“Ma,” said David, coming softly into the bedroom, where poor Polly lay on the bed with Phronsie, her eyes bandaged with a soft old handkerchief, “I'll set the table.”
“There isn't any table to set,” said Mrs. Pepper, sadly; “there isn't anybody to eat anything, Davie; you and Joel can get something out of the cupboard.”
“Can we get whatever we've a mind to, ma?” cried Joel, who followed Davie, rubbing his face with a towel after his morning ablutions.
“Yes,” replied his mother, absently.
“Come on, Dave!” cried Joel; “we'll have a breakfast!”
“We mustn't,” said little Davie, doubtfully, “eat the whole, Joey.”
But that individual already had his head in the cupboard, which soon engrossed them both.
Dr. Fisher was called in the middle of the morning to see what was the matter with Polly's eyes. The little man looked at her keenly over his spectacles; then he said, “When were you taken?”
“This morning,” answered Polly, her eyes smarting.
“Didn't you feel badly before?” questioned the doctor. Polly thought back; and then she remembered that she had felt very badly; that when she was baking over the old stove the day before her back had ached dreadfully; and that, somehow, when she sat down to sew, it didn't stop; only her eyes had bothered her so; she didn't mind her back so much.
“I thought so,” said the doctor, when Polly answered. “And those eyes of yours have been used too much; what has she been doing, ma'am?” He turned around sharply on Mrs. Pepper as he asked this.
“Sewing,” said Mrs. Pepper, “and everything; Polly does everything, sir.”
“Humph!” said the doctor; “well, she won't again in one spell; her eyes are very bad.”
At this a whoop, small but terrible to hear, came from the middle of the bed; and Phronsie sat bolt upright. Everybody started; while Phronsie broke out, “Don't make my Polly sick! oh! please don't!”
“Hey!” said the doctor; and he looked kindly at the small object with a very red face in the middle of the bed. Then he added, gently, “We're going to make Polly well, little girl; so that she can see splendidly.”
“Will you, really?” asked the child, doubtfully.
“Yes,” said the doctor; “we'll try hard; and you mustn't cry; 'cause then Polly'll cry, and that will make her eyes very bad; very bad indeed,” he repeated, impressively.
“I won't cry,” said Phronsie; “no, not one bit.” And she wiped off the last tear with her fat little hand, and watched to see what next was to be done.
And Polly was left, very rebellious indeed, in the big bed, with a cooling lotion on the poor eyes, that somehow didn't cool them one bit.
“If 'twas anythin' but my eyes, mammy, I could stand it,” she bewailed, flouncing over and over in her impatience; “and who'll do all the work now?”
“Don't think of the work, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“I can't do anything but think,” said poor Polly.
Just at that moment a queer noise out in the kitchen was heard.
“Do go out, mother, and see what 'tis,” said Polly.
“I've come,” said a cracked voice, close up by the bedroom door, followed by a big black cap, which could belong to no other than Grandma Bascom, “to set by you a spell; what's the matter?” she asked, and stopped, amazed to see Polly in bed.
“Oh, Polly's taken,” screamed Mrs. Pepper in her ear.
“Taken!” repeated the old lady, “what is it—a fit?”
“No,” said Mrs. Pepper; “the same as Ben's got; and Phronsie; the measles.”
“The measles, has she?” said grandma; “well, that's bad; and Ben's away, you say.”
“No, he isn't either,” screamed Mrs. Pepper, “he's got them, too!”
“Got two what?” asked grandma.
“Measles! he's got the measles too,” repeated Mrs. Pepper, loud as she could; so loud that the old lady's cap trembled at the noise.
“Oh! the dreadful!” said grandma; “and this girl too?” laying her hand on Phronsie's head.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, feeling it a little relief to tell over her miseries; “all three of them!”
“I haven't,” said Joel, coming in in hopes that grandma had a stray peppermint or two in her pocket, as she sometimes did; “and I'm not going to, either.”
“Oh, dear,” groaned his mother; “that's what Polly said; and she's got 'em bad. It's her eyes,” she screamed to grandma, who looked inquiringly.
“Her eyes, is it?” asked Mrs. Bascom; “well, I've got a receet that cousin Samanthy's folks had when John's children had 'em; and I'll run right along home and get it,” and she started to go.
“No, you needn't,” screamed Mrs. Pepper; “thank you, Mrs. Bascom; but Dr. Fisher's been here; and he put something on Polly's eyes; and he said it mustn't be touched.”
“Hey?” said the old lady; so Mrs. Pepper had to go all over it again, till at last she made her understand that Polly's eyes were taken care of, and they must wait for time to do the rest.
“You come along of me,” whispered grandma, when at last her call was done, to Joel who stood by the door. “I've got some peppermints to home; I forgot to bring 'em.”
“Yes'm,” said Joel, brightening up.
“Where you going, Joe?” asked Mrs. Pepper, seeing him move off with Mrs. Bascom; “I may want you.”
“Oh, I've got to go over to grandma's,” said Joel briskly; “she wants me.”
“Well, don't be gone long then,” replied his mother.
“There,” said grandma, going into her “keeping-room” to an old-fashioned chest of drawers; opening one, she took therefrom a paper, from which she shook out before Joe's delighted eyes some red and white peppermint drops. “There now, you take these home; you may have some, but be sure you give the most to the sick ones; and Polly—let Polly have the biggest.”
“She won't take 'em,” said Joel, wishing he had the measles. “Well, you try her,” said grandma; “run along now.” But it was useless to tell Joel that, for he was half-way home already. He carried out grandma's wishes, and distributed conscientiously the precious drops. But when he came to Polly, she didn't answer; and looking at her in surprise he saw two big tears rolling out under the bandage and wetting the pillow.
“I don't want 'em, Joe,” said Polly, when he made her understand that “twas peppermints, real peppermints;” “you may have 'em.”
“Try one, Polly; they're real good,” said Joel, who had an undefined wish to comfort; “there, open your mouth.”
So Polly opened her mouth, and Joel put one in with satisfaction.
“Isn't it good?” he asked, watching her crunch it.
“Yes,” said Polly, “real good; where'd you get 'em?”
“Over to Grandma Bascom's,” said Joel; “she gave me lots for all of us; have another, Polly?”
“No,” said Polly, “not yet; you put two on my pillow where I can reach 'em; and then you keep the rest, Joel.”
“I'll put three,” said Joel, counting out one red and two white ones, and laying them on the pillow; “there!”
“And I want another, Joey, I do,” said Phronsie from the other side of the bed.
“Well, you may have one,” said Joel; “a red one, Phronsie; yes, you may have two. Now come on, Dave; we'll have the rest out by the wood-pile.”
How they ever got through that day, I don't know. But late in the afternoon carriage wheels were heard; and then they stopped right at the Peppers' little brown gate.
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, running to the bedroom door, “it's Mrs. Henderson!”
“Is it?” said Polly, from the darkened room, “oh! I'm so glad! is Miss Jerushy with her?” she asked, fearfully.
“No,” said Mrs. Pepper, going back to ascertain; “why, it's the parson himself! Deary! how we look!”
“Never mind, mammy,” called back Polly, longing to spring out of bed and fix up a bit.
“I'm sorry to hear the children are sick,” said Mrs. Henderson, coming in, in her sweet, gentle way.
“We didn't know it,” said the minister, “until this morning—can we see them?”
“Oh yes, sir,” said Mrs. Pepper; “Ben's upstairs; and Polly and Phronsie are in here.”
“Poor little things!” said Mrs. Henderson, compassionately; “hadn't you better,” turning to the minister, “go up and see Ben first, while I will visit the little girls?”
So the minister mounted the crooked stairs; and Mrs. Henderson went straight up to Polly's side; and the first thing Polly knew, a cool, gentle hand was laid on her hot head, and a voice said, “I've come to see my little chicken now!”
“Oh, ma'am,” said Polly, bursting into a sob, “I don't care about my eyes—only mammy—” and she broke right down.
“I know,” said the minister's wife, soothingly; “but it's for you to bear patiently, Polly—what do you suppose the chicks were doing when I came away?” And Mrs. Henderson, while she held Polly's hand, smiled and nodded encouragingly to Phronsie, who was staring at her from the other side of the bed.
“I don't know, ma'am,” said Polly; “please tell us.”
“Well, they were all fighting over a grasshopper—yes, ten of them.”
“Which one got it?” asked Polly in intense interest; “oh! I hope the white one did!”
“Well, he looked as much like winning as any of them,” said the lady, laughing.
“Bless her!” thought Mrs. Pepper to herself out in the kitchen, finishing the sack Polly had left; “she's a parson's wife, I say!”
And then the minister came down from Ben's room, and went into the bedroom; and Mrs. Henderson went up-stairs into the loft.
“So,” he said kindly, as after patting Phronsie's head he came over and sat down by Polly, “this is the little girl who came to see me when I was sick.”
“Oh, sir,” said Polly, “I'm so glad you wasn't!”
“Well, when I come again,” said Mr. Henderson, rising after a merry chat, “I see I shall have to slip a book into my pocket, and read for those poor eyes.”
“Oh, thank you!” cried Polly; and then she stopped and blushed.
“Well, what is it?” asked the minister, encouragingly.
“Ben loves to hear reading,” said Polly.
“Does he? well, by that time, my little girl, I guess Ben will be down-stairs; he's all right, Polly; don't you worry about him—and I'll sit in the kitchen, by the bedroom door, and you can hear nicely.”
So the Hendersons went away. But somehow, before they went, a good many things found their way out of the old-fashioned chaise into the Peppers' little kitchen.
But Polly's eyes didn't get any better, with all the care; and the lines of worry on Mrs. Pepper's face grew deeper and deeper. At last, she just confronted Dr. Fisher in the kitchen, one day after his visit to Polly, and boldly asked him if they ever could be cured. “I know she's—and there isn't any use keeping it from me,” said the poor woman—“she's going to be stone-blind!”
“My good woman,” Dr. Fisher's voice was very gentle; and he took the hard, brown hand in his own—“your little girl will not be blind; I tell you the truth; but it will take some time to make her eyes quite strong—time, and rest. She has strained them in some way, but she will come out of it.”
“Praise the Lord!” cried Mrs. Pepper, throwing her apron over her head; and then she sobbed on, “and thank you, sir—I can't ever thank you—for—for—if Polly was blind, we might as well give up!”
The next day, Phronsie, who had the doctor's permission to sit up, only she was to be kept from taking cold, scampered around in stocking-feet in search of her shoes, which she hadn't seen since she was first taken sick.
“Oh, I want on my very best shoes,” she cried; “can't I, mammy?”
“Oh, no, Phronsie; you must keep them nice,” remonstrated her mother; “you can't wear 'em every-day, you know.”
“'Tisn't every-day,” said Phronsie, slowly; “it's only one day.”
“Well, and then you'll want 'em on again tomorrow,” said her mother.
“Oh, no, I won't!” cried Phronsie; “never, no more to-morrow, if I can have 'em to-day; please, mammy dear!”
Mrs. Pepper went to the lowest drawer in the high bureau, and took therefrom a small parcel done up in white tissue paper. Slowly unrolling this before the delighted eyes of the child, who stood patiently waiting, she disclosed the precious red-topped shoes which Phronsie immediately clasped to her bosom.
“My own, very own shoes! whole mine!” she cried, and trudged out into the kitchen to put them on herself.
“Hulloa!” cried Dr. Fisher, coming in about a quarter of an hour later to find her tugging laboriously at the buttons—“new shoes! I declare!”
“My own!” cried Phronsie, sticking out one foot for inspection, where every button was in the wrong button-hole, “and they've got red tops, too!”
“So they have,” said the doctor, getting down on the floor beside her; “beautiful red tops, aren't they?”
“Be-yew-ti-ful,” sang the child delightedly.
“Does Polly have new shoes every day?” asked the doctor in a low voice, pretending to examine the other foot.
Phronsie opened her eyes very wide at this.
“Oh, no, she don't have anything, Polly don't.”
“And what does Polly want most of all—do you know? see if you can tell me.” And the doctor put on the most alluring expression that he could muster.
“Oh, I know!” cried Phronsie, with a very wise look. “There now,” cried the doctor, “you're the girl for me! to think you know! so, what is it?”
Phronsie got up very gravely, and with one shoe half on, she leaned over and whispered in the doctor's ear:
“A stove!”
“A what?” said the doctor, looking at her, and then at the old, black thing in the corner, that looked as if it were ashamed of itself; “why, she's got one.”
“Oh,” said the child, “it won't burn; and sometimes Polly cries, she does, when she's all alone—and I see her.”
“Now,” said the doctor, very sympathetically, “that's too bad; that is! and then what does she do?”
“Oh, Ben stuffs it up,” said the child, laughing; “and so does Polly too, with paper; and then it all tumbles out quick; oh! just as quick!” And Phronsie shook her yellow head at the dismal remembrance.
“Do you suppose,” said the doctor, getting up, “that you know of any smart little girl around here, about four years old and that knows how to button on her own red-topped shoes, that would like to go to ride to-morrow morning in my carriage with me?
“Oh, I do!” cried Phronsie, hopping on one toe; “it's me!”
“Very well, then,” said Dr. Fisher, going to the bedroom door, “we'll lookout for to-morrow, then.”
To poor Polly, lying in the darkened room, or sitting up in the big rocking-chair—for Polly wasn't really very sick in other respects, the disease having all gone into the merry brown eyes—the time seemed interminable. Not to do anything! The very idea at any time would have filled her active, wide-awake little body with horror; and now, here she was!
“Oh, dear, I can't bear it!” she said, when she knew by the noise in the kitchen that everybody was out there; so nobody heard, except a fat, old black spider in the corner, and he didn't tell anyone!
“I know it's a week,” she said, “since dinnertime! If Ben were only well, to talk to me.”
“Oh, I say, Polly,” screamed Joel at that moment running in, “Ben's a-comin' down the stairs!”
“Stop, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper; “you shouldn't have told; he wanted to surprise Polly.”
“Oh, is he!” cried Polly, clasping her hands in rapture; “mammy, can't I take off this horrid bandage, and see him?”
“Dear me, no!” said Mrs. Pepper, springing forward; “not for the world, Polly! Dr. Fisher'd have our ears off!”
“Well, I can hear, any way,” said Polly, resigning herself to the remaining comfort; “here he is! oh, Ben!”
“There,” said Ben, grasping Polly, bandage and all; “now we're all right; and say, Polly, you're a brick!”
“Mammy told me not to say that the other day,” said Joel, with a very virtuous air.
“Can't help it,” said Ben, who was a little wild over Polly, and besides, he had been sick himself, and had borne a good deal too.
“Now,” said Mrs. Pepper, after the first excitement was over, “you're so comfortable together, and Phronsie don't want me now, I'll go to the store; I must get some more work if Mr. Atkins'll give it to me.”
“I'll be all right now, mammy, that Ben's here,” cried Polly, settling back into her chair, with Phronsie on the stool at her feet.
“I'm goin' to tell her stories, ma,” cried Ben, “so you needn't worry about us.”
“Isn't it funny, Ben,” said Polly, as the gate clicked after the mother, “to be sitting still, and telling stories in the daytime?”
“Rather funny!” replied Ben.
“Well, do go on,” said Joel, as usual, rolling on the floor, in a dreadful hurry for the story to begin. Little David looked up quietly, as he sat on Ben's other side, his hands clasped tight together, just as eager, though he said nothing.
“Well; once upon a time,” began Ben delightfully, and launched into one of the stories that the children thought perfectly lovely.
“Oh, Bensie,” cried Polly, entranced, as they listened with bated breath, “however do you think of such nice things!”
“I've had time enough to think, the last week,” said Ben, laughing, “to last a life-time!”
“Do go on,” put in Joel, impatient at the delay.
“Don't hurry him so,” said Polly, reprovingly; “he isn't strong.”
“Ben,” said David, drawing a long breath, his eyes very big—, “did he really see a bear?”
“No,” said Ben; “oh! where was I?”
“Why, you said Tommy heard a noise,” said Polly, “and he thought it was a bear.”
“Oh, yes,” said Ben; “I remember; 'twasn't a—”
“Oh, make it a bear, Ben!” cried Joel, terribly disappointed; “don't let it be not a bear.”
“Why, I can't,” said Ben; “twouldn't sound true.”
“Never mind, make it sound true,” insisted Joel; “you can make anything true.”
“Very well,” said Ben, laughing; “I suppose I must.”
“Make it two bears, Ben,” begged little Phronsie.
“Oh, no, Phronsie, that's too much,” cried Joel; “that'll spoil it; but make it a big bear, do Ben, and have him bite him somewhere, and most kill him.”
“Oh, Joel!” cried Polly, while David's eyes got bigger than ever.
So Ben drew upon his powers as story-teller, to suit his exacting audience, and was making his bear work havoc upon poor Tommy in a way captivating to all, even Joel, when, “Well, I declare,” sounded Mrs. Pepper's cheery voice coming in upon them, “if this isn't comfortable!”
“Oh, mammy!” cried Phronsie, jumping out of Polly's arms, whither she had taken refuge during the thrilling tale, and running to her mother who gathered her baby up, “we've had a bear! a real, live bear, we have! Ben made him!”
“Have you!” said Mrs. Pepper, taking off her shawl, and laying her parcel of work down on the table, “now, that's nice!”
“Oh, mammy!” cried Polly, “it does seem so good to be all together again!”
“And I thank the Lord!” said Mrs. Pepper, looking down on her happy little group; and the tears were in her eyes—“and children, we ought to be very good and please Him, for He's been so good to us.”
When Phronsie, with many crows of delight, and much chattering, had gotten fairly started the following morning on her much-anticipated drive with the doctor, the whole family excepting Polly drawn up around the door to see them off, Mrs. Pepper resolved to snatch the time and run down for an hour or two to one of her customers who had long been waiting for a little “tailoring” to be done for her boys.
“Now, Joel,” she said, putting on her bonnet before the cracked looking-glass, “you stay along of Polly; Ben must go up to bed, the doctor said; and Davie's going to the store for some molasses; so you and Polly must keep house.”
“Yes'm,” said Joel; “may I have somethin' to eat, ma?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper; “but don't you eat the new bread; you may have as much as you want of the old.”
“Isn't there any molasses, mammy?” asked Joel, as she bade Polly good-bye! and gave her numberless charges “to be careful of your eyes,” and “not to let a crack of light in through the curtain,” as the old green paper shade was called.
“No; if you're very hungry, you can eat bread,” said Mrs. Pepper, sensibly.
“Joel,” said Polly, after the mother had gone, “I do wish you could read to me.”
“Well, I can't,” said Joel, glad he didn't know how; “I thought the minister was comin'.”
“Well, he was,” said Polly, “but mammy said he had to go out of town to a consequence.”
“A what!” asked Joel, very much impressed.
“A con—” repeated Polly. “Well, it began with a con—and I am sure—yes, very sure it was consequence.”
“That must be splendid,” said Joel, coming up to her chair, and slowly drawing a string he held in his hand back and forth, “to go to consequences, and everything! When I'm a man, Polly Pepper, I'm going to be a minister, and have a nice time, and go—just everywhere!”
“Oh, Joel!” exclaimed Polly, quite shocked; “you couldn't be one; you aren't good enough.”
“I don't care,” said Joel, not at all dashed by her plainness, “I'll be good then—when I'm a big man; don't you suppose, Polly,” as a new idea struck him, “that Mr. Henderson ever is naughty?”
“No,” said Polly, very decidedly; “never, never, never!”
“Then, I don't want to be one,” said Joel, veering round with a sigh of relief, “and besides I'd rather have a pair of horses like Mr. Slocum's, and then I could go everywheres, I guess!”
“And sell tin?” asked Polly, “just like Mr. Slocum?”
“Yes,” said Joel; “this is the way I'd go—Gee-whop! gee-whoa!” and Joel pranced with his imaginary steeds all around the room, making about as much noise as any other four boys, as he brought up occasionally against the four-poster or the high old bureau.
“Well!” said a voice close up by Polly's chair, that made her skip with apprehension, it was so like Miss Jerusha Henderson's—Joel was whooping away behind the bedstead to his horses that had become seriously entangled, so he didn't hear anything. But when Polly said, bashfully, “I can't see anything, ma'am,” he came up red and shining to the surface, and stared with all his might.
“I came to see you, little girl,” said Miss Jerusha severely, seating herself stiffly by Polly's side.
“Thank you, ma'am,” said Polly, faintly.
“Who's this boy?” asked the lady, turning around squarely on Joel, and eying him from head to foot.
“He's my brother Joel,” said Polly.
Joel still stared.
“Which brother?” pursued Miss Jerusha, like a census-taker.
“He is next to me,” said Polly, wishing her mother was home; “he's nine, Joel is.”
“He's big enough to do something to help his mother,” said Miss Jerusha, looking him through and through. “Don't you think you might do something, when the others are sick, and your poor mother is working so hard?” she continued, in a cold voice.
“I do something,” blurted out Joel, sturdily, “lots and lots!”
“You shouldn't say 'lots,” reproved Miss Jerusha, with a sharp look over her spectacles, “tisn't proper for boys to talk so; what do you do all day long?” she asked, turning back to Polly, after a withering glance at Joel, who still stared.
“I can't do anything, ma'am,” replied Polly, sadly, “I can't see to do anything.”
“Well, you might knit, I should think,” said her visitor, “it's dreadful for a girl as big as you are to sit all day idle; I had sore eyes once when I was a little girl—how old are you?” she asked, abruptly.
“Eleven last month,” said Polly.
“Well, I wasn't only nine when I knit a stocking; and I had sore eyes, too; you see I was a very little girl, and—”
“Was you ever little?” interrupted Joel, in extreme incredulity, drawing near, and looking over the big square figure.
“Hey?” said Miss Jerusha; so Joel repeated his question before Polly could stop him.
“Of course,” answered Miss Jerusha; and then she added, tartly, “little boys shouldn't speak unless they're spoken to. Now,” and she turned back to Polly again, “didn't you ever knit a stocking?”
“No, ma'am,” said Polly, “not a whole one.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Miss Jerusha; “did I ever!” And she raised her black mitts in intense disdain. “A big girl like you never to knit a stocking! to think your mother should bring you up so! and—”
“She didn't bring us up,” screamed Joel, in indignation, facing her with blazing eyes.
“Joel,” said Polly, “be still.”
“And you're very impertinent, too,” said Miss Jerusha; “a good child never is impertinent.”
Polly sat quite still; and Miss Jerusha continued:
“Now, I hope you will learn to be industrious; and when I come again, I will see what you have done.”
“You aren't ever coming again,” said Joel, defiantly; “no, never!”
“Joel!” implored Polly, and in her distress she pulled up her bandage as she looked at him; “you know mammy'll be so sorry at you! Oh, ma'am, and” she turned to Miss Jerusha, who was now thoroughly aroused to the duty she saw before her of doing these children good, “I don't know what is the reason, ma'am; Joel never talks so; he's real good; and—”
“It only shows,” said the lady, seeing her way quite clear for a little exhortation, “that you've all had your own way from infancy; and that you don't do what you might to make your mother's life a happy one.”
“Oh, ma'am,” cried Polly, and she burst into a flood of tears, “please, please don't say that!”
“And I say,” screamed Joel, stamping his small foot, “if you make Polly cry you'll kill her! Don't Polly, don't!” and the boy put both arms around her neck, and soothed and comforted her in every way he could think of. And Miss Jerusha, seeing no way to make herself heard, disappeared feeling pity for children who would turn away from good advice.
But still Polly cried on; all the pent-up feelings that had been so long controlled had free vent now. She really couldn't stop! Joel, frightened to death, at last said, “I'm going to wake up Ben.”
That brought Polly to; and she sobbed out, “Oh, no, Jo—ey—I'll stop.”
“I will,” said Joel, seeing his advantage; “I'm going, Polly,” and he started to the foot of the stairs.
“No, I'm done now, Joe,” said Polly, wiping her eyes, and choking back her thoughts—“oh, Joe! I must scream! my eyes aches so!” and poor Polly fairly writhed all over the chair.
“What'll I do?” said Joel, at his wits' end, running back, “do you want some water?”
“Oh, no,” gasped Polly; “doctor wouldn't let me; oh! I wish mammy'd come!”
“I'll go and look for her,” suggested Joel, feeling as if he must do something; and he'd rather be out at the gate, than to see Polly suffer.
“That won't bring her,” said Polly; trying to keep still; “I'll try to wait.”
“Here she is now!” cried Joel, peeping out of the window; “oh! goody!”
“Well,” Mrs. Pepper's tone was unusually blithe as she stepped into the kitchen—“you've had a nice time, I suppose—what in the world!” and she stopped at the bedroom door.
“Oh, mammy, if you'd been here!” said Joel, while Polly sat still, only holding on to her eyes as if they were going to fly out; “there's been a big woman here; she came right in—and she talked awfully! and Polly's been a-cryin', and her eyes ache dreadfully—and—”
“Been crying!” repeated Mrs. Pepper, coming up to poor Polly. “Polly been crying!” she still repeated.
“Oh, mammy, I couldn't help it,” said Polly; “she said—” and in spite of all she could do, the rain of tears began again, which bade fair to be as uncontrolled as before. But Mrs. Pepper took her up firmly in her arms, as if she were Phronsie, and sat down in the old rocking-chair and just patted her back.
“There, there,” she whispered, soothingly, “don't think of it, Polly; mother's got home.”
“Oh, mammy,” said Polly, crawling up to the comfortable neck for protection, “I ought not to mind; but 'twas Miss Jerusha Henderson; and she said—”
“What did she say?” asked Mrs. Pepper, thinking perhaps it to be the wiser thing to let Polly free her mind.
“Oh, she said that we ought to be doing something; and I ought to knit, and—”
“Go on,” said her mother.
“And then Joel got naughty; oh, mammy, he never did so before; and I couldn't stop him,” cried Polly, in great distress; “I really couldn't, mammy—and he talked to her; and he told her she wasn't ever coming here again.”
“Joel shouldn't have said that,” said Mrs. Pepper, and under her breath something was added that Polly even failed to hear—“but no more she isn't!”
“And, mammy,” cried Polly—and she flung her arms around her mother's neck and gave her a grasp that nearly choked Mrs. Pepper, “ain't I helpin' you some, mammy? Oh! I wish I could do something big for you? Ain't you happy, mammy?”
“For the land's sakes!” cried Mrs. Pepper, straining Polly to her heart, “whatever has that woman—whatever could she have said to you? Such a girl as you are, too!” cried Mrs. Pepper, hugging Polly, and covering her with kisses so tender, that Polly, warmed and cuddled up to her heart's content, was comforted to the full.
“Well,” said Mrs. Pepper, when at last she thought she had formed between Polly and Joel about the right idea of the visit, “well, now we won't think of it, ever any more; 'tisn't worth it, Polly, you know.”
But poor Polly! and poor mother! They both were obliged to think of it. Nothing could avert the suffering of the next few days, caused by that long flow of burning tears.
“Nothing feels good on 'em, mammy,” said Polly, at last, twisting her hands in the vain attempt to keep from rubbing the aching, inflamed eyes that drove her nearly wild with their itching, “there isn't any use in trying anything.”
“There will be use,” energetically protested Mrs. Pepper, bringing another cool bandage, “as long as you've got an eye in your head, Polly Pepper!”
Dr. Fisher's face, when he first saw the change that the fateful visit had wrought, and heard the accounts, was very grave indeed. Everything had been so encouraging on his last visit, that he had come very near promising Polly speedy freedom from the hateful bandage.
But the little Pepper household soon had something else to think of more important even than Polly's eyes, for now the heartiest, the jolliest of all the little group was down—Joel. How he fell sick, they scarcely knew, it all came so suddenly. The poor, bewildered family had hardly time to think, before delirium and, perhaps, death stared them in the face.
When Polly first heard it, by Phronsie's pattering downstairs and screaming: “Oh, Polly, Joey's dre-ad-ful sick, he is!” she jumped right up, and tore off the bandage.
“Now, I will help mother! I will, so there!” and in another minute she would have been up in the sick room. But the first thing she knew, a gentle but firm hand was laid upon hers; and she found herself back again in the old rocking-chair, and listening to the Doctor's words which were quite stern and decisive.
“Now, I tell you,” he said, “you must not take off that bandage again; do you know the consequences? You will be blind! and then you will be a care to your mother all your life!”
“I shall be blind, anyway,” said Polly, despairingly; “so 'twon't make any difference.”
“No; your eyes will come out of it all right, only I did hope,” and the good doctor's face fell—“that the other two boys would escape; but,” and he brightened up at sight of Polly's forlorn visage—“see you do your part by keeping still.”
But there came a day soon when everything was still around the once happy little brown house—when only whispers were heard from white lips; and thoughts were fearfully left unuttered.
On the morning of one of these days, when Mrs. Pepper felt she could not exist an hour longer without sleep, kind Mrs. Beebe came to stay until things were either better or worse.
Still the cloud hovered, dark and forbidding. At last, one afternoon, when Polly was all alone, she could endure it no longer. She flung herself down by the side of the old bed, and buried her face in the gay patched bed-quilt.
“Dear God,” she said, “make me willing to have anything,” she hesitated—“yes, anything happen; to be blind forever, and to have Joey sick, only make me good.”
How long she staid there she never knew; for she fell asleep—the first sleep she had had since Joey was taken sick. And little Mrs. Beebe coming in found her thus.
“Polly,” the good woman said, leaning over her, “you poor, pretty creeter, you; I'm goin' to tell you somethin'—there, there, just to think! Joel's goin' to get well!”
“Oh, Mrs. Beebe!” cried Polly, tumbling over in a heap on the floor, her face, as much as could be seen under the bandage, in a perfect glow, “Is he, really?”
“Yes, to be sure; the danger's all over now,” said the little old lady, inwardly thinking—“If I hadn't a-come!”
“Well, then, the Lord wants him to,” cried Polly, in rapture; “don't he, Mrs. Beebe?”
“To be sure—to be sure,” repeated the kind friend, only half understanding.
“Well, I don't care about my eyes, then,” cried Polly; and to Mrs. Beebe's intense astonishment and dismay, she spun round and round in the middle of the floor.
“Oh, Polly, Polly!” the little old lady cried, running up to her, “do stop! the doctor wouldn't let you! he wouldn't really, you know! it'll all go to your eyes.”
“I don't care,” repeated Polly, in the middle of a spin; but she stopped obediently; “seems as if I just as soon be blind as not; it's so beautiful Joey's going to get well!”
But as Joel was smitten down suddenly, so he came up quickly, and his hearty nature asserted itself by rapid strides toward returning health; and one morning he astonished them all by turning over suddenly and exclaiming:
“I want something to eat!”
“Bless the Lord!” cried Mrs. Pepper, “now he's going to live!”
“But he mustn't eat,” protested Mrs. Beebe, in great alarm, trotting for the cup of gruel. “Here, you pretty creeter you, here's something nice.” And she temptingly held the spoon over Joel's mouth; but with a grimace he turned away.
“Oh, I want something to eat! some gingerbread or some bread and butter.”
“Dear me!” ejaculated Mrs. Beebe. “Gingerbread!” Poor Mrs. Pepper saw the hardest part of her trouble now before her, as she realized that the returning appetite must be fed only on strengthening food; for where it was to come from she couldn't tell.
“The Lord only knows where we'll get it,” she groaned within herself.
Yes, He knew. A rap at the door, and little David ran down to find the cause.
“Oh, mammy,” he said, “Mrs. Henderson sent it—see! see!” And in the greatest excitement he placed in her lap a basket that smelt savory and nice even before it was opened. When it was opened, there lay a little bird delicately roasted, and folded in a clean napkin; also a glass of jelly, crimson and clear.
“Oh, Joey,” cried Mrs. Pepper, almost overwhelmed with joy, “see what Mrs. Henderson sent you! now you can eat fit for a king!”
That little bird certainly performed its mission in life; for as Mrs. Beebe said, “It just touched the spot!” and from that very moment Joel improved so rapidly they could hardly believe their eyes.
“Hoh! I haven't been sick!” he cried on the third day, true to his nature. “Mammy, I want to get up.”
“Oh, dear, no! you mustn't, Joel,” cried Mrs. Pepper in a fright, running up to him as he was preparing to give the bedclothes a lusty kick; “you'll send 'em in.”
“Send what in?” asked Joel, looking up at his mother in terror, as the dreadful thought made him pause.
“Why, the measles, Joey; they'll all go in if you get out.”
“How they goin' to get in again, I'd like to know?” asked Joel, looking at the little red spots on his hands in incredulity; say, ma!
“Well, they will,” said his mother, “as you'll find to your sorrow if you get out of bed.”
“Oh, dear,” said Joel, beginning to whimper, as he drew into bed again, “when can I get up, mammy!”
“Oh, in a day or two,” responded Mrs. Pepper, cheerfully; “you're getting on so finely you'll be as smart as a cricket! Shouldn't you say he might get up in a day or two, Mrs. Beebe?” she appealed to that individual who was knitting away cheerily in the corner.
“Well, if he keeps on as he's begun, I shouldn't know what to think,” replied Mrs. Beebe. “It beats all how quick he's picked up. I never see anything like it, I'm sure!”
And as Mrs. Beebe was a great authority in sickness, the old, sunny cheeriness began to creep into the brown house once more, and to bubble over as of yore.
“Seems as if 'twas just good to live,” said Mrs. Pepper, thankfully once, when her thoughts were too much for her. “I don't believe I shall ever care how poor we are,” she continued, “as long as we're together.”
“And that's just what the Lord meant, maybe,” replied good Mrs. Beebe, who was preparing to go home.
Joel kept the house in a perfect uproar all through his getting well. Mrs. Pepper observed one day, when he had been more turbulent than usual, that she was “almost worn to a thread.”
“Twasn't anything to take care of you, Joe,” she added, “when you were real sick, because then I knew where you were; but—well, you won't ever have the measles again, I s'pose, and that's some comfort!”
Little David, who had been nearly stunned by the sickness that had laid aside his almost constant companion, could express his satisfaction and joy in no other way than by running every third minute and begging to do something for him. And Joel, who loved dearly to be waited on, improved every opportunity that offered; which Mrs. Pepper observing, soon put a stop to.
“You'll run his legs off, Joel,” at last she said, when he sent David the third time down to the wood-pile for a stick of just the exact thickness, and which the little messenger declared wasn't to be found. “Haven't you any mercy? You've kept him going all day, too,” she added, glancing at David's pale face.
“Oh, mammy,” panted David, “don't; I love to go. Here Joe, is the best I could find,” handing him a nice smooth stick.
“I know you do,” said his mother; “but Joe's getting better now, and he must learn to spare you.”
“I don't want to spare folks,” grumbled Joel, whittling away with energy; “I've been sick—real sick,” he added, lifting his chubby face to his mother to impress the fact.
“I know you have,” she cried, running to kiss her boy; “but now, Joe, you're most well. To-morrow I'm going to let you go down-stairs; what do you think of that!”
“Hooray!” screamed Joel, throwing away the stick and clapping his hands, forgetting all about his serious illness, “that'll be prime!”
“Aren't you too sick to go, Joey?” asked Mrs. Pepper, mischievously.
“No, I'm not sick,” cried Joel, in the greatest alarm, fearful his mother meant to take back the promise; “I've never been sick. Oh, mammy! you know you'll let me go, won't your?”
“I guess so,” laughed his mother.
“Come on, Phron,” cried Joel, giving her a whirl.
David, who was too tired for active sport, sat on the floor and watched them frolic in great delight.
“Mammy,” said he, edging up to her side as the sport went on, “do you know, I think it's just good—it's—oh, it's so frisky since Joe got well, isn't it, mammy?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Pepper, giving him a radiant look in return for his; “and when Polly's around again with her two eyes all right—well, I don't know what we shall do, I declare!”
“Boo!” cried a voice, next morning, close to Polly's elbow, unmistakably Joel's.
“Oh, Joel Pepper!” she cried, whirling around, “is that really you!”
“Yes,” cried that individual, confidently, “it's I; oh, I say, Polly, I've had fun up-stairs, I tell you what!”
“Poor boy!” said Polly, compassionately.
“I wasn't a poor boy,” cried Joel, indignantly; “I had splendid things to eat; oh, my!” and he closed one eye and smacked his lips in the delightful memory.
“I know it,” said Polly, “and I'm so glad, Joel.”
“I don't suppose I'll ever get so many again,” observed Joel, reflectively, after a minute's pause, as one and another of the wondrous delicacies rose before his mind's eye; “not unless I have the measles again—say, Polly, can't I have 'em again?”
“Mercy, no!” cried Polly, in intense alarm, “I hope not.”
“Well, I don't,” said Joel, “I wish I could have 'em sixty—no—two hundred times, so there!”
“Well, mammy couldn't take care of you,” said Ben; “you don't know what you're sayin', Joe.”
“Well, then, I wish I could have the things without the measles,” said Joel, willing to accommodate; “only folks won't send 'em,” he added, in an injured tone.
“Polly's had the hardest time of all,” said her mother, affectionately patting the bandage.
“I think so too,” put in Ben; “if my eyes were hurt I'd give up.”
“So would I,” said David; and Joel, to be in the fashion, cried also, “I know I would;” while little Phronsie squeezed up to Polly's side, “And I, too.”
“Would what, Puss?” asked Ben, tossing her up high. “Have good things,” cried the child, in delight at understanding the others, “I would really, Ben,” she cried, gravely, when they all screamed.
“Well, I hope so,” said Ben, tossing her higher yet. “Don't laugh at her, boys,” put in Polly; “we're all going to have good times now, Phronsie, now we've got well.”
“Yes,” laughed the child from her high perch; “we aren't ever goin' to be sick again, ever—any more,” she added impressively.
The good times were coming for Polly—coming pretty near, and she didn't know it! All the children were in the secret; for as Mrs. Pepper declared, “They'd have to know it; and if they were let into the secret they'd keep it better.”
So they had individually and collectively been intrusted with the precious secret, and charged with the extreme importance of “never letting any one know,” and they had been nearly bursting ever since with the wild desire to impart their knowledge.
“I'm afraid I shall tell,” said David, running to his mother at last; “oh, mammy, I don't dare stay near Polly, I do want to tell so bad.”
“Oh, no, you won't, David,” said his mother encouragingly, “when you know mother don't want you to; and besides, think how Polly'll look when she sees it.”
“I know,” cried David in the greatest rapture, “I wouldn't tell for all the world! I guess she'll look nice, don't you mother?” and he laughed in glee at the thought.
“Poor child! I guess she will!” and then Mrs. Pepper laughed too, till the little old kitchen rang with delight at the accustomed sound.
The children all had to play “clap in and clap out” in the bedroom while it came; and “stage coach,” too—“anything to make a noise,” Ben said. And then after they got nicely started in the game, he would be missing to help about the mysterious thing in the kitchen, which was safe since Polly couldn't see him go on account of her bandage. So she didn't suspect in the least. And although the rest were almost dying to be out in the kitchen, they conscientiously stuck to their bargain to keep Polly occupied. Only Joel would open the door and peep once; and then Phronsie behind him began. “Oh, I see the sto——” but David swooped down on her in a twinkling, and smothered the rest by tickling her.
Once they came very near having the whole thing pop out. “Whatever is that noise in the kitchen?” asked Polly, as they all stopped to take breath after the scuffle of “stage coach.” “It sounds just like grating.”
“I'll go and see,” cried Joel, promptly; and then he flew out where his mother and Ben and two men were at work on a big, black thing in the corner. The old stove, strange to say, was nowhere to be seen! Something else stood in its place, a shiny, black affair, with a generous supply of oven doors, and altogether such a comfortable, home-like look about it, as if it would say—“I'm going to make sunshine in this house!”
“Oh, Joel,” cried his mother, turning around on him with very black hands, “you haven't told!”
“No,” said Joel, “but she's hearin' the noise, Polly is.”
“Hush!” said Ben, to one of the men.
“We can't put it up without some noise,” the man replied, “but we'll be as still as we can.”
“Isn't it a big one, ma?” asked Joel, in the loudest of stage whispers, that Polly on the other side of the door couldn't have failed to hear if Phronsie hadn't laughed just then.
“Go back, Joe, do,” said Ben, “play tag—anything,” he implored, “we'll be through in a few minutes.”
“It takes forever!” said Joel, disappearing within the bedroom door. Luckily for the secret, Phronsie just then ran a pin sticking up on the arm of the old chair, into her finger; and Polly, while comforting her, forgot to question Joel. And then the mother came in, and though she had ill-concealed hilarity in her voice, she kept chattering and bustling around with Polly's supper to such an extent that there was no chance for a word to be got in.
Next morning it seemed as if the “little brown house,” would turn inside out with joy.
“Oh, mammy!” cried Polly, jumping into her arms the first thing, as Dr. Fisher untied the bandage, “my eyes are new! just the same as if I'd just got 'em! Don't they look different?” she asked, earnestly, running to the cracked glass to see for herself.
“No,” said Ben, “I hope not; the same brown ones, Polly.”
“Well,” said Polly, hugging first one and then another, “everybody looks different through them, anyway.”
“Oh,” cried Joel, “come out into the kitchen, Polly; it's a great deal better out there.”
“May I?” asked Polly, who was in such a twitter looking at everything that she didn't know which way to turn.
“Yes,” said the doctor, smiling at her.
“Well, then,” sang Polly, “come mammy, we'll go first; isn't it just lovely—oh, MAMMY!” and Polly turned so very pale, and looked as if she were going to tumble right over, that Mrs. Pepper grasped her arm in dismay.
“What is it?” she asked, pointing to the corner, while all the children stood round in the greatest excitement.
“Why,” cried Phronsie, “it's a stove—don't you know, Polly?” But Polly gave one plunge across the room, and before anybody could think, she was down on her knees with her arms flung right around the big, black thing, and laughing and crying over it, all in the same breath!
And then they all took hold of hands and danced around it like wild little things; while Dr. Fisher stole out silently—and Mrs. Pepper laughed till she wiped her eyes to see them go.
“We aren't ever goin' to have any more burnt bread,” sang Polly, all out of breath.
“Nor your back isn't goin' to break any more,” panted Ben, with a very red face.
“Hooray!” screamed Joel and David, to fill any pause that might occur, while Phronsie gurgled and laughed at everything just as it came along. And then they all danced and capered again; all but Polly, who was down before the precious stove examining and exploring into ovens and everything that belonged to it.
“Oh, ma,” she announced, coming up to Mrs. Pepper, who had been obliged to fly to her sewing again, and exhibiting a very crocky face and a pair of extremely smutty hands, “it's most all ovens, and it's just splendid!”
“I know it,” answered her mother, delighted in the joy of her child. “My! how black you are, Polly!”
“Oh, I wish,” cried Polly, as the thought struck her, “that Dr. Fisher could see it! Where did he go to, ma?”
“I guess Dr. Fisher has seen it before,” said Mrs. Pepper, and then she began to laugh. “You haven't ever asked where the stove came from, Polly.”
And to be sure, Polly had been so overwhelmed that if the stove had really dropped from the clouds it would have been small matter of astonishment to her, as long as it had come; that was the main thing!
“Mammy,” said Polly, turning around slowly, with the stove-lifter in her hand, “did Dr. Fisher bring that stove?”
“He didn't exactly bring it,” answered her mother, “but I guess he knew something about it.”
“Oh, he's the splendidest, goodest man!” cried Polly, “that ever breathed! Did he really get us that stove?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, “he would; I couldn't stop him. I don't know how he found out you wanted one so bad; but he said it must be kept as a surprise when your eyes got well.”
“And he saved my eyes!” cried Polly, full of gratitude. “I've got a stove and two new eyes, mammy, just to think!”
“We ought to be good after all our mercies,” said Mrs. Pepper thankfully, looking around on her little group. Joel was engaged in the pleasing occupation of seeing how far he could run his head into the biggest oven, and then pulling it out to exhibit its blackness, thus engrossing the others in a perfect hubbub.
“I'm going to bake my doctor some little cakes,” declared Polly, when there was comparative quiet.
“Do, Polly,” cried Joel, “and then leave one or two over.”
“No,” said Polly; “we can't have any, because these must be very nice. Mammy, can't I have some white on top, just once?” she pleaded.
“I don't know,” dubiously replied Mrs. Pepper; “eggs are dreadful dear, and—”
“I don't care,” said Polly, recklessly; “I must just once for Dr. Fisher.”
“I tell you, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “what you might do; you might make him some little apple tarts—most every one likes them, you know.”
“Well,” said Polly, with a sigh, “I s'pose they'll have to do; but some time, mammy, I'm going to bake him a big cake, so there!”