One day, a few weeks after, Mrs. Pepper and Polly were busy in the kitchen. Phronsie was out in the “orchard,” as the one scraggy apple-tree was called by courtesy, singing her rag doll to sleep under its sheltering branches. But “Baby” was cross and wouldn't go to sleep, and Phronsie was on the point of giving up, and returning to the house, when a strain of music made her pause with dolly in her apron. There she stood with her finger in her mouth, in utter astonishment, wondering where the sweet sounds came from.
“Oh, Phronsie!” screamed Polly, from the back door, “where are—oh, here, come quick! it's the beau-ti-fullest!”
“What is it?” eagerly asked the little one, hopping over the stubby grass, leaving poor, discarded “Baby” on its snubby nose where it dropped in her hurry.
“Oh, a monkey!” cried Polly; “do hurry! the sweetest little monkey you ever saw!”
“What is a monkey?” asked Phronsie, skurrying after Polly to the gate where her mother was waiting for them.
“Why, a monkey's—a—monkey,” explained Polly, “I don't know any better'n that. Here he is! Isn't he splendid!” and she lifted Phronsie up to the big post where she could see finely.
“O-oh! ow!” screamed little Phronsie, “see him, Polly! just see him!”
A man with an organ was standing in the middle of the road playing away with all his might, and at the end of a long rope was a lively little monkey in a bright red coat and a smart cocked hat. The little creature pulled off his hat, and with one long jump coming on the fence, he made Phronsie a most magnificent bow. Strange to say, the child wasn't in the least frightened, but put out her little fat hand, speaking in gentle tones, “Poor little monkey! come here, poor little monkey!”
Turning up his little wrinkled face, and glancing fearfully at his master, Jocko began to grimace and beg for something to eat. The man pulled the string and struck up a merry tune, and in a minute the monkey spun around and around at such a lively pace, and put in so many queer antics that the little audience were fairly convulsed with laughter.
“I can't pay you,” said Mrs. Pepper, wiping her eyes, when at last the man pulled up the strap whistling to Jocko to jump up, “but I'll give you something to eat; and the monkey, too, he shall have something for his pains in amusing my children.”
The man looked very cross when she brought him out only brown bread and two cold potatoes.
“Haven't you got nothin' better'n that?”
“It's as good as we have,” answered Mrs. Pepper.
The man threw down the bread in the road. But Jocko thankfully ate his share, Polly and Phronsie busily feeding him; and then he turned and snapped up the portion his master had left in the dusty road.
Then they moved on, Mrs. Pepper and Polly going back to their work in the kitchen. A little down the road the man struck up another tune. Phronsie who had started merrily to tell “Baby” all about it, stopped a minute to hear, and—she didn't go back to the orchard!
About two hours after, Polly said merrily:
“I'm going to call Phronsie in, mammy; she must be awfully tired and hungry by this time.”
She sang gayly on the way, “I'm coming, Phronsie, coming—why, where!—” peeping under the tree.
“Baby” lay on its face disconsolately on the ground—and the orchard was empty! Phronsie was gone!
“It's no use,” said Ben, to the distracted household and such of the neighbors as the news had brought hurriedly to the scene, “to look any more around here—but somebody must go toward Hingham; he'd be likely to go that way.”
“No one could tell where he would go,” cried Polly, wringing her hands.
“But he'd change, Ben, if he thought folks would think he'd gone there,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“We must go all roads,” said Ben, firmly; “one must take the stage to Boxville, and I'll take Deacon Brown's wagon on the Hingham road, and somebody else must go to Toad Hollow.”
“I'll go in the stage,” screamed Joel, who could scarcely see out of his eyes, he had cried so; “I'll find—find her—I know.
“Be spry, then, Joe, and catch it at the corner!”
Everybody soon knew that little Phronsie Pepper had gone off with “a cross organ man and an awful monkey!” and in the course of an hour dozens of people were out on the hot, dusty roads in search.
“What's the matter?” asked a testy old gentleman in the stage, of Joel who, in his anxiety to see both sides of the road at once, bobbed the old gentleman in the face so often as the stage lurched, that at last he knocked his hat over his eyes.
“My sister's gone off with a monkey,” explained Joel, bobbing over to the other side, as he thought he caught sight of something pink that he felt sure must be Phronsie's apron. “Stop! stop! there she is!” he roared, and the driver, who had his instructions and was fully in sympathy, pulled up so suddenly that the old gentleman flew over into the opposite seat.
“Where?”
But when they got up to it Joel saw that it was only a bit of pink calico flapping on a clothes-line; so he climbed back and away they rumbled again.
The others were having the same luck. No trace could be found of the child. To Ben, who took the Hingham road, the minutes seemed like hours.
“I won't go back,” he muttered, “until I take her. I can't see mother's face!”
But the ten miles were nearly traversed; almost the last hope was gone. Into every thicket and lurking place by the road-side had he peered—but no Phronsie! Deacon Brown's horse began to lag.
“Go on!” said Ben hoarsely; “oh, dear Lord, make me find her!”
The hot sun poured down on the boy's face, and he had no cap. What cared he for that? On and on he went. Suddenly the horse stopped. Ben doubled up the reins to give him a cut, when “WHOA!” he roared so loud that the horse in very astonishment gave a lurch that nearly flung him headlong. But he was over the wheel in a twinkling, and up with a bound to a small thicket of scrubby bushes on a high hill by the road-side. Here lay a little bundle on the ground, and close by it a big, black dog; and over the whole, standing guard, was a boy a little bigger than Ben, with honest gray eyes. And the bundle was Phronsie!
“Don't wake her up,” said the boy, warningly, as Ben, with a hungry look in his eyes, leaped up the hill, “she's tired to death!”
“She's my sister!” cried Ben, “our Phronsie!”
“I know it,” said the boy kindly; “but I wouldn't wake her up yet if I were you. I'll tell you all about it,” and he took Ben's hand which was as cold as ice.
“It's all right, Prince,” the boy added, encouragingly to the big dog who, lifting his noble head, had turned two big eyes steadily on Ben. “He's all right! lie down again!”
Then, flinging himself down on the grass, he told Ben how he came to rescue Phronsie.
“Prince and I were out for a stroll,” said he. “I live over in Hingham,” pointing to the pretty little town just a short distance before them in the hollow; “that is,” laughing, “I do this summer. Well, we were out strolling along about a mile below here on the cross-road; and all of a sudden, just as if they sprung right up out of the ground, I saw a man with an organ, and a monkey, and a little girl, coming along the road. She was crying, and as soon as Prince saw that, he gave a growl, and then the man saw us, and he looked so mean and cringing I knew there must be something wrong, and I inquired of him what he was doing with that little girl, and then she looked up and begged so with her eyes, and all of a sudden broke away from him and ran towards me screaming—'I want Polly!' Well, the man sprang after her; then I tell you—” here the boy forgot his caution about waking Phronsie—“we went for him, Prince and I! Prince is a noble fellow,” (here the dog's ears twitched very perceptibly) “and he kept at that man; oh! how he bit him! till he had to run for fear the monkey would get killed.”
“Was Phronsie frightened?” asked Ben; “she's never seen strangers.”
“Not a bit,” said the boy, cheerily; “she just clung to me like everything—I only wish she was my sister,” he added impulsively.
“What were you going to do with her if I hadn't come along?” asked Ben.
“Well, I got out on the main road,” said the boy, “because I thought anybody who had lost her, would probably come through this way; but if somebody hadn't come, I was going to carry her in to Hingham; and the father and I'd had to contrive some way to do.”
“Well,” said Ben, as the boy finished and fastened his bright eyes on him, “somebody did come along; and now I must get her home about as fast as I can for poor mammy—and Polly!”
“Yes,” said the boy, “I'll help you lift her; perhaps she won't wake up.”
The big dog moved away a step or two, but still kept his eye on Phronsie.
“There,” said the boy, brightly, as they laid the child on the wagon seat; “now when you get in you can hold her head; that's it,” he added, seeing them both fixed to his satisfaction. But still Ben lingered.
“Thank you,” he tried to say.
“I know,” laughed the boy; “only it's Prince instead of me,” and he pulled forward the big black creature, who had followed faithfully down the hill to see the last of it. “To the front, sir, there! We're coming to see you,” he continued, “if you will let us—where do you live?”
“Do come,” said Ben, lighting up, for he was just feeling he couldn't bear to look his last on the merry, honest face; “anybody'll tell you where Mrs. Pepper lives.”
“Is she a Pepper?” asked the boy, laughing, and pointing to the unconscious little heap in the wagon; “and are you a Pepper?”
“Yes,” said Ben, laughing too. “There are five of us besides mother.
“Jolly! that's something like! Good-bye! Come on, Prince!” Then away home to mother! Phronsie never woke up or turned over once till she was put, a little pink sleepy heap, into her mother's arms. Joel was there, crying bitterly at his forlorn search. The testy old gentleman in the seat opposite had relented and ordered the coach about and brought him home in an outburst of grief when all hope was gone. And one after another they all had come back, disheartened, to the distracted mother. Polly alone, clung to hope!
“Ben will bring her, mammy; I know God will let him,” she whispered.
But when Ben did bring her, Polly, for the second time in her life, tumbled over with a gasp, into old Mrs. Bascom's lap.
Home and mother! Little Phronsie slept all that night straight through. The neighbors came in softly, and with awestruck visages stole into the bedroom to look at the child; and as they crept out again, thoughts of their own little ones tugging at their hearts, the tears would drop unheeded.
Up the stairs of the hotel, two steps at a time, ran a boy with a big, black dog at his heels. “Come on, Prince; soft, now,” as they neared a door at the end of the corridors.
It opened into a corner room overlooking “the Park,” as the small open space in front of the hotel was called. Within the room there was sunshine and comfort, it being the most luxurious one in the house, which the proprietor had placed at the disposal of this most exacting guest. He didn't look very happy, however—the gentleman who sat in an easy chair by the window; a large, handsome old gentleman, whose whole bearing showed plainly that personal comfort had always been his, and was, therefore, neither a matter of surprise nor thankfulness.
“Where have you been?” he asked, turning around to greet the boy who came in, followed by Prince.
“Oh, such a long story, father!” he cried, flushed; his eyes sparkling as he flung back the dark hair from his forehead. “You can't even guess!”
“Never mind now,” said the old gentleman, testily; “your stories are always long; the paper hasn't come—strange, indeed, that one must needs be so annoyed! do ring that bell again.”
So the bell was pulled; and a porter popped in his head.
“What is it, sir?”
“The paper,” said the old gentleman, irritably; “hasn't it come yet?”
“No, sir,” said the man; and then he repeated, “taint in yet, please, sir.”
“Very well—you said so once; that's all,” waving his hand; then as the door closed, he said to his son, “That pays one for coming to such an out-of-the-way country place as this, away from papers—I never will do it again.”
As the old gentleman, against the advice of many friends who knew his dependence on externals, had determined to come to this very place, the boy was not much startled at the decisive words. He stood very quietly, however, until his father finished. Then he said:
“It's too bad, father! supposing I tell you my story? Perhaps you'll enjoy hearing it while you wait—it's really quite newspaperish.”
“Well, you might as well tell it now, I suppose,” said the old gentleman; “but it is a great shame about that paper! to advertise that morning papers are to be obtained—it's a swindle, Jasper! a complete swindle!” and the old gentleman looked so very irate that the boy exerted himself to soothe him.
“I know,” he said; “but they can't help the trains being late.”
“They shouldn't have the trains late,” said his father, unreasonably. “There's no necessity for all this prating about 'trains late.' I'm convinced it's because they forgot to send down for the papers till they were all sold.”
“I don't believe that's it, father,” said the boy, trying to change the subject; “but you don't know how splendid Prince has been, nor—” “And then such a breakfast!” continued the old gentleman.
“My liver certainly will be in a dreadful state if these things continue!” And he got up, and going to the corner of the room, opened his medicine chest, and taking a box of pills therefrom, he swallowed two, which done, he came back with a somewhat easier expression to his favorite chair.
“He was just splendid, father,” began the boy; “he went for him, I tell you!”
“I hope, Jasper, your dog has not been doing anything violent,” said the old gentleman. “I must caution you; he'll get you into trouble some day; and then there'll be a heavy bill to pay; he grows more irritable every day.”
“Irritable!” cried the boy, flinging his arms around the dog's neck, who was looking up at the old gentleman in high disdain. “He's done the most splendid thing you ever saw! Why, he saved a little girl, father, from a cross old organ-man, and he drove that man—oh! you ought to have seen him run!”
And now that it was over, Jasper put back his head and laughed long and loud as he remembered the rapid transit of the musical pair.
“Well, how do you know she wasn't the man's daughter?” asked his father, determined to find fault someway. “You haven't any business to go around the country setting your dog on people. I shall have an awful bill to pay some day, Jasper—an awful bill!” he continued, getting up and commencing to pace up and down the floor in extreme irritation.
“Father,” cried the boy, half laughing, half vexed, springing to his side, and keeping step with him, “we found her brother; he came along when we were by the side of the road. We couldn't go any further, for the poor little thing was all tired out. And don't you think they live over in Badgertown, and—”
“Well,” said the old gentleman, pausing in his walk, and taking out his watch to wonder if that paper would ever come, “she had probably followed the organ-man; so it served her right after all.”
“Well, but father,” and the boy's dark eyes glowed, “she was such a cunning little thing! she wasn't more than four years old; and she had such a pretty little yellow head; and she said so funny—'I want Polly.”
“Did she?” said the old gentleman, getting interested in spite of himself; “what then?”
“Why, then, sir,” said Jasper, delighted at his success in diverting his thoughts, “Prince and I waited—and waited; and I was just going to bring her here to ask you what we should do, when—” “Dear me!” said the old gentleman, instinctively starting back as if he actually saw the forlorn little damsel, “you needn't ever bring such people here, Jasper! I don't know what to do with them, I'm sure!”
“Well,” said the boy, laughing, “we didn't have to, did we, Prince?” stroking the big head of the dog who was slowly following the two as they paced up and down, but keeping carefully on the side of his master; “for just as we really didn't know what to do, don't you think there was a big wagon came along, drawn by the ricketiest old horse, and a boy in the wagon looking both sides of the road, and into every bush, just as wild as he could be, and before I could think, hardly, he spied us, and if he didn't jump! I thought he'd broken his leg—”
“And I suppose he just abused you for what you had done,” observed the old gentleman, petulantly; “that's about all the gratitude there is in this world.”
“He didn't seem to see me at all,” said the boy. “I thought he'd eat the little girl up.”
“Ought to have looked out for her better then,” grumbled the old gentleman, determined to find fault with somebody.
“And he's a splendid fellow, I just know,” cried Jasper, waxing enthusiastic; “and his name is Pepper.”
“Pepper!” repeated his father; “no nice family ever had the name of Pepper!”
“Well, I don't care,” and Jasper's laugh was loud and merry; “he's nice anyway,—I know; and the little thing's nice; and I'm going to see them—can't I, father?”
“Dear me!” said his father; “how can you, Jasper? You do have the strangest tastes I ever saw!”
“It's dreadful dull here,” pleaded the boy, touching the right string; “you know that yourself, father, and I don't know any boys around here; and Prince and I are so lonely on our walks—do permit me, father!”
The old gentleman, who really cared very little about it, turned away, muttering, “Well, I'm sure I don't care; go where you like,” when a knock was heard at the door, and the paper was handed in, which broke up the conversation, and restored good humor.
The next day but one, Ben was out by the wood-pile, trying to break up some kindlings for Polly who was washing up the dishes, and otherwise preparing for the delights of baking day.
“Hulloa!” said a voice bethought he knew.
He turned around to see the merry-faced boy, and the big, black dog who immediately began to wag his tail as if willing to recognize him.
“You see I thought you'd never look round,” said the boy with a laugh. “How's the little girl?”
“Oh! you have come, really,” cried Ben, springing over the wood-pile with a beaming face. “Polly!”
But Polly was already by the door, with dish-cloth in hand. “This is my sister, Polly,” began Ben—and then stopped, not knowing the boy's name.
“I'm Jasper King,” said the boy, stepping upon the flat stone by Polly's side; and taking off his cap, he put out his hand. “And this is Prince,” he added.
Polly put her hand in his, and received a hearty shake; and then she sprang over the big stove, dish-cloth and all, and just flung her arms around the dog's neck.
“Oh, you splendid fellow, you!” said she. “Don't you know we all think you're as good as gold?”
The dog submitted to the astonishing proceeding as if he liked it, while Jasper, delighted with Polly's appreciation, beamed down on them, and struck up friendship with her on the instant.
“Now, I must call Phronsie,” said Polly, getting up, her face as red as a rose.
“Is her name Phronsie?” asked the boy with interest.
“No, it's Sophronia,” said Polly, “but we call her Phronsie.”
“What a very funny name,” said Jasper, “Sophronia is, for such a little thing—and yours is Polly, is it not?” he asked, turning around suddenly on her.
“Yes,” said Polly; “no, not truly Polly; it's Mary, my real name is—but I've always been Polly.”
“I like Polly best, too,” declared Jasper, “it sounds so nice.”
“And his name is Ben,” said Polly.
“Ebenezer, you mean,” said Ben, correcting her.
“Well, we call him Ben,” said Polly; “it don't ever seem as if there was any Ebenezer about it.”
“I should think not,” laughed Jasper.
“Well, I must get Phronsie,” again said Polly, running back into the bedroom, where that small damsel was busily engaged in washing “Baby” in the basin of water that she had with extreme difficulty succeeded in getting down on the floor. She had then, by means of a handful of soft soap, taken from Polly's soap-bowl during the dish-washing, and a bit of old cotton, plastered both herself and “Baby” to a comfortable degree of stickiness.
“Phronsie,” said Polly—“dear me! what you doing? the big dog's out there, you know, that scared the naughty organ-man; and the boy—” but before the words were half out, Phronsie had slipped from under her hands, and to Polly's extreme dismay, clattered out into the kitchen.
“Here she is!” cried Jasper, meeting her at the door. The little soapy hands were grasped, and kissing her—“Ugh!” he said, as the soft soap plentifully spread on her face met his mouth.
“Oh, Phronsie! you shouldn't,” cried Polly, and then they all burst out into a peal of laughter at Jasper's funny grimaces.
“She's been washing 'Baby,” explained Polly, wiping her eyes, and looking at Phronsie who was hanging over Prince in extreme affection. Evidently Prince still regarded her as his especial property.
“Have you got a baby?” asked Jasper. “I thought she was the baby,” pointing to Phronsie.
“Oh, I mean her littlest dolly; she always calls her 'Baby,” said Polly. “Come, Phronsie, and have your face washed, and a clean apron on.”
When Phronsie could be fairly persuaded that Prince would not run away during her absence, she allowed herself to be taken off; and soon re-appeared, her own, dainty little self. Ben, in the meantime, had been initiating Jasper into the mysteries of cutting the wood, the tool-house, and all the surroundings of the “little brown house.” They had received a re-inforcement in the advent of Joel and David, who stared delightedly at Phronsie's protector, made friends with the dog, and altogether had had such a thoroughly good time, that Phronsie, coming back, clapped her hands in glee to hear them.
“I wish mammy was home,” said Polly, polishing up the last cup carefully.
“Let me put it up,” said Jasper, taking it from her, “it goes up here, don't it, with the rest?” reaching up to the upper-shelf of the old cupboard.
“Yes,” said Polly.
“Oh, I should think you'd have real good times!” said the boy, enviously. “I haven't a single sister or brother.”
“Haven't you?” said Polly, looking at him in extreme pity. “Yes, we do have real fun,” she added, answering his questioning look; “the house is just brimful sometimes, even if we are poor.”
“We aren't poor,” said Joel, who never could bear to be pitied. Then, with a very proud air, he said in a grand way, “At any rate, we aren't going to be, long, for something's coming!”
“What do you mean, Joey?” asked Ben, while the rest looked equally amazed.
“Our ships,” said Joel confidently, as if they were right before their eyes; at which they all screamed!
“See Polly's stove!” cried Phronsie, wishing to entertain in her turn. “Here 'tis,” running up to it, and pointing with her fat little finger.
“Yes, I see,” cried Jasper, pretending to be greatly surprised; “it's new, isn't it?”
“Yes,” said the child; “it's very all new; four yesterdays ago!”
And then Polly stopped in sweeping up and related, with many additions and explanations from the others, the history of the stove, and good Dr. Fisher (upon whom they all dilated at great length), and the dreadful measles, and everything. And Jasper sympathized, and rejoiced with them to their hearts content, and altogether got so very home-like, that they all felt as if they had known him for a year. Ben neglected his work a little, but then visitors didn't come every day to the Peppers; so while Polly worked away at her bread, which she was “going to make like biscuits,” she said, the audience gathered in the little old kitchen was in the merriest mood, and enjoyed everything to the fullest extent.
“Do put in another stick, Bensie dear,” said Polly; “this bread won't be fit for anything!”
“Isn't this fun, though!” cried Jasper, running up to try the oven; “I wish I could ever bake,” and he looked longingly at the little brown biscuits waiting their turn out on the table.
“You come out some day,” said Polly, sociably, “and we'll all try baking—mammy'd like to have you, I know,” feeling sure that nothing would be too much for Mrs. Pepper to do for the protector of little Phronsie.
“I will!” cried Jasper, perfectly delighted. “You can't think how awfully dull it is out in Hingham!”
“Don't you live there?” asked Polly, with a gasp, almost dropping a tin full of little brown lumps of dough she was carrying to the oven.
“Live there!” cried Jasper; and then he burst out into a merry laugh. “No, indeed! I hope not! Why, we're only spending the summer there, father and I, in the hotel.”
“Where's your mother?” asked Joel, squeezing in between Jasper and his audience. And then they all felt instinctively that a very wrong question had been asked.
“I haven't any mother,” said the boy, in a low voice.
They all stood quite still for a moment; then Polly said, “I wish you'd come out sometime; and you may bake—or anything else,” she added; and there was a kinder ring to her voice than ever.
No mother! Polly for her life, couldn't imagine how anybody could feel without a mother, but the very words alone smote her heart; and there was nothing she wouldn't have done to give pleasure to one who had done so much for them.
“I wish you could see our mother,” she said, gently. “Why, here she comes now! oh, mamsie, dear,” she cried. “Do, Joe, run and take her bundle.”
Mrs. Pepper stopped a minute to kiss Phronsie—her baby was dearer than ever to her now. Then her eye fell on Jasper, who stood respectfully waiting and watching her with great interest.
“Is this,” she asked, taking it all in at the first glance—the boy with the honest eyes as Ben had described him—and the big, black dog—“is this the boy who saved my little girl?”
“Oh, ma'am,” cried Jasper, “I didn't do much; 'twas Prince.”
“I guess you never'll know how much you did do,” said Mrs. Pepper. Then looking with a long, keen gaze into the boy's eyes that met her own so frankly and kindly: “I'll trust him,” she said to herself; “a boy with those eyes can't help but be good.”
“Her eyes are just the same as Polly's,” thought Jasper, “just such laughing ones, only Polly's are brown,” and he liked her on the spot.
And then, somehow, the hubbub ceased. Polly went on with her work, and the others separated, and Mrs. Pepper and Jasper had a long talk. When the mother's eyes fell on Phronsie playing around on the floor, she gave the boy a grateful smile that he thought was beautiful.
“Well, I declare,” said Jasper, at last, looking up at the old clock in the corner by the side of the cupboard, “I'm afraid I'll miss the stage, and then father never'll let me come again. Come, Prince.”
“Oh, don't go,” cried Phronsie, wailing. “Let doggie stay! Oh, make him stay, mammy!”
“I can't, Phronsie,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling, “if he thinks he ought to go.”
“I'll come again,” said Jasper, eagerly, “if I may, ma'am.”
He looked up at Mrs. Pepper as he stood cap in hand, waiting for the answer.
“I'm sure we should be glad if your father'll be willing,” she added; thinking, proudly, “My children are an honor to anybody, I'm sure,” as she glanced around on the bright little group she could call her own. “But be sure, Jasper,” and she laid her hand on his arm as she looked down into his eyes, “that you father is willing, that's all.”
“Oh, yes, ma'am,” said the boy; “but he will be, I guess, if he feels well.”
“Then come on Thursday,” said Polly; “and can't we bake something then, mammy?”
“I'm sure I don't care,” laughed Mrs. Pepper; “but you won't find much but brown flour and meal to bake with.”
“Well, we can pretend,” said Polly; “and we can cut the cakes with the heart-shape, and they'll do for anything.
“Oh, I'll come,” laughed Jasper, ready for such lovely fun in the old kitchen; “look out for me on Thursday, Ben!”
So Jasper and Prince took their leave, all the children accompanying them to the gate; and then after seeing him fairly started on a smart run to catch the stage, Prince scampering at his heels, they all began to sing his praises and to wish for Thursday to come.
But Jasper didn't come! Thursday came and went; a beautiful, bright, sunny day, but with no signs of the merry boy whom all had begun to love, nor of the big black dog. The children had made all the needful preparations with much ostentation and bustle, and were in a state of excited happiness, ready for any gale. But the last hope had to be given up, as the old clock ticked away hour after hour. And at last Polly had to put Phronsie to bed, who wouldn't stop crying enough to eat her supper at the dreadful disappointment.
“He couldn't come, I know,” said both Ben and Polly, standing staunchly up for their new friend; but Joel and David felt that he had broken his word.
“He promised,” said Joel, vindictively.
“I don't believe his father'd let him,” said Polly, wiping away a sly tear; “I know Jasper'd come, if he could.”
Mrs. Pepper wisely kept her own counsel, simply giving them a kindly caution:
“Don't you go to judging him, children, till you know.”
“Well, he promised,” said Joel, as a settler.
“Aren't you ashamed, Joel,” said his mother, “to talk about any one whose back is turned? Wait till he tells you the reason himself.”
Joel hung his head, and then began to tease David in the corner, to make up for his disappointment.
The next morning Ben had to go to the store after some more meal. As he was going out rather dismally, the storekeeper, who was also postmaster, called out, “Oh, halloa, there!”
“What is it?” asked Ben, turning back, thinking perhaps Mr. Atkins hadn't given him the right change.
“Here,” said Mr. Atkins, stepping up to the Post-office department, quite smart with its array of boxes and official notices, where Ben had always lingered, wishing there might be sometime a letter for him—or some of them. “You've got a sister Polly, haven't you?”
“Yes,” said Ben, wondering what was coming next.
“Well, she's got a letter,” said the postmaster, holding up a nice big envelope, looking just like those that Ben had so many times wished for. That magic piece of white paper danced before the boy's eyes for a minute; then he said, “It can't be for her, Mr. Atkins; why, she's never had one.”
“Well, she's got one now, sure enough,” said Mr. Atkins; “here 'tis, plain enough,” and he read what he had no need to study much as it had already passed examination by his own and his wife's faithful eyes: “Miss Polly Pepper, near the Turnpike, Badgertown'—that's her, isn't it?” he added, laying it down before Ben's eyes. “Must be a first time for everything, you know, my boy!” and he laughed long over his own joke; “so take it and run along home.” For Ben still stood looking at it, and not offering to stir.
“If you say so,” said the boy, as if Mr. Atkins had given him something out of his own pocket; “but I'm afraid 'tisn't for Polly.” Then buttoning up the precious letter in his jacket, he spun along home as never before.
“Polly! Polly!” he screamed. “Where is she, mother?”
“I don't know,” said Mrs. Pepper, coming out of the bedroom. “Dear me! is anybody hurt, Ben?”
“I don't know,” said Ben, in a state to believe anything, “but Polly's got a letter.”
“Polly got a letter!” cried Mrs. Pepper; “what do you mean, Ben?”
“I don't know,” repeated the boy, still holding out the precious letter; “but Mr. Atkins gave it to me; where is Polly?”
“I know where she is,” said Joel; “she's up-stairs.” And he flew out in a twinkling, and just as soon reappeared with Polly scampering after him in the wildest excitement.
And then the kitchen was in an uproar as the precious missive was put into Polly's hand; and they all gathered around her, wondering and examining, till Ben thought he would go wild with the delay.
“I wonder where it did come from,” said Polly, in the greatest anxiety, examining again the address.
“Where does the postmark say?” asked Mrs. Pepper, looking over her shoulder.
“It's all rubbed out,” said Polly, peering at it “you can't see anything.”
“Do open it,” said Ben, “and then you'll find out.”
“But p'raps 'tisn't for me,” said Polly, timidly.
“Well, Mr. Atkins says 'tis,” said Ben, impatiently; “here, I'll open it for you, Polly.”
“No, let her open it for herself, Ben,” protested his mother.
“But she won't,” said Ben; “do tear it open, Polly.”
“No, I'm goin' to get a knife,” she said.
“I'll get one,” cried Joel, running up to the table drawer; “here's one, Polly.”
“Oh, dear,” groaned Ben; “you never'll get it open at this rate!”
But at last it was cut; and they all holding their breath, gazed awe-struck, while Polly drew out the mysterious missive.
“What does it say?” gasped Mrs. Pepper.
“Dear Miss Polly,” began both Ben and Polly in a breath. “Let Polly read,” said Joel, who couldn't hear in the confusion.
“Well, go on Polly,” said Ben; “hurry!”
“Dear Miss Polly, I was so sorry I couldn't come on Thursday—”
“Oh, it's Jasper! it's Jasper!” cried all the children in a breath.
“I told you so!” cried Ben and Polly, perfectly delighted to find their friend vindicated fully—“there! Joey Pepper!”
“Well, I don't care,” cried Joe, nothing daunted, “he didn't come, anyway—do go on, Polly.”
“I was so sorry I couldn't come—” began Polly.
“You read that,” said Joel.
“I know it,” said Polly, “but it's just lovely; 'on Thursday; but my father was sick, and I couldn't leave him. If you don't mind I'll come again—I mean I'll come some other day, if it's just as convenient for you, for I do so want the baking, and the nice time. I forgot to say that I had a cold, to,' (here Jasper had evidently had a struggle in his mind whether there should be two o's or one, and he had at last decided it, by crossing out one) but my father is willing I should come when I get well. Give my love to all, and especially remember me respectfully to your mother. Your friend,
“JASPER ELYOT KING.”
“Oh, lovely! lovely!” cried Polly, flying around with the letter in her hand; “so he is coming!”
Ben was just as wild as she was, for no one knew but Polly just how the new friend had stepped into his heart. Phronsie went to sleep happy, hugging “Baby.”
“And don't you think, Baby, dear,” she whispered sleepily, and Polly heard her say as she was tucking her in, “that Jasper is really comin'; really—and the big, be-you-ti-ful doggie, too!”
“And now I tell you,” said Polly, the next day, “let's make Jasper something; can't we, ma?”
“Oh, do! do!” cried all the other children, “let's; but what'll it be, Polly?”
“I don't know about this,” interrupted Mrs. Pepper; “I don't see how you could get anything to him if you could make it.”
“Oh, we could, mamsie,” said Polly, eagerly, running up to her; “for Ben knows; and he says we can do it.”
“Oh, well, if Ben and you have had your heads together, I suppose it's all right,” laughed Mrs. Pepper, “but I don't see how you can do it.”
“Well, we can, mother, truly,” put in Ben. “I'll tell you how, and you'll say it'll be splendid. You see Deacon Blodgett's goin' over to Hingham, to-morrow; I heard him tell Miss Blodgett so; and he goes right past the hotel; and we can do it up real nice—and it'll please Jasper so—do, mammy!”
“And it's real dull there, Jasper says,” put in Polly, persuasively; “and just think, mammy, no brothers and sisters!” And Polly looked around on the others.
After that there was no need to say anything more; her mother would have consented to almost any plan then.
“Well, go on, children,” she said; “you may do it; I don't see but what you can get 'em there well enough; but I'm sure I don't know what you can make.”
“Can't we,” said Polly—and she knelt down by her mother's side and put her face in between the sewing in Mrs. Pepper's lap, and the eyes bent kindly down on her—“make some little cakes, real cakes I mean? now don't say no, mammy!” she said, alarmed, for she saw a “no” slowly coming in the eyes above her, as Mrs. Pepper began to shake her head.
“But we haven't any white flour, Polly,” began her mother. “I know,” said Polly; “but we'll make 'em of brown, it'll do, if you'll give us some raisins—you know there's some in the bowl, mammy.”
“I was saving them for a nest egg,” said Mrs. Pepper; meaning at some future time to indulge in another plum-pudding that the children so loved.
“Well, do give 'em to us,” cried Polly; “do, ma!”
“I want 'em for a plum-pudding sometime,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“Ow!—” and Joel with a howl sprung up from the floor where he had been trying to make a cart for “Baby” out of an old box, and joined Mrs. Pepper and Polly. “No, don't give 'em away, ma!” he screamed; “let's have our plum-pudding—now, Polly Pepper, you're a-goin' to bake up all our raisins in nasty little cakes—and—”
“Joey!” commanded Mrs. Pepper, “hush! what word did you say!”
“Well,” blubbered Joel, wiping his tears away with his grimy little hand, “Polly's—a-goin'—to give—”
“I should rather you'd never have a plum-pudding than to say such words,” said Mrs. Pepper, sternly, taking up her work again. “And besides, do you think what Jasper has done for you?” and her face grew very white around the lips.
“Well, he can have plum-puddings,” said Joel, whimpering, “forever an' ever, if he wants them—and—and—”
“Well, Joey,” said Polly, “there, don't feel bad,” and she put her arms around him, and tried to wipe away the tears that still rolled down his cheeks. “We won't give 'em if you don't want us to; but Jasper's sick, and there isn't anything for him to do, and—” here she whispered slyly up into his ear, “don't you remember how you liked folks to send you things when you had the measles?”
“Yes, I know,” said Joel, beginning to smile through his tears; “wasn't it fun, Polly?”
“I guess 'twas,” laughed Polly back again, pleased at the return of sunshine. “Well, Jasper'll be just as pleased as you were, 'cause we love him and want to do somethin' for him, he was so good to Phronsie.”
“I will, Polly, I will,” cried Joel, completely won over; “do let's make 'em for him; and put 'em in thick; oh! thick as you can;” and determined to do nothing by halves, Joel ran generously for the precious howl of raisins, and after setting it on the table, began to help Polly in all needful preparations.
Mrs. Pepper smiled away to herself to see happiness restored to the little group. And soon a pleasant hum and bustle went on around the baking table, the centre of attraction.
“Now,” said Phronsie, coming up to the table and standing on tip-toe to see Polly measure out the flour, “I'm a-goin' to bake something for my sick man, I am.”
“Oh, no, Phronsie, you can't,” began Polly.
“Hey?” asked Joel, with a daub of flour on the tip of his chubby nose, gained by too much peering into Polly's flour-bag. “What did she say, Polly?” watching her shake the clouds of flour in the sieve.
“She said she was goin' to bake something for Jasper,” said Polly. “There,” as she whisked in the flour, “now that's done.”
“No, I didn't say Jasper,” said Phronsie; “I didn't say Jasper,” she repeated, emphatically.
“Why, what did you say, Pet?” asked Polly, astonished, while little Davie repeated, “What did you say, Phronsie?”
“I said my sick man,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head; “poor sick man.”
“Who does she mean?” said Polly in despair, stopping a moment her violent stirring that threatened to overturn the whole cake-bowl.
“I guess she means Prince,” said Joel. “Can't I stir, Polly?”
“Oh, no,” said Polly; “only one person must stir cake.”
“Why?” asked Joel; “why, Polly?”
“Oh, I don't know,” said Polly, “cause 'tis so; never mind now, Joel. Do you mean Prince, Phronsie?”
“No, I don't mean Princey,” said the child decisively; “I mean my sick man.”
“It's Jasper's father, I guess she means,” said Mrs. Pepper over in the corner; “but what in the world!”
“Yes, yes,” cried Phronsie, perfectly delighted at being at last understood, and hopping on one toe; “my sick man.”
“I shall give up!” said Polly, tumbling over in a chair, with the cake spoon in her hand, from which a small sticky lump fell on her apron, which Joel immediately pounced upon and devoured. “What do you want to bake, Phronsie?” she gasped, holding the spoon sticking up straight, and staring at the child.
“A gingerbread boy,” said the child, promptly; “he'd like that best; poor, sick man!” and she commenced to climb up to active preparations.