"'Henrietta van Ruypen,'
"'Henrietta van Ruypen,'
"Well, well, well." The Rev. Mr. St. John spread the letter on his knee, then fell to stroking his chin, where he was fondly expecting a beard some fine day. "To think of that old money bags," he was going to say, but pulled himself up in time.
"I did do her washing," the little widow was standing in front of him, still twitching her apron-end, "and she was awful cross, and—"
"Well, something has happened to change her," said the minister, "there's no denying. As I remember last summer, she was not a pleasant person to talk to."
"An' that she wasn't," said Mrs. Hansell. "She was that partik'ler 'bout a cent in change. But that box—" she stopped and turned her eyes over toward it.
"Yes, the box, and the invitation for the children to visit her," said the minister. "You can't get around these facts without believing she's entirely changed."
"The what?" said the little widow.
"Why, the invitation for the children, at least three of them, to visit her," said the young man.
"An' where'd she say that, if you please?"
"Why, I just read it to you," he said, a trifle impatiently.
"Oh, no, excuse me, sir." The poor woman's head was now turning from side to side in bewilderment; the children, who had understood as little, beginning to clamor lustily for the bundles to be opened.
Upon this the Rev. Mr. St. John said, "Stop, this moment!" bringing down his foot, "Just as he slaps the Bible," whispered Elvira, who had been to church one eventful Sunday. "I will read it to you again," which he did.
"And now, what have you done with the check?"
"Check? I don't know what you mean," said the little widow, utterly incapable of understanding anything more after that invitation!
"Why, the check,—dear me,—the money she sent."
"She hasn't sent me no money. She paid me for the washing when she was here," said Mrs. Hansell.
"I mean the money she sent in the letter," he shook it at her; "the paper check to pay for the children's railroad fare. Where is it?"
"I hain't seen no money," said Mrs. Hansell, putting up her hand uncertainly to her poor bewildered head.
Thereupon the minister decided to take matters into his own hands. So getting off from his chair, "Children," he said, "not one of these bundles can be opened until we find something that has been dropped out of this letter. A little strip of paper."
"I guess Susan's et it," said Elvira, cheerfully.
"Oh, no, that cannot be."
"Yes, 'tis," she defied him, "she's been eatin' paper just awful."
"Well, look for it as hard as you can. I'll help you." The minister dropped to all fours, and together they all looked over the papers and bundles strewn in confusion around the big box. No strip of paper was to be seen.
"This is very dreadful," said the Rev. Mr. St. John, at last, getting up to his feet, and snapping off the wisps of straw from his clothes, which he was glad to reflect were not his best ones.
"Now can't we open the bundles?" screamed Matilda.
"Yes, can't we? can't we?" begged the others, except Matthew, who was wholly concerned in himself and his new attire.
"Everythin's out of the old box," said Mark, giving it a kick.
"Yes, everythin'," said Elvira, taking a flying leap past it, and peering in once more, "'cept an old scrap o' paper." She dived into its depths and brought up a long, thin strip, which she waved disdainfully before casting it off. At sight of which, the minister sprang and twisted it out of her hands. "Oh, the check! Well, Iamthankful that's found!"
But this fell on careless ears after all. For was not the opening of the wonderful bundles at last to be allowed! And for the next half hour nothing was heard but the tearing of paper, the bursting of string, and the howls of delight from the young brood and the half-frightened, tearful ejaculations from the little mother. No one stopped in the process of unfolding the treasures, except to dig the teeth into a cracker or a bun, too hungry to wait.
"Tea, Mammy!" Mark bundled a package that spilt half its contents into his mother's lap, then rushed back for more treasures.
"Thank the Lord!" she cried, involuntarily, and hungrily gathering up each morsel.
The minister turned aside his face to look out of the window, pretending to see something very attractive in the drear winter landscape, and so the babel went on.
At last all the unfolding was done. "Now then," said the Rev. Mr. St. John, "you understand, don't you, that Matthew and Mark are to go, and one of the girls, to visit Mrs. Van Ruypen?"
"See my new dress," interrupted Matilda, prancing up with a red merino gown, resplendent in gilt buttons all down the back.
"That's mine," said Elvira, dropping the blue one, which she had selected, now that she saw how pretty the red one looked.
"'Tain't either. This is too big for you. Anyway, it's mine," said Matilda, folding it within her arms, and getting off the kitchen-length from her sister.
"Children, children, stop quarrelling," commanded the minister.
"Huh, I ain't afraid o' him," said Elvira to Luke, and pointing to the minister, who since he had been down on the floor with them, hunting for the check, had seemed quite one of the family.
"Now which one of the girls shall you allow to go to Madam Van Ruypen's?" asked the minister. "She has left it to you, Mrs. Hansell."
"Oh, I don't know, I'm sure," she said helplessly.
"You can send which one you like," he said kindly, and smiling down at her encouragingly.
"Well, Elviry ain't goin', anyway," said Matthew, with great decision.
"Where?" Elvira dropped her blue gown in a heap, and ran up to her mother's chair. "Where ain't I goin', Mammy?" but she looked up into the minister's face for the reply.
"Oh, visiting with Matthew and Mark," he said laughingly at her.
"What's visiting?"
"Oh, a little journey. But be quiet now, and give your mother time to think."
"What's a journey?" demanded Elvira, without the least hesitation.
"Oh, going away on the cars."
"Are Matthew and Mark goin'?" asked Elvira, with a long breath, and very big eyes.
"Yes. Well, Mrs. Hansell, what do you say?"
"I don't know."
"I'm goin'; I'm goin'," announced Elvira, capering away.
"Be quiet, child, your mother hasn't decided," said the minister.
"I'm goin'; I'm goin'," Elvira kept on, shouting and dancing away as hard as she could, which presently brought the other two girls up to their mother's chair with a clamor to know what it was all about.
When it was explained, the trouble was so great the minister had more than two minds to flee the scene and let the little widow get out of it as best she might. At last a happy thought struck him.
"Mrs. Hansell, you might let them draw," he said; "strips of paper, you know. Now that's the very idea!" He clapped his hands like a boy. "Now, Matthew, get the pieces."
"It's the littlest, ain't it?" said Matthew, hurrying, as fast as the dignity of the great coat and tippet would allow, to obey the minister.
"No, no, the longest," said the minister, laughing. "Now, girls, you must stand in a row—there—and toe that crack. That's it," as they scuttled into place on the old kitchen floor. "Now then, my boy, hurry up." He was as excited as the children themselves, and found it as difficult to wait.
"Now shut your eyes," and he turned his eyes on the line of girls, while Matthew handed him the little strips.
"Tilly's peekin'," announced Luke.
"I ain't," said Matilda, twisting her eyelids tightly together; "not a single squint, so there, Luke Hansell."
"Well, all ready!" The minister whirled around, the little strips neatly placed, and all presenting the same appearance, between his two hands. "Matilda, you're the oldest; you may draw first."
"O dear! I don't know which one," said Matilda, putting out her brown hand, then drawing it back with a jerk.
"Of course not," said Matthew, bursting into a laugh; "if you did that would be peekin'."
"Well, you must hurry, and give your sisters a chance," said the minister.
"I don't want to; I want to go myself," said Matilda, hanging back.
"Then you don't want to draw," said the young man, severely. "Very well, you give up your chance. Elvira, it's your turn."
"Oh, I will, I will," cried Matilda, terribly alarmed, and, making a lunge, she twitched out the middle piece, so very tiny it was scarcely worth being there at all.
"Hoh, hoh!" snickered Mark. And Luke gave a little crow. Badly as he should miss Elvira, he wouldn't for the world want her to lose the chance of going.
"Now, Elvira."
"Oh, I'm goin'," she said, confidently, laying hold of the outside piece.
Luke trembled; that couldn't be the one. Out it came,—there was a second's lull,—and a strip so long it had to be doubled up in the middle was flying from her hand.
"I told you I was goin'," she said.
The Van Ruypen butler came down the rose-tinted room, known as madam's boudoir, with his usual soft, catlike tread, and stood by her very chair for a moment without being seen. She appeared lost in thought, her head bent on her hand, and her right foot tapping impatiently on the carpet.
"If you please, madam," said the serving-man, with a little apologetic cough to announce his presence, "I—"
"Well," interrupted his mistress, sharply, and lifting her head with an impatient gesture, "what is it, Hooper?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she got out of her chair, and went quickly across the apartment to her writing-desk. "I want you to take a note to Mr. King's, to little Miss Pepper," and she began to write hastily, and as if no very good humor inspired her thought.
"If you please, madam," said Hooper, obsequiously, "little Master Pepper is downstairs now."
"Hey? What is that you are saying?" demanded the old lady, throwing down her pen to turn away from the writing-table.
"He's downstairs," repeated Hooper, "the little Pepper lad."
"Which one?" cried madam, quickly.
"Theone, madam," said the butler; "I don't know his name."
"Then it must be Joel," said the old lady, and a smile of great satisfaction began to run over her strongly marked face. "Show him up at once, Hooper; at once," she added, with an imperious wave of her hand that set all the heirlooms of rings to shining at a great rate.
"Yes, madam," said Hooper, getting out on his errand as expeditiously as possible.
"To think that Joel has really come!" she exclaimed to herself joyfully. She deserted her writing-table now and began to walk up and down the apartment, her long fingers nervously playing with the silken cord of her elaborate morning gown. "Oh, Joel," as her restless feet brought her near the door, "there you are, my boy."
"Yes'm," said Joel, wholly miserable, and leaning against the casing, with his black eyes fastened on the staircase, as if the way to Paradise lay there.
"Well, come in. Don't stand there any longer. Pray come in." She waved her hand authoritatively toward the centre of the apartment, then followed him, as he crept dismally in. "Now sit down," she said, in her most sociable way.
So Joel sat down and fastened his eyes on the beautiful red velvet carpet.
"So you've come to see me this time, instead of my going to call on you," said Madam Van Ruypen, to set him at his ease.
"Yes'm," said Joel, "Mamsie made me come."
"That's not very polite," observed the old lady, dryly. Which so added to Joel's confusion, that he folded his small brown hands together tightly, with a wild idea of springing off down the long stairs and out of the big house—but Mamsie. Oh, he couldn't do it! So he sat still, hardly daring to breathe.
"However, it doesn't signify, since you are here," Madam Van Ruypen went on, her eyes twinkling, which, of course, Joel couldn't see, as he didn't dare to look up. Then she burst out suddenly into a laugh, long and loud, from which it seemed so difficult for her to get free, that at last Joel tore his gaze off from the carpet and stared at her in terror.
"Oh, I'm through," said the old lady, wiping her eyes; "dear me, and I haven't laughed so for many a day. No, no, Lizette," to the French maid, who popped in her white-capped head at the unwonted noise, "I'm not going to have a fit. Go back to your work. Now then, Joel, do you know what I wanted to see you for, and the errand that made me take all the trouble to call on you the other day?"
"No'm," said Joel, all his misery returning, and hanging his head again.
"Well, you see, I was in great trouble."
Joel looked up quickly. Then his head fell again, to think how he had acted—and she, the rich old Madam Van Ruypen, in trouble! In the first place he couldn't believe his ears; but worse than ever it was for him that he had been bad at such a time.
"Thegreatesttrouble," said the old lady, whereat Joel's chin went lower yet, and his hands twisted together miserably.
"You see Ben, who is the really sensible one among you Peppers," said Madam Van Ruypen, bluntly, "and the one I rely on, wasn't at home. And to think I had gotten myself into such a scrape. Joel, you can't think, I was just about frantic!" She leaned forward, resting both hands on her knees.
"Oh, what was it? What was it?" cried Joel, forgetting all else except this dreadful thing that had happened to her, and, hopping off from his chair, he ran over to her, clutching her morning gown with excited fingers.
Madam Van Ruypen put both strong hands on his shoulders. "I'd gone and written to that washerwoman up in the country to send down some of her children for a visit here. Think of that, Joel Pepper; I must have been crazy!"
Joel drew a long breath, his black eyes fastened on her face.
"And I don't know any more what to do with children, nor what to say to them, for that matter," declared the old lady, dropping her hands in her lap, "than—" she cast her eyes about the apartment, "that table there," bringing them up to the nearest article.
"So I went for you in my trouble," she continued—Joel, not thinking of anything to say, wisely keeping still. "You understand, Joel," with a keen glance at him, "you aren't anyway to be compared with Ben, but seeing I couldn't get him, and two of the three children that are coming are boys, why, I had to make you do to help me out."
"Are some boys coming?" asked Joel, finding his tongue.
"Yes," said the old lady. "Oh, didn't I tell you? I wrote to the mother to send the two biggest boys and one girl—I couldn't take any more than one girl, but she'll be a quiet, gentle little thing, of course, and keep the boys civilized. That's what I wanted her for."
"Ugh!" exclaimed Joel in great disgust, and digging the toes of one foot well into the thick carpet.
"Oh, she won't trouble you, Joel," said the old lady, confidently; "she'll want to play with dolls all the time. I will keep her supplied. And if she should get discontented, why I'll ask Polly what to do. But what I want to know from you, Joel, is, will you help me out with those boys?"
Madam Van Ruypen grasped him again by the shoulders to look him squarely in the face. "Will you, Joel?"
"Pip is coming home with Ben and Jasper," said Joel, irrelevantly.
"What? Not that boy who almost killed Jasper King?" cried Madam Van Ruypen, and letting her hands again fall, this time in sheer astonishment.
"He didn't," contradicted Joel, bluntly.
"Well, he was the cause of it, anyway," said the old lady, inconsequently, "so never mind, we won't waste words about him. I wouldn't have believed that Mr. King would do such a thing. Dear me, I shouldn't want ever to see the boy again."
"Well, Grandpapa does," said Joel, bobbing his black head, "'cause he's going to bring him; an' I'm glad of it."
"Well, supposing this boy, this Pip, does come," said Madam Van Ruypen, much discomfited, "what of it? That won't make any difference about helping me out with these two dreadful ones I've gone and fastened myself up with. Now will you do it, Joel? You must."
"I've got to help about Pip," said Joel, reluctantly.
"Pip! Well, who cares about your Pip?" began the old lady in an autocratic way.
"I've got to help about Pip," said Joel again, and beginning to back slowly away from her.
"See here, Joel!" she exclaimed in alarm, and seizing the end of his blouse, "you won't refuse to help me? Just think of it, I don't in the least know what to say to boys, let alone entertaining them—and they're coming, Joel Pepper, they actually are!"
She dropped the blouse-end and wrung her hands together. "And that minister is going to send them along. Like enough they'll get here to-day, although he hasn't telegraphed yet. And what shall I do, in Heaven's name!" She was so nervous by this time that it was impossible for her to sit still, so she got off from her chair and began to pace up and down the room, with long, excited steps.
"I've got to help about Pip," said Joel again, and standing quite still by her deserted chair.
"Well, don't you say that again," commanded the old lady in an angry tone, and not pausing in her walk. "Help about your Pip if you want to, Joel Pepper. I'm sure I don't care if your Grandfather is foolish enough to burden himself with that dreadful boy. And I guess I'll telegraph to Mr. what's-his-name—the minister—oh, St. John, to keep those children back. They can stay in their poor old cabin for all me. I can't have them here," and she turned off to the writing-table.
"Oh, no, don't, don't," screamed Joel, flying after her. "I'll help you. Let 'em come—I will!"
"No, you don't want to," said the old lady, perversely. "I see it in your face, Joel." She turned and looked at him keenly. "It's no use, those children can't get this chance. They must stay at home."
"Let them come," howled Joel. Then he laid hold of her gown and blubbered into it. "O dear!Pleaselet 'em come!"
Just then in came Hooper, who appeared not to notice the astonishing state of things as he held out to his mistress a yellow envelope, and then discreetly retired.
"It's well you promised, Joel," said Madam Van Ruypen, grimly, throwing down the yellow sheet, which she tore out of the envelope, "and it was just in the nick of time. Those children are on the way, and will be here this afternoon."
Meantime an express train from another direction was rapidly bearing the party from the Presbrey School. And at this identical minute Pip was pressing his thin little face against the window-pane, as he had slipped from his parlor chair to rest his tired legs. "What would it be like to go to Ben's house and be with him all the time?" For Pip never for a moment lost sight of the fact that it was Ben, and Ben alone, who was all the world to him.
He stood so for some minutes, his gaze idly resting on the flying landscape, of which he could not have told a single feature. Then he gave a long sigh and glanced longingly across the aisle at Ben, comfortable in his chair over a book, for Jasper was asleep in the chair ahead. Besides, he wasn't to be talked to, so the doctor had given orders, on the home journey.
"Hey—what is it?" Ben in turning a page happened to glance up and catch a glimpse of the earnest little eyes.
"Nothing," Pip tried to say, but he made no success of it.
"Oh, come over here," said Ben, in a low voice, because of Jasper. And tossing aside the book, he crowded Pip in next to his window. "Now then, sir, what is it?"
"Nothing," said Pip, in a joyful little way. He could say it now, as he had what he wanted—Ben to himself.
Ben leaned over and picked up his book. "You can have a nice time looking out of the window, eh, Pip?"
"Yes," said Pip, but his thin little face fell, and he turned it away to cast a dismal glance on what he didn't care in the least to see.
Ben found his place in the book and plunged in. Was Bob really to be pursued by the shark, or would the good sailor who had befriended him before, save him now? He read on—whirled a page—what was that, a sigh? He glanced quickly around his book, and took one look at Pip. "Oh, say," he broke out, and down the book went to the floor, "what shall we do now, I wonder?"
"Do you mean it; are we going to do anything, Ben?" cried Pip, in a joyful voice, and whirling around in great excitement.
"Yes—hush, we might wake Jasper," warned Ben, but he smiled into the happy little face. "It must be something quiet, you know." He threw his arm around the small figure and drew it down beside him on the parlor chair. "There's room enough for us both, isn't there?" he said pleasantly.
"You're so awful big," said Pip, squirming in, and snuggling up to Ben as tightly as he could in quite an ecstatic frame of mind. "Oh, I wish you'd draw something, Ben, I really do."
"Well, so I will," said Ben, after a bit of consideration. "Now then, you sit still and I'll get my bag," which he soon did, from the rack overhead. And extracting the drawing materials, every movement being superintended by Pip in the greatest satisfaction, he soon had them all laid out, ready to begin operations.
"Well, sir, and now what shall we draw?" he asked, balancing his pencil thoughtfully on his fingers.
Pip turned around, his pale eyes searching the parlor car in all directions. "Draw that old woman," he said at last, pointing to the subject of his choice; "she's awful funny."
"Hush!" said Ben, pulling down his finger.
"Oh, no, I couldn't draw the people in the car; they wouldn't like it. Choose something else, Pip."
"There isn't anything else," said Pip, in a disconsolate voice. "Everything outside is running so fast."
"I tell you, I'll draw something from memory," said Ben, quickly. "I'll show you the little brown house where I used to live—that'll be nice. You'd like that, Pip."
"Yes," said Pip, "I should."
If Ben said so, that was quite enough, so he crowded as closely to the scene of operations as he could get.
"See here," said Ben, twisting off, "you don't leave me room enough. You mustn't crowd so, Pip."
"I can't see, then," said Pip, dreadfully disappointed.
"Well, I tell you, get on my other side, then,—there, that's fine," as Pip hopped over. "Now my right hand is free. Well, here goes!" And in two minutes the little brown house began to stare right up at them from the paper, and Ben was drawing furiously away, until it seemed as if every revolution of the car wheels was whirling them to Badgertown.
"Oh, do teach me to draw houses, Ben," cried Pip, as the little lane down to Grandma Bascom's began to come in sight. "Do, Ben, please," he begged.
"So I will," promised Ben, kindly. "Now you can take the pencil when I've finished this, Pip, and I'll give you your first lesson."
"May I? May I?" and Pip ended up with a glad little crow.
"Hush! You'll wake Jasper," warned Ben. "Yes, and I'll sharpen you up a nice new point on my best pencil, and you shall make a try. There, this is almost done." He put in a few more strokes, and held it off to examine with a critical eye, "All except a bit of shading in those trees,—there, now it's all right," and he laid the sketch in Pip's hands.
"I'm going to draw just like that," declared Pip, with the utmost confidence, devouring the picture with his eyes.
"Oh, you'll draw one better than that, sometime," said Ben, laughing, as he whittled away on his best pencil. "Now then, thatisa point for you," and he held it up in satisfaction.
Pip seized the pencil, and made some quick, jerky strokes that snapped the beautiful point quite off.
"O dear, dear!" he exclaimed, ready to cry.
"Never mind, we'll soon have another point on, just as good," said Ben, reassuringly, opening his knife. "Now then, Pip, I'll begin your lesson," holding up the pencil; "here you are, all ready."
"I want to draw a picture first, just as you did," said Pip, with an eager hand for the pencil.
"You can't," said Ben, sturdily, "not the first go. You must learn how, Pip."
"Let me try, do," begged Pip, earnestly, and his thin little face twitched.
"Oh, well, you may if you want to," said Ben, laughing; "but you mustn't be discouraged if you don't succeed. Now then, go at it if you wish."
For the next few moments nothing was to be heard but Pip's hard breathing and the scratching of his fine pencil over the paper. Ben yawned and looked longingly at the book on the floor. And there was Bob, and the shark in full pursuit, with the prospect of the sailor putting in an appearance at the last moment. No, it wouldn't do to desert Pip—and—why, really there was something worth while coming on the big piece of white paper. Ben leaned over the thin little figure. "Why, Pip!"
Pip said nothing, but drew his breath harder yet, with every effort on his work. He gripped the pencil as if it were to run away from him, and bent lower yet to his task.
"Don't clutch it so; hold it easier," said Ben, laying his hand on the little thin one, guiding the pencil.
Pip released his grasp for just one moment, then tightened it up again. Seeing which, Ben wisely let him alone. "It'll make him nervous," he said to himself, and turned his attention to watching the sketch grow. "My goodness, to think he can draw like that!"
For there unmistakably was an old man, very withered and bent, holding out his hand, and by his side a little girl in a tattered shawl. Anybody with half an eye could see that the old beggar was blind, and that the girl had been crying.
"Pip! why, where,"—Ben was beaming at him now, as Pip lifted his face,—"how did you learn to draw like that?" and he seized the sketch. It was very rough and uneven, but there they were, sure enough, the two figures.
"I used to see them," said Pip, explaining. "They stood on the corner, don't you know, when the master let us go up to town from school."
"Well, I guess you don't want any lessons from me," declared Ben, not able to take his eyes from the picture.
"Oh, yes, I do, I do," cried Pip, in mortal terror that he was going to lose the very thing above all others that he prized. "I'll tear it up," he cried, with a savage lunge at the picture, and venom written all over his little pale face.
"No, you don't, sir," declared Ben, with a laugh, and holding the sketch off at arm's length; "this picture is mine in return for the one I gave you. And I'll teach you all I know, Pip, I really will. So now we will set to work."
And the first thing that either of them knew, Grandpapa was leaning over them and smiling, to say, "The next station, and we are home!"
And so it turned out that Joel, who had to go down in the big brougham with Madam Van Ruypen to meet the mountain children, only just got home from that expedition in time to be whisked off to the other railroad station with the welcoming party to meet Grandpapa, Jasper, and Ben—oh, yes, and Pip!
"Whatever you do," Ben had taken special pains to write Joel long before, "be glad to see Pip."
And then, nobody knew exactly how they got home. But they did all right, and, of course, with a procession of friends to follow. There was Alexia—why, it goes without saying that she was there—and Pickering Dodge; Jasper wouldn't believe he was at home, really he wouldn't, without seeing Pick's face, while Pick's voice cried out, "Hello, old chap!" as no one else but Pickering could say it.
Well, and there was Pip's white little face with the scared eyes, for somehow the turmoil made him dreadfully afraid he was going to lose sight of Ben. So he clutched him with a desperate grip, getting in and out between all the welcoming groups with marvellous dexterity.
"Hulloa there, you little beggar!" It was Pickering Dodge who seized him. "Let Ben alone, can't you, a minute, till we've seen him." But the small figure struggled, his little wiry legs becoming so nimble around Pickering's longer ones, that the tall boy fell back. "Whew! Well, I must say I wouldn't be in your shoes, Ben!"
Ben laughed, then put out his hand and gathered up the thin nervous fingers.
"You can grin," said Pickering, as he moved off, "but I tell you it's no laughing matter, Ben Pepper. You'd much better shake off that leech while you can."
Meantime Joel had been making little runs around the group of which Ben was the centre; each step that he took nearer Pip he would dart off again in the opposite direction, only to think better of it and plunge up once more. On one such occasion he caught Ben's blue eyes fixed upon him reproachfully.
"Oh, I say, Pip," screamed Joel, prancing up, "come with me, I've lots to show you."
For answer he got a grimace done in Pip's best style, who crowded closer to Ben than before.
"You needn't then," said Joel, in a small passion. "Hoh! I don't really want you, only—"
"Joel!" said Ben.
"Well, he's a—a—"
"Joel!" Ben said it again. "Come, Pip, with me," and the two turned off.
"Ben," screamed Joel, in a dreadful voice, and dashing after him to seize his jacket-end. "Oh, I won't—I will, Ben, I'll be good."
"See that you are, then," said Ben, good-naturedly turning around. When he saw the others were not looking, "Now then, and you too, Pip, for I'm talking to you as much as to Joel, I expect you chaps to act like sensible beings, and be good friends. Shake hands now, and say you will."
Out flew Joel's sturdy brown paw. Pip drew his back, and glanced up at Ben to see if he really meant it.
"Any boy who isn't willing to do what I asked, can't be my friend," said Ben, coolly, and Pip felt his fingers shaken off from the big warm hand.
"Oh, Ben, I will be good, I will, Ben," cried the little fellow, in great distress. He threw up both his hands and flung himself against Ben.
"No, sir," said Ben, sturdily; "unless you shake hands with Joel, and promise to be a good friend to him, you can't stay with me."
"Come on," said Joel, a light dancing in his black eyes, and he stuck his little brown hand out more sociably yet. So Pip put his thin one within it, and then he drew a long breath, as if a terrible ordeal had just been passed.
"Well, he didn't bite you," said Ben, with a laugh, and taking possession of the thin little fingers once more, "eh, Pip?"
"No, I didn't bite you, did I, Pip?" chuckled Joel, dancing on Ben's other side. "Oh, Ben, now we can have our Christmas!"
"Yes, now we can have our Christmas!" The others racing after them took up the cry.
"And we're going to have it to-morrow," piped Phronsie, standing on her tiptoes. "Because Japser will be rested then, Grandpapa says."
"Oh, no, Phronsie," corrected Polly, dancing up, "not till day after to-morrow. Jasper has to rest to-morrow, you know, after the journey." Then she ran off to see if there was really nothing she could do to make him comfortable. But little Doctor Fisher, who had come up in the carriage with Jasper from the station, already had whisked him off to his room, with injunctions for no one to see him again that day. So Polly flew back again to hang over Ben and try to get acquainted with Pip.
"He can draw. Oh, you just ought to see him, Polly," confided Ben over Pip's tow-colored head.
"Really, Ben?" said Polly.
"Really?—well, I should say!" Then Ben laughed. "I wish I could do half as well."
"Oh, Ben!" exclaimed Polly, incredulously. "Perhaps he can do something, but he couldn't draw like you. He couldn't."
"Well," said Ben, with a long breath, "I only wish I could make my things seem as if they moved, Polly. Now his do, and mine look stiff as sticks."
"They don't either," contradicted Polly, with an uncomfortable little twist. And she looked down at Pip not quite so pleasantly.
"What are you two chaffing about?" cried Alexia, rushing up with her "whirlwind air" on, as Pickering always called it.
"Oh, something," said Ben, with twinkling eyes.
"Now tell me," said Alexia, greedily. "What was it, Ben?"
"Something," said Ben.
"You said that before," retorted Alexia.
"Well, and so I say it again," said Ben, coolly.
"What was it, Polly?" begged Alexia, seizing Polly's arm. "You've some piece of news, I just know; do tell me what it is!"
"Oh, ask Ben," said Polly, catching his spirit of mischief.
"Oh, I never saw such perfectly dreadful creatures," cried Alexia, tossing back her long light braids impatiently. "Nip—Flip—whatever your name is,"—glancing down at Pip, "you tell me, that's a good boy. What is it?"
"I shan't," said Pip, with a snap that brought his white teeth together smartly.
"Well, you needn't take my head off," said Alexia, tumbling back.
"Pip, now you must beg her pardon," said Ben, coming out of his laugh.
"She told me to tell on you, and I'm not going to," said Pip, his pale eyes flashing.
"Well, you needn't have refused in just such a way; so beg her pardon at once, like a man," said Ben, decidedly.
"And I'm sure I didn't suppose that Mr. King had brought home a snapping turtle," said Alexia, airily.
"There now, you see, Pip," said Ben, gravely, "how you will make trouble for all of us unless you behave."
Thereupon, Pip's thin lip trembling, he put out his hand to Alexia. "I'm sorry, and I never will tell you in all this world, never, never, never!"
"And I'm sure I don't care whether you do or not," said Alexia, as they all laughed, "only I'm not going to have my head eaten off, I can tell you that."
"Well, come on," said Polly, briskly, "and let's talk over Christmas. Oh, you can't think, Ben, what elegant things we are going to do!"
"Let's call all the others and get down on the library rug," proposed Ben.
"O dear me!" Polly's face fell. "Without Jasper?" she said.
"Now see here, Polly," said Ben, whirling around to get a good look at her face, "I promised Jasper I'd do my best to go on with everything the minute we got home, the same as if he were able to be in it all. I thought you'd help me, Polly, for I can't do anything without you." He looked so disapprovingly at her that she made haste to say, "Oh, I will, I will, Ben."
"Then run and get the others," said Ben, with a little pat on her back. "And you go, too, Alexia, that's a good girl."
"Of course, I will," said Alexia, "if Polly is going."
And almost as soon as one could write it, there they all were in a group on the big rug before the library fire, and Grandpapa in his easy-chair, smiling down at his family.
And little Doctor Fisher looked in to say that Jasper had stood the journey re-markably well, that he was now fast asleep, and that to-morrow he would be down among them all.
"Oh, goody! goody!" cried Polly, clapping her hands.
At this Phronsie slipped out from her nest where she had been sitting, her head in Polly's lap so that she could smooth the yellow waves away from the hot little cheeks, and, picking up her skirts, she began to dance, finishing up with a little cheese in the middle of the library floor.
"I don't mean you can have your Christmas to-morrow," the little doctor made haste to explain. "Jasper must have some hours of rest. But the day after—then says I." He took off his big spectacles, wiped them carefully, stuck them on his nose again, laughed gleefully at the babel of rejoicing he had set up, and was off.
"Well now, Phronsie," said Grandpapa, "you would better come and sit with me. I really need you, child."
"Do you, Grandpapa?" asked Phronsie, and coming up to his big chair, exceedingly pleased.
"Very much indeed," said the old gentleman, decidedly. "There, that's right," as she climbed up into his lap, and laid her head on his breast. "Now then, you and I can hear all these wonderful plans finely."
"We're going to have a Christmas," said Phronsie, putting up a soft little hand to pull his face down.
"No, really?"
"Yes, we are," said Phronsie, in grave delight. Then she bobbed up her head to look at him the closer. "We surely are, Grandpapa; and Polly is going to tell about it, she is."
"Well, then we must listen, you and I," said old Mr. King. "So we'll be still as mice, Phronsie," he whispered.
"Well, now," Polly was saying, drawing a long breath and smoothing down her gown; "O dear me! How shall we begin, we've so very much to tell? Ben—"
"Why, just begin," said Joel, impatiently, burrowing deeper in the rug, where he lay nearest to the fire.
"Do be still, Joe," said Alexia, with a little pinch.
"Ow!" said Joel. Then he reached out and took up one of her long braids.
"Whee!" exclaimed Alexia, flying around at him. "Oh, you bad boy, you pulled my hair awfully."
"Well, you pinched me," snorted Joel.
"Such a little nip," said Alexia, pulling both of her braids in front of her; "nothing at all like what you did to me. And you've mussed up my bow," she added, twitching it off to tie it again.
"Come, you two, stop your sparring," said Ben, with a laugh. "Goodness me, have you kept that up all the while I've been gone?"
"Every single day," said Alexia, tying the ribbon fast, and proceeding to pick out the bow-ends with critical fingers. "Joel's bad, always, you know."
"I suppose you are not, Alexia," said Ben, with another laugh.
"Well, come on, Polly, do begin," said Alexia, ignoring the question; and her bow being tied to her satisfaction, "although 'tisn't as good as it was before," she grumbled, "do hurry up."
"Well," said Polly, pushing back the little rings of brown hair from her forehead, "where shall I begin? Oh, I know,—we are going to—"
"She says there's a reply expected." The butler came up to the group and thrust out a big white note.
"You take it, Polly," said Ben.
"It's for Master Joel," said Hobson. And there it was in big, slanting letters clear across the envelope.
"Here's your missive, Joe," said Ben, catching it to toss it over to him. "Hurry up and read it so that Polly can go on."
"O dear me! Must we wait for this tiresome boy?" cried Alexia. "Can't you read your letter and let Polly tell just the same? You know all she is going to say, Joe."
"No, you are going to wait," said Joel, with a grimace at her.
"Hurry up, Joe, or we will go on," warned Ben.
So Joel tore open his letter and plunged into it. The next moment he stood outside the circle and stamped up and down the library floor like a wild beast. "I'm not going; I won't, I won't,—I—"
"Joey, whatisthe matter?" cried Polly, in great alarm, and springing out from the group, she ran up to seize his arm. But he slipped away from her.
"She wants me to go and play with those boys," cried Joel, in a towering passion, and plunging up and down. "I won't! So there! Let me alone, Polly," for she ran after him; this time she was more successful.
"Now see here," Ben jumped to his feet, "stop acting like a goose, Joel."
"He's more like a wild-cat," said Alexia, stretching herself comfortably in the space he had vacated.
"Joel, stop this moment," commanded Grandpapa. Joel's head dropped at the tone, but he ran over to the big easy-chair. Phronsie popped up her yellow head in dismay from its nest in the old gentleman's arms.
"Now don't you see how you are frightening this child to death?" said old Mr. King. "What is the matter, my boy?" for Joel's face was working dreadfully.
"She wants me—that old woman," began Joel, swallowing hard, and grasping the chair-arm for dear life.
"Who?"
"Madam—Madam—"
"Madam Van Ruypen?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, what does she want? Out with it. You're not to do it if you don't wish to, of course, so what's the use in feeling so? What does she want you to do, Joe?"
"She wants me to go over to see those—those boys," said Joel, in a burst.
"What boys, pray tell?" demanded Grandpapa, a trifle impatiently.
"Those boys who've just come," said Joel, "the washerwoman's boys. O dear!" He had great difficulty now in keeping the tears back; still, he managed it after a fashion.
"Whatever in the world are you talking of?" cried the old gentleman, helplessly. "Polly, come here, my child, and see if you can make any sense of what this boy is saying. I'm sure it is beyond me."
"Now, Joel," Polly was saying, and she had her hands on the ones hanging to the chair-arm, "you must just tell the whole thing so that we can understand what it is about, for you are making Grandpapa sick, and he has just come home," she added, reproachfully.
Joel gave one look into the face under the white hair, then he blurted out, "She sent for 'em, and they've come to-day—the washerwoman's boys. And we went to the station, and they came from the mountains. And I promised to go and help her take care of 'em, and,—and I won't, so there!" and he glanced at the whole group, as if they were all against him.
"Joel, did you promise to go and help Madam Van Ruypen?" asked Grandpapa, quietly, with a keen glance into the flushed face.
"Yes, sir. But she said she only wanted me 'cause Ben wasn't here."
"Did you promise her?" asked old Mr. King, just as quietly, and not taking his eyes away.
"Yes, sir; and there's a girl come too. And she said she guessed Polly would help take care of her." Joel began to snivel now.
"Never mind what Mrs. Van Ruypen said about anybody else," said Grandpapa, firmly. "You must go anyway, Joe, my boy, and keep that promise."
"O dear, dear, dear!" wailed Joel, now clear gone in distress.
"See here," Ben had with the greatest difficulty all this while kept from crying out. "Is it? Can it be? Has Madam Van Ruypen really sent for those poor children up in the mountains?" At last he broke out, "Oh, Grandpapa, may we all go? Come, Polly, you'll come, won't you?" He threw his arm around her.
"Where are you going?" cried Alexia, raising her head, where she had been luxuriously awaiting their return to the rug. "Polly Pepper, whereareyou going?"
"To Madam Van Ruypen's," said Polly, dancing off, her cheeks as red as two roses. "Come on, Alexia."
"Come on, yes. You lead the way and we'll follow," said Ben, bundling out of the room, Pip at his heels, followed closely by Pickering Dodge.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Alexia, getting up to her feet. "Percy—Van—what is it, do you know?" as they hopped up, and raced after the others.
"Come on," howled Joel, every tear gone, and smiles all over his round face. And looking back at her, for he wouldn't for the world have Alexia left behind. "It's a party over at that old woman's, Mad—" the rest was lost in his rush.
"Party?" repeated Alexia; "O dear me! Wait!" and she was off after them.
"She said there was an answer," repeated the butler, who hadn't stirred from his tracks.
"Er—oh," exclaimed the old gentleman. "Well, the answer will get there before a note could. That's all, Hobson. Now then, Phronsie, you and I will have a cosey time all to ourselves, child."
"Here, Polly and Ben," little Doctor Fisher met them racing along the hall the next morning, "I want you both," and he led them into his office and closed the door. "Now then, I have some good news for you. You are to go up to see Jasper!"
"Oh, Papa Fisher!" cried Polly, in a tremor of delight. She seized his hand and began to dance up and down, while Ben said, "Whew!" and stood quite still. But the color flew all over his round cheeks.
"I thought Jasper would have to rest all day," said Polly, still hopping about and clinging to the long fingers.
"So I thought," said Doctor Fisher, with a wise little nod. Then he set his big spectacles straighter on his nose, and took a sharp look first at one flushed face and then the other. "I can trust you both," he said. "The truth is, Jasper wants you, and I don't believe it will hurt him."
"Can we go now?" cried Polly, impatiently. "Can we, Papa Fisher?"
"There, there," said the little doctor, "not so fast, Polly, my child. You see, Jasper isn't really sick now, only I didn't want him to get about too fast after his journey. But it's dull for him alone, that's a fact, and he's been asking for you both. The fact is, he teased," and Doctor Fisher burst out laughing at the recollection of Jasper's face. "So you can go up, but don't for goodness' sake let the children know. If Joel were—" and he broke off, quite alarmed, and mopped his face with his big silk handkerchief.
"We'll creep up the back stairs," said Polly, tiptoeing to the door. "Come, Ben. Oh, do hurry!"
"That isn't saying you are safe from Joel," said Doctor Fisher, grimly, "by any means. Well, go along and be careful."
So Polly and Ben, peering on either hand, hurried up the back stairs, softly. "There isn't so very much danger," said Ben, under his breath, "that Joel will hear us, because he's got Pip somewhere."
"We better be careful, though," whispered Polly, who knew by experience Joel's capacity for finding out things.
"Yes, that's so," said Ben, "you never can tell where Joe will pop up. Well, here we are," as they hurried into Jasper's room.
"Well, I thought you never would come," cried Jasper, popping up his head from the pillows at the back of the big easy-chair, and beaming at them affectionately. "Oh, now it's good to be home, and have you, Polly. Isn't it, Ben?"
"I should say so," said Ben, in huge satisfaction, dragging up a chair for Polly.
"Oh, I'm going to sit down here," said Polly, running after a hassock, to pull it up in front of Jasper's big chair.
"So will I get another," said Ben, discarding the chair.
"That's good," said Jasper, rubbing his hands together in delight. "O dear me! I wish I could get out of this old chair. I'm going to," and he threw back the sofa-blanket from his knees.
"Oh, don't, Jasper, you mustn't," cried Polly and Ben, deserting their hassocks to run either side of the easy-chair, and lay a restraining hand on him. "You'll hurt yourself."
"And then Doctor Fisher will blame us," finished Ben.
"That's so," said Jasper, twitching the sofa-blanket up. "O dear me!" and he leaned back against the pillow. "Well, do go on and tell me something. I suppose I've just got to stay here like an old log."
"Yes, you must stay here," said Polly, tucking the blanket in with deft little pats; "but you are not an old log, Jasper."
"Yes, I am," said Jasper, guilty of contradicting, and making a very wry face, "a stiff horrible old log," and he gave a little kick that sent one end of the sofa-blanket flying out again.
"I should call you a slippery eel," said Ben, while Polly ran around to the other side to tuck the blanket-end in again.
"Oh, beg your pardon," said Jasper, while the color went flying over his pale face. "I didn't mean to make you so much trouble, Polly, I really didn't."
"It isn't any trouble, Jasper," said Polly, with a final little pat, "only you mustn't get cold, for then I'm sure I don't know what we should do."
"Oh, I couldn't get cold," said Jasper, with a glance over at the bright hickory fire on the hearth, "I couldn't possibly, Polly."
"Well, you aren't going to kick off the blanket like that again," said Ben, with a bob of his head, "or we'll go straight off like a shot, Polly and I will, so there, sir!"
"Oh, I won't, I won't," cried Jasper, bursting into a laugh, "so do sit down, both of you. I'll be just as good as—what is it Candace always says—pie!"
"See that you are then," said Ben, with another laugh.
"Well, now Polly, you begin," said Jasper, hungry for news, as the two were seated on their hassocks, "and tell everything straight through, what you've all been doing since Ben was away."
"O dear me!" cried Polly, drawing a long breath, "I couldn't tell everything, Jasper."
"You must," said Jasper, decidedly. "I want to hear every single thing; so begin, Polly."
"Well," said Polly, folding her hands in her lap, and plunging in at once on the most interesting part of the story, "in the first place, you know Ben went out shopping with Madam Van Ruypen."
"Ugh!" exclaimed Ben, "don't tell about that, Polly; that's no good."
"What is it, Polly?" cried Jasper, eagerly. "Oh, do go on. You be still, Ben," shaking his finger at him; "now go on, Polly; don't mind him, he's no good."
"Polly," cried Ben, "tell about how we did our Christmas shopping, that's better. Do, Polly."
"Polly, don't you mind this chap at all," said Jasper, turning a cold shoulder to Ben; "go on with what you were saying; now then."
"The Christmas shopping is enough sight better," said Ben, in another desperate attempt to get Polly's attention.
"Oh, never you mind about the Christmas shopping," said Jasper, coolly, "I'll get that all in good time. Now then, Polly, you said Ben went out shopping with Madam Van Ruypen. Well, what else?"
"Yes, he did," said Polly, keeping her eyes away from Ben, so that all his frantic efforts to attract her attention went for nothing. "You see she took a great fancy to him, and—"
"Oh, now, Polly," began Ben, with a very red face. "Don't you believe her, Jasper; it's just because she didn't have any one else to ask."
"Who, Polly?" cried Jasper, turning back to him.
"No, no, the old lady, Madam Van Ruypen."
"Oh, well, let Polly tell that," said Jasper, turning away again. "Well, go on, Polly, she took a great fancy to him—and what then?"
"And so she invited him to go out with her in her great big carriage to help her get her Christmas things."
"Well, well!" exclaimed Jasper. "I say, Ben Pepper, of all things!"
"I wish you would stop, Polly," said Ben, in a tone of great vexation, and twisting uncomfortably on his hassock.
"Oh, I wouldn't stop her for all the world," cried Jasper, in high delight. "Well, what did they buy, Polly? Fancy Ben out shopping with a lady!"
"Well, you see, Jasper, Madam Van Ruypen goes up in the summer to the mountains, and a poor woman does her washing," said Polly, hurrying along, and not daring to look at Ben. "And she wanted to do something for her. She has ever so many children, you know."
"Who? Madam Van Ruypen?" asked Jasper, wrinkling his brows.
"No, the poor woman, the washerwoman," said Polly.
"There, Polly, you're getting all mixed up," said Ben, quite pleased. "You better stop."
"You be still," said Jasper, with a nudge. "Polly will tell it all right if you will only let her alone."
"She doesn't seem to be getting on very well," grumbled Ben.
"Well, and then, Polly, what next?" Jasper leaned forward to catch every word.
"Why, there were boys in the mountains, you know, the poor washerwoman's home, so Madam Van Ruypen wanted Ben to pick out some things for them."
"What things?" demanded Jasper, intensely interested.
"Oh, overcoats and tippets and gloves and jackets and—"
"Oh, hurrah!" exclaimed Jasper, breaking into the list. Then he whirled around and bestowed a resounding rap on Ben's back.
"Whew!" exclaimed Ben. "Well, you don't need to get your strength back," he added ruefully.
"Don't I though?" said Jasper, with shining eyes, and lifting up his hand. "Now, here's another—to think she chose you to do that, Ben!"
"No, you don't," said Ben, moving back so hastily that he rolled off his hassock in a heap on the floor.
"See what you got by deserting your best friend," said Jasper, coolly. "Well, go on, Polly; and so Ben bought things?"
"Yes, she let him pick them out all by himself," said Polly, with great pride.
"Polly!" cried Ben, with flaming cheeks.
"She did; she told me so herself," Polly bobbed her head to emphasize every word, "and she said—"
"Polly, I can't think Papa Fisher would like to have us stay any longer," burst in Ben, desperately, coming up to lay a hand on Polly's shoulder.
"Hoh! Hoh!" cried Jasper, "now go on, Polly, tell the whole—mind I must have every word."
"I shall tell," said Polly, twitching away her shoulder from Ben's hand, "and you mustn't think to stop me, Ben, 'cause Jasper shall know. She said that Ben had more sense than anybody she knew," ran on Polly, while Ben stuffed his fingers in his ears and marched to the other side of the large room, "and she did everything he said."
"What,everything?" asked Jasper, eagerly.
"Yes, every single thing," said Polly. "She didn't choose a thing; all she did was to pay the bill."
"Whew!" whistled Jasper. "Good for Ben!"
"And then she sent all the things in a big box to the poor washerwoman in the mountains," said Polly.
"Polly," said Jasper, and his dark eyes shone, "I think Ben can do just anything, don't you, if he tries?"
"Yes," said Polly, very much pleased, "I know he can; he always could."
"Well, so he did at the school," said Jasper; "all the boys were talking about it."
"Oh, Jasper," cried Polly, very much excited, "tell me all about it. Do." Her cheeks were very rosy now, and she beat her foot impatiently on the floor.
"Some other time," said Jasper, nodding over at Ben, "when he's not by. Well, old fellow, you must open your ears, we're through with that old story," he cried, addressing Ben.
"Are you sure you are through?" cried Ben, pulling the finger out of one ear, and glancing at them in suspicion.
"Quite," said Jasper, coolly. "Come on, Ben, and sit down and behave yourself, there's a good chap. Now we're going to talk about something else."
"In that case, I'll come back," said Ben, sitting down on the hassock again.
"Well now, Polly, tell some other things," said Jasper, when they were all settled quietly once more.
"Oh," said Polly, finding it hard work to pull her mind off from the unknown but splendid things that the boys at Jasper's school had said about Ben, "let me see," and she wrinkled up her brows, "where shall I begin?"
"I should think the most natural thing would be to tell about what we did last night," said Ben, composedly.
"Oh, what did you do last night?" cried Jasper. "I suppose you had a lovely time telling all about your plans for Christmas, and there was I, put to bed like a great baby."
"No, we didn't," said Ben, "not by a long shot; we went over to Madam Van Ruypen's."
"You went over to Madam Van Ruypen's!" repeated Jasper in astonishment. "Not the first evening you were at home?"
"Yes, we did," said Ben; "just as I said, we went over there."
"What for? Oh, Polly, what for?" Jasper flew around, appealing to her. "What did you go over to Madam Van Ruypen's for? Tell me, Polly," as she sat lost in thought.
"Oh, why because," said Polly, coming out of her abstraction, "she has got some of the poor mountain children down there, and she didn't know what to do with them."
Jasper turned a bewildered face over to Ben.
"You see," said Ben, "she had written up when the box went, you know, to have the mother let some of the children come, so as to have a good time. And they got here yesterday, so she had to have us," and he gave a sigh.
"O dear me!" said Jasper, finding no more words for the occasion.
"And she wants us to spend our Christmas over there," said Polly, with a dismal face. "But we are not going to; oh, no, the very idea, Jasper King!" and she brightened up. "Why, Grandpapa wouldn't allow it."
"No, indeed," said Jasper, in his most decided fashion, "but we might have them here," he added.
"If you are strong enough," said Ben. "Papa Fisher said it all depended on you."
"If that is so," said Jasper, with a long breath, and stretching out his hands, "why, we'll have the whole lot of them. See, I'm as strong as an ox!"
"And oh, Jasper, you can't think," cried Polly, plunging into all the delights of the coming celebration, "we are going to have the choir boys of St. Stephen's to sing the carol."
"Not the St. Stephen's boys!" cried Jasper, in great excitement.
"Yes," said Polly, with dancing eyes, "we surely are, Jasper; Grandpapa engaged them. He wrote from the school."
"Isn't Father just too splendid for anything!" cried Jasper, with shining eyes.
"Isn't he!" echoed Polly and Ben together.
"And oh—" here Polly broke off with a happy little laugh, and clapped her hands together.
"What is it, Polly? Oh, do tell me," begged Jasper, in a fever for the secret.
But Polly laughed on. "Oh, you'll know to-morrow," she said gleefully.
"Oh, no, tell me now, Polly," begged Jasper. "If you don't I'll be sick again, I'm afraid. Tell me, Polly, what is it?"
"Yes, Polly," said Ben, "you ought to tell him now; and if you don't, why I will."
"Oh, I'll tell," said Polly, much alarmed at the news coming from any one but herself. "Oh, Jasper," she cried, "Mr. Cabot gave us a present."
"Mr. Cabot gave us a present?" repeated Jasper.
"Yes, to all of us; wasn't he dear?"
"I don't know until you tell me what it is," said Jasper, much mystified.
"The sweetest thing," said Polly. "Oh, you'll love it, Jasper."
"But what is it?" demanded Jasper.
"And he sent 'way to India for it."
"To India!" Jasper didn't seem to be able to say anything but the echo of Polly's words.
"Yes," said Polly, nodding to Ben to keep still; "and it's just too beautiful for anything."
"Oh, now I know; it's a vase," said Jasper, "one of those brass things—that's what it is."
"A vase!" cried Ben, with a laugh, and slapping his knee. "Well, I guess you won't say this is much like a vase when you see it, Jasper King."
"Oh, no, it isn't a vase," said Polly, shaking her brown head. "Guess again, Jasper."
"Well, then, it's a curtain—a portière, one of those embroidered things."
"No, no," said Polly and Ben together.
"Well, a table cover," said Jasper.
"No, guess again."
"How can I tell?" cried Jasper, wildly. "It might be anything."
"But it isn't anything—I mean it is something," said Polly, in her most decided fashion.
Jasper leaned his head back on a pile of pillows, and gave himself up to thinking.
"Polly," said Ben, "you'd better tell; see, he's getting tired."
Seeing which, Polly gave a little start of dismay. "I'll tell; don't get tired. Oh, Jasper, it's a monkey."
"A monkey!" repeated Jasper, faintly.