“Run down and get the cinnamon, will you, Joey?” said Polly; “it's in the 'Provision Room.”
The “Provision Room” was a little shed that was tacked on to the main house, and reached by a short flight of rickety steps; so called, because as Polly said, “'twas a good place to keep provisions in, even if we haven't any; and besides,” she always finished, “it sounds nice!”
“Come on, Dave! then we'll get something to eat!”
So the cinnamon was handed up, and then Joel flew back to Davie.
And now, Polly's cake was done, and ready for the oven. With many admiring glances from herself, and Phronsie, who with Seraphina, an extremely old but greatly revered doll, tightly hugged in her arms was watching everything with the biggest of eyes from the depths of the old chair, it was placed in the oven, the door shut to with a happy little bang, then Polly gathered Phronsie up in her arms, and sat down in the chair to have a good time with her and to watch the process of cooking.
There was a bumping noise that came from the “Provision Room” that sounded ominous, and then a smothered sound of words, followed by a scuffling over the old floor.
“Boys!” called Polly. No answer; everything was just as still as a mouse. “Joel and David!” called Polly again, in her loudest tones.
“Yes,” came up the crooked stairs, in Davie's voice.
“Come up here, right away!” went back again from Polly. So up the stairs trudged the two boys, and presented themselves rather sheepishly before the big chair.
“What was that noise?” she asked; “what have you been doing?”
“Twasn't anything but the pail,” answered Joel, not looking at her.
“We had something to eat,” said Davie, by way of explanation; “you always let us.”
“I know,” said Polly; “that's right, you can have as much bread as you want to; but what you been doing with the pail?”
“Nothing,” said Joel; “'twouldn't hangup, that's all.”
“And you've been bumping it,” said Polly; “oh! Joel, how could you! You might have broken it; then what would mamsie say?”
“I didn't,” said Joel, stoutly, with his hands in his pockets, “bump it worse'n Davie, so there!”
“Why, Davie,” said Polly, turning to him sorrowfully, “I shouldn't have thought you would!”
“Well, I'm tired of hanging it up,” said little Davie, vehemently; “and I said I wasn't a-goin' to; Joel always makes me; I've done it for two million times, I guess!”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, sinking back into the chair, “I don't know what I ever shall do; here's Phronsie hurt; and we want to celebrate to-morrow; and you two boys are bumping and banging out the bread pail, and—”
“Oh! we won't!” cried both of the children, perfectly overwhelmed with remorse; “we'll hang it right up.”
“I'll hang it,” said Davie, clattering off down the stairs with a will.
“No, I will!” shouted Joel, going after him at double pace; and presently both came up with shining faces, and reported it nicely done.
“And now,” said Polly, after they had all sat around the stove another half-hour, watching and sniffing expectantly, “the cake's done!—dear me! it's turning black!”
And quickly as possible Polly twitched it out with energy, and set it on the table.
Oh, dear; of all things in the world! The beautiful cake over which so many hopes had been formed, that was to have given so much happiness on the morrow to the dear mother, presented a forlorn appearance as it stood there in anything but holiday attire. It was quite black on the top, in the center of which was a depressing little dump, as if to say, “My feelings wouldn't allow me to rise to the occasion.”
“Now,” said Polly, turning away with a little fling, and looking at the stove, “I hope you're satisfied, you old thing; you've spoiled our mamsie's birthday!” and without a bit of warning, she sat right down in the middle of the floor and began to cry as hard as she could.
“Well, I never!” said a cheery voice, that made the children skip.
“It's Mrs. Beebe; oh, it's Mrs. Beebe!” cried Davie; “see, Polly.”
Polly scrambled up to her feet, ashamed to be caught thus, and whisked away the tears; the others explaining to their new visitor the sad disappointment that had befallen them; and she was soon oh-ing, and ah-ing enough to suit even their distressed little souls.
“You poor creeters, you!” she exclaimed at last, for about the fiftieth time. “Here, Polly, here's some posies for you, and—”
“Oh, thank you!” cried Polly, with a radiant face, “why, Mrs. Beebe, we can put them in here, can't we? the very thing!”
And she set the little knot of flowers in the hollow of the cake, and there they stood and nodded away to the delighted children, like brave little comforters, as they were.
“The very thing!” echoed Mrs. Beebe, tickled to death to see their delight; “it looks beautiful, I declare! and now, I must run right along, or pa'll be worrying;” and so the good woman trotted out to her waiting husband, who was impatient to be off. Mr. Beebe kept a little shoe shop in town; and always being of the impression if he left it for ten minutes that crowds of customers would visit it. He was the most restless of companions on any pleasure excursion.
“And Phronsie's got hurt,” said Mrs. Beebe, telling him the news, as he finished tucking her up, and started the old horse.
“Ho? you don't say so!” he cried; “whoa!”
“Dear me!” said Mrs. Beebe; “how you scat me, pal what's the matter?”
“What?—the little girl that bought the shoes?” asked her husband.
“Yes,” replied his wife, “she's hurt her foot.”
“Sho, now,” said the old gentleman; “that's too bad,” and he began to feel in all his pockets industriously; “there, can you get out again, and take her that?” and he laid a small piece of peppermint candy, thick and white, in his wife's lap.
“Oh, yes,” cried Mrs. Beebe, good-naturedly, beginning to clamber over the wheel.
So the candy was handed in to Phronsie, who insisted that Polly should hold her up to the window to thank Mr. Beebe. So amid nods, and shakings of hands, the Beebes drove off, and quiet settled down over the little brown house again.
“Now, children,” said Polly, after Phronsie had made them take a bite of her candy all around, “let's get the cake put away safe, for mamsie may come home early.
“Where'll you put it?” asked Joel, wishing the world was all peppermint candy.
“Oh—in the cupboard,” said Polly, taking it up; “there, Joe, you can climb up, and put it clear back in the corner, oh! wait; I must take the posies off, and keep them fresh in water;” so the cake was finally deposited in a place of safety, followed by the eyes of all the children.
“Now,” said Polly, as they shut the door tight, “don't you go to looking at the cupboard, Joey, or mammy'll guess something.”
“Can't I just open it a little crack, and take one smell when she isn't looking?” asked Joel; “I should think you might, Polly; just one.”
“No,” said Polly, firmly; “not one, Joe; she'll guess if you do.” But Mrs. Pepper was so utterly engrossed with her baby when she came home and heard the account of the accident, that she wouldn't have guessed if there'd been a dozen cakes in the cupboard. Joel was consoled, as his mother assured him in a satisfactory way that she never should think of blaming him; and Phronsie was comforted and coddled to her heart's content. And so the evening passed rapidly and happily away; Ben smuggling Phronsie off into a corner, where she told him all the doings of the day—the disappointment of the cake, and how it was finally crowned with flowers; all of which Phronsie, with no small pride in being the narrator, related gravely to her absorbed listener. “And don't you think, Bensie,” she said, clasping her little hand in a convincing way over his two bigger, stronger ones, “that Polly's stove was very naughty to make poor Polly cry?”
“Yes, I do,” said Ben, and he shut his lips tightly together.
To have Polly cry, hurt him more than he cared to have Phronsie see.
“What are you staring at, Joe?” asked Polly, a few minutes later, as her eyes fell upon Joel, who sat with his back to the cupboard, persistently gazing at the opposite wall.
“Why, you told me yourself not to look at the cupboard,” said Joel, in the loudest of stage whispers.
“Dear me; that'll make mammy suspect worse'n anything else if you look like that,” said Polly.
“What did you say about the cupboard?” asked Mrs. Pepper, who caught Joe's last word.
“We can't tell,” said Phronsie, shaking her head at her mother; “cause there's a ca——” “Ugh!” and Polly clapped her hand on the child's mouth; “don't you want Ben to tell us a story?”
“Oh, yes!” cried little Phronsie, in which all the others joined with a whoop of delight; so a most wonderful story, drawn up in Ben's best style, followed till bedtime.
The first thing Polly did in the morning, was to run to the old cupboard, followed by all the others, to see if the cake was safe; and then it had to be drawn out, and dressed anew with the flowers, for they had decided to have it on the breakfast table.
“It looks better,” whispered Polly to Ben, “than it did yesterday; and aren't the flowers pretty?”
“It looks good enough to eat, anyway,” said Ben, smacking his lips.
“Well, we tried,” said Polly, stilling a sigh; “now, boys, call mamsie; everything's ready.”
Oh! how surprised their mother appeared when she was ushered out to the feast, and the full glory of the table burst upon her. Her delight in the cake was fully enough to satisfy the most exacting mind. She admired and admired it on every side, protesting that she shouldn't have supposed Polly could possibly have baked it as good in the old stove; and then she cut it, and gave a piece to every child, with a little posy on top. Wasn't it good, though! for like many other things, the cake proved better on trial than it looked, and so turned out to be really quite a good surprise all around.
“Why can't I ever have a birthday?” asked Joel, finishing the last crumb of his piece; “I should think I might,” he added, reflectively.
“Why, you have, Joe,” said Ben; “eight of 'em.”
“What a story!” ejaculated Joel; “when did I have 'em? I never had a cake; did I, Polly?”
“Not a cake-birthday, Joel,” said his mother; “you haven't got to that yet.”
“When's it coming?” asked Joel, who was decidedly of a matter-of-fact turn of mind.
“I don't know,” said Mrs. Pepper, laughing; “but there's plenty of time ahead.”
“Oh, I do wish,” said Joel, a few mornings after, pushing back his chair and looking discontentedly at his bowl of mush and molasses, “that we could ever have something new besides this everlasting old breakfast! Why can't we, mammy?”
“Better be glad you've got that, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, taking another cold potato, and sprinkling on a little salt; “folks shouldn't complain so long as they've anything to eat.”
“But I'm so tired of it—same old thing!” growled Joel; “seems as if I sh'd turn into a meal-bag or a molasses jug!”
“Well, hand it over, then,” proposed Ben, who was unusually hungry, and had a hard day's work before him.
“No,” said Joel, alarmed at the prospect, and putting in an enormous mouthful; “it's better than nothing.”
“Oh, dear,” said little Phronsie, catching Joel's tone, “it isn't nice; no, it isn't.” And she put down her spoon so suddenly that the molasses spun off in a big drop, that trailed off the corner of the table, and made Polly jump up and run for the floor-cloth.
“Oh, Phronsie,” she said, reprovingly; “you ought not to. Never mind, pet,” as she caught sight of two big tears trying to make a path in the little molasses-streaked face, “Polly'll wipe it up.”
“Sha'n't we ever have anything else to eat, Polly?” asked the child, gravely, getting down from her high chair to watch the operation of cleaning the floor.
“Oh, yes,” said Polly, cheerfully, “lots and lots—when our ship comes in.”
“What'll they be?” asked Phronsie, in the greatest delight, prepared for anything.
“Oh, I don't know,” said Polly; “ice cream for one thing, Phronsie, and maybe, little cakes.”
“With pink on top?” interrupted Phronsie, getting down by Polly's side.
“Oh, yes,” said Polly, warming with her subject; “ever and ever so much pink, Phronsie Pepper; more than you could eat!”
Phronsie just clasped her hands and sighed. More than she could eat was beyond her!
“Hoh!” said Joel, who caught the imaginary bill of fare, “that's nothing, Polly. I'd speak for a plum-puddin'.”
“Like the one mother made us for Thanksgiving?” asked Polly, getting up and waiting a minute, cloth in hand, for the answer.
“Yes, sir,” said Joel, shutting one eye and looking up at the ceiling, musingly, while he smacked his lips in remembrance; “wasn't that prime, though!”
“Yes,” said Polly, thoughtfully; “would you have 'em all like that, Joe?”
“Every one,” replied Joe, promptly; “I'd have seventy-five of 'em.”
“Seventy-five what?” asked Mrs. Pepper, who had gone into the bedroom, and now came out, a coat in hand, to sit down in the west window, where she began to sew rapidly. “Better clear up the dishes, Polly, and set the table back—seventy-five what, Joel?”
“Plum-puddings,” said Joel, kissing Phronsie.
“Dear me!” ejaculated Mrs. Pepper; “you don't know what you're saying, Joel Pepper; the house couldn't hold 'em!”
“Wouldn't long,” responded Joel; “we'd eat 'em.”
“That would be foolish,” interposed Ben; “I'd have roast beef and fixings—and oysters—and huckleberry pie.”
“Oh, dear,” cried Polly; “how nice, Ben! you always do think of the very best things.”
But Joel phoohed and declared he wouldn't waste his time “over old beef; he'd have something like!” And then he cried:
“Come on, Dave, what'd you choose?”
Little Davie had been quietly eating his breakfast amid all this chatter, and somehow thinking it might make the mother feel badly, he had refrained from saying just how tiresome he had really found this “everlasting breakfast” as Joel called it. But now he looked up eagerly, his answer all ready. “Oh, I know,” he cried, “what would be most beautiful! toasted bread—white bread—and candy.”
“What's candy?” asked Phronsie.
“Oh, don't you know, Phronsie,” cried Polly, “what Mrs. Beebe gave you the day you got your shoes—the pink sticks; and—”
“And the peppermint stick Mr. Beebe gave you, Phronsie,” finished Joel, his mouth watering at the remembrance.
“That day, when you got your toe pounded,” added Davie, looking at Joel.
“Oh!” cried Phronsie; “I want some now, I do!”
“Well, Davie,” said Polly, “you shall have that for breakfast when our ship comes in then.”
“Your ships aren't ever coming,” broke in Mrs. Pepper, wisely, “if you sit there talking—folks don't ever make any fortunes by wishing.”
“True enough,” laughed Ben, jumping up and setting back his chair. “Come on, Joe; you've got to pile to-day.”
“Oh, dear,” said Joel, dismally; “I wish Mr. Blodgett's wood was all a-fire.”
“Never say that, Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, looking up sternly; “it's biting your own nose off to wish that wood was a-fire—and besides it's dreadfully wicked.”
Joel hung his head, for his mother never spoke in that way unless she was strongly moved; but he soon recovered, and hastened off for his jacket.
“I'm sorry I can't help you do the dishes, Polly,” said David, running after Joel.
“I'm going to help her,” said Phronsie; “I am.”
So Polly got the little wooden tub that she always used, gave Phronsie the well-worn cup-napkin, and allowed her to wipe the handleless cups and cracked saucers, which afforded the little one intense delight.
“Don't you wish, Polly,” said little Phronsie, bustling around with a very important air, nearly smothered in the depths of a big brown apron that Polly had carefully tied under her chin, “that you didn't ever-an'-ever have so many dishes to do?”
“Um—maybe,” said Polly, thoughtlessly. She was thinking of something else besides cups and saucers just then; of how nice it would be to go off for just one day, and do exactly as she had a mind to in everything. She even envied Ben and the boys who were going to work hard at Deacon Blodgett's woodpile.
“Well, I tell you,” said Phronsie, confidentially, setting down a cup that she had polished with great care, “I'm going to do 'em all to-morrow, for you, Polly—I can truly; let me now, Polly, do.”
“Nonsense!” said Polly, giving a great splash with her mop in the tub, ashamed of her inward repinings. “Phronsie, you're no bigger than a mouse!”
“Yes, I am,” retorted Phronsie, very indignantly. Her face began to get very red, and she straightened up so suddenly to show Polly just how very big she was that her little head came up against the edge of the tub—over it went! a pile of saucers followed.
“There now,” cried Polly, “see what you've done!”
“Ow!” whimpered Phronsie, breaking into a subdued roar; “oh, Polly! it's all running down my back.”
“Is it?” said Polly, bursting out into a laugh; “never mind, Phronsie, I'll dry you.”
“Dear me, Polly!” said Mrs. Pepper, who had looked up in time to see the tub racing along by itself towards the “Provision Room” door, a stream of dish-water following in its wake, “she will be wet clear through; do get off her things, quick.”
“Yes'm,” cried Polly, picking up the tub, and giving two or three quick sops to the floor. “Here you are, Pussy,” grasping Phronsie, crying as she was, and carrying her into the bedroom.
“Oh, dear,” wailed the child, still holding the wet dish towel; “I won't ever do it again, if you'll only let me do 'em all to-morrow.”
“When you're big and strong,” said Polly, giving her a hug, “you shall do 'em every day.”
“May I really?” said little Phronsie, blinking through the tears, and looking radiant.
“Yes, truly—every day.”
“Then I'll grow right away, I will,” said Phronsie, bursting out merrily; and she sat down and pulled off the well-worn shoes, into which a big pool of dish-water had run, while Polly went for dry stockings.
“So you shall,” said Polly, coming back, a big piece of gingerbread in her hand; “and this'll make you grow, Phronsie.”
“O-o-h!” and Phronsie's little white teeth shut down quickly on the comforting morsel. Gingerbread didn't come often enough into the Pepper household to be lightly esteemed.
“Now,” said Mrs. Pepper, when order was restored, the floor washed up brightly, and every cup and platter in place, hobnobbing away to themselves on the shelves of the old corner cupboard, and Polly had come as usual with needle and thread to help mother—Polly was getting so that she could do the plain parts on the coats and jackets, which filled her with pride at the very thought—“now,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn't help me this morning, Polly: I'm getting on pretty smart; but you may just run down to the parson's, and see how he is.”
“Is he sick?” asked Polly, in awe.
To have the parson sick, was something quite different from an ordinary person's illness.
“He's taken with a chill,” said Mrs. Pepper, biting off a thread, “so Miss Huldy Folsom told me last night, and I'm afraid he's going to have a fever.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, in dire distress; “whatever'd we do, mammy!”
“Don't know, I'm sure,” replied Mrs. Pepper, setting her stitches firmly; “the Lord'll provide. So you run along, child, and see how he is.”
“Can't Phronsie go?” asked Polly, pausing half-way to the bedroom door.
“Well, yes, I suppose she might,” said Mrs. Pepper, assentingly.
“No, she can't either,” said Polly, coming back with her sun-bonnet in her hand, and shutting the door carefully after her, “cause she's fast asleep on the floor.”
“Is she?” said Mrs. Pepper; “well, she's been running so this morning, she's tired out, I s'pose.”
“And her face is dreadfully red,” continued Polly, tying on her bonnet; “now, what'll I say, mammy?”
“Well, I should think 'twould be,” said Mrs. Pepper, replying to the first half of Polly's speech; “she cried so. Well, you just tell Mrs. Henderson your ma wants to know how Mr. Henderson is this morning, and if 'twas a chill he had yesterday, and how he slept last night, and—”
“Oh, ma,” said Polly, “I can't ever remember all that.”
“Oh, yes, you can,” said Mrs. Pepper, encouragingly; “just put your mind on it, Polly; 'tisn't anything to what I used to have to remember—when I was a little girl, no bigger than you are.”
Polly sighed, and feeling sure that something must be the matter with her mind, gave her whole attention to the errand; till at last after a multiplicity of messages and charges not to forget any one of them, Mrs. Pepper let her depart.
Up to the old-fashioned green door, with its brass knocker, Polly went, running over in her mind just which of the messages she ought to give first. She couldn't for her life think whether “if 'twas a chill he had yesterday?” ought to come before “how he slept?” She knocked timidly, hoping Mrs. Henderson would help her out of her difficulty by telling her without the asking. All other front doors in Badgertown were ornaments, only opened on grand occasions, like a wedding or a funeral. But the minister's was accessible alike to all. So Polly let fall the knocker, and awaited the answer.
A scuffling noise sounded along the passage; and then Polly's soul sank down in dire dismay. It was the minister's sister, and not gentle little Mrs. Henderson. She never could get on with Miss Jerusha in the least. She made her feel as she told her mother once—“as if I don't know what my name is.” And now here she was; and all those messages.
Miss Jerusha unbolted the door, slid back the great bar, opened the upper half, and stood there. She was a big woman, with sharp black eyes, and spectacles—over which she looked—which to Polly was much worse, for that gave her four eyes.
“Well, and what do you want?” she asked.
“I came to see—I mean my ma sent me,” stammered poor Polly.
“And who is your ma?” demanded Miss Jerusha, as much like a policeman as anything; “and where do you live?”
“I live in Primrose Lane,” replied Polly, wishing very much that she was back there.
“I don't want to know where you live, before I know who you are,” said Miss Jerusha; “you should answer the question I asked first; always remember that.”
“My ma's Mrs. Pepper,” said Polly.
“Mrs. who?” repeated Miss Jerusha.
By this time Polly was so worn that she came very near turning and fleeing, but she thought of her mother's disappointment in her, and the loss of the news, and stood quite still.
“What is it, Jerusha?” a gentle voice here broke upon Polly's ear.
“I don't know,” responded Miss Jerusha, tartly, still holding the door much as if Polly were a robber; “it's a little girl, and I can't make out what she wants.”
“Why, it's Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Mrs. Henderson, pleasantly. “Come in, child.” She opened the other half of the big door, and led the way through the wide hall into a big, old-fashioned room, with painted floor, and high, old side-board, and some stiff-backed rocking-chairs.
Miss Jerusha stalked in also and seated herself by the window, and began to knit. Polly had just opened her mouth to tell her errand, when the door also opened suddenly and Mr. Henderson walked in.
“Oh!” said Polly, and then she stopped, and the color flushed up into her face.
“What is it, my dear?” and the minister took her hand kindly, and looked down into her flushed face.
“You are not going to have a fever, and be sick and die!” she cried.
“I hope not, my little girl,” he smiled back, encouragingly; and then Polly gave her messages, which now she managed easily enough.
“There,” broke in Miss Jerusha, “a cat can't sneeze in this town but everybody'll know it in quarter of an hour.”
And then Mrs. Henderson took Polly out to see a brood of new little chicks, that had just popped their heads out into the world; and to Polly, down on her knees, admiring, the time passed very swiftly indeed.
“Now I must go, ma'am,” she said at last, looking up into the lady's face, regretfully, “for mammy didn't say I was to stay.”
“Very well, dear; do you think you could carry a little pat of butter? I have some very nice my sister sent me, and I want your mother to share it.”
“Oh, thank you, ma'am!” cried Polly, thinking, “how glad Davie'll be, for he does so love butter! only—”
“Wait a bit, then,” said Mrs. Henderson, who didn't seem to notice the objection. So she went into the house, and Polly went down again in admiration before the fascinating little puff-balls.
But she was soon on the way, with a little pat of butter in a blue bowl, tied over with a clean cloth; happy in her gift for mammy, and in the knowledge of the minister being all well.
“I wonder if Phronsie's awake,” she thought to herself, turning in at the little brown gate; “if she is, she shall have a piece of bread with lots of butter.”
“Hush!” said Mrs. Pepper, from the rocking-chair in the middle of the floor. She had something in her arms. Polly stopped suddenly, almost letting the bowl fall.
“It's Phronsie,” said the mother, “and I don't know what the matter is with her; you'll have to go for the doctor, Polly, and just as fast as you can.”
Polly still stood, holding the bowl, and staring with all her might. Phronsie sick!
“Don't wake her,” said Mrs. Pepper.
Poor Polly couldn't have stirred to save her life, for a minute; then she said—“Where shall I go?”
“Oh, run to Dr. Fisher's; and don't be gone long.”
Polly set down the bowl of butter, and sped on the wings of the wind for the doctor. Something dreadful was the matter, she felt, for never had a physician been summoned to the hearty Pepper family since she could remember, only when the father died. Fear lent speed to her feet; and soon the doctor came, and bent over poor little Phronsie, who still lay in her mother's arms, in a burning fever.
“It's measles,” he pronounced, “that's all; no cause for alarm; you ever had it?” he asked, turning suddenly around on Polly, who was watching with wide-open eyes for the verdict.
“No, sir,” answered Polly, not knowing in the least what “measles” was.
“What shall we do!” said Mrs. Pepper; “there haven't any of them had it.”
The doctor was over by the little old table under the window, mixing up some black-looking stuff in a tumbler, and he didn't hear her.
“There,” he said, putting a spoonful into Phronsie's mouth, “she'll get along well enough; only keep her out of the cold.” Then he pulled out a big silver watch. He was a little thin man, and the watch was immense. Polly for her life couldn't keep her eyes off from it; if Ben could only have one so fine!
“Polly,” whispered Mrs. Pepper, “run and get my purse; it's in the top bureau drawer.”
“Yes'm,” said Polly, taking her eyes off, by a violent wrench, from the fascinating watch; and she ran quickly and got the little old stocking-leg, where the hard earnings that staid long enough to be put anywhere, always found refuge. She put it into her mother's lap, and watched while Mrs. Pepper counted out slowly one dollar in small pieces.
“Here sir,” said Mrs. Pepper, holding them out towards the doctor; “and thank you for coming.”
“Hey!” said the little man, spinning round; “that dollar's the Lord's!”
Mrs. Pepper looked bewildered, and still sat holding it out. “And the Lord has given it to you to take care of these children with; see that you do it.” And without another word he was gone.
“Wasn't he good, mammy?” asked Polly, after the first surprise was over.
“I'm sure he was,” said Mrs. Pepper. “Well, tie it up again, Polly, tie it up tight; we shall want it, I'm sure,” sighing at her little sick girl.
“Mayn't I take Phronsie, ma?” asked Polly.
“No, no,” said Phronsie. She had got mammy, and she meant to improve the privilege.
“What is 'measles' anyway, mammy?” asked Polly, sitting down on the floor at their feet.
“Oh, 'tis something children always have,” replied Mrs. Pepper; “but I'm sure I hoped it wouldn't come just yet.”
“I sha'n't have it,” said Polly, decisively; “I know I sha'n't! nor Ben—nor Joe—nor—nor Davie—I guess,” she added, hesitatingly, for Davie was the delicate one of the family; at least not nearly so strong as the others.
Mrs. Pepper looked at her anxiously; but Polly seemed as bright and healthy as ever, as she jumped up and ran to put the kettle on the stove.
“What'll the boys say, I wonder!” she thought to herself, feeling quite important that they really had sickness in the house. As long as Phronsie wasn't dangerous, it seemed quite like rich folks; and she forgot the toil, and the grind of poverty. She looked out from time to time as she passed the window, but no boys came.
“I'll put her in bed, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, in a whisper, as Phronsie closed her eyes and breathed regularly.
“And then will you have your dinner, ma?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, “I don't care—if the boys come.”
“The boys'll never come,” said Polly, impatiently; “I don't believe—why! here they are now!”
“Oh, dear,” said Joel, coming in crossly, “I'm so hungry—oh—butter! where'd you get it? I thought we never should get here!”
“I thought so too,” said Polly. “Hush! why, where's Ben?”
“He's just back,” began Joel, commencing to eat, “and Davie; something is the matter with Ben—he says he feels funny.”
“Something the matter with Ben!” repeated Polly. She dropped the cup she held, which broke in a dozen pieces.
“Oh, whocky!” cried Joel; “see what you've done, Polly Pepper!”
But Polly didn't hear; over the big, flat door-stone she sped, and met Ben with little David, coming in the gate. His face was just like Phronsie's! And with a cold, heavy feeling at her heart, Polly realized that this was no play.
“Oh, Ben!” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck, and bursting into tears; “don't! please—I wish you wouldn't; Phronsie's got 'em, and that's enough!”
“Got what?” asked Ben, while Davie's eyes grew to their widest proportions.
“Oh, measles!” cried Polly, bursting out afresh; “the hate-fullest, horridest measles! and now you're taken!”
“Oh no, I'm not,” responded Ben, cheerfully, who knew what measles were; “wipe up, Polly; I'm all right; only my head aches, and my eyes feel funny.”
But Polly, only half-reassured, controlled her sobs; and the sorrowful trio repaired to mother.
“Oh, dear!” ejaculated Mrs. Pepper, sinking in a chair in dismay, at sight of Ben's red face; “whatever'll we do now!”
The prop and stay of her life would be taken away if Ben should be laid aside. No more stray half or quarter dollars would come to help her out when she didn't know where to turn.
Polly cleared off the deserted table—for once Joel had all the bread and butter he wanted. Ben took some of Phronsie's medicine, and crawled up into the loft, to bed; and quiet settled down on the little household.
“Polly,” whispered Ben, as she tucked him in, “it'll be hard buckling-to now, for you, but I guess you'll do it.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly to herself, the next morning, trying to get a breakfast for the sick ones out of the inevitable mush; “everything's just as bad as it can be! they can't ever eat this; I wish I had an ocean of toast!”
“Toast some of the bread in the pail, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.
She looked worn and worried; she had been up nearly all night, back and forth from Ben's bed in the loft to restless, fretful little Phronsie in the big four-poster in the bedroom; for Phronsie wouldn't get into the crib. Polly had tried her best to help her, and had rubbed her eyes diligently to keep awake, but she was wholly unaccustomed to it, and her healthy, tired little body succumbed—and then when she awoke, shame and remorse filled her very heart.
“That isn't nice, ma,” she said, glancing at the poor old pail, which she had brought out of the “Provision Room.” “Old brown bread! I want to fix 'em something nice.”
“Well, you can't, you know,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a sigh; “but you've got butter now; that'll be splendid!”
“I know it,” said Polly, running to the corner cupboard where the precious morsel in the blue bowl remained; “whatever should we do without it, mammy?”
“Do without it!” said Mrs. Pepper; “same's we have done.”
“Well, 'twas splendid in Mrs. Henderson to give it to us, anyway,” said Polly, longing for just one taste; “seems as if 'twas a year since I was there—oh, ma!” and here Polly took up the thread that had been so rudely snapped; “don't you think, she's got ten of the prettiest—yes, the sweetest little chickens you ever saw! Why can't we have some, mammy?”
“Costs money,” replied Mrs. Pepper. “We've got too many in the house to have any outside.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, with a red face that was toasting about as much as the bread she was holding on the point of an old fork; “we never have had anything. There,” she added at last; “that's the best I can do; now I'll put the butter on this little blue plate; ain't that cunning, ma?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, approvingly; “it takes you, Polly.” So Polly trotted first to Ben, up the crooked, low stairs to the loft; and while she regaled him with the brown toast and butter, she kept her tongue flying on the subject of the little chicks, and all that she saw on the famous Henderson visit. Poor Ben pretended hard to eat, but ate nothing really; and Polly saw it all, and it cut her to the heart—so she talked faster than ever.
“Now,” she said, starting to go back to Phronsie; “Ben Pepper, just as soon as you get well, we'll have some chickens—so there!”
“Guess we sha'n't get 'em very soon,” said Ben, despondently, “if I've got to lie here; and, besides, Polly, you know every bit we can save has got to go for the new stove.”
“Oh, dear,” said Polly, “I forgot that; so it has; seems to me everything's giving out!”
“You can't bake any longer in the old thing,” said Ben, turning over and looking at her; “poor girl, I don't see how you've stood it so long.”
“And we've been stuffing it,” cried Polly merrily, “till 'twon't stuff any more.”
“No,” said Ben, turning back again, “that's all worn out.”
“Well, you must go to sleep,” said Polly, “or mammy'll be up here; and Phronsie hasn't had her breakfast either.”
Phronsie was wailing away dismally, sitting up in the middle of the old bed. Her face pricked, she said, and she was rubbing it vigorously with both fat little hands, and then crying worse than ever.
“Oh me! oh my!” cried Polly; “how you look, Phronsie!”
“I want my mammy!” cried poor Phronsie.
“Mammy can't come now, Phronsie dear; she's sewing. See what Polly's got for you—butter: isn't that splendid!”
Phronsie stopped for just one moment, and took a mouthful; but the toast was hard and dry, and she cried harder than before.
“Now,” said Polly, curling up on the bed beside her, “if you'll stop crying, Phronsie Pepper, I'll tell you about the cunningest, yes, the very cunningest little chickens you ever saw. One was white, and he looked just like this,” said Polly, tumbling over on the bed in a heap; “he couldn't stand up straight, he was so fat.”
“Did he bite?” asked Phronsie, full of interest.
“No, he didn't bite me,” said Polly; “but his mother put a bug in his mouth—just as I'm doing you know,” and she broke off a small piece of the toast, put on a generous bit of butter, and held it over Phronsie's mouth.
“Did he swallow it?” asked the child, obediently opening her little red lips.
“Oh, snapped it,” answered Polly, “quick as ever he could, I tell you; but 'twasn't good like this, Phronsie.”
“Did he have two bugs?” asked Phronsie, eying suspiciously the second morsel of dry toast that Polly was conveying to her mouth.
“Well, he would have had,” replied Polly, “if there'd been bugs enough; but there were nine other chicks, Phronsie.”
“Poor chickies,” said Phronsie, and looked lovingly at the rest of the toast and butter on the plate; and while Polly fed it to her, listened with absorbed interest to all the particulars concerning each and every chick in the Henderson hen-coop.
“Mother,” said Polly, towards evening, “I'm going to sit up with Ben to-night; say I may, do, mother.”
“Oh no, you can't,” replied Mrs. Pepper; “you'll get worn out; and then what shall I do? Joel can hand him his medicine.”
“Oh, Joe would tumble to sleep, mammy,” said Polly, “the first thing—let me.”
“Perhaps Phronsie'll let me go to-night,” said Mrs. Pepper, reflectively.
“Oh, no she won't, I know,” replied Polly, decisively; “she wants you all the time.”
“I will, Polly,” said Davie, coming in with an armful of wood, in time to hear the conversation. “I'll give him his medicine, mayn't I, mammy?” and David let down his load, and came over where his mother and Polly sat sewing, to urge his rights.
“I don't know,” said his mother, smiling on him. “Can you, do you think?”
“Yes, ma'am!” said Davie, straightening himself up.
When they told Ben, he said he knew a better way than for Davie to watch; he'd have a string tied to Davie's arm, and the end he'd hold in bed, and when 'twas time for medicine, he'd pull the string, and that would wake Davie up!
Polly didn't sleep much more on her shake-down on the floor than if she had watched with Ben; for Phronsie cried and moaned, and wanted a drink of water every two minutes, it seemed to her. As she went back into her nest after one of these travels, Polly thought: “Well, I don't care, if nobody else gets sick; if Ben'll only get well. To-morrow I'm goin' to do mammy's sack she's begun for Mr. Jackson; it's all plain sew-in', just like a bag; and I can do it, I know—” and so she fell into a troubled sleep, only to be awakened by Phronsie's fretful little voice: “I want a drink of water, Polly, I do.”
“Don't she drink awfully, mammy?” asked Polly, after one of these excursions out to the kitchen after the necessary draught.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper; “and she mustn't have any more; 'twill hurt her.” But Phronsie fell into a delicious sleep after that, and didn't want any more, luckily.
“Here, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, the next morning, “take this coat up to Mr. Peterses; and be sure you get the money for it.”
“How'll I get it?” asked Joe, who didn't relish the long, hot walk.
“Why, tell 'em we're sick—Ben's sick,” added Mrs. Pepper, as the most decisive thing; “and we must have it; and then wait for it.”
“Tisn't pleasant up at the Peterses,” grumbled Joel, taking the parcel and moving slowly off.
“No, no, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn't do that,” seeing Polly take up some sewing after doing up the room and finishing the semi-weekly bake; “you're all beat out with that tussle over the stove; that sack'll have to go till next week.”
“It can't, mammy,” said Polly, snipping off a basting thread; “we've got to have the money; how much'll he give you for it?”
“Thirty cents,” replied Mrs. Pepper.
“Well,” said Polly, “we've got to get all the thirty centses we can, mammy dear; and I know I can do it, truly—try me once,” she implored.
“Well.” Mrs. Pepper relented, slowly.
“Don't feel bad, mammy dear,” comforted Polly, sewing away briskly; “Ben'll get well pretty soon, and then we'll be all right.”
“Maybe,” said Mrs. Pepper; and went back to Phronsie, who could scarcely let her out of her sight.
Polly stitched away bravely. “Now if I do this good, mammy'll let me do it other times,” she said to herself.
Davie, too, worked patiently out of doors, trying to do Ben's chores. The little fellow blundered over things that Ben would have accomplished in half the time, and he had to sit down often on the steps of the little old shed where the tools were kept, to wipe his hot face and rest.
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “hadn't you better stop a little? Dear me! how fast you sew, child!”
Polly gave a delighted little hum at her mother's evident approval.
“I'm going to do 'em all next week, mammy,” she said; “then Mr. Atkins won't take 'em away from us, I guess.”
Mr. Atkins kept the store, and gave out coats and sacks of coarse linen and homespun to Mrs. Pepper to make; and it was the fear of losing the work that had made the mother's heart sink.
“I don't believe anybody's got such children as I have,” she said; and she gave Polly a motherly little pat that the little daughter felt clear to the tips of her toes with a thrill of delight.
About half-past two, long after dinner, Joe came walking in, hungry as a beaver, but flushed and triumphant.
“Why, where have you been all this time?” asked his mother.
“Oh, Joe, you didn't stop to play?” asked Polly, from her perch where she sat sewing, giving him a reproachful glance.
“Stop to play!” retorted Joe, indignantly; “no, I guess I didn't! I've been to Old Peterses.”
“Not all this time!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper.
“Yes, I have too,” replied Joel, sturdily marching up to her. “And there's your money, mother;” and he counted out a quarter of a dollar in silver pieces and pennies, which he took from a dingy wad of paper, stowed away in the depths of his pocket.
“Oh, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, sinking back in her chair and looking at him; “what do you mean?”
Polly put her work in her lap, and waited to hear.
“Where's my dinner, Polly?” asked Joel; “I hope it's a big one.
“Yes, 'tis,” said Polly; “you've got lots to-day, it's in the corner of the cupboard, covered up with the plate—so tell on, Joe.”
“That's elegant!” said Joel, coming back with the well-filled plate, Ben's and his own share.
“Do tell us, Joey,” implored Polly; “mother's waiting.”
“Well,” said Joel, his mouth half full, “I waited—and he said the coat was all right;—and—and—Mrs. Peters said 'twas all right;—and Mirandy Peters said 'twas all right; but they didn't any of 'em say anythin' about payin', so I didn't think 'twas all right—and—and—can't I have some more butter, Polly?”
“No,” said Polly, sorry to refuse him, he'd been so good about the money; “the butter's got to be saved for Ben and Phronsie.”
“Oh,” said Joe, “I wish Miss Henderson would send us some more, I do! I think she might!”
“For shame, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper; “she was very good to send this, I think; now what else did you say?” she asked.
“Well,” said Joel, taking another mouthful of bread, “so I waited; you told me to, mother, you know—and they all went to work; and they didn't mind me at all, and—there wasn't anything to look at, so I sat—and sat—Polly, can't I have some gingerbread?”
“No,” said Polly, “it's all gone; I gave the last piece to Phronsie the day she was taken sick.”
“Oh, dear,” said Joel, “everything's gone.”
“Well, do go on, Joe, do.”
“And—then they had dinner; and Mr. Peters said, 'Hasn't that boy gone home yet?' and Mrs. Peters said, 'no'—and he called me in, and asked me why I didn't run along home; and I said, Phronsie was sick, and Ben had the squeezles—”
“The what?” said Polly.
“The squeezles,” repeated Joel, irritably; “that's what you said.”
“It's measles, Joey,” corrected Mrs. Pepper; “never mind, I wouldn't feel bad.”
“Well, they all laughed, and laughed, and then I said you told me to wait till I did get the money.”
“Oh, Joe,” began Mrs. Pepper, “you shouldn't have told 'em so—what did he say?”
“Well, he laughed, and said I was a smart boy, and he'd see; and Mirandy said, 'do pay him, pa, he must be tired to death'—and don't you think, he went to a big desk in the corner, and took out a box, and 'twas full most of money—lots! oh! and he gave me mine—and—that's all; and I'm tired to death.” And Joel flung himself down on the floor, expanded his legs as only Joel could, and took a comfortable roll.
“So you must be,” said Polly, pityingly, “waiting at those Peterses.”
“Don't ever want to see any more Peterses,” said Joel; never, never, never!
“Oh, dear,” thought Polly, as she sewed on into the afternoon, “I wonder what does all my eyes! feels just like sand in 'em;” and she rubbed and rubbed to thread her needle. But she was afraid her mother would see, so she kept at her sewing. Once in awhile the bad feeling would go away, and then she would forget all about it. “There now, who says I can't do it! that's most done,” she cried, jumping up, and spinning across the room, to stretch herself a bit, “and to-morrow I'll finish it.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Pepper, “if you can do that, Polly, you'll be the greatest help I've had yet.”
So Polly tucked herself into the old shake-down with a thankful heart that night, hoping for morning.
Alas! when morning did come, Polly could hardly move. The measles! what should she do! A faint hope of driving them off made her tumble out of bed, and stagger across the room to look in the old cracked looking-glass. All hope was gone as the red reflection met her gaze. Polly was on the sick list now!
“I won't be sick,” she said; “at any rate, I'll keep around.” An awful feeling made her clutch the back of a chair, but she managed somehow to get into her clothes, and go groping blindly into the kitchen. Somehow, Polly couldn't see very well. She tried to set the table, but 'twas no use. “Oh, dear,” she thought, “whatever'll mammy do?”
“Hulloa!” said Joel, coming in, “what's the matter, Polly?” Polly started at his sudden entrance, and, wavering a minute, fell over in a heap.
“Oh ma! ma!” screamed Joel, running to the foot of the stairs leading to the loft, where Mrs. Pepper was with Ben; “something's taken Polly! and she fell; and I guess she's in the wood-box!”