring the bell, and the butler answering the summons, Joel was really the first person to enter, which he did with a bound, as if extremely eager to get in.
And then, it was all like a dream! They were ushered into a reception room, high and dark and gloomy, and told to take off their things, for madam would receive them upstairs. In the excitement of it all, Polly, while undoing Phronsie's coat and taking off her bonnet, forgot all about Joel, and it wasn't really until after they had mounted the long stairs that she had the first thought about him. And then, O dear me! there stood Madam Van Ruypen, with a long white hand, fairly blazing with rings, outstretched to welcome them.
"Where's the other boy?" she demanded, looking over the group.
"He came," said Polly, faintly, growing quite scarlet at such dreadful manners in one of her family, for which she felt responsible. "He really did, ma'am."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Madam Van Ruypen; "you can see for yourself he's not here," and her face fell.
Ben said never a word, but dashed down the long flight. There was Joel, the picture of gloom, on one of the big chairs in the reception room. He had run back, after Ben supposed that he was at his heels, and found the only refuge he could think of.
"You're a nice boy," said Ben, picking him off from his chair. "Now march, Joe," and he kept him well in front of him; and at last, there he was, and Madam Van Ruypen had taken his hand. But he didn't look at her.
"Well, at last you are all here," she was saying; "now I'm going to tell you what I wanted you for."
No one of the five little Peppers appeared to breathe, except Phronsie, who chirped out, "Oh, we've come all this way to see you!"
"Yes, yes, I know," said Madam Van Ruypen, who was vastly pleased at that, and she nodded her head, that had a ponderous affair of lace and jet upon it, down toward Phronsie; "but there was something I especially wanted of you, and I'll tell it in one word. You must choose the toys I'm going to send to some poor children." Without another word, she turned and swung the door wide to another room, and there, before their entranced eyes, was toyland!
Joel took one look, and howled out, "Oh, I will; let me; let me!" bounding in.
"So you shall," said Madam Van Ruypen, laughing heartily. "There, get in there, all of you, and set to work."
There was no need to tell them this, and they were soon running about, not pausing long in any spot, for the attractions overflowed on tables and chairs, and even the carpet appeared to be covered with the best specimens of toys from all the shops in town. But Phronsie went directly over and sat down in front of a big doll, and gazed at her without a word.
"Oh, it's just like Gallagher's," cried Polly, flying about with sparkling eyes, and she clasped her hands. "Oh, what richness!"
"Hoh, it's better than Gallagher's," retorted Joel, in scorn, who had always thought that shop was the very finest place imaginable. "Dave, here's the steam-engine, the very one!" he cried, spying it in a corner.
Madam Van Ruypen laughed again, and this time it seemed as if she were not going to stop. And pretty soon the whole room looked as if Santa Claus himself had been there with his load, while as for the babel of voices,—well, it was exactly like a flock of blackbirds all chattering together.
"You said they were going to poor children," said Polly, at last, flying up to the tall figure that now it seemed as if they had known all their lives. "Oh, do tell us about it."
"So I will." Madam Van Ruypen swept off the articles from a big easy-chair, preparatory to sitting down.
"Let me!" said Ben, coming up in his slow way. But the toys were half off, and Polly had gathered up the rest, and the big figure was already in the chair.
"You see," she began—
"Oh, would you please wait?" begged Polly, in great distress, looking over across the room where Joel and David were deep in the charms of some mechanical toy.
"Yes, to be sure," said Madam Van Ruypen, good naturedly, while Polly ran over to them. "Boys, come!" she cried hurriedly.
"Something's the matter with this pig," said Joel, not looking at her, and fussing with the animal in question.
"Well, put it down," said Polly, impatiently. "She's going to tell us what she wants us to do."
"Then Dave'll get my pig," said Joel, with one eye askance at that individual.
"Oh, no, he won't touch it; will you, Davie?" said Polly. "Do put it down, Joe, and come along."
"No, I won't," said David, "touch it a single bit." So Joel laid the pig carefully down, and the two boys hurried after Polly.
Madam Van Ruypen now began again.
"Phronsie ought to hear," said Joel, as he crowded up.
"Hush," said Ben, looking over at her where she still sat absorbed in the big doll; "you let her be, Joel, and keep still."
"I have had so much trouble over every Christmas," said Madam Van Ruypen, proceeding briskly, "selecting presents for some children I happen to know about, who ought to have them, that really I sometimes wish there wasn't any Christmas."
Wish there wasn't any Christmas! Every one of the Peppers who heard those direful words tumbled back in dismay and gazed at her in amazement.
"I really did, but I don't now!" Madam Van Ruypen drew a long breath, then she laughed again. "Well, here we are, and this Christmas I mean to have an easy time, for I'm not to select a single thing myself, but put all the responsibility on you young people."
"Do you really mean," cried Polly Pepper, crowding up quite closely, with flushed cheeks, "that we can pick out the toys and things for you to give to your poor children? Oh, do you mean it?"
"To be sure, bless you, yes; why, that is just why I got you over here, and what I've had this room turned into a toy-shop for." She waved her long, white hands over at the array.
"Oh, oh, Joel," Polly seized the arm next to her and gave it a little tweak, "do begin, for she wants us to pick out the things she is to send to the poor children. I'm going to choose that work-box, and that backgammon board, and—" and Polly ran off and was deep in a dozen things at once.
"Hoh, I'm not," said Joel, who couldn't bear backgammon; "I'm going to choose my pig, when I fix him so he'll squeak, and my steam-engine. Yes, sir! that's the best of all."
And immediately the entire room was in a bustle.
Ben turned off with the others, but presently came slowly back to stand a minute at Madam Van Ruypen's chair, where she sat with folded hands.
"Well, what is it?" she asked, looking up into his face.
"Were you picking out toys for the poor children when we saw you yesterday?" asked Ben, looking at her steadily.
"Dear me, yes; what do you suppose could have induced me to go into such a mob?" cried Madam Van Ruypen.
"Oh!" said Ben, then he turned back and set to work on doing what he could to pick out the things he should want if he were really a poor boy, not likely to get presents in any other way.
But the nicest of all things, so he thought,—thick boots, mittens, and fur tippets to keep out the cold,—were not there, and he stifled a sigh, and gave his mind to do the best he could under the circumstances.
"Something is the matter, I see." He didn't know it, but there the old lady was, close by his side, and the next words showed clearly that she had discovered what was on his mind.
"Out with it, Ben,—for that's your name, I believe."
"Yes," said Ben, "it is."
"Well, you might as well tell me, for I see very plainly that you don't think I've had the right things sent up from the stores. What would you send to poor children for their Christmas?"
"I think a boy would like a pair of boots," said Ben, slowly; then he came to the conclusion that he might as well tell the whole, "or a thick coat, or some mittens, and a tippet."
"But those wouldn't be Christmas presents; those are everyday things," said the old lady, sharply.
"They wouldn't be his everyday things," said Ben, sturdily.
"Oh, perhaps that is so," said Madam Van Ruypen, thoughtfully. "Well, let us see." She took up some books, whirled the pages a minute, to give herself time to think, then she pushed them all away impatiently. "You go on, and choose what you think some boys would like out of the things that are here, as we haven't any clothes among them," then she turned away, and swept back into her seat. And Ben, feeling very sure that the wrong thing had been said by him, set to work, as best he might, to do as she wanted.
When the task was over, it seemed as if all the toys and gay articles had been chosen, every one!
"They are all perfectly beautiful," sighed Polly, "and we can't leave any out."
"So I am to send them all," said Madam Van Ruypen, much pleased to think that her experiment in having the things sent up was so approved, and looking around at them all.
"Oh, yes, yes!" they cried, Joel especially vociferating that not a single one was to be omitted. Now that he had discovered the weak part in the pig's voice, and had fixed it to his satisfaction, everything was all right.
"Please give her to the poor child," begged Phronsie, who had the whole thing explained to her by Polly, and coming up with very pink cheeks to hold as high as she could the big doll. "Oh, do, please do, and give it right away."
"Oh, I shall not give it," said Madam Van Ruypen, decidedly.
A quiver came into Phronsie's voice and her lip drooped, and she looked as if she were going to cry. "Please," she began.
"Santa Claus is going to take it to her," said the old lady, making haste to explain when she saw Phronsie's face. "Don't you be afraid, child; the poor little girl will get her doll."
"Oh, then I'm glad," said Phronsie, beginning to smile. And two little tears that were just starting out determined to go back again. Then she laughed gleefully. "Polly, Polly," she cried in great excitement, "the big lady is going to take it to the poor little girl; she is, Polly, she said so."
"I shan't take it," said Madam Van Ruypen, nodding over to Polly; "the little girl won't know it's from me, but she will have it all the same."
"Shan't you tell her you sent it?" demanded Joel, who had caught the words, and whirling around suddenly; "shan't you tell her about any of the things?" waving his hands in all directions.
"Of course not," declared Madam Van Ruypen. "Dear me, not for the world, Joel, would I have them know where the things come from. The presents all go from Santa Claus."
"Oh!" said Joel.
"And now you don't know—you can't even guess," said Madam Van Ruypen, "what a load you have taken off my mind by coming here to help me."
"Have we?" cried Polly, with glistening eyes.
"Oh, so much!" declared the old lady.
"I haven't," said Joel; "I've only had a good time," and patting his steam-engine lovingly. Then he set it off once more. "Whee,—whiz,—see her go!" he cried.
"Stop, Joey, we're all through," said Polly.
"And it's time to go," said Ben.
"And send 'em to-night, do," said Joel, deserting his engine abruptly to march up to the old lady.
"Oh, Joel!" cried Polly, much ashamed.
"And tell the boy who gets the pig to turn him upside down when the squeak won't come," said Joel, nowise abashed.
"Come on, Joe," said Ben, picking his sleeve.
"Oh, wait a moment, Ben," said Madam Van Ruypen, laying a detaining hand on his arm, as the others said good-by and filed downstairs to get coats and hats on. "I think, myself, it might be advisable to add a few things to wear to these presents, and I want you to go to-morrow afternoon with me to choose them. Will you?"
And Ben said "Yes," quite overwhelmed with the thought. He was actually going shopping with Madam Van Ruypen!
All the rest of the Peppers crowded up to the windows to watch Ben go off in state in the Van Ruypen carriage, Phronsie climbing up on a chair to see him the better. As for Ben himself, he was so amazed at the whole thing, to think that he was by Madam Van Ruypen's side, and expected to give his opinion as to matters and things, that for some minutes he had all he could do to keep his attention on what she was saying.
"You see, Ben," at last he made out, "I don't know in the least what to get for a boy, and if it were not for you, I shouldn't think of such a thing as to pick out clothes for one. Well, here we are," as Carson drew up to a large tailoring establishment. "We'll go in and do our best, but it must be you who does the selecting."
Ben, with an awful feeling at his heart at all this responsibility, stumbled after her as she marched down the long store, the salesmen all vying with each other to attract her attention and wait upon her. She didn't notice any of them, but kept on her way, her Roman nose and white puffs of hair held well up, until at the end of the aisle a little dapper man stepped up, rubbing his hands obsequiously together, and stopped her progress.
"Anything I can show you, madam?" he said with a bow and a flourish.
Madam Van Ruypen looked him all over carelessly. "Oh, well, I suppose you can; this boy here," she turned to Ben, "understands what I want. Now then, Ben, speak up and tell the man, for I know nothing about it." With that she looked around for a chair, which the little dapper man, hurrying off, soon brought, and, sitting down, she drew up her stately figure to its full height, and left Ben to his own devices.
"I suppose it must be a coat," began Ben. Oh, if Mamsie were only there! Instead, was the big figure in the black silk coat, whose eyes had such a way of boring right through one that it seemed to take the breath away of the one being inspected.
"I suppose so," said the old lady, "as we have come for clothes; why, a coat appears to be essential, and if I were to express an opinion, I should consider that the rest of the suit would be a good investment, too."
"Quite right," assented the shopman. "Now I will show you some. This way, madam; here, stay, and I will move your chair."
"You will do nothing of the sort," said Madam Van Ruypen, shortly; "this is not to be of my purchasing; this boy will attend to it for me. Ben, you go along with the man and select the articles."
"Do you mean I'm to go without you, ma'am?" asked Ben, quite aghast at the very idea, his blue eyes very wide.
"Of course," said the old lady, having hard work not to laugh; "I said so, I believe."
"But, but—I may not pick out the right things," stammered Ben.
"I'll trust you," said Madam Van Ruypen, waving him off summarily. So as there was nothing else to do, Ben followed the little man down what seemed an interminable number of aisles, at last pausing before a set of drawers, on either hand of which was a cabinet with doors.
"Now, here," said the salesman, swinging wide one of the doors, "is just the thing. It's for yourself, I suppose," and he took down with a deft hand a jacket and a pair of trousers.
"Oh, no, it isn't," Ben made haste to say, answering the question.
"Hey—oh!" the little man whirled around to stare at him,—"your brother then?"
"No," said Ben, growing hot and red in the face. "It isn't for any of us,—no one I know; she's going to give them away to some boy who—" he was going to say "needs them," but the salesman shut off the words from his mouth, and, clapping to the door, led the way off down another aisle to a counter where the suits were piled high; "I've got just the very thing for you here," he announced, twitching one out; "there, now, see that."
"But that is much too nice," said Ben, putting his finger on the fine goods, and wishing he were anywhere else in the world but in that store, and the perspiration began to trickle in little drops down his face.
"So?" the salesman leaned his hands meditatively on the counter, and surveyed him. "Well, I'll show you some other goods. Come this way," and again they traversed some more aisles, took an elevator, and went up what seemed to Ben a great many floors, at last coming out to a department which, as far as the eye could see, was stacked with thick, ready-made goods of serviceable materials.
"There," said the little man, giving quick, birdlike glances on either side, and, at last pausing, he slapped his hand smartly down on a small pile of suits, "is just the ticket for you."
"Yes," said Ben, and he ran his hand approvingly over the thick surface, "I guess it is; it looks good."
"And it is good," said the salesman, emphatically; "it'll outwear three of those other ones downstairs. We haven't but a few of these left. Now, how big is the boy you want it for?"
"I don't know," said Ben, helplessly.
"Well, we've got to have something to go by," said the salesman; "of course you can't buy at random and haphazard."
"She didn't say," said Ben, with a nod over in the direction supposed to be where Madam Van Ruypen was waiting several floors below for the transaction to be completed. "But she's going to give them to a boy," he added desperately, "and so I guess I'll pick out the very best you have for the money, and it'll be right. They'll fit some boy."
"Right you are," declared the salesman, delighted to have the matter satisfactorily arranged, and, pulling out a coat and jacket, he held them up before Ben's eyes. "Now that is the best money value we've got in the store. Fact. We're closing them out. Couldn't afford to give 'em at this low figure, but there's only these few left, and we don't allow remnants to bother us long, no, sir." He rattled on so fast that Ben, who was slowly going over the coat, which he had by this time gotten into his own hands, in a close examination as to buttons and buttonholes, only half heard him. Indeed, it wasn't in the least necessary, for he hadn't held the garment for a moment before he knew quite well that here was a good bargain, and one well fitted to warm some poor boy, and to wear well.
"You can't find fault," said the little man, in great satisfaction, when the whole suit had been gone over in this slow way, "'cause there ain't any. Fact! Well, do you want it?"
"How much is it?" asked Ben.
"Nine-fifty. It's worth three dollars more, but we're closing them out, as I told you, and we don't give room to remnants. It's a bargain if ever there was one. Fact! Do you want it?"
"Yes, if she says so," said Ben. And now his spirits quite rose, for it was a good thing, and he was not ashamed to show it to Madam Van Ruypen, or to any one else, as his selection. So the salesman flung the suit over his arm, and skipped off, followed by Ben. And they shot down the elevator and went back down all the aisles. There she sat, stiff and immovable, in her chair.
"Oh, only one?" she asked, as the salesman held up the bargain.
"I didn't know you wanted two," gasped Ben; "you didn't say so."
"Oh, I suppose I did not mention it. But have you been all this time picking out a paltry one?" She didn't even offer to touch the suit, and scarcely glanced at it.
"Do you like it?" asked Ben. "See, it's thick and warm, isn't it?" lifting the sleeve for her to see it the better.
"Oh, I suppose it will serve its purpose, and be warm enough," she said carelessly. "Well, now," to the salesman, "will you go back and bring another one, a smaller size, and stay, still another, for there must be some more boys in the family? There ought to be. No, you don't need to go, Ben; he can pick them out. Just the same quality, mind," and she dismissed the little man.
When he had disappeared, she cast an approving glance at the suit thrown across the counter. "Very well chosen," she said. "And now, see here, run down to the neckwear counter—or stay," and she raised her black glove.
A small army of salesmen seemed to rush to the scene, so many appeared. "What is it, madam?" for all knew, at least by sight, the wealthy old lady, who, try as hard as she might, never seemed to be able to make much impression on the Van Ruypen money-bags. "Take this boy to the different departments that he selects, and let him buy what pleases him," she said to the first salesman that reached her.
"Yes, madam," he said, well pleased, and leading off with Ben. But just then a floor-walker touched him on the shoulder, "Mr. Moses wants you," he said, "about those vests."
"Oh, all right," said the salesman; "here, Perkins," and beckoning to a tall young man, who appeared to Ben very much dressed up, he turned the boy over to him, and went off.
"Well, what do you want?" asked Mr. Perkins, leisurely surveying Ben's sturdy figure from his greater height.
"A red woollen tippet, I think," said Ben.
"A red woollen tippet!" repeated the salesman, nearly falling backward. "Oh, we haven't got one in the store!"
"Haven't you?" asked Ben, very much disappointed, for he had set his heart on seeing that the boy who was to have those good warm clothes should have a red woollen tippet to tie around his throat, and perhaps go over his cap, and down around his ears, if it was very cold. Anyway, the ends were to tuck in the jacket. Ben knew just exactly how that tippet was to look when it was all fixed, ready for a sharp, cold, snowy day.
"Well, I can suit you," said the salesman, noting the disappointed tone; "we've got silk scarfs, nice ones, all—"
"Oh, I don't want a silk scarf," said Ben, quickly.
"Some of them are plaid; you don't know how fine they are. This way," and he stepped off.
But as Ben stood quite still, there was nothing for the salesman to do but to come back, which he did, quite discomfited.
"Have you got any caps?" asked Ben, leaving the red tippet out of the question as an impossibility in this shop.
"Caps? Oh, yes, this way," and away they went, down aisles, up in elevators, and into the department where nothing but headgear showed itself.
This time, knowing there were to be three boys provided for with suits, Ben picked out the same number of good, strong caps, the salesman all through the process plainly showing his disgust and disappointment at what he thought was to be a fine purchase, turning out to be such a poor trade. But Ben knew nothing of what was going on in the other one's mind, and would have cared still less, had he known, all his attention being absorbed in the bargain he was making for Madam Van Ruypen. At last the business was concluded.
"Do you keep gloves?" he asked, as they turned away.
"Yes," said the salesman, sullenly, and slapping the three cloth caps together disdainfully.
"Mittens?" asked Ben.
"No, indeed," said Mr. Perkins, emphatically. "Mittens, the very idea!" then he winked at a young man, who looked as if a wrinkle, by any chance, never existed in his clothes, and whose hair was evidently just fresh from the barber's. "We don't keep anything but first-class goods."
The other young man made no attempt to conceal his broad smile. And by this time Ben had considerable attention down the long store. He couldn't help but see it, and he held his head high, and his blue eyes flashed.
"Well, give me the money—" Mr. Perkins held out his hand, the one with the big ring on.
"I don't pay for them," said Ben.
"Well, I guess you do, young man," declared Mr. Perkins, in a high key, designed to impress the onlookers. "You've bought these caps," and he gave them another disdainful slap together, "and you'll pay for them, and now, right sharp off!" he added in a very unpleasant way.
"But I haven't bought them for myself," said Ben.
"Hey? Oh! What are you talking about?" Mr. Perkins whirled around at him. "Who sent you here, anyway?" glaring down at him.
"I haven't been sent," said Ben; "I came with the one who is going to buy them."
"Well, who is he? Take me to him." Mr. Perkins craned his neck this way and that, trying to see the friend of his customer.
"If you will follow me, you will see for yourself," said Ben, stepping off. When he paused by Madam Van Ruypen's chair, Mr. Perkins was in a bad state. His long limbs seemed wobbling under him, and his usually glib tongue appeared to be fastened to the roof of his mouth. He delivered up the caps with a limp and feeble hand, then cast an appealing eye down at Ben.
"Very good," said the old lady, without a glance at them. "Put them with these other articles," pointing to the suit left on the counter. "Now, then, Ben, are these all the things you can find here, pray tell?"
"Yes," said Ben, "they don't seem to keep what I want in this shop."
"Let me look again," cried Mr. Perkins, in great distress, "I think maybe I can find something to suit you. Don't go yet, I almost know we can find something," he kept on in such misery, saying the same thing over and over, that Madam Van Ruypen stared at him in amazement.
Meanwhile, the other young man, who had followed Ben and Mr. Perkins with his eye till they arrived at Madam Van Ruypen's chair, soon spread the astounding news that the boy who wanted mittens had good reason to hold his own against everybody, and was by no means a person to be safely laughed at. "And Perkins is having a fit," he wound up, to the group of salesmen unencumbered by customers.
"I don't think you can," said Ben, quickly; "I must try some other shop."
"But just come and let me show you some things," begged Mr. Perkins, in a frenzy.
"Oh, go along, Ben," said Madam Van Ruypen; "you might as well, for I must wait here until the other man brings down those extra suits."
So Ben had nothing to do but to move off with Mr. Perkins. When they had turned into a convenient corner, "See here," said the salesman, and his face paled, "you won't tell on me, will you?" His mouth twitched, and anxious wrinkles seemed to run all over his face, making him suddenly quite old and worn.
"What do you think?" said Ben, indignantly, and he turned on his heel in contempt.
"You see," Mr. Perkins hurried after him, and spoke as if his throat were parched, the words came out so jerkily, "I couldn't stay here a minute, you know, if the old man knew I'd treated any one belonging to her badly."
"I don't belong to her," said Ben.
"Well, you came with her," said Mr. Perkins, quite willing now to believe Ben much higher up yet, if that were possible, in the social scale. "And I've got a mother," he swallowed hard with a kind of choke, "and three sisters, and—"
"You needn't be afraid," Ben stopped the rest; "I give you my word I'll not speak of it."
"Honest Injun, now?" said Mr. Perkins, anxiously.
"I've given you my word," said Ben; "that's all I'll say," looking at him squarely.
Mr. Perkins drew a long breath, and the wrinkles seemed to drop right out of his face. "Thank you," he said. "Now, if you'll come this way, I'll show you some things that you want."
When the two joined the old lady there was quite a little array of articles in Mr. Perkins's hands, which he did not slap disdainfully together. To be sure there were no mittens; but there were some thick cloth gloves, and a stout, large handkerchief, and some heavy stockings. And as the other two suits had been brought down from the top floor, there was quite a respectable pile of purchases to be done up and put in the handsome brougham waiting at the door.
And Mr. Perkins insisted, also, on seeing them out, although the first salesman, by his manner, proclaimed it quite unnecessary, and the tall young man's "Thank you" was said last of all, and he appeared to look only at Ben.
"Quite a gentle-mannered young man," observed Madam Van Ruypen, as the carriage door was closed; "such a contrast to the ordinary, pert creature. I shall make an excuse to shop there again, and I shall insist upon having him wait upon me. Well, now, Ben, while we are driving to Birdsall's, where you can, maybe, get the articles you couldn't find here, let us think up some boys to give these things to." She pointed to the big bundle on the opposite seat, which, more for the pleasure of actually carrying it home, than because of the Christmas rush, she had decided to take with her.
"Don't you know the boys you are going to give the clothes to?" exclaimed Ben, turning in great astonishment to gaze at her.
"Dear me, no," said Madam Van Ruypen, with a laugh, "but that doesn't make any matter. There are boys enough who will like those things, I haven't any doubt. I only thought, seeing you've been such a help to me in buying them, that perhaps you'd think of the boys to fit them to. Well, there's the City Missionary Society; they'll tell me, probably."
Ben removed his gaze from the white puffs and Roman nose, and looked steadily out of the window. Gone seemed the city buildings and streets to give place to country lanes, with here and there a farm-house to break the stretch of long, snow-covered roads. If only he dared to say his thought!
"And as long as you can't help me," Madam Van Ruypen's voice had a little break in it, as if she were not, somehow, finding quite as much satisfaction in the expedition as she had hitherto enjoyed, "why, I suppose—"
"Why don't you send them to a country boy?" cried Ben, whirling suddenly around on the green leather seat, his blue eyes shining.
"Hey, what—why—" began the old lady. Then there was an awful pause. And just as Ben had made up his mind that the whole morning expedition had been made a failure, and by him, she broke out, "I have the very thing, and, Ben, there are three boys in that family. Only think, I've forgotten them all this time, since I saw them up in the mountains last summer."
Ben drew a long breath, and his face said, "Do tell me about them," though he couldn't say a word.
"There isn't much to tell," said the old lady in a shamefaced way, "for, being boys, I didn't somehow get interested in them. Their mother did my washing when I was at the hotel. Their father had died, you see."
"Oh," said Ben.
"And now it comes to me, though I didn't think much of it at the time, that the people at the hotel said the boys, that is the two older ones, had to walk three miles to school every day. It was only a little settlement, you see." Madam Van Ruypen didn't add that she had sent some money to the mother, on hearing this story, and then straightway forgot all about the matter.
"So now, oh, Ben, just think what you've made me remember! And we'll make the box just as big as we can. What do you want to buy now?" She turned on him eagerly.
"Mittens," said Ben, promptly, "and a red woollen tippet."
"Something is the matter!" cried Polly, hoarsely. "Oh, Ben, I know there is!" She rushed up to him in the hall and seized his arm.
"Nonsense!" said Ben, but his cheek paled, and his blue eyes, usually so steady, didn't look at her. If Polly were frightened, something dreadful must have happened.
"There is, there is," repeated Polly, quite wildly, "for Aunty Whitney has gone to Grandpapa. And there's a telegram come,—and, oh, Ben, can it be Jasper?" With that Polly held so tightly to the sturdy arm she had grasped that at another time Ben would have cried, "Hands off, Polly!" This time he didn't even feel it.
"Oh, no, Polly," was all he could say reassuringly, yet his knees knocked together and everything for a moment seemed to swim before his eyes.
"I saw it myself. It was a telegram that Jane had," Polly was saying, between little sobs that cut Ben through and through like a knife. "And Christmas—" and she could get no farther.
"See here, Polly," Ben came to his senses enough to shake himself free, then he threw his arms around her and held her fast, "don't let us act like this until we know for sure. I'm going to find out" With that he rushed off, and Polly, too wild with distress to be left alone, stumbled after him down the hall, as he hurried to find Jane.
That individual was huddled down in a corner of the back hall which she fondly supposed cleverly concealed her, her apron up to her eyes, and mumbling something behind it to herself. Ben precipitated himself so suddenly upon her that there was no time for recovery of her composure. She dashed down the apron to look up at him and also see Polly at his heels.
"O my!" she began, dreadfully frightened at the sight of the two she most dreaded to meet at this moment.
"You might as well tell us, Jane," said Ben, swallowing very hard, and he reached out and seized Polly's hand, "because we know some bad news came. Now, what is it?" If Polly had pinched his arm in her fright, it was nothing to the grip he now gave her fingers, without his knowing it, while she threw her arm around his neck and held on.
"O my gracious!" Jane shook with fright, but she saw no way out of it but to tell, so she added, twisting her apron-end into a ball, "Yes, it did come, O me, O my!"
"It is about Jasper," said Ben, quietly.
"How'd you know, Master Ben?" cried Jane, in astonishment, remembering how she had become possessed of the news which yet couldn't have travelled through the house.
"Never mind, what is it?" demanded Ben, sharply. "Be quick now, Jane; you might as well tell us first as last."
"O me!" cried Jane, deserting the apron-end to wring her hands desperately, "I wish I hadn't listened. Oh, I can't tell you, don't make me!"
"Jane," Ben leaned over her as well as he could for Polly hanging to him, "you've justgotto tell us, so you might as well be quick about it. Don't you see you're only making us feel worse?"
As Ben wasn't given to long speeches, Jane had time to look up in surprise at his face, and then she made up her mind to tell the whole story.
"If you must know—but don't let 'em blame me 'cause I told you," she burst out.
"You shan't be blamed," promised Ben. "Go on."
"Well, there's been a fire at the school, and Master Jasper's hurt, burned, I guess, and—"
"Ben!" a voice rang through the hall.
"O mercy me!" Jane bounded to her feet, seized her feather duster, which implement she had been wielding when the fatal telegram had been handed in, and scuttled down the back hall.
"Ben, Ben! Does any one know where he is?" It was Aunty Whitney, whose gentle voice was never heard on such a key, and she was actually running down the hall, her pretty face all streaked with tears. "Oh, Ben, there isn't a moment to lose. Father wants you to go with him to Jasper. I can't tell you what for."
"I know," said Ben, quietly, while Polly stuffed her fingers into her mouth to keep from screaming.
Mrs. Whitney didn't stop to express any surprise, but her face looked relieved that he had heard the news.
"And you must catch the next train," she hurried on, her voice breaking; "oh, Ben, you must."
"I'm ready," cried Ben. He gave Polly one kiss, then pulled her arms away from his neck.
"Your mother says you can go, and she is getting your things together."
"I'll—I'll help put them up," said Polly, blindly staggering off after him as he rushed down the hall.
"No, no, Polly," cried Mrs. Whitney, "your mother said you must stay with me,—and Polly, I need you so badly." She opened her arms and Polly ran into them, and though there wasn't very much comforting done, it was good to be together.
And Thomas whirled up to the door, and Mr. King and Ben and Mr. King's valet got into the carriage, into which portmanteaus were thrown, and away the horses sprang in a mad rush to make the train. And it was all done in such bewildering haste that the group in the hall scarcely knew or understood anything until the big front door shut with a clang, and they were alone. And nothing to tell of it all but that dreadful yellow telegram lying on Mr. King's writing-table just where it had been thrown.
"Fire at school dormitory early this morning. Your son Jasper hurt. Come at once."Jacob A. Presbrey."
"Fire at school dormitory early this morning. Your son Jasper hurt. Come at once.
"Jacob A. Presbrey."
Polly never knew for long weeks afterward just how she got through that dreadful day, except that Joel and David had to be soothed, no one being able so well as herself to stop the howls of the former, who, on hearing the news, threw himself flat on the floor in a corner of Grandpapa's writing room, refusing all comfort. Little David crouched closely to him, and with never a word laid his head on his shoulder.
And afterward Polly found herself installed as Mrs. Whitney's little nurse, sitting upon the bed most of the time, and smoothing the soft, fair hair, as it lay on the pillow, with a trembling hand.
"You can't know what a comfort you are to me, Polly," every once in a while Mrs. Whitney would say, and reaching up a hand to feel for Polly's fingers.
"Am I?" said Polly, careful not to let the tears drop where they could be seen.
"Yes, indeed! And oh, Polly, I don't really believe that we ought to think the worst. God wouldn't let anything happen to our Jasper. He wouldn't, Polly." But Mrs. Whitney clutched the pillow, and turned her face into it and sobbed. And Polly smoothed her hair, and said not a word.
And all those terrible hours passed away—how, no one could tell. Outside they could hear Phronsie, who, of course, knew nothing of the blow that had fallen upon the household, gayly laughing and chattering away. She had been told that Grandpapa had gone away and that she must not go into his room; so she hadn't seen Joel and David. But Mother Fisher had hard work to keep the incessant calls for Polly from being sounded over the halls and stairs, and at last she took Phronsie into her room and closed the door.
"Now, Mother's baby," said Mrs. Fisher, seating herself on the wide haircloth sofa, and drawing Phronsie into her lap. How often had Jasper sat on this old sofa and told her his boyish confidences the same as her own children! She gave a groan at the thought of what might be happening now at that distant school.
"What is it, Mamsie?" asked Phronsie, in gentle surprise, and lifting a soft little hand to her mother's cheek.
"Oh, my pet," Mrs. Fisher drew Phronsie quickly to her breast, "you mustn't mind Mamsie."
"But you made a funny noise here, Mamsie," and Phronsie touched her mother's throat.
"Did I? Well, never mind, dear. Now I must tell you, you cannot have Polly to-day, Phronsie."
"But I want Polly," said Phronsie, regarding her mother with grave displeasure.
"Yes, I know, dear. But you cannot have her just to-day. Mother does not think it is best."
Phronsie's lip quivered and her brown eyes closed to squeeze the tears back. But despite all her efforts they would come, and two big ones rolled down her cheeks.
"And Mamsie will be very much disappointed in her little girl if she cries," went on Mrs. Fisher, "for Aunty Whitney needs Polly to-day. So Phronsie must be brave and let Polly stay with her."
"Is Aunty Whitney sick?" asked Phronsie, with sudden interest, her eyes flying open at once. For any one to be sick was to enlist her sympathy, and she at once gave up all thoughts of having Polly to herself.
"Yes, that is, she will be, I am afraid, if Polly does not stay with her," said Mother Fisher; "so you must be a good child, and not call for Polly."
"I will be good," said Phronsie, sliding down from her mother's lap, and folding her hands. "I will be good." She bobbed her yellow head. "And Aunty Whitney will get all well, because Polly is there."
Meanwhile the train bearing Mr. King and Ben was speeding swiftly on its way. For the first hour the old gentleman sat erect on his chair, gazing straight before him at the flying landscape, and with never a word for his companion. Then he suddenly turned with a little groan, and laid his hand on Ben's shoulder. "You are such a comfort to me," he said brokenly.
"Am I?" said Ben, all the color rushing to his face. He a comfort to Grandpapa! He hadn't gotten over wondering what had given him this honor of being allowed to go with him,—and now, to think of being a comfort!
"What I should have done without you, Ben, I cannot tell," Grandpapa was saying, his hand slipping down until it rested on Ben's woollen glove, "but, oh, my boy, I am so glad I have you."
Ben said never a word; he couldn't have spoken, it seemed to him, to save his life, but he lifted his blue eyes to the white, drawn face, and old Mr. King did not seem to feel anything lacking. And so, on and on; the revolutions of the wheels, the flashing in and out of strange cities, the long, steady, tireless plunge of the heavily laden express, by river and lake, hill-top and plain, only rang one refrain through every heart-throb, over and over, loud and clear above the reverberation of the train,—"What shall we find at our journey's end?"
And when it was reached at nightfall, Grandpapa still had Ben's fingers in his grasp; the valet rushed into the Pullman from another car, gathered up the luggage, and out all the passengers poured from the train. There on the platform was Dr. Presbrey himself.
"It is not so bad as we feared," were his first words, as he reached Mr. King's side; and, without waiting for a word, for he saw the old gentleman was beyond it, he led the way to his carriage.
"Stop a bit," Grandpapa made out to say through white lips, "a telegram—tell them at home." He looked at Ben, but Dr. Presbrey sprang back into the station, wrote it, sent it off, and was with them once more; and then it was only a matter of moments and Jasper was reached, at the master's house, where he had been carried after the fire.
"Don't go in," said one of a crowd of boys, who surrounded Ben on the steps, old Mr. King being in advance, a medical man and one or two teachers coming out of the house to meet the party. "Don't go in," he repeated, laying detaining hands on him; "it's perfectly awful in there; everybody's crying."
"He may want me," said Ben, hoarsely, nodding toward the white-haired old gentleman ahead, and trying to free himself. The other boys closed in around him.
"Oh, Dr. Smith won't let you get near him," volunteered one boy; "catch him!"—which proved to be true. Old Mr. King was just at the moment being ushered into the front parlor, and the medical man followed and closed the door with such a snap that it was impossible for any one else to even dream of entering.
"Now, what did I tell you?" said the boy, triumphantly.
"You're Ben, aren't you?" asked the first boy, who hadn't relinquished his hold, the other boys drawing up.
"Yes," said Ben.
"Well, we've heard all about you, and the rest of you. King talked just whole packs about you all."
"Don't," said Ben, and he put up his hand; everything seemed to turn suddenly dark.
"Hush up, Grayson, can't you have some sense?" said a tall, dark-haired boy, angrily, and by a speedy movement he had rescued Ben from the first grasp. "Now, then, come over to my room," he pointed to a long building on the west, "and I'll tell you all about it."
But Grayson had no mind to be so easily pushed off. "That's no fair," he cried; "I had him first."
"No, sir, take your hands off, I'm—" and he clutched Ben again, determined to fight to the end for possession.
"That's right. Get out, Tim," a dozen voices took it up in a subdued tone, it is true, but equally determined to see fair play.
And the tall, dark-haired boy, being shouldered off the steps, Ben soon found himself sitting down in the midst of Jasper's school companions, Grayson still hanging like a leech to him.