"I've a piece of news," presently cried Van in a lull. "Davie's bringing home a prize; first in classics, you know."
"Oh, Davie!" screamed Polly, and she leaned over to throw her arms around him; "Mamsie will be so glad. Davie, you can't think how glad she'll be!"
Davie's brown cheek glowed. "It isn't much," he said simply, "there were so many prizes given out."
"Well, you've taken one," cried Polly, saying the blissful over and over. "How perfectly elegant!"
Van drummed on the carriage window discontentedly. "I could have taken one if I'd had the mind to."
"Hoh-oh!" shouted Percy over in his corner. "Well, you didn't have the mind; that's what was wanting."
"You keep still," cried Van, flaming up, and whirling away from his window. "You didn't take any, either. Polly, his head was under water all the time, unless some of the boys tugged him along every day. We hardly got him home at all."
"No such thing," contradicted Percy flatly, his face growing red."Polly, he tells perfectly awful yarns. You mustn't believe him, Polly,You won't, will you?" He leaned over appealingly toward her.
"Oh! don't, don't," cried Polly, quite dismayed, "talk so to each other."
"Well, he's so hateful," cried Van, "and the airs he gives himself! I can't stand them, Polly, you know"—
"And he's just as mean," cried Percy vindictively. "Oh! you can't think, Polly. Here we are," as Thomas gave a grand flourish through the stone gateway, and up to the steps.
"I'll help you out," and he sprang out first.
"No, I will," declared Van, opening the door on the other side, jumping out and running around the carriage. "Here, Polly, take my hand, do."
"No, I got here first," said Percy eagerly, his brown glove extended quite beyond Van's hand.
"I don't want any one to help me, who speaks so to his brother," said Polly in a low voice, and with her most superb air stepping down alone, she ran up the steps to leave them staring in each other's faces.
Here everybody came hurrying out to the porch, and they were soon drawn into the warm loving welcome awaiting them.
"Oh, Felicie! I don't want that dress," said Polly as she ran into her room after dinner, to Mrs. Whitney's French maid, "I'm going to wear my brown cashmere."
"Oh, Mademoiselle!" remonstrated Felicie, adjusting the ruffle in the neck of the white nun's veiling over her arm.
"Oh, no, Polly! I wouldn't," began Mrs. Pepper, coming in, "the white one is better for to-night."
"Mamsie!" cried Polly, breaking away from the mirror where she was pulling into place the bright brown waves over her forehead, "how lovely! you've put on your black silk; and your hair is just beautiful!"
"Madame has ze fine hair," said Felicie, "only I wish zee would gif it to me to prepaire."
"Yes, I have good hair," said Mrs. Pepper, "and I'm thankful for it. No one looks dressed up, in my opinion, with a ragged head. The finer the gown, the worse it makes careless hair look. No, Polly, I wouldn't wear the brown dress to-night."
"Why, Mamsie!" exclaimed Polly in surprise, "I thought you'd say it was just the thing when only the girls and Jappy's friends are coming to the play. Besides, I don't want to look too dressed up; the Princess ought to be the only one in a white gown."
"You won't be too conspicuous," said her mother; adding slowly, "you might wear the nun's veiling well enough as you haven't any part in the play, Polly," and she scanned the rosy face keenly.
"I don't want any part," cried Polly; "they all play better than I do. Somebody must see that everything goes off well behind the scenes; that's my place, Mamsie. Besides, you forget I am to play my sonata."
"I don't forget," said her mother; "all the more reason you should wear the white gown, then."
"All right," cried Polly, merrily dashing across the room to Felicie, "put it over my head, do. Well, I'm glad you think it is right to wear it, Mamsie," as the soft folds fell around her. "I just love this dress. Oh, Auntie! how perfectly exquisite!"
Mrs. Whitney came in smilingly and put a kiss on the tall girl's cheek. "Do I look nicely?" she asked naively, turning around under the chandelier.
"Nicely?" exclaimed Polly, lifting her hands, "why you are fresh from fairyland. You are so good to put on that lovely blue moire and your diamond cross, just for the boys and girls."
"I am glad you like it," said Mrs. Whitney hastily. "Now, Polly, don't you worry about anything; I'll see that the last things are done."
"Well, I am worrying," confessed Polly, quite in a tremble; "I must see to one corner of the private box for the boys. You know the last India shawl you lent me wasn't pinned up straight and I couldn't fix it, for Van wanted me just then, and I couldn't get away without his suspecting something. Oh, Auntie! if you would see to that."
"I will," said Mrs. Whitney, not daring to look at Mrs. Pepper, "and to all the other things; don't give a thought to them, Polly."
"How good you are," cried Polly with a sigh of relief. "Oh, Auntie! we couldn't do anything without you."
"And you don't need to go into the drawing-room at all," said Mrs. Whitney, going to the door. "Just keep behind the scenes, and get your actors and Phronsie ready, and your mother and I will receive your friends. Come, Mrs. Pepper."
"That is splendid," cried Polly, left behind with the maid, "now I can get ready without flying into a flurry, Felicie; and then for Phronsie and the rest!"
"There is a dreadful commotion in there among the audience," said Jasper, out in the green room; "I imagine every one who had an 'invite,' has come. But I don't see how they can make such a noise."
"Oh! a few girls and boys make just about as much confusion as a good many," observed Polly. "Jasper, wouldn't you like to see Joel's eyes when Aunt Whitney leads him into the private box?" she allowed herself time to exclaim. "Yes," laughed Jasper, pulling out his watch from beneath his dragon-skin; "well, we have only five minutes more, Polly. We must have the curtain up sharp."
"O dear, dear!" cried Polly, flying here and there to bestow last touches on the different members of her cast. "Now, Clare, you must remember not to give such a shriek when you go on, mustn't he, Jappy? Just a dull, sullen roar, your part is."
"Well, I'm nearly dead under here," cried Clare, glaring beneath his dragon face. "I'll shriek, or roar, just as I like, so!"
"Very well," said Polly, "I don't know but it's as well, after all, that you are cross; you'll be more effective," she added coolly. "Let me see—oh! the door of the cave wants a bit more of gray moss; it looks thin where it hangs over. You get it, will you, Hannah?" to one of the maids who was helping.
"And just one thing more," scanning hastily the stage setting, "another Chinese lantern is needed right here," going toward the front of the stage, "and that green bush is tumbling over; do set it straight, somebody; there now, I believe everything is all ready. Now let us peep out of the curtain, and get one good look at the audience. Come, Phronsie, here's a fine place; come, boys!"
The different members of the cast now applied their eyes to as many cracks in the curtain as could be hastily managed.
There was a breathing space.
"What, what?" cried Polly, gazing into the sea of faces, and the dragons nearly knocked the Princess over as Mr. King gave the signal for the band stationed in the wide hall, to send out their merriest strains.
It was all over. Phronsie had been swept off, a vision of loveliness, to the cave; the dragons had roared their loudest, and the gallant knight had covered himself with glory in the brilliant rescue of the Princess; the little page had won the hearts of all the ladies; Mr. King had applauded himself hoarse, especially during the delivery of the prologue, when "I cry you mercy, sirs, and ladies fair," rang out; the musical efforts of Polly and Jasper in the "Wait" between the two acts were over, and the crowded house, in every way possible, had expressed itself delighted with all things from beginning to end.
"Phronsie, Phronsie, they're calling you," whispered Polly excitedly, out in the green room.
"Come, Princess." The head dragon held out his hand. "Hurry dear! See the flowers!"
"They can't be for me," said Phronsie, standing quite still; "Polly has done all the work; they're hers."
"Nonsense, child!" cried Polly, giving her a gentle push forward. "Go on, and take them."
"Polly, you come too," begged Phronsie, refusing to stir, and holding her by the gown.
"I can't, Phronsie," cried Polly in distress; "don't you see they haven't called me. Go on, child, if you love me," she implored.
Phronsie, not being able to resist this, dropped Polly's gown and floated before the footlights.
"Thank you," she said, bowing gravely to the sea of faces, as her hands were filled with roses, "but I shall give these to Polly, because we couldn't any of us have done it without her." And so she brought them back to put into dismayed Polly's lap.
"The authors—the authors of the play!" cried a strong voice, privately urged on by Mr. King.
"There, now's your turn," cried Clare to Polly. "And go ahead, old dragon," to Jasper, "make your prettiest bow."
So the chief dragon led up blushing Polly to the front of the stage, to hear a neat little speech from Mr. Alstyne, thanking them for the pleasure of the evening and congratulating them on its success; and the band played again, the camp chairs were folded up and removed, the green-room and stage were deserted, and actors and audience mingled in a gay, confusing throng.
Phronsie, in her little silver and white gown and gleaming cap, began to wander among the guests, unconscious that she had not on the red cashmere dress she had worn all day. Groups stopped their conversation to take her into their midst, passing her on at last as one might hand over a precious parcel to the next waiting hands. Polly, seeing that she was well cared for, gave herself up to the enjoyment of the evening.
"Well, sir, how did you like it?" asked Jasper, with a small pat onJoel's back.
"Well enough," said Joel, "but why didn't you make more of it? You could have crawled up on top of the cave, and slashed around there; and you old dragons were just three muffs in the last act. I'd rather have had Polly in the play; she's twice the go in her.
"So would we all have preferred Polly," cried Jasper, bursting into a laugh, "but she wouldn't act—she directed everything; she was all the play, in fact."
Polly meanwhile was saying to Pickering Dodge, "No, not to-night; you must dance with one of the other girls."
"But I don't choose to dance with anybody but you," said Pickering, holding out his hand. "Come, Polly, you can't refuse; they're forming the Lancers. Hurry!"
Polly's feet twitched nervously under her white gown, and she longed more than ever after the excitement she had passed through, to lose herself in the witching music, and the mazy dance. She hesitated a bit, but just then glancing across the room, "Come," she said, "I want you to dance with Ray Simmons. You can't refuse," using his own words; and before he was conscious how it was done, he was by Ray's side, and asking for the pleasure of the dance.
Polly stood quite still and saw them go away and take the last places in the set, and a sorry little droop fell upon the curves of the laughing mouth. She was very tired, and the elation that had possessed her over the success of the evening was fast dropping out, now that everybody was enjoying themselves in their own way, leaving her alone. She felt left out in the cold; and though she fought against it, a faint feeling of regret stole over her for what she had done. She almost wished she was standing there by the side of Pickering Dodge, one of the bright group on whom the eyes of the older people were all turned, as they waited for the first figure to begin.
"Well, Polly"—it was Mr. Alstyne who spoke, and he acted as if he had come to stay by her side—"you've covered yourself with glory this evening."
"Have I, sir?" asked Polly absently, wishing there had been less of the glory, and a little more fun.
"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Alstyne, his keen eyes searching her face. "Well, now, Polly, your dragons, although not exactly like any living ones extant, made me think of some I saw at the Zoo, in London. Do you want me to tell you how?"
"Oh! if you please," cried Polly, her color coming back, and beginning to forget the dance and the dancers.
"Let us sit down here, then," said Mr. Alstyne, drawing her off to two chairs in a corner, "and you shall have the tale. No pun, Polly, you know." And he plunged into it at once.
"Yes, Alstyne has her all right," Mr. King was saying at the further end of the drawing-room to Mrs. Pepper; he spied the whole thing; "he'll take care of her, you may depend."
And two more people had seen; one was Jasper. Nevertheless his partner,Alexia Rhys, thought it necessary to enlighten him.
"Just think, Polly's given up her chance with the best dancer in the room, and sent Pickering Dodge off with that horrid Ray Simmons."
Jasper pretended not to hear. "This is our figure," he said hastily, and they whirled off, finished it, and were back again.
"Isn't she a goose?" as he fanned her, and tried to introduce another subject.
"I suppose she best pleases herself," said the boy indifferently. "Why should any one else interfere in the matter?"
"But some one else ought to interfere," cried Alexia, with a little pout, provoked at his indifference; "that's just the way she does in school all the time. Oh! I'm vexed at her, I can tell you. She's so silly—dear me, it's our turn again."
By the next interim she had forgotten all about Polly and whether she was having a nice time or the stupidest one imaginable, for Joel, who held dancing in great contempt, sauntered up.
"Aren't you glad now that you didn't find out about the secret?" cried Alexia radiantly. "Oh! you are such a nuisance, Joey," she added frankly.
"Phooh!" exclaimed Joel, "it wasn't worth finding out, that old secret. But it's as good as girls ever get up," he finished with a supercilious air.
"It was a perfectly splendid play!" cried Alexia, "and much too good for a lot of boys. Goodness, Joey, I wouldn't celebrate if you four were coming home from school to our house. I'd have the jollification the night before you went back."
"I wouldn't go home if 'twas to your house," declared Joel with equal candor. "I'd run off to sea, first."
"Come, come, you two, stop sparring," cried Jasper, holding out his hand; "its our turn again, Alexia. Joel, take yourself off."
Alexia flashing Joel a bright, making-up smile, dashed off into the figure.
"Good-by," said Joel with a smile as cheery, for he really liked her the best of all Polly's girl friends.
After the dance, supper was announced, and everybody marched out to the supper room; the dancers with their partners following.
"Will you allow me?" Mr. Alstyne seeing the movement, got out of his chair and offered his arm to Polly with a courtly bow.
"Oh! don't think of me, sir," she began, blushing very hard. "Joel will look out for me."
"I much prefer waiting upon Miss Polly Pepper to any other lady in the room," said Mr. Alstyne, with another bow, courtlier than the first, "since Mrs. Alstyne is provided for. See, Polly, Mr. King is taking her out. And your mother has her cavalier, in Mr. Cabot; and Mrs. Whitney has already gone out with Mr. Fairfax. So if you don't accept my services, I shall be entirely left out in the cold." He stood offering his arm, and Polly, laughing merrily, put her hand within it.
"It's very good of you, sir," she said simply, as they fell into step and joined the procession.
"I'm afraid if you had trusted to Joel's tender mercies, you would have fared hardly," said Mr. Alstyne, laughing. "Look, Polly, over yonder in the corner." They were just passing into the supper room, and now caught sight of Joel chatting away to a very pretty little creature, in blue and white, as busily and unconcernedly as if he had done that sort of thing for years.
"Why!" cried Polly quite aghast, "that can't be Joel. He just hates girls, you know, Mr. Alstyne, and never goes to parties."
"He seems to be able to endure it all very well to-night," said her companion dryly. "Shall I get you an ice, Miss Polly?"
"Yes, thank you," said Polly absently, not being able to take her eyes from Joel and his friend. At last, by the force of attraction, he turned and looked at her. But instead of showing self-consciousness, his round eyes surveyed her coolly, while he went on talking and laughing with the little blue-and-white thing.
"Polly, Polly," exclaimed Alexia Rhys, hurrying up, while Jasper was storming the supper table for her, "do look at Joel Pepper! He actually brought in a girl to supper!"
"I see," said Polly, gazing at the two in a fascinated way.
"On the other hand," said Alexia, sending swift, bird-like glances around the supper room, "there are Van and Percy moping off by themselves as if they hadn't a friend in the world. What a pity; they used to be so lively at parties."
Polly wrenched her gaze away from the astonishing sight on which it had been fixed, and following Alexia's glance, took a keen look over at the young Whitneys. "Oh! oh! I must go to them," she cried remorsefully. "Tell Mr. Alstyne, please, when he comes back, where I am," and without another word she dashed back of some gaily dressed ladies just entering the supper room, and was out of the door.
"If I ever did!" cried Alexia irritably to herself, "see anything so queer! Now she thinks she must race after those boys. I wish I'd kept still. Jasper, she's just as funny as ever," as he came up with a plate of salad, and some oysters. "Who?" said the boy; "is this right, Alexia?" offering the plate.
"Why, Polly," said Alexia; "yes, that's lovely," with a comforted glance at the plate and its contents. "Oh! she's gone off, Mr. Alstyne," to that gentleman, approaching with Polly's ice. "You can't expect her to stay for the goodies," beginning to nibble at her own.
"Where is she?" cried Mr. Alstyne, laughing, and sweeping the room with his brown eyes. "Oh! I see," his glance lighting on the Whitney boys' corner.
"Yes, she told me to tell you," said Alexia, between her mouthfuls of salad and oyster, "where she is," as he started.
"Oh, Percy and Van!" Polly was whispering hurriedly, "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, only it was so very dreadful, you know, to hear you go on so to each other."
"We didn't mean anything," said Percy, pushing one foot back and forth in an embarrassed way, and looking as if he did not know what to do with his hands, which confused him more than anything else, as he had been quite sure of them on all previous occasions.
Van thrust his into his pockets, and seemed on the point of whistling, but remembering where he was, took his lips speedily out of their curves, and looked the other way.
Just then Mr. Alstyne came up.
"Oh!" cried Polly suddenly, the color rushing over her face. "Could you, Mr. Alstyne, give that to some one else? Percy and Van are going to wait upon me."
"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Alstyne in a flash, "nothing easier;" and he disappeared as suddenly as he came.
"Now, boys," said Polly, turning back to them and whispering busily, "I know you won't ever say such perfectly dreadful things to each other again. And so I'm going to ask you both to get me something to eat, will you?"
"How do you know we won't?" cried Percy slowly. He was sorry enough for the episode in the coach, yet couldn't resist the temptation to show he was not to be driven.
"Because I shall then have nothing whatever to eat," said Polly merrily, "for of course I can't take a bit from anybody else after refusing Mr. Alstyne's kindness. Don't you see? Oh, Percy! you wouldn't quite do that?"
Van laughed. "She's got us, Percy," he said, "quite fast. You know you won't fight, and I won't again; we both said so a little while back; so what's the good of holding out now?"
Percy drew himself up very slowly and decidedly. "I won't trouble you so again, Polly," holding out his hand. "Now would you like oysters?" all in the same breath.
"And here's mine," cried Van, extending his brown one. "Can't I bring you some salad?"
"Yes, yes," cried Polly gaily, and she released their hands after a cordial grasp. "You may bring me everything straight through, boys," as they rushed off, heads erect, to the crowded supper-table.
"You've had a good time?" asked Mrs. Pepper slowly, with a keen glance into the flushed face and sparkling eyes, as they turned up the gas in Polly's bedroom. "Dear me! it is half-past eleven."
"Splendid," said Polly, shaking herself free from the white gown and beginning to braid her hair for the night. "Percy and Van were perfectly lovely, and Mr. Alstyne was so good to me. And oh! Mamsie, isn't dear Mr. King just the dearest dear, to give all this to the boys? We haven't thanked him half enough."
"He is indeed," said Mrs. Pepper heartily. "Why, where is Phronsie?" looking around the room.
"She was right back of you," said Polly. "She wanted to take off her things herself. Did you ever see such a sweet"—she began, but Mrs. Pepper did not stop to hear, hurrying out to the adjoining room, shared by the mother and her baby.
"She isn't here," Polly heard her say in bewildered tones. So Polly, her long hair blown about her face, ran in, brush in hand.
"Why, where"—she began laughingly.
"She wouldn't go downstairs, I don't think," said Mrs. Pepper, peering in all the corners, and even meditating a look under the bed.
"No, no," cried Polly, "the lights are all turned out," investigating all possible and impossible nooks that a mouse could creep into. "Where can she be? Phronsie—Phronsie!"
"Well, of course she is downstairs," declared Mrs. Pepper at last, hurrying out of the room.
"Take a candle, Mamsie, you'll fall," cried Polly, and throwing on her bath wrapper, she seized the light from the mantel and hurried after her.
Half-way down she could hear Phronsie's gay little laugh, and catch the words "Good-night, my dear Grandpapa," and then she came slowly out from Mr. King's sitting-room, and softly closed the door.
"Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, sitting down on the middle of the stairs, the candle shaking ominously, "how could"—
"Hush!" said Mrs. Pepper, who had fumbled her way along the hall."Don't say anything. Oh, Phronsie dear, so you went down to bidGrandpapa good-night, did you?"
Phronsie turned a glance of gentle surprise on her mother, and then looked up at Polly.
"No, not exactly to bid him good-night," she said slowly. "I was afraid he was sick; I heard him coughing, so I went down."
"He is quite well, isn't he?" asked Mrs. Pepper. "Here, give me your hand, child; we must get up to bed."
"Oh, yes! he is quite really and truly all well," declared Phronsie, breaking into another glad little laugh. "He said he never had such a beautiful time in his life, and he is just as well as he can be. Oh, Polly!" as she picked up her Princess gown and prepared to ascend the stairs, "how funny you look sitting there!"
"Funny?" said Polly grimly. "I dare say, and I feel funny too,Phronsie."
They were all sitting around the library fire; Polly under the pretext of holding Phronsie's head in her lap, was sitting on the rug beside her, the boys on either hand; old Mr. King was marching up and down the long room, and looking at them. The merriest of stories had been told, Polly urging on all the school records of jolly times, and those not so enjoyable; songs had been sung, and all sorts of nonsense aired. At last Joel sprang up and ran over to pace by the old gentleman's side.
"Christmas was good enough," said the boy, by way of beginning conversation.
"Hey?" responded the old gentleman, looking down at him, "I should think it was. Well, and how about the wonderful play on the twenty-first? And that was good enough, too, I dare say."
"That was well enough," said Joel indifferently, "I don't care for such stuff, though."
"Tut—tut!" cried Mr. King in pretended anger, "now I won't have anything said against that wonderful production. Not a thing, sir, do you hear?"
Joel laughed, his chubby face twinkling all over in secret amusement. "Well, I know something better, if you'll only let us do it, sir, than a hundred old plays."
"And pray what is it?" demanded Mr. King, "let's have it at once. But the idea of surpassing the play! Oh, no, no, it can't be done, sir!"
"It's to go and see the little brown house," said Joel, standing up on his tiptoes to a level with the old gentleman's ear, and one eye looking backward to see that nobody heard.
Mr. King started, pulled his handsome moustache thoughtfully, looked atJoel sharply, and then over at the group in the firelight.
"They don't know anything about it," cried the boy in a whisper, "don't tell them. It's my secret, and yours," he added generously. "Oh! if we might only go and look at it."
"It's winter," observed the old gentleman, and stepping to the window he put aside the draperies, to peer out into the black evening. "Yes, it really is winter," he added with a shiver, to the boy who was close behind, and as if no longer in doubt about it, he added most emphatically, "it really is winter, Joel."
"Well, but you never saw anything like it, how magnificent winter is in Badgertown," cried Joel in an excited whisper. "Such hills to coast down; the snow is always crisp there, sir, not like this dirty town mud. And the air is as dry as punk," he added artfully. "Oh! 'twould be such a lark;" he actually clasped his hands.
"Badgertown isn't so very far off," said Mr. King thoughtfully, "I'll think about it and see if we can manage it."
"Ugh-ow!" squealed Joel, utterly forgetful of his caution of secrecy, "we can, we can; we can open the little brown house, and build great fires there, and"—But he got no further. Into the midst of Van's liveliest sally, came the words "little brown house," bringing all the young people to their feet, Phronsie running to the old gentleman's side, with, "What is it, Grandpapa? He said the little brown house."
"Get away!" cried Joel crossly to the besiegers, each and all wildly clamoring. "What is it? What are you talking about? It's my secret," he cried, "and his," pointing with a dismayed finger to Mr. King.
"Well, it isn't a secret any longer," cried Polly, flushing with excitement. "You said 'little brown house,' we heard you just as plainly; and you re getting up something, I know you are." "People don't usually select a roomful of listeners, and then shout out their secrets," said Jasper. "You are in for it now, Joe, and no mistake. Go ahead, old fellow, and give us the rest of it."
Joel whirled away from them all in desperation. "You might as well," laughed the old gentleman, "the mischief is done now, and no mistake."
So Joel, thus set upon, allowed the whole beautiful plan to be wrung from him, by slow and torturing installments; how they all were to go to Badgertown, open the little brown house, and stay there—here he glanced at Mr. King—"perhaps a week," he brought out suddenly, filling the time with all sorts of frolics, and playing they were there again, and really and truly living in the old home.
At last it was all out, to be received in different ways by the listeners.
"Oh, Joe!" cried Davie with shining eyes. "We never could come away again if we once get there, never!"
Polly stood quite still, a mist gathering before her glad eyes, out of which she dimly saw the little brown house arise and beckon to her.
Phronsie jumped up and down and clapped her hands in glee. "Oh, Grandpapa, Grandpapa!" she screamed, "please take us to the little brown house, please!"
That settled it. "I do not think we need to consider it longer," said Mr. King, glancing at Ben, whose face told what he thought, "children, we will go—that is, if Mrs. Pepper says yes.
"I will ask her," cried Joel with a howl, springing off.
"Come on," cried Jasper, "let's all 'be in at the death.'" And the library was deserted in a twinkling.
But mother was nowhere to be found. "Upstairs, downstairs, and in the lady's chamber," they sought her wildly.
"Oh! I forgot," exclaimed Polly, when at last they gathered in the wide hall, disposing themselves on the chairs and along the stairs, all tired out. "She has gone to evening meeting with Auntie. How stupid of me not to remember that."
"Well, I declare!" cried a voice above them, and looking up they met the cold blue eyes of Mrs. Chatterton regarding them over the railing. "Cousin Horatio, do you keep a menagerie, or a well-ordered house, I beg to inquire?"
"A menagerie," said Mr. King coolly, leaning on the balustrade at the foot of the stairs, and looking up at her. "All sorts of strange animals wander in here, Cousin."
"Hum; I understand. I'm not so dull as you think. Well, you've changed, let me tell you, vastly, and not for the better either, in the last six years. Who would ever suppose I see before me fastidious Horatio King!" she exclaimed, lifting her long thin hands to show him their horror-stricken palms.
"I dare say, I dare say, Cousin Eunice," assented Mr. King carelessly, "but I consider all you say as a compliment."
"Compliment?" she repeated disdainfully, and added with a rising note of anger, forgetting herself, "there's no fool like an old fool."
"So I think," said Mr. King in the same tone as before. "Children, come into my room now, and close the door." And Cousin Eunice was left to air further opinions to her own ear.
But when Mother Pepper and Mrs. Whitney did come home from the meeting, oh! what a time there was. They all fell upon her, as soon as the door opened, and the whole air was filled with "little brown house." "May we—may we?" "A whole week." "Two days, Mamsie, do say yes," and Phronsie's glad little chirp "Grandpapa wants to go, he does!" ending every other exclamation.
"What a babel," cried Mrs. Pepper, her black eyes roving over the excited group. "Now what is it all about? Baby, you tell mother first."
Phronsie was not too big to jump into the comfortable lap, and while her fingers played with the bonnet strings, she laid the whole delightful plan open, the others hanging over them in ill-suppressed excitement.
"Well, you see, Mamsie," she began deliberately.
"Oh! you are so slow, Phronsie," exclaimed Polly, "do hurry."
"Let her take her own time," said Mr. King, "go on, child."
"Dear Grandpapa," proceeded Phronsie, turning her yellow head to look at him, her hand yet among the bonnet strings, "is going to take us all, every single one, to see the little brown house, and just touch it once, and be sure it's there, and peek in the doors and windows and"—
"No, no," roared Joel, "we're going to stay, and a week too," hopping confidently up and down.
"Oh, Joe! not a week," corrected Polly with glowing cheeks, "perhaps two days; we don't know yet."
"Three—three," begged Van, pushing his head further into the center of the group. "Mrs. Pepper, do say you want to stay three days," he begged.
"I haven't said I wanted to go yet," she answered with a smile.
"Now, every one of you keep quiet," commanded Mr. King, raising his hand, "or you'll spoil the whole thing. Phronsie shall tell her story as she likes."
Thereupon the rest, with the shadow of his warning that the whole might be spoiled, fell back to a vigorous restraint once more.
"Perhaps," cried Phronsie with shining eyes, and grasping the strings tighter she leaned forward and pressed her red lips on the mother's mouth, "we'll go in and stay. Oh, Mamsie!"
That "Oh, Mamsie!" carried the day, and every one hanging on the conversation knew as soon as they heard it that a victory had been won.
"It's no use to contend against the Fates," said Mrs. Whitney, laughing, "Mrs. Pepper, you and I know that."
"That's so," cried old Mr. King, "and whoever finds it out early in life, is the lucky one. Now, children, off with you and talk it over," he cried, dismissing them as if they were all below their teens. "I want to talk with Mrs. Pepper now."
And in two days they were ready to go. Mrs. Chatterton with nose high in the air, and plentiful expressions of disgust at such a mid-winter expedition, taking herself off to make a visit of corresponding length to some distant relatives.
"I hope and pray this may not get into a society paper," she cried at the last, as she was seated in the carriage, "but of course it will; outre things always do. And we shall be disgraced for life. One comfort remains to me, I am not in it."
Mr. King, holding the carriage door, laughed long and loudly. "No, Cousin Eunice," he said, "you are not in it. Take comfort in that thought. Good-by," and the carriage rolled off.
Mother Pepper and the five little Peppers were going back to the little brown house. "Really and truly we are," as Phronsie kept saying over and over again with every revolution of the car-wheels, in a crooning fashion, and making it impossible for Mr. King to shiver in apprehension at the step he was taking. Were not two cases of blankets and household comforts safely packed away in the luggage car? "It's not such a dreadful risk," said the old gentleman gruffly to himself, "it's quite a common occurrence nowadays to take a winter outing in the country. We're all right," and he re-enforced himself further by frequent glances at Mrs. Pepper's black bonnet, two seats off.
It was to be a three-days' frolic, after all. Not that the whole party were to stay in the little brown house. O dear, no! how could they? It was only big enough for the Peppers. So Mrs. Whitney and her three boys, with Mr. King, and Jasper, who concealed many disappointed feelings, planned to settle down in the old hotel at Hingham.
And before anybody imagined they could reach there so soon, there they were at Badgertown Center, to find Mr. Tisbett waiting there on his stage-box as if he had not stirred from it for five years.
"Sho, now!" he called out from his elevated position to Mrs. Pepper, as she stepped down from the car, "it's good to see you, though. Land! how many of ye be there? And is that Phronsie? Sho, now!"
"Did you get my letter?" exclaimed Mother Pepper to Mrs. Henderson, who was pressing up to grasp her hand, and preparing to fall on the young folks separately. The parson stood just back, biding his time with a smile.
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed; "are these tall boys and girls the five little Peppers? It can't be, Mrs. Pepper," as at last he had her hand. "You are imposing on us."
And then the village people who had held back until their pastor and his wife paid their respects, rushed up and claimed their rights, and it was high holiday indeed for Badgertown.
"My goodness!" exclaimed Mr. King at a little remove and viewing the scene with great disfavor, "this is worse than the danger of taking cold. Have they no sense, to carry on like this?"
"They're so glad to see the Peppers again, father," said Mrs. Whitney with bright eyes. "You took them away from all these good people, you know; it's but fair to give them up for one day."
The old gentleman fumed and fretted, however, in a subdued fashion; at last wisely turning his back, he began to stalk down the platform, under pretense of examining the landscape.
"Your friends will stay with us," Mrs. Henderson was saying in a gently decisive manner, "the old parsonage is big enough," she added with a laugh.
"Oh! you are so good and thoughtful, dear Mrs. Henderson," cried Mrs. Pepper with delight at the thought of the homelike warmth of the parsonage life awaiting the old gentleman, for whom she was dreading the dreary hotel.
"I'm good to ourselves," declared the parson's wife gaily.
Jasper gave a shout when the new arrangement was declared, as it presently was by Percy and Van, who flung themselves after him as he was seeing to the luggage with Ben, and his face glowed with the greatest satisfaction.
"That is jolly," he exclaimed, "and that's a fact! Now, Ben, we're but a stone's throw apart. Rather different, isn't it, old fellow, from the time when I used to race over from Hingham with Prince at my heels?"
Dr. Fisher's little thin, wiry figure was now seen advancing upon the central group, and everybody fell away to let him have his chance to welcome the Peppers.
"I couldn't get here before," he cried, his eyes glowing behind his spectacles. "I've left a very sick patient. This is good," he took them all in with a loving glance, but his hand held to Polly. "Now I'm going to drive you down in my gig," he said to her at last. "Will you come?"
"Yes, indeed," cried Polly in delight, as her mother smiled approval, and she ran off to let him help her in. "It's only yesterday since you took me to drive, Dr. Fisher, and you gave me my stove—is it?" And so she rambled on, the little doctor quite charmed to hear it all.
But Mr. Tisbett had a truly dreadful time placing his party in the old stage, as the townsfolk, fearful that so good a chance for seeing the Peppers would not happen during the three days' stay, insisted on crowding up close to the ancient vehicle, and getting in everybody's way, thereby calling forth some exclamations from Mr. King that could not be regarded as exactly complimentary. And quite sure that he was a frightful tyrant, they fell back with many a pitying glance at the Pepper family whom he was endeavoring to assist into their places.
At last it was all accomplished in some way, and Mr. Tisbett cracked his whip, Mrs. Pepper and Phronsie leaned out of the window to bow right and left into smiling faces, Ben and Davie did the same over their heads.
"Good-by," sang out Joel, whom the stage driver had taken up beside him. "Here we are, off for the little brown house. G'lang!"
"Don't let me look—oh! don't let me look," cried Polly in the old gig, and twisting around, she hid her face against the faded green cloth side. "I ought not to see the little brown house before Mamsie and the others do."
"I'll turn down the lane," said the little doctor, "so"; and suiting the action to the word, Polly could feel that they were winding down the narrow little road over toward Grandma Bascom's. She could almost smell the violets and anemones under the carpet of snow, and could scarcely restrain herself from jumping out for a riotous run.
"Don't go too far away," she cried in sudden alarm. "We must be there by the time the stage does." And she applied her eye to the little circular glass in the back of the gig. "Will it never come—oh! here it is, here it is, dear Dr. Fisher." And with a quick flourish around of the old horse, they were soon before the little brown house, and helping out the inmates of the stage, who with more speed than grace were hurrying over the steps.
Joel was down before Mr. Tisbett had fairly drawn up in front of the gate. "Hold on," roared the stage driver, "I don't want you to break your neck with me."
"It's really here!" cried Phronsie with wide eyes, standing quite still on a hummock of frozen snow, with her eyes riveted on the house. "It really is!" Polly had raced up the winding path, and over the flat stone to drop a kiss on the little old door.
"Oh! oh! Mamsie, do come!" she cried to Mrs. Pepper on the path.
"Hum! I think, Jasper, you and I will let them alone for a few moments," said Mr. King, who was still within the stage. "Here, my good fellow," to Mr. Tisbett, "you say it's all comfortable in there for them?"
"Yes, yes, sir," said Mr. Tisbett heartily. "Good land! Mis' Henderson had her boys come down airly this mornin' and make the fires; and there's a mighty sight of things to eat." The stage-driver put one foot on the hind wheel to facilitate conversation, and smacked his lips.
"All very well. Now you may drive us down the road a bit," said Mr. King, withdrawing his head to the depths of the lumbering old vehicle again.
"Ain't goin' in?" cried Mr. Tisbett, opening his round eyes at him in astonishment.
"Get up and drive us on, I say," commanded the old gentleman, "and cease your talking," which had the effect to send honest Mr. Tisbett clambering expeditiously up to the box, where he presently revenged himself by driving furiously over all the hard frozen ruts he could quickly select, determined not to stop till he was obliged to.
"Goodness!" exclaimed Mr. King within, holding to the strap at the side, as well as to the leather band of the swinging seat in front. "What an abominable road!"
"The road is well enough," said Jasper, who couldn't bear to have a word uttered against Badgertown, "it's the fellow's driving that makes it rough. Here, can't you be a little more careful to keep the road?" he called, thrusting his head out of the window. But he only narrowly escaped losing his brown traveling cap for his pains, as the stage gave a worse lurch than before, to introduce a series of creakings and joltings hitherto unparalleled.
"I cannot endure this much longer," said old Mr. King, growing white around the mouth, and wishing he had strength for one-half the exclamations he felt inwardly capable of. Outside, honest Mr. Tisbett was taking solid comfort in the reflection that he was teaching a rich city man that he could not approach with anything less than respect a citizen of Badgertown.
"Ain't I as good as he?" cried Mr. Tisbett to himself, with an extra cut to the off horse, as he spied a sharp ragged edge of ice along the cart track in front of him. "Now that's good; that'll shake him," he added cheerfully. "Land! but I hain't been spoke to so since I was sassed at school by Jim Bently, and then I licked him enough to pay twice over. G'lang there—easy!"
The first thing he knew, one of the glass windows was shivered to fragments; the bits flying off along the quiet road, to fall a gleaming shower upon the snow.
"Whoa!" called Mr. Tisbett, to his smoking horses, and leaning over, he cried, "What's the matter in there?"
"The matter is," said Jasper, putting his face out, "that as I could not possibly make you hear my calls, I chose to break the window. Have the goodness to let my father and me at once out of this vehicle."
Mr. Tisbett got down slowly over the wheel. "Beg your pardon," he said awkwardly, pulling open the door, "ain't you goin' to ride back?"
"Heavens!" cried Mr. King. He was glad to find he could ejaculate so much as he tremblingly worked his way out to terra firma. "Nothing on earth would tempt me to step foot inside there again."
"Here is the money for your window," said Jasper, putting a bill into the fur mitten, covering Mr. Tisbett's brawny right hand. "Kindly bring our traps to the little brown house; here, father, take my arm," and he ran after the tall figure, picking its way along the frozen road.
"Hey—what's this?" exclaimed Mr. Tisbett, looking into the center of his fur mitten, "five dollars! Gee—thumps! I ain't a-goin' to take it, after shaking that old party almost to pieces."
He stood staring at the bill in stupid perplexity till the uneasy movements of his horses warned him that his position was not exactly the proper one for a stage-driver who was on his box from morning till night, so he clambered over the wheel, full of vexed thoughts, and carefully tucked the bill under the old cushion before he took his seat.
"Ill give it back to him, that's cert'in," he said, picking up the reins, "and p'raps they've had enough walkin' so they'll let me pick 'em up," which raised him out of his depression not a little.
But the stern faces of the old gentleman and the tall boy smote him with a chill, long before he passed them, and he drove by silently, well knowing it would not do to broach the subject by so much as a look.
Not daring to go near the little brown house without the occupants of the stage who had driven down the road with him, Mr. Tisbett drew up miserably to a convenient angle, and waited till the two came up. Then without trusting himself to think, he sprang to the ground, and with shame written all over his honest face, called out, "See here, you young chap, I want to speak to you, when you've got him in the house."
"I will see you then," said Jasper, as the two hurried on to meet the Peppers rushing out from the little brown house, and down the small path.
"I've made an awful mess for 'em all, and they just come home," groaned Mr. Tisbett; drawing his fur mitten across his eyes, and leading his horses, he followed at a funeral pace, careful not to stop at the gate until the door was closed, when he began furiously to unload.
A footstep crunching the snow, broke into the noise he was making. "Hoh! well," he exclaimed, pausing with a trunk half-off the rack, "it's a mighty awkward thing for a man to say he's sorry, but you bet I be, as cert'in as my name's John Tisbett." His face became so very red that Jasper hastened to put his young shoulder under the trunk, a movement that only added to the stage-driver's distress.
"It don't pay to get mad, now I tell you," declared Mr. Tisbett, dumping the trunk down on the snow, and then drawing himself to his full height; "fust place, your pa sassed me, and"—
"He didn't intend to," cried Jasper eagerly, "and I'll apologize for him, if that's what you want." He laid his strong right hand in the old fur mitten.
"Good land! Tain't what I want," cried honest John, but he gripped the hand nevertheless, a fact that the boy never forgot; "I say I'm sorry I shook up your pa."
"His age ought to have protected him," said the boy simply.
"Sho! that's a fact," cried Mr. Tisbett, sinking in deeper distress, "but how is anybody to remember he's so old, when he steps so almighty high, as if he owned all Badgertown—say!"
"I think we shall be good friends, Mr. Tisbett," said Jasper cordially, as he turned to wave his hand toward the little brown house; simultaneously the door opened, and all the young Peppers and Whitneys rushed out to help in the delightful unloading.
It was well along in the afternoon. The dusk of the December twilight shut down speedily, around the little brown house and its happy occupants, but no one wanted the candles lighted till the last moment.
"Oh, Polly!" cried Joel, who was prancing as of old over the kitchen floor, "don't you remember that night when you said you wished you had two hundred candles, and you'd light them all at once?"
"I said a good many silly things in those days," said Polly meditatively, and smoothing Phronsie's yellow hair that was lying across her lap.
"Some silly ones, and a good many wise ones," observed Mother Pepper, over in her little old rocker in the west window, where she used to sit sewing up coats and sacks for the village storekeeper. "You kept us together many a time, Polly, when nothing else could."
"Oh! no, I didn't, Mamsie," protested Polly, guilty of contradicting, "you and Bessie did. I just washed dishes, and swept up, and"—
"Baked and brewed, and fussed and stewed," finished Joel, afraid of being too sentimental.
"Polly was just lovely in those days," said Davie, coming across the room to lay a cool cheek against her rosy one. "I liked the rainy days best when we all could stay in the house, and hear her sing and tell stories while she was working."
"She was cross sometimes," cried Joel, determined not to let reminiscences become too comfortable; "she used to scold me just awfully, I know."
Polly broke into a merry laugh; yet she exclaimed, "You poor Joey, I suppose I was dreadful!"
"You didn't catch one half as bad scoldings as belonged to you," put in Ben, thrusting another stick in the stove. "You were a bad lot, Joe, in those days."
"And not over good in these," cried old Mr. King, ensconced in the snuggest corner in the seat of honor, the high-backed rocker that comforted Phronsie after her little toe was hurt. "There, now, my boy, how's that?" with a grim smile.
"Do you remember when the old stove used to plague you, Polly?" cried Joel, suddenly changing the conversation. "And how Ben's putty was everlastingly tumbling out? Hoh—hoh!"
"And you two boys were always stuffing up the holes for me, when Ben was away," cried Polly, with affectionate glances at Davie and Joel.
"I didn't so much," said Joel honestly, "Dave was always giving boot-tops and such things."
"Boot-tops!" repeated Mr. King in astonishment. "Bless me, I didn't know that they had anything in common with stoves."
"Oh! that was before we knew you," said Joel, ready in advance of any one else with the explanation; "it wasn't this stove. Dr. Fisher gave Polly this one after she had the measles; but it was a lumbering old affair that was full of holes that had to be stopped up with anything we could get. And leather was the best; and Davie saved all the old boot-heels and tops he could find, you know."
"Oh!" said the old gentleman, wondering if other revelations would come to light about the early days of the Peppers.
"Isn't Dr. Fisher lovely?" cried Polly, with sparkling eyes, "just the same as ever. Mamsie, I ought to do something for him.
"He is as good as gold," assented Mrs. Pepper heartily. "You've done something, I'm sure, Polly. The medical books you bought out of your pocket money, and sent him, pleased him more than anything you could give him."
"But I want to do something now," said Polly. "Oh! just think how good he was to us."
"May we never forget it!" exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, wiping her eyes.
"But he's very unwise," said Mr. King a trifle testily, "not to take up with my offer to establish him in the town. A man like him could easily hold a good practice, because the fellow's got ability."
"Oh! Dr. Fisher wouldn't leave Badgertown," cried all the Peppers in a bunch. "And what would the poor people here do without him?" finished Polly.
"Well, well, never mind, he won't come to town, and that's enough," said the old gentleman quickly. "Aside from that, he's a sensible chap, and one quite to my liking."
"Oh, Polly!" cried Phronsie suddenly, and lifting her head, she fastened her brown eyes on the face above her, "wasn't Mamsie's birthday cake good?"
"The flowers were pretty, but the cake was heavy, don't you remember?" said Polly, who hadn't recovered from that grief even yet.
"I thought it was just beautiful," cried Mrs. Pepper hastily. "No one could have baked it better in the old stove you had. I'm sure we ate it all up, every crumb."
"We kept it in the old cupboard," cried Joel, rushing over to the corner to swing the door open. "And we never once peeked, Mamsie, so afraid you'd suspect."
"You kept staring at the cupboard door all the evening, Joe, you know you did," cried Ben; "you were just within a hair's breadth of letting the whole thing out ever so many times. Polly and I had to drag you away. We were glad enough when you went to bed, I can tell you."
"You were always sending me off to bed in those days," said Joel, taking his head out of the cupboard to throw vindictive glances over to the group around the stove.
"I wish we could do so now," said Ben.
"And those two," Joel went on, pointing to Polly and Ben, "used to go whispering around a lot of old secrets, that they wouldn't tell us. Oh! it was perfectly awful, wasn't it, Dave?" bestowing a small pinch on that individual's shoulder.
"I liked the secrets best not to know them till Polly and Ben got ready to tell us," said David slowly; "then they were just magnificent."
Phronsie had laid her head back in the waiting lap, and was crooning softly to herself.
"I want to go and see dear good Mr. Beebe," she said presently, "and nice Mrs. Beebe, can I, Mamsie?" looking over at her.
"To be sure," cried Mrs. Pepper, "you shall indeed, child."
"Beebe-Beebe, and who is he, pray?" demanded Mr. King.
"Oh! he keeps the shoe shop over in the Center," explained three or four voices, "and Phronsie's new shoes were bought there, you know."
"And he gave me pink and white candy-sticks," said Phronsie, "and he was very nice; and I like him very much."
"And Mrs. Beebe gave us doughnuts all around," communicated Joel; "I don't know but that I liked those best. There was more to them."
"So you always bought your new shoes of the Beebes?" asked the old gentleman, a question that brought all the five Peppers around his chair at once.
"We didn't ever have new shoes that I can remember," said Joel quickly, "except Phronsie's, and once Ben had a new pair. He had to, because he was the oldest, you know."
"Oh!" said Mr. King.
"You see," said Phronsie, shaking her head gravely, while she laid one hand on his knee, "we were very poor, Grandpapa dear. Don't you understand?"
"Yes, yes, child," said old Mr. King; "there, get up here," and he took her within his arms.
"No, no, you're not going to talk yet," seeing Percy and Van beginning violent efforts to join in the conversation. "Let the Peppers have a chance to talk over old times first. See how good Jasper is to wait."
"I would much prefer to hear the Peppers talk forever," said Jasper, smiling down on the two Whitneys, "than to have the gates opened for a general flood. Go on, do, Polly and Ben, and the rest of you."
"Oh! there is so much," said Polly despairingly, clasping her hands, "we shouldn't get through if we talked ten years, should we, Ben? Mamsie," and she rushed over to her, "can we have a baking time to-morrow, just as we used to in the old days? Oh! do say yes."
"Yes, do say yes," echoed Jasper, also rushing to the side of the little rocking-chair. "You will, won't you, Mrs. Pepper?"
"Hoh! hoh!" cried the two Whitneys derisively, "I thought you could 'hear the Peppers talk forever.' That's great, Jasper."
"Well, when it comes to hearing a proposal for a baking frolic, my principles are thrown to the wind," said Jasper recklessly. "Why, boys, that's the first thing I remember about the little brown house. Do say yes, Mrs. Pepper!"
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Grandma Bascom, opening the door and looking in, "I never!"
"Come in," cried Mr. King sociably. His night over at the parsonage had been a most fortunate experiment. "I haven't slept so finely in ten years," he confided to Mrs. Whitney as they met at breakfast at the minister's table. So now, his face wreathed with smiles, he repeated his invitation. "Come in, do, Mrs. Bascom; we're glad to see you."
"I never!" said Grandma Bascom once more, for want of something better to say, and coming close to the center of operations.
Jasper, attired in one of Mrs. Pepper's long aprons, which was fastened in the style of the old days, by the strings around his neck, was busily engaged in rolling out under Polly's direction, a thin paste, expected presently under the genial warmth of the waiting stove, to evolve into most toothsome cakes. Ben was similarly attired, and similarly employed; while Joel and David were in a sticky state, preparing their dough after their own receipt, over at the corner table, their movements closely followed by the three Whitneys.
Phronsie, before a board laid across two chairs, was enlightening oldMr. King who sat by her, into the mysteries of baking day.
"Do bake a gingerbread boy," he begged. "I never had anything half so good as the one you sent over to Hingham."
"You were my poor sick man then," observed Phronsie, with slow, even pats on her bit of dough. "Please, the rolling-pin now, Grandpapa dear."
"To be sure," cried the old gentleman; "here, Jappy, my boy, be so good as to hand us over that article."
"And you see," continued Phronsie, receiving the rolling-pin, and making the deftest of passes with it over the soft mass, "I couldn't send you anything better, though I wanted to, Grandpapa dear."
"Better?" cried Mr. King. "I should think not; you couldn't have made me anything that pleased me more, had you tried a thousand times."
Phronsie never tired of hearing this, and now humming a soft note of thanks, proceeded with her task, declaring that she would make the best gingerbread boy that could possibly be achieved.
Grandma Bascom was still reiterating "I never," and going slowly from one group to another to inspect operations. When she came to Phronsie, she stopped short, raising her hands in surprise. "Seems as ef 'twas only yesterday when the Peppers went away, though land knows I've missed 'em all most dretfully, 'an there sets that blessed child baking, as big as any of 'em. I never!"
"Have you any more raisins to give us, Grandma?" shouted Joel across the kitchen. "They were terribly hard," he added in his natural voice; "almost broke our teeth."
"Hey?" called Grandma back again.
"Raisins, Grandma, or peppermints," cried Joel.
"Oh, Joe, for shame!" called Ben.
"I'm going to have the fun of going after them," declared Joel, throwing down his dough-pat, and wiping his sticky fingers on his apron; "just like old times—so there!"
"I'll go over and get 'em," said Grandma; "you come along with me," looking admiringly up at the tall boy; so the two, Joel laughing and hopping by her side as if he were five years younger, disappeared, well-pleased with each other.
"Now I shall take his dough," declared Dick, rushing around the end of the table to Joel's deserted place.
"No such thing," declared Van, flying out of his chair. "Leave your hands off, youngster! that's to be mine."
Polly looked up from the little cookies she was cutting with the top of a tin baking powder box and their eyes met.
"I didn't promise not to have it out with Dicky," said Van stoutly. "He's a perfect plague, and always under foot. I never thought of such a thing as not making him stand around, Polly."
But the brown eyes did not return to their task, as Polly mechanically stamped another cooky.
"I only promised not to have a bout with Percy," Van proceeded uncomfortably. And in the same breath, "Go ahead, If you want it, Dicky, I don't care."
"I do want it," declared Dick, clambering into Van's chair, while Van returned to his own, "and I'm going to have it too. I guess you think you'd better give it up now, sir; I'm getting so big."
"Softly there, Dicky," said Mrs. Whitney, over in the window-seat with her fancy work; "if Van gives up, you should thank him; I think he is very good to do it." And the bigger boy's heart warmed with the radiant smile she sent him.
Dick gave several vicious thrusts to his dough, and looked up at last to say very much against his will, "Thank you," and adding brightly, "but you know I'm getting big, sir, and you'd better give up."
"All right," said Van, with that smile in his heart feeling equal to anything.
"Now," cried Jasper, with a flourish of his baking apron, "mine are ready. Here goes!" and he opened the oven door and pushed in a pan of biscuit.
"Jappy's always ahead in everything," grumbled Percy, laboring away at his dough. "How in the world do you make the thing roll out straight? Mine humps up in the middle."
"Put some more flour on the board," said Polly, running over to him. "There, now see, Percy, if that doesn't roll smooth." "It does with you," said Percy, taking the rolling-pin again, to send it violently over the long-suffering dough, "and—I declare, it's going to do with me," he cried, in delight at the large flat cake staring up at him from the board. "Now, says I, I'll beat you, Jappy!" And presently the whole kitchen resounded with a merry din, as the several cakes and biscuits were declared almost ready for their respective pans.
"But, I can tell you, this gingerbread boy is going in next," declared Mr. King from Phronsie's baking-board. "It's almost done, isn't it, child?"
"Not quite, Grandpapa," said Phronsie; "this eye won't stay in just like the other. It doesn't look the same way, don't you see?" pointing to the currant that certainly showed no inclination to do its duty, as any well-bred eye should. "Wait just a moment, please; I'll pull it out and stick it in again."
"Take another," advised the old gentleman, fumbling over the little heap of currants on the saucer. "There, here's a good round one, and very expressive, too, Phronsie."
"That's lovely," hummed Phronsie, accepting the new eye with very sticky fingers. "Now, he's all ready," as she set it in its place, and took the boy up tenderly. "Give me a pan, do, Polly."
"Did you cut that out?" cried Dick, turning around in his chair, and regarding her enviously, "all alone by yourself? Didn't Grandpapa help you just one teeny bit to make the legs and the hands?"
"No; she made it all herself," said the old gentleman, with justifiable pride. "There, Phronsie, here's your pan," as Polly set it down before her with a "You precious dear, that's perfectly elegant!"
Phronsie placed the boy within the pan, and gave it many a loving pat. "Grandpapa sat here, and looked at it, and smiled," she said, turning her eyes gravely on Dick, "and that helped ever so much. I couldn't ever have made it so nice alone. Good-by; now bake like a good boy. Let me put it in the oven all by myself, do, Polly," she begged.
So Phronsie, the old gentleman escorting her in mortal dread that she would be burned, safely tucked her long pan into the warmest corner, shut the door, and gravely consulted the clock. "If I look at it in twenty-one minutes, I think it will be done," she said, "quite brown."
In twenty-one minutes the whole kitchen was as far removed from being the scene of a baking exploit as was possible. Everything was cleared away, and set up primly in its place, leaving only a row of fine little biscuits and cookies, with Phronsie's gingerbread boy in the midst, to tell the tale of what had been going on. Outside there was a great commotion.
Deacon Brown's old wagon stood at the gate, for the Peppers and their friends; and, oh! joy, not the old horse between the shafts, but a newer and much livelier beast. And on the straw laid in the bottom of the wagon, the seats being removed, disported all the merry group, Mr. King alone having the dignity of a chair.