"You see we can't do anything but hang around here," one of the boys was saying, "and when anybody comes out, why, we hear a bit how he is."
"And to think it needn't have happened only for Pip,—O dear!" said a stout, chubby-cheeked boy, who didn't look as if he ever did anything but laugh and eat.
"Pip! He wasn't worth saving, little rat," exploded Tim, who, being on the outskirts of the crowd, had to vent his vexation over somebody.
"You'd better let King hear you say that," cried a boy, with a belligerent glance over at Tim. Then, as he remembered how little prospect there might be of Jasper's ever being troubled by the remark, he ground his teeth together to keep from saying more before Ben.
"See here, fellows." Grayson, having made first capture, deemed it his further duty to do the right thing by Ben. "We ought to tell him all about it. And I'll begin," and without more ado, he started off.
Ben clasped his woollen gloves tightly together, and looked over the heads of the boys up to the sky. Was it possible that the stars had ever twinkled in friendly fashion at them, as Polly and the other children had run out of the little brown house with him at such fortunate times when their mother had let them sit up; and the moon had beamed down on them too, so sociably that Polly made up little stories about their shining light, so that they had all grown to love them very dearly. Now, it seemed as if great tears were dropping out of the sky, and Ben shivered and listened, and gripped his hands tighter together than ever.
"You see, it began—well, no one knows how it did begin," Grayson was rushing on; "I think Beggins was drunk."
"What stuff!" ejaculated another boy, contemptuously. "Beggins never got off the handle; the Doctor would have fired him long ago."
"There must always be a first time," said Grayson, nowise discomfited. "Beggins is the night watchman," he explained to Ben. "Well, anyway,—hush up, fellows,—the fire broke out, we don't any of us know how. It doesn't signify. What we do know is that in about five minutes from the first alarm it got too hot for us in there." He hopped to his feet and pointed to the broken outline of a long building. Even in the dim light, Ben, dropping his gaze from the sky, could see the ruined chimney, the ragged side wall, and the blackened, crushed windows.
"And it was every one to save his skin. Great Scott! I'll never forget that yell that Toddy sent up. He's the teacher on our hall, Todd is," Grayson explained again, as he dropped into his seat beside Ben.
"Nor the bell clanging," put in another boy; "Christopher Columbus, I thought it was all day with us then!"
"And I couldn't find my clothes!"
"Well, 'twas no worse for you than for any of us," retorted the boy the other side of Grayson. "There wasn't a rag for any of us to get into but blankets, and sheets, and—"
"You see we were waked up out of a sound sleep; it was about three o'clock this morning," Grayson took the words out of any mouth that might be intending to explain, "so we just vamosed the ranch. I tell you, there was some tall sprinting. And King was with us; I remember seeing him. But he was last, and he looked back; then somebody sang out, 'Where's Pip?'"
"Pip?" Ben found his tongue, that had seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth, enough for that one syllable.
"Oh, it isn't his real name," said Grayson, in a hurry to explain again before any one else could put in a word; "his own was so ridiculously long,—Cornelius Leffingwell,—only think, for such a mite of a chap,—so we had to call him Pip, you see. Well, somebody was fool enough to scream out, 'Where's Pip?' and Jasper turned back."
Ben clenched both hands tightly together in a grip that would have hurt but for the woollen gloves.
"And I roared out, 'Come along, King—'"
"And so did I."
"And I." The voices took it up, one after another.
"For it wasn't the time to look out for any skin but your own; it was as much as your life was worth to turn back," cried Grayson, bearing down on the other voices.
"Boys!" The big door back of them burst open suddenly, and a teacher's head appeared, making them all jump as if shot. "Go right away from these steps!"
"How is he?" Nothing seemed to dash Grayson, and he took time to ask this quite comfortably, still holding to Ben, while the other boys moved off the steps and around the corner of the master's house.
"Somewhat better. Be off with you!" The teacher waved his hand, and closed the door.
"That old Sterrett,—well, he's a dragon," declared Grayson, between his teeth, and, dragging Ben to a convenient angle, where the other boys soon gathered, the narrative was taken up where it had been dropped.
"I grabbed King, but you might as soon try to hold an eel. Hewouldgo."
Ben groaned, and this time so heavily that Grayson pulled himself up short. "See here, I won't tell any more; you're going to keel over."
For answer he was in an instant whirled completely around on his two feet, and instead of his having any sort of a grasp on Ben, it was the visitor who held his coat collar in a woollen-gloved hand in such a way that it didn't seem as if Grayson were ever to be free again.
"Now tell everything you know! I can't wait! Be quick about it!"
It was the same face he had shown to Jane, and, just as she had done, Grayson made all possible haste to answer, "Oh, I will, I will!" the other boys in their astonishment staring silently at the two.
"Pip couldn't be found. He slept in the north wing, but he'd run into another boy's room, so King lost time, and if he hadn't screeched,—Pip, I mean,—why, he never would have got out. And there King—oh, well, he crawled under the bed,—Pip, I mean, nasty little beggar,—and there King found him, and dragged him out. He told us all about it,—Pip, I mean,—and King slung him on his back, and by that time it was no use to try for the stairs; the flames were roaring up like mad, so King tried for the roof of the 'Lab.' Had to go through Toddy's room, and jumped out of one of the windows. And he made it.—Oh, don't hang on to a fellow so!—And there we saw him, and the firemen got a ladder up, and, oh—" Here Grayson gave out and actually blubbered.
Ben looked around for some one to take up the tale. And the tall, dark-haired boy they had called "Tim," now seeing his opportunity, pushed up.
"It's better you should have the whole," he said; "without a bit of warning we saw the roof overhanging the 'Lab'—laboratory, of course, I mean—waver, and then fall, and we screamed to King to look out; it wouldn't have done any good if he had heard, for the chimney toppled, and some bricks knocked him over, and then he saw it coming and kept Pip underneath."
Ben's hand had fallen from the jacket collar to his side, and he didn't seem to breathe.
"You are to come. Mr. King wants you." Somebody reached through the crowd of boys, and drew him off and away.
And the first thing Ben knew, he was being hurried over the stairs and into Master Presbrey's big library. There stood Grandpapa, and, wonder of wonders, with a smile on his face!
"You are to see Jasper," said the old gentleman, briefly.
Ben staggered back, it was all so sudden, and stared up at the one the boys had called "Dr. Smith" standing near.
"Yes," said the gentleman, "he has asked for you." And without further ado Ben was piloted into the back room, and there, looking eagerly toward the door, was Jasper in the big bed and propped up with pillows.
"Halloo!" It was all either of them said at first; then Ben, with a lump in his throat, leaned over and grasped the fingers on the coverlet.
"You see I'm all right," said Jasper, his eyes roving affectionately all over Ben's square figure.
"Yes," nodded Ben.
"But it was good, though, to see Father and you." And Jasper's dark eyes beamed; then a wave of pain swept its trail over his face. And the doctor, seeing that, unceremoniously bundled Ben out of the room, and back to old Mr. King again.
But the next day, oh, that was joy! for Ben was not only let in again, but allowed to stay a good half-hour. And this time he found his tongue, for Dr. Smith said a little cheery talking was just the thing. So the budget of home news was undone, and Ben regaled Jasper, who hungrily took in every word.
"It's a shame I spoiled all the Christmas," murmured Jasper, his face in the pillow, his thoughts flying back to Polly and the others, busy with the preparations for that gay festival.
"Oh, that's no matter," said Ben, cheerily, "and perhaps you'll be able to come home soon, and we'll have it then."
"But it won't be Christmas," said Jasper, dejectedly.
"Well, but we can call it Christmas," said Ben, "so that'll be just as good." Then, for want of something else to say, he began on Mrs. Van Ruypen buying all sorts of things for poor people, of course with never a word of himself mixed up in it.
"Now isn't that fine?" cried Jasper, taken for the moment off from the loss of Christmas to the family, and bringing his face into view again.
"Yes," said Ben, "it is," and he went on so fast that Polly herself couldn't have told it better, Dr. Smith smiling to himself in satisfaction at the experiment of letting Ben in.
"Well, now, boys," he said at last, coming up to the bed, "time is up. But you can come in, maybe, this afternoon," to Ben.
"Oh, let him stay now!" begged Jasper.
"Can't," said the doctor, laconically. And off Ben went again. And this time he, too, smiled. And the first person he ran up against was a small boy, his hands full of little wads of paper bundles, crammed tightly together in his nervous fists.
"They're for him," said the small boy, emptying the fistful into Ben's hands, who involuntarily thrust his out, as it seemed to be expected of him.
"For whom?" asked Ben, in astonishment.
"Why, for him," said the boy, pointing with a set of sticky fingers he first put into his mouth, off toward Jasper's room. "Of course; hurry and give 'em to him before the doctor sees. It's candy." He couldn't repress his longing as his eyes now fell on the wads in Ben's hands. "I got 'em down town. Hurry up!" and his little face, pasty-colored and sharp, scowled at the delay.
"If you mean I'm to give these to Jasper," said Ben, holding the little packets toward the small figure, "I can't do any such thing; the doctor wouldn't like it."
"You are a 'fraid cat," said the boy, contemptuously; "but he won't hurt you, 'cause you're a stranger, so hurry up!" and he laid his sticky fingers on Ben's arm.
"But don't you understand that these things will hurt Jasper?" said Ben, kindly, into the scowling little face.
"Hoh! I guess not," said the boy, with another longing look at the little packets; "they'll make him well, do take 'em to him. O dear!" and his thin lips trembled, his sticky little fingers flew up to his eyes, and he turned his face to the wall.
"Now, I guess you're Pip," said Ben, hustling the little wads all into one hand, and putting the other on the small shoulder.
"Yes, I am," snivelled Pip, flattening his face against the wall, "and all the boys hate me, and say I've killed King, and—O dear!" he whined.
"Well, now, you just see here," Ben turned the little figure swiftly around; "no more of that."
It was so sudden that Pip released one pale eye from his sticky fingers to peer up at the big boy, and he stopped snivelling in amazement.
"The worst thing you can do for Jasper King is to carry on like this," said Ben, firmly. "Come, now, wipe your eyes," which Pip at once proceeded to do on his jacket sleeve, "and take your candy," and Ben dropped the little packets of sweets back into their owner's hands. "I'll tell Jasper all you wanted to do for him; it was nice of you." Ben was astounded to find how fast he was getting on in conversation. Really he hadn't supposed he could talk so much till he got this Pip on his hands. Meantime, his grasp still on the small shoulder, he was marching him off, and downstairs, and across the school yard, not exactly knowing what in the world to do with him after all.
"Great Scott! If that Pepper boy hasn't got Pip!" A dozen heads, their owners just released from recitation, were thrust up to the windows of a class room. Meantime Pip, in the familiar borders of the school yard, and remembering everything again with a rush, began to snivel once more, so that Ben was at his wits' end, and seeing a boy a good deal bigger than his companion coming down the long path, he hailed him unceremoniously.
"See here, can't you do something for him?" Ben bobbed his head down at the cowering shoulders. "Can't you play ball with him?" He said the first thing that came into his head.
"You must excuse me," said the boy, with an aristocratic air, and, not knowing Ben in the least, he looked him all over contemptuously. "King was my great friend. I don't know this little cad at all, nor you either," and he walked on.
Pip's head slunk down deeper yet between his shoulders at that, and he snivelled worse than ever.
"Come along, I'll play with you myself," said Ben. "Got a ball, Pip?"
"Ye-es," said Pip, between a snivel and a gasp, "but the fellows wo-on't let you play with me. O dear, boo-hoo-hoo!"
"Oh, yes, they will," said Ben. "Come, let's get your ball. Where's your room?"
So Pip, seeing that he was to have company all the way, led off somehow to his room, and the little wads of candy were placed in the bureau drawer. Once the ball was in Ben's hands he managed to follow him to a corner of the playground where, without any more words, Ben soon had him throwing and catching in such a rapid fashion there was no time for tears or anything else but the business in hand.
Meantime the boy they had met on the long path had marched off, very angry at having been spoken to by such a common-looking person in company with Pip, whom nobody had liked from the first, certainly not after the injury to their favorite, King. And nursing his wrath he projected himself into the class room where the heads of the boys were still at the windows.
"Something must be done with that Pip!" he fumed, throwing down his book on the first desk.
"What's the poor chap done now?" cried Tim, turning off from his window quite readily, as there was nothing more to be seen. "Can't you let up on him, Bony?"
"No," said Bony, called short for Bonaparte, much to his distress, for the great air which he assumed he fondly hoped was to bring him distinction, "and none of us ought to."
"It wasn't the poor little beggar's fault that King got hurt," said Tim, thrusting his hands in his pockets and lounging over toward Bony, "and we ought to remember that."
"Don't preach," cried Bony, derisively. "Well, he is such an insufferable little cad!" he brought up in disgust. "And that country lout—Great guns! how did that fellow dare to address me?" With that he began to fume up and down the room, puffing out his chest at every step.
"Has any one dared to speak to our Bony?" cried Tim, throwing his head back and blowing out his cheeks, in step and manner imitating as much as his long figure could, as he followed the other one down between the rows of desks.
"See here, now, Tim," Bony turned suddenly amid the roars of the delighted boys, "you quit that now," and he doubled up his fists in a rage.
"Excuse me, your high mightiness, if I object to being crushed," said Tim, coolly, and folding his fists, which were long and muscular like the rest of his body. "Now, then, Bony, if you like."
But Bony didn't like, taking refuge in, "You're no gentleman," and turning his back.
"I suppose not," said Tim, coolly, and regarding his fists affectionately, "but I don't see why these wouldn't do. I really can't see, Bony, why you object to them; they're a good pair."
"What's the row, anyway?" The boys, not to be balked out of all the fun, seeing that Bony would not fight, crowded around him. "What's upset you, Bony?"
"Enough to disturb any one," he cried, glad to vent injured feelings on something. "A common country fellow just now spoke to me on the long path; fancy that, will you? I never saw him in my life, and he took it upon himself to give me advice about Pip."
"What?" cried ever so many of the boys.
"Yes, just fancy. And there I had just come from seeing Mr. King," here Bony threw out his chest again and looked big. "I'd had a long talk with him; his father knew my father very well,verywell indeed, and he wants me to meet Ben Pepper that he brought here yesterday," and Bony paused to see the effect on his auditors.
"Well, you've met him," said one boy. Some of the others gave a long whistle.
"No such thing," retorted Bony. "I wasn't with your crowd when he got here last night," he added superciliously. "This is quite different,—quite in the social way,—and his grandfather is going to introduce us."
"You won't need any introduction," said Tim, with a chuckle. "Hush up, boys," for the room was in an uproar of cat-calls and peals of laughter.
"Yes, I will, too," said Bony, in a superior way, "for I never speak unless properly introduced. My set never does."
"Well, you've broken your rule for once then," said Tim, in a hush now, every boy holding himself in check to lose no word, "for that country lout with Pip was Ben Pepper."
Bony sat down on the nearest desk, his chest sank in, and he groped feebly with his hands, mumbling something—what, the boys couldn't have told, even if the babel that now set up around him had been less. And Mr. Sterrett coming in, and the other boys rushing out, he was presently asked if he were ill.
"No, sir," said Bony, getting up from the desk; "oh, no, sir, I—I only sat down a minute," and he slipped out, leaving his Bonaparte air behind him.
But if the boys didn't have any more fun with Bony, they did with the ball game going on between the two over in the playground corner, which they soon spied, and off they rushed there.
"Let us in, Pepper, will you?" cried Tim, his long legs getting there first.
"Sure," said Ben, his round cheeks all aglow with the exercise. "Now then, Pip, wait a bit," the ball just then getting ready to fly from the thin little hand.
Pip paused, his small pasty-colored face, that without having gained any color had quieted down from its nervousness, now took on a fresh alarm, and he looked ready to run.
"They're all going to play with us," said Ben, looking around brightly on the group as the other boys rushed up. "Now, then, Pip, we'll have a splendid game!"
"Yes, we'll play," cried the boys, in different keys. And before long the whole playground resounded with shouts of enjoyment. Ben couldn't play the most scientific game according to their rules, but he was a capital pitcher, and he took all errors in a sturdy good humor that kept things jolly. Altogether, by the time the game was over, everybody in it had voted that Pepper was worthy to be King's friend.
"You'll have that little chap at your heels every minute, after this," Tim nodded over toward Pip, who was running after, having lingered behind a bit to get his ball, as Ben struck off on the path leading to Master Presbrey's house.
"All right, let him come," said Ben.
"He'll be an awful nuisance," said Tim; "take my advice, Pepper, and drop him now."
"Can't," said Ben, "can't oblige," and his fingers closed on the thin little ones crowding into them, as Pip ran up to his other side.
"And I think any one who wants to please Jasper," said Ben,—he hated to preach, but it must be done,—"had better take up this chap."
Tim coughed and stuck his hands deeply in his pockets.
"I'm going down this way," said Ben, striking off on a side path, and he marched off with pip.
"I never knew such a chap," Tim waited for a crowd of the boys who had joined in the game to come up; "he's been here a little more than one day, and he leads us all by the nose. Boys, we've just got to take up that Pip, and we might as well do it handsomely as not."
Van sprang off the car steps and rushed up tumultuously to Polly in the midst of the group come down to the railroad station to meet the boys.
"O dear," he grumbled in a loud voice, "now we can't have any Christmas at all."
"Hulloa, Van—Hulloa, Percy." Pickering Dodge tried his best to cover this remark by an extra amount of hilarity, as he clapped each of the boys smartly on the back. "Well, you're an awful long time in getting here—I should say half an hour late."
"For shame, Van!" cried Percy at his heels, and edging off toward Polly.
"For shame?" repeated Van, hotly; "well, that's no more than you've been saying on the train,—'we can't have any Christmas,'—and you know it, Percy Whitney."
"Stop that, you little beggar." Pickering's long arm got possession of Van, who, instead of occupying the vantage-ground of first arrival, had now the vexation of seeing Percy in that coveted position.
"Why did you pull me back?" he cried in a small fury at hearing the bustle and excitement of the group he had just left so summarily.
"Because you were making yourself a nuisance. Fancy such a way to come home for the holidays, Van."
"There aren't to be any holidays," howled Van, his face very red. "Let me go, Pick," struggling violently to free himself from Pickering's long fingers.
"No, indeed." Pickering wound his fingers into a still tighter hold. "Not much, sir, until you stop those whines. How you can go on so, I don't see!"
By this time, Pickering, over his shoulder, had the ill luck to see Clare take the first place in marshalling off the party, a position he had fully expected to occupy himself whenever Jasper and Ben were away. All this didn't in the least add to his satisfaction. "Well, I wish you'd stayed back in your school," he declared in extreme irritation. And Alexia, running up, only made matters worse by crying out: "Come on, Van, I'm sure it's bad enough to bear all these dreadful things without coming clear down here for a boy like you. Do come on, we're all waiting for you." So it was a very gloomy party that finally became settled in the two carriages.
"I'm not going to sit with him," declared Van, having freed himself from Pickering, and bolting for the second carriage.
"No, you're coming with me," said Alexia, hurrying after him. "Come, Polly, here's a seat. Here," and she waved frantically.
But Polly was already in the other carriage. And seeing this, Alexia was about to desert her charge, when Thomas, on the box of the forward conveyance, whipped up and off it went.
"O dear me!" cried Alexia; "somebody stop it. Why, Polly Pepper was going with me," and she was just about to jump out.
"No use, Alexia," said Pickering, who at the last moment had found himself crowded out of carriage number one, and putting her to one side as he helped Cathie in, and then David, at last he got in himself. "Don't you see they're a good bit on the way home already?"
"Yes, and here I am shut up in here with all of you, whom I don't want in the least to go with," cried Alexia, in the greatest dismay, sitting down in her corner too suddenly for comfort, as the horses started up, and waving her hands frantically.
"Thank you," said Pickering, with a low bow, "I'm sure we all feel much obliged to you."
"Well, I don't," said Cathie, in a dudgeon, "feel obliged a single bit, and I'm sure I didn't want to come with you, Alexia, only there wasn't room in the other carriage, so I had to."
"And I thought Polly Pepper was surely coming in this carriage," ran on Alexia, too vexed to stop herself, and turning anything but a sweet countenance upon the rest of the carriage-load. "She started for it."
"Don't look so at me, Alexia," said Pickering. "I'm not to blame; Clare took her off."
"It's just like Clare—always meddling," said Alexia, thoroughly out of temper. "Van Whitney, you're sitting all over my coat, and it's my best one, too," and she turned and twitched it away with an angry hand.
"I didn't sit all over it," retorted Van, "and I didn't want to come with you, but you made me."
"Well, because you and Pickering were having such a fight. O me, I wish I'd let you alone," she added, sinking back into her corner.
But Van, much preferring Alexia to Pickering, couldn't say the same, so the carriage rolled on to a gloomy silence within.
"Oh, I say," began Pickering, after this had gone on for some minutes, "this is a sweet way to go to Mr. King's, isn't it?"
"Well, we can't help it," cried Alexia, flying up from her corner; "I'm sure, Pickering, you can't blame any of us. And I haven't got Polly Pepper; you know she was coming in here with me, and everything is just as bad as it can be."
"You're always tagging on to Polly Pepper; I'm glad you haven't got her this time," declared Cathie, in venom from her corner.
"Of course I'm always after Polly," said Alexia, decidedly, "when she's my very dearest friend. O my, don't I wish I could get out!"
"Well, you will pretty soon," said Pickering, coolly; "we'll all get out, for we'll be there in a minute. And then how we'll look, for we're supposed to be helping Mr. King's family, and they're in such trouble."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Alexia, in great distress, whirling around suddenly to look out of the window, her long, fight braids flying over her shoulder. "Pickering Dodge, we aren't near Mr. King's yet," she declared, peering out; "we haven't got to—oh, yes we have—O dear me, what shall we do?" and she flew back again into her corner.
"We've just got to do something," said Pickering, in a determined voice. Little David had been past speaking for some time, and, wedged in between Cathie and Pickering, had been chiefly occupied in twisting his hands, and trying not to think how very dreadful it all was, and how Mamsie would feel to see them all come in.
"We can't do anything," said Alexia, despairingly; "it's all as dreadful as it can be, and we can't help it," and she ran her long arms as far as she could into her muff, and hugged it up tightly.
"Well, we've got to help it," said Pickering. "There's Jasper," he broke off suddenly, for it was as much as he could do to think about the accident that had summoned Mr. King and Ben away from home, let alone trying to talk about it, and he swallowed hard and looked out of his window.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Alexia, faintly from her corner.
Then she sat up straight. "Oh, I know, let's look pleasant, that's what the man says when he takes my photograph, and he won't throw back his old woollen cover from the machine till I smile, so I'm going to now,"—which she did with such surprising effect, that Pickering, turning around, couldn't help but join all the others in the general laugh that set up; even little David forgot everything else for that moment.
The consequence was that when the carriage drew up to the door of the big stone house, the occupants tumbled out and ran up the steps in quite good humor, to join the other half of the party, in the centre of which were Mother Fisher and Mrs. Whitney.
"Now that's very nice and cheerful," said Mother Fisher, beaming on them all. Mrs. Whitney, her arms around her two boys, was beyond speaking. "You must all stay and have luncheon with Percy and Van; they'll enjoy it so much more," and she led the way to the dining room.
"Ugh, O dear me!" Alexia ran after her. "Oh, don't ask me; I can't stay, Mrs. Fisher, truly I can't."
"Why, Alexia,"—Mother Fisher turned on her in great surprise,—"it will help to make things pleasanter," she said slowly.
"Oh, I can't; don't ask me," mumbled Alexia, wildly, and twisting her hands together. One thing only she now really longed for, and that was to stay for the dear little luncheon party she knew Polly's mother had made ready. But she had lost it all; and she darted back and, clutching Polly's arm a moment in passing, "I'm going home," she said.
"What?" cried Polly, flying around to seize her. "Oh, no, indeed, you are not, Alexia. Why, you are all to stay; didn't you hear Mamsie say so?"
"Well, I can't," said Alexia. "O dear me, I'm going to cry, and I can't get my handkerchief. Polly Pepper, do let me go!"
But instead, Polly held very fast indeed to her, and the next moment Alexia found herself in the big dining room, in the midst of the delightsome luncheon party made for the two schoolboys' home-coming.
"Well, I shan't sit down, anyway," declared Alexia, desperately, "and I'm going to tell Mrs. Fisher." With that she darted away from Polly and ran over to her mother. "I haven't been cheerful, and I was just as bad as I could be coming up in the carriage," she said as fast as the words would come, "so you see I can't stay."
"This is your seat, Alexia," said Mother Fisher, just as if she hadn't heard a single word, and laying her hand on a chair, she pulled it out from the table; "hurry and sit down, dear, for those two boys must be very hungry after their journey," and Alexia obeyed and slipped into her chair, for once in her life not waiting to get Polly Pepper next to her.
And after the little luncheon was over,—and it didn't seem to have made a bit of difference that every one besides the two hungry boys had already had a midday meal, for it all tasted so good,—why, things began to get a bit more cheery. And Mother Fisher and Mrs. Whitney even smiled over to each other. But Van, his hunger appeased, slipped out after his mother when at last the feast was over.
"Oh, Vanny, my boy, it is so good to get you home," she cried, affectionately throwing her arm around him, as they went down the hall.
"I'm going to your room," announced Van, without any preamble.
"How good that is," she declared as he hugged up close to her. "You don't know, Van, how I have wanted to see you and Percy."
"O dear," said Van, but he crowded closer than ever.
"And—well, here we are," and Mrs. Whitney hurried into her pretty room with the haste of a girl, and turned her face with its little pink glow of happiness on him. "Oh, Van!"
"I've been bad," said Van, not looking at her, but dropping his eyes to the floor.
"Oh, Van!" Mrs. Whitney laid her hand on her heart, and all the pretty flush died from her cheek. "What—" but she couldn't get any farther, for somebody fumbled at the door, and, without any further announcement, walked in.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Percy, withdrawing when he saw Van.
"Come in, Percy," called his mother, before he could beat a retreat. It would be some relief to have both of her boys, but what could have happened!
So Percy walked in, and he stood just like Van, only worse, for he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands.
"Why, what is it? What can it be?" cried their mother. "Oh, do tell me, boys; don't be afraid."
Van turned off on his heel till he got his back to Percy. Then he found his tongue. But it was only to say again, "I was bad."
"Well, so was I," Percy got the words out with great difficulty, staring gloomily at the carpet, and thrusting his hands in his pockets to pull them out as suddenly.
"You must just tell me what you have done," said Mrs. Whitney, looking desperately first at one and then at the other, "or I shall go for Mrs. Fisher," and she started for the door.
"Oh, no, no, Mamma!" they cried together, and Van whirled around and held her gown.
"I certainly shall," declared their mother, firmly, "unless you tell me at once what is the matter," and she took another step toward the hall.
"I fretted about—" began Van.
"Not having any Christmas," said Percy, coming in as a finish. "O dear!"
"Oh, boys!"
"Don't look so, Mamma, don't!" implored Van, clutching her gown with desperate fingers.
"And I did, too," said Percy. His hands now seemed to have no comfort in his pockets, so he twisted them miserably together.
"You mean when you were coming home in the carriage?" asked Mrs. Whitney, a sorrowful little droop coming in her pretty mouth.
"Yes," said Van, his head hanging. "O dear me,"—he had hard work not to cry, but he wagged his head from side to side, and somehow kept the tears back,—"I did, anyway."
"Well, I did, too," said Percy, hastily; "that is, on the train. O dear!"
"Well, this is very bad," said their mother. But her voice was quite gentle, and she put her arm around each of them. "When we know how happy we ought to be that Jasper is really better, although he can't come home until after Christmas, how can we think of a holiday, and fret because we lose it?"
"We won't fret," said Percy, eagerly. "Oh, we won't, Mamma, ever again."
"No," said Van, "we won't, truly, Mamma."
While this was going on in Mrs. Whitney's room, there was a small clamor raised downstairs. Where in the world were the two boys just come home from school?
"I know," declared Alexia, who had recovered her spirits. "Polly," and she drew her off into the library, "they went upstairs with Mrs. Whitney," she said with a loud whisper in her ear.
"I heard you," cried little Dick, creeping in back of the two girls, "and I shall just go up to Mamma's room," and he began to skip off joyously.
"Oh, no, you mustn't," cried Alexia, deserting Polly to race after him and seize his blouse. "The very idea—Polly, come and help me hold this dreadful boy."
"I shall go up and see my Mamma," said Dick, in a small fury, and pulling and kicking violently. "She is my very own Mamma, and Ishallsee her."
"But you mustn't," said Alexia, very red in the face. "O dear me, why did I speak! Polly, do help me," for just then Phronsie had run in between the two girls, and before any one had a chance to hardly breathe, a dreadful sound struck their ears.
"There, see what you have done!" exclaimed little Dick, in a wrathful key. Alexia's fingers fell away, and he held up a dangling end of lace, all frayed and ragged. "You've torn my blouse, and Ishallsee my Mamma." With that he set out on a run for the stairs.
"I'm going home," cried Alexia, hoarsely, and rushing blindly down the hall.
"Alexia!" Polly deserted Phronsie and raced after her. "You can't mean it; do come back. It isn't any matter that lace was torn," she added breathlessly, as she gained her side.
"Polly Pepper," gasped Alexia, "how can you say so? It's the most dreadful thing!" and she turned wide eyes of amazement at her.
"I mean it isn't near as bad as for you to run home," said Polly, hastily; "that would make Mrs. Whitney feel ever so much worse."
At the mention of Mrs. Whitney's name, Alexia's long figure shook all over. "Horrors! I can't ever see her again!" and she buried her face in her hands.
"Now, Alexia, aren't you ashamed to act so?" said Polly. "Dear me, over a bit of lace that can be mended, I most know; and we've had so much trouble," and she sighed.
"And I've made a mess of it ever since those boys came home, and now I've gone and torn that lace," mumbled Alexia, between her fingers, the sigh making her nearly frantic. "Polly Pepper, Ishallgo home,"—with that she sprang away from Polly, and ran upstairs to Polly's room to get her things.
Polly, with only one thought to get Mamsie, who alone seemed to be the person to manage this new trouble, hurried off to find her. But Mrs. Fisher, happy in the success of the little luncheon party, had disappeared to some unknown house duty, and couldn't at this very moment be found. So Polly had the distress to hear, before she could run over the stairs herself, the big front door bang, and, hurrying to the window, she saw Alexia running down the driveway and pulling her coat around her as she ran.
For the first moment Polly had wild thoughts of flying off after her. Then, remembering what Mamsie had once said, "If you want to help, Polly, take time to think what would be the best way," and that Mamsie would say now, in this trouble, "Don't go, for the boys are just home,"—"O dear me!" she cried as Joel rushed in and up to the window, and without a bit of warning seized her about the waist and spun her into the middle of the floor.
"Oh, Joey, what is it?" she gasped when she could get her breath.
"He's going to bring Pip," cried Joel, bobbing his black head at her. "Come on, Polly, whoopity la!" and he held out his hands for another war dance.
"Oh, Joel,"—Polly seized his hands and stood quite still,—"you don't mean Jasper is coming soon?" The color flew into her cheeks till they were rosy red.
"Yes, I do, too," said Joel, prancing off by himself, since Polly wouldn't dance; "he's coming to-morrow; no, I guess next week—anyway, he's coming." With that he executed some remarkable steps as only Joel could.
"How did you know, Joel? Stop and tell me." Polly flew after him around and around the room.
"A letter," said Joel; "whoopity la! and he's going to bring Pip."
"A letter?" Now she must find Mamsie or Aunty Whitney, and Polly left Joel dancing away and got over the stairs with her best speed to find Mrs. Whitney just coming to call her. She held in her hand an open letter, scraps of which she was reading aloud to the two boys hanging on either arm, little Dick, unable to attract attention to his torn lace, pulling at her gown impatiently.
"Is it true—is Jasper coming home?" cried Polly, breathlessly rushing up.
"Yes, dear," Mrs. Whitney tore off her gaze from the letter, and turned shining eyes on her. "Oh, Polly, this has just come and I was going to find you. Yes, yes, Dick, Mamma will attend to you presently; he is really coming home."
"When is he coming?" asked Polly, clasping her hands impatiently.
"Oh, not until next week, but it is, oh, so much, to have the doctor set a time. Just think, Polly," and she turned her face, now almost as rosy as Polly's own, upon her affectionately.
"She tore my lace," said little Dick, thinking it a good time to begin again on the announcement he had been trying to make ever since he had arrived, and he held up the frayed end.
"Yes, yes, dear," said Mrs. Whitney, indifferently without even a glance at it; "and he is to bring Pip, and he wants us all to make him have the best time in the world. Oh, won't we, children! for it will please Jasper." Her eyes glowed as she looked around at them all. At this little Dick deserted his lace. "Oh, I will, Mamma," he promised, "and he shall have my rocking-horse, and that'll please Jasper, I guess," and he began to march up and down the hall in great importance.
"And now, Polly," said Mrs. Whitney, "and, boys, we must think up what we are to do for the real Christmas, when Jasper and father and Ben get home; oh, and Pip—we mustn't forget Pip."
"Oh, no, we won't forget Pip," they cried, as they all hurried downstairs to bring the good news to Mother Fisher and the others.
And so, although Polly did not forget about Alexia, it was some time before she could get Mrs. Whitney's ear to tell her about it.
"Now I'll tell you what we'll do, Polly," said Mrs. Whitney, when she had heard it all; "I'll have the carriage right away, and you and I will drive over and get Alexia to come back to dinner."
"Oh, and can't she stay over night, Aunty?" cried Polly, hopping up and down in great excitement.
"Yes, indeed, if her Aunt will let her," said Mrs. Whitney, delighted to have everything coming out so nicely; "so now run off and get on your things, child."
No need to tell Polly that. She was soon ready, and before long there they were, Aunty Whitney and she, driving off to bring Alexia home and comfort her up.
"She isn't home," said the maid, who answered the door-bell of Mrs. Cummings's aristocratic boarding-house on the Avenue.
"Isn't home?" repeated Polly, faintly.
"No'm."
"What is it, Polly?" asked Mrs. Whitney, from the carriage.
"Alexia isn't home," said Polly, disconsolately, and feeling as if the whole world were out of joint.
"Miss Rhys took her away," said the maid, who, beginning to be communicative, saw no reason why she shouldn't tell the whole, "and she didn't want to go, either."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly.
"No, she didn't; but Miss Rhys wouldn't leave her alone 'cause she was crying so, and she was going to Miss Barnard's to tea, and so she made her go, too."
"Aunty,"—Polly flew down the steps,—"oh, can't we," she cried desperately, "go over and get Alexia; can't we, Aunty?"
"At Miss Barnard's, is she?" asked Mrs. Whitney, who had heard only part of the maid's information.
"Yes, and Alexia does hate to go there," said Polly, in a burst, "and she was crying. Oh, Aunty!"
That "Oh, Aunty!" settled it. "Yes, child, tell Thomas to drive to Miss Barnard's, and get in."
So Polly, seeing a little light on what had been so dark and miserable, hopped into the carriage, and off they went to Miss Barnard's.
Miss Hetty Barnard was a maiden lady upon whose company Miss Rhys placed herself whenever the dull routine of boarding-house life, or a new stitch in knitting or crochet, gave her a desire for the society of her friend. All such visits Alexia carefully avoided if a possible thing. And Polly, knowing full well the details of those enforced upon her by her aunt, as Alexia, the day after, poured the miseries of each in her ear, sat forward on the green leather seat and clasped her hands, impatient to get there.
"Oh, if they only haven't gone in to tea," she breathed.
"It's early yet, child," said Mrs. Whitney, reassuringly, "scarcely half after five o'clock," glancing at the little silver watch in the carriage pocket before her; "so don't worry, Polly."
"But Miss Barnard has tea so very early," said Polly, in a small panic. "Oh, here we are!" she brought up gleefully, as the carriage rolled up to the Barnard door and stopped.
"Yes, here we are," laughed Mrs. Whitney, just as well pleased, as Polly jumped out and ran up the steps.
Polly hadn't half finished, "Is Alexia Rhys here, and can I see her?" before a rustle began in the stuffy little parlor, and out rushed the object of her search.
"Oh, Polly, Polly!" exclaimed Alexia, seizing her with both hands to draw her down the hall; her head sank on Polly's shoulder and she began to cry as hard as she could.
"Ow!" said Polly, as the tears ran down her neck; "O dear me, Alexia, do stop!"
"Oh, I can't," said Alexia, "and do take me away, Polly, for it's too dreadful here, and we're just going out to tea, and I never can live through it. O dear!"
"Well, I'm going to," said Polly, as soon as she could be heard.
"What!" exclaimed Alexia, bounding away to look at her.
"Yes, if your Aunt will let you come," said Polly, with happy little thrills.
"Oh, Aunt will let me quick enough," said Alexia; "but do you really mean it? O dear, it'll be 'most as bad at your house, for there's Mrs. Whitney, and I tore that lace,—oh, I can't go!"
"You must come; Aunty Whitney is out in the carriage, and we've come for you, and you are to stay all night," explained Polly; "don't you see, Alexia, she wants you?"
"Does she? Oh, goody," and, "O dear, how can she?" was jumbled all up by Alexia, who was now hugging and kissing Polly at a great rate.
"Tea is ready." A thin little woman, who was alternately feeling of her brooch and smoothing down her plaid silk gown as she came along the hall, announced it so suddenly that both girls jumped.
"Oh, I can't stay, Miss Barnard," said Alexia, recovering herself; "I'm going home with Polly Pepper," and without another word she ran back into the stuffy little parlor to announce that fact to her Aunt.
"And whom have we here?" demanded little Miss Barnard, who hadn't half heard Alexia, and peering out of small, near-sighted eyes into the corner where Polly stood.
"It's Polly Pepper," said Polly, coming out into the light, "and I've come for Alexia; that is—"
"To be sure, to be sure, now I know you," Miss Barnard raised her hands, "and how you grow, Polly,"—a remark the little maiden lady never failed to make when seeing any of the young folks at close enough, range to speak to. "Well, and do you want to take Alexia away? Why can't you stay to tea with her? I wish you would; my maid has quite enough prepared. Quite enough, indeed," and Miss Barnard waved her hands to indicate the extent of her larder.
"Oh, I can't, indeed, Miss Barnard," cried Polly, hastily. "And Aunty Whitney is waiting out in the carriage. Would you please tell Alexia to hurry?"
"Is Mrs. Whitney out in the carriage?" cried Miss Barnard, catching at this desirable information and letting everything else slip. "Oh, then, I must speak to her; surely I must, for I wouldn't be so rude as to let her be at my door without a word from me. Elvira," she thrust her head into the small parlor to throw a word over to Miss Rhys, who was just saying "Yes" to Alexia, "I'll be with you in a bit; I must first speak to my dear friend, Mrs. Whitney."
"It's very cold," said Polly, as the little maiden lady laid her hand on the knob of the front door. Alexia was frantically throwing on her hat and coat in the dim recesses of the back hall.
"That may be, but I wouldn't neglect my duty," said Miss Barnard, with the air of knowing what was required of her; "but perhaps I had best be careful," pausing with her hand on the knob, "so would you mind, my dear, handing my shawl; you will find it on the hat-rack at the end of the hall."
So Polly had nothing to do but to go down after it.
"The very idea," exclaimed Alexia, in smothered wrath, "to ask you to get her old shawl!"
"Hush!" begged Polly, with a warning pinch.
"And just think of her going out to see Mrs. Whitney! Come on, Polly, I know the way to the back door," and she seized Polly's arm.
But Polly got away, and carried the shawl down to Miss Barnard and laid it over the wiry little shoulders; and at last the front door was opened.
"My dear Mrs. Whitney," exclaimed the little maiden lady, skipping out to the carriage step, and holding out both hands, "you don't know how very glad I am to see you here; now do get out and have tea with Miss Rhys and me."
"Oh, it is quite impossible, Miss Barnard," said Mrs. Whitney, "thank you. Now, girlies," with a smile over the little maiden lady's head to Polly and Alexia, "step in, both of you, for we must hurry home."
"O dear, I am so sorry," cried Miss Barnard, as the girls rushed to obey; then she gave a little cackle, intended to be very winning, "perhaps some time you will come, my dear Mrs. Whitney, I shouldsoadmire to have you—hee-hee."
"How Aunt can—" began Alexia, as the good-bys were said and the carriage door slammed and away they went. "Polly Pepper, I've just killed your foot, I know, but I couldn't help stepping all over you, for that dreadful woman fluttered me so. O dear, and I haven't said anything to Mrs. Whitney," and Alexia could feel her sallow cheek grow hot and red.
"I'll forgive you," said Mrs. Whitney, with a little laugh.
"And how Aunt can take up with her," finished Alexia in vexation, "O dear me, I can't see."
"She has some good qualities," said Mrs. Whitney, kindly; "we must remember that."
"Well, I don't know where they are," fumed Alexia. "She's quite the most odious person I ever saw, and I'm so tired of her everlastingly coming to see Aunt. Oh, Polly!" She gave such a cry of distress that both Polly and Mrs. Whitney turned in dismay. "I can't go, I can't go; I forgot my nose and eyes. I cried so, see how they look!" She leaned forward in the carriage to display them the better.
"Is that all?" exclaimed Mrs. Whitney, with a sigh of relief; while Polly cried, "Oh, Alexia, that's no matter," comfortingly, "and they don't show so very much; really they don't."
"And then that lace." Alexia, now that she was really on the way to be comforted, began to feel all the first distress of the accident over-whelming her again. "O dear, I am so sorry, Mrs. Whitney!" she mumbled shamefacedly.
"Now, Alexia," and Mrs. Whitney leaned over and put both hands on the anxious face, then she drew it down and set a kiss where a stream of tears had run, "do you know, dear, you will make me feel badly if you ever speak of that lace again, or worry about it, child." She turned the other cheek, and dropped a soft kiss on it. "Promise now, say you will not."
"I won't," mumbled Alexia, looking up into the blue eyes, and she didn't speak another word till safe up in Polly's room.
Then she shut the door and marched up to her.
"She kissed me, she really did, and twice, and just as if she really wanted to! And no one has ever done that but you, Polly Pepper, and I'll love her just forever!"
And so the real Christmas rang its joy-bells, passing over the King household as if such a thing as a holiday was never thought of.
Polly gave her presents to the girls of her set, and in every way she and the other members of the household kept up all the delights of the season, so far as it concerned people outside of their family. But when all the little and big white-papered gifts for her began to pour into the care of the butler who attended the door, they were carefully deposited in a little room off from the main hall, set apart for the purpose, there to lie untouched until "we haveourreal Christmas," she said.
And as it was arranged with Polly's gifts, so it was to be the order of proceedings in regard to the presents of every other member of the family; till the little room seemed fit to burst with richness, and even Hobson despaired of getting much more in.
"We'll have to get some other place, and that's true enough," he said to himself, with a sigh, and dumping down a huge box just left at the door.
Joel, racing along the hall at the sound of the arrival, panted, "What is it? Oh, Hobson, who is it for?" all in the same breath.
"Hold on, Master Joel!" cried Hobson, and feeling of his arm gingerly, after the eager pinch from Joel's fingers. "Well, it was for you, if you must know," he said irritably. "But you can't go in," twitching the door in alarm, and trying to turn the key.
"Oh! I will too; it was mine!" cried Joel, very hot and red faced, and struggling to squeeze by the portly figure of the butler. "You've no right to put me out," he fumed.
"Mrs. Whitney gave me this key," said the butler, puffing from his exertions to keep Joel off with one hand, and to adjust the implement in its lock with the other. "And I, O bless me," as it slipped from his fingers and jingled to the floor.
"There,—goody,—O jumbo!" exclaimed Joel, pouncing on it where it fell on the edge of the rug, then he slipped away from the big hand, and, prancing off, shook the key high in the air in derision. "Now I can go in whenever I like. Whoop it up! Yes-sir-ee!"
Hobson, beyond answering, made a dive in his direction, which Joel quickly eluded, and, the bell ringing again, there could be no further attempt to rescue the key, and Joel danced off, chuckling triumphantly. And hopping through the back drawing-room on a short cut across to the side hall, he rushed up almost into the face of a big figure sitting up in state on one of the high-backed carved chairs.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Joel, backing out summarily.
"I am very glad to see you, Joel," said Madam Van Ruypen, with her best smile on, "for I'm going to wait until Mrs. Whitney gets home," and extending her hand.
Joel, forgetting his key, put hand and all into her black glove.
"Dear me," she said, looking at her palm, "what have we here, Joel?"
"It's a key," blurted Joel, recovering it quickly, "and I can't stay," feeling questions in the air, and he was for bolting out again.
"Indeed, you will stay," declared Madam Van Ruypen, coolly; "a talk with you is the very thing I want! Sit down," and she pointed a black-gloved finger over to an opposite ottoman. And Joel sat down.
"Now, my dear boy," she said as sweetly as if she had come expressly to see him, and was quite sure of her welcome, "before your aunt comes home, I want to talk with you."
"Oh, I'll go and put it back," said Joel, supposing it was all about the key, and beginning to slide off from his ottoman.
"Put what back?" demanded the old lady with sharp eyes full on him.
"The key," said Joel, fumbling it first in one set of fingers, then in the other. "I'll—" and he was on his feet.
"Sit down," said Madam Van Ruypen, pointing to the ottoman, and again Joel sat down with a decided conviction that he didn't like afternoon calls; and he gazed anxiously at the door to see if by any chance Aunty Whitney would appear.
"You see, Joel, I depend on you," Madam Van Ruypen was saying.
Joel, all his thoughts on the little room off from the hall, and the desire which now possessed him to get back the key into the butler's hands before he could go with his story to Mother Fisher, sat and swung his feet in dismal silence, every word of the old lady's falling on heedless ears.
At last she stopped short and surveyed him with smart displeasure.
"You haven't heard a word I've said," she declared sharply.
"No'm," said Joel, promptly; and, coming to himself with an awful consciousness that here was something dreadful to add to the matter of the key that now began to quite weigh him down, he stopped swinging his feet and sat stiffly on the chair.
"Well, do you come straight here," she demanded; and somehow Joel found himself off from his chair, and over by the old lady's side.
"No, not there; I want you in front where I can look at you," and she summarily arranged him to her liking. "There you are! Now, Joel,"—she surveyed him as long as it suited her, Joel not taking his black eyes from her face,—"do you know what I want this talk with you for?"
"No'm," said Joel.
"Well, I'll tell you; listen, now."
"Yes'm," said Joel, gripping his key tighter than ever.
"You'd much better give me that key," said Madam Van Ruypen, with a sudden sharp look down at his clenched hand; "you are not attending at all to what I am saying, Joel."
"Oh, no, no," cried Joel, quite alarmed, and thrusting his fistful back of him. "O dear! Let me go, ma'am,please do!"
Instead of this request being complied with, Madam Van Ruypen leaned over and calmly laid a black glove on his hot little fist. "Give it to me at once," she commanded; "I'll keep it for you until I've said my say."
"I can't," screamed Joel; "'tisn't mine. O dear me, I can't." Clapping his other hand on his fist to hold it tighter yet, he wriggled away in distress to stand in the middle of the floor, the old lady viewing him with fast-rising choler; at last she arrived at the height of her displeasure.
"Go away at once," she said coldly, "and send your brother David here. He's a boy of sense, and the best one, after all, to deal with, seeing Ben isn't home."
Joel, nearly blinded by the tears that now ran freely down his cheeks, stumbled out to do as he was bidden, forgetting in his misery the key still doubled up in his fist. But search high and low as he might, David could not be found. And at last Joel, quite gone in distress, rushed into Mother Fisher's room. There was no one in it, and Joel flung himself down on the wide old sofa, and cried as if his heart would break.
Meantime Madam Van Ruypen, despairing of Mrs. Whitney's return, and despite her summons to servants, unable to find a trace of Joel or David, swept out of the back drawing-room, got into her carriage, and was driven off home in a very bad frame of mind.
And Joel sobbed on until he could scarcely see out of his eyes, and still Mother Fisher didn't come. And the butler crossly set the other Christmas gifts that kept arriving, in a closet under the hall stairs, much too small a place for them, and everything was about as bad as it could be.
A smart clap on the back brought Joel up, but he hid his face behind his hands.
"Phoh! What are you crying for?" It was Van; and he was so delighted to catch Joel in this plight that he chortled over and over, "Joe Pepper's been crying!" and he began to dance around the room.
"I haven't," cried Joel, too wild to think of anything but Van's taunts, and dashing his hands aside.
"Oh, what anawfulwhopper!" exclaimed Van, coming quite close to peer up into Joel's face, "and you don't know how you look,—just like that baboon at the Zoo, with the little squinched-up eyes!" he added pleasantly.
"I don't care—go 'way!" said Joel, crossly, and flapping out his hands, regardless of anything but the wild desire to keep Van from a close inspection. Something jingled as it fell to the floor.
"What's that?" cried Van, dancing away from Joel, and peering with bright eyes on the carpet.
"It's nothing," screamed Joel, flying down in front of the sofa, and pawing wildly along the carpet. "I tell you 'tisn't," he kept on screaming. "Go 'way this minute."
"Oh, now I know you've got something that doesn't belong to you, and you're keeping it secret from the rest of us." Van threw himself flat on the floor and tried to crowd in between Joel and the old sofa.
"I haven't; it's mine, it's—it's—Go right away!"
But struggle and push as he might, Van somehow seemed to wedge himself in; and Joel's poor eyes not allowing him to see much, it was just one minute, when—"O goody!" The key was in Van's hand, and he was dancing again in the middle of the room.
Joel sprang to his feet and tossed his stubby black hair off from his forehead, "You give that right straight back here, Van Whitney!" he shouted.
"Catch me!" cried Van. Then he swung the key tauntingly over toward Joel. "Hoh, don't you wish you may get it, Joe Pepper, don't you, now?"
For answer Joel made a blind rush at him, and there they were, flying around and around in Mother Fisher's room, Van now having all he could do to look out for himself and keep away from Joel's sturdy fists, without the care of keys. So he flung his captured prize as far as he could over into the opposite corner. And hearing it land somewhere, Joel released him, and ran blindly over where it appeared to strike. And as Van followed quickly, there really didn't seem to be any chance of recovering it, at least in peace, with another on its trail who had a sharp pair of eyes in his head.
Joel turned suddenly, and before Van had the least idea what he was about, he was seized and hustled off to Mother Fisher's closet, bundled in, the door slammed to, the key turned in the lock, and there he was.
"Now," said Joel, drawing the first long breath, "I'll get that key easy enough," and he rushed over to begin operations.
"Let me out!" screamed Van, in muffled accents, and banging on the closet door.
"Don't you wish you may?" Joel, pawing and prowling frantically along the floor, found time to hurl him this over his shoulder. Then he rubbed his smarting eyes and set to work with fresh vigor, not paying any further attention to Van's entreaties. At last, when it really seemed as if that key had been possessed of little fairy legs and run off, Joel pushed aside Mother Fisher's big workstand, a thing he had done at least three times before, and there it was shining up at him where it had hidden behind one of the legs!
"I've got you now," cried Joel, jubilantly pouncing on it. And this time, not daring to trust it in his hands, he thrust it deep within his pocket, and with never a thought of Van, who had stopped his cries to listen to Joel, he tore out of the room, and down the stairs, three at a time.
"Has any one seen Mamsie?" he cried of the first person he met, one of the under servants passing through the back hall.
"Why, she's gone out with Mrs. Whitney," said the maid.
"Bother!" exploded Joel, dancing impatiently from one foot to the other.
"Yes, they've gone out making calls, I s'pose," said the maid, delighted to think she had any news to impart.
Joel made a grimace at that, not having at any time a reason for liking calls, and this afternoon with a positive aversion to them. And that brought back Madam Van Ruypen unpleasantly to his mind.
"Has she gone?" he asked in a dreadful whisper; and clutching the maid's arm, "has she, Hannah?"
"Ow!" exclaimed Hannah, edging off quickly. "Yes, I told you she had; she and Mrs. Whitney, too. You don't need to pinch me to death, Master Joel, to find out."
"Oh, I don't mean Mamsie," cried Joel, impatiently. "I meanshe,—hasshegone?" and pointing off toward the back drawing-room, "Say, Hannah, has she?"
"Whoever do you mean?" demanded Hannah, glancing over her shoulder in the direction indicated.
"Why,she," repeated Joel, stamping impatiently to enforce his words, "Madam Van Ruypen, of course."
"I didn't know she was there," said Hannah, "I'll go and see," and she started for the back drawing-room door.
"Oh, no, no," cried Joel, in a lively terror, and running after her, he laid hold of her apron string; "I don't want to know, Hannah; I don't, really."
"Why, you asked me," snapped Hannah, twitching away the apron string; "there, now, you've mussed it all up," she added in vexation, and now quite determined, if for no other reason than to spite Joel, to explore the back drawing-room, she opened the door and went in.
Joel, seeing she had escaped him, fled precipitately and, not waiting to restore the key to Hobson, a thing he had intended to do if he couldn't find Mamsie, now considered out of doors to be the only safe place for him. For of course Hannah would come for him to go back to Madam Van Ruypen sitting in dreadful state to receive him. It sent cold chills down his spine just to think of it! And he rushed madly along down by a cross cut to the green wicket gate on his way over to Larry Keep's.
"Hullo! Well, you needn't knock a chap down," as some one bumped into him.
"I didn't. 'Twas you knocked me."
"No such thing," said Larry, recovering himself, "and I was going for you; and Van, too."
At mention of Van, Joel's face dropped, and all the color rushed out of it. "O dear me, I forgot; he's in the closet."
"In the closet?" repeated Larry, his blue eyes opening their widest.
"Yes, I shut him up. Oh, come with me." In his distress he seized Larry's arm, and together they raced, Joel far in advance, up to the big house.