Joel hung his head. "I was, but I think a shop would be nicer after all; you can have everything in it, you know, Grandpapa."
"Even molasses," put in Mr. King. "Well, I wouldn't decide the matter just now, Joel, my boy—which you will be when you are grown up. There's plenty of time yet ahead of you."
Jack Parish, with his hair carefully oiled by his anxious mother, and his very best clothes on, a circumstance calculated to invest him with dread and rob him of every bit of comfort to begin with, presented himself at Mr. King's mansion on the next afternoon. His countenance was long, and he looked so worried that Joel, rushing out to meet him, involuntarily ejaculated, "Oh, dear me!" in dismay.
After regarding each other uncomfortably for a minute, in which Jack began to wish himself, a thousand times, back in the little shop, Joel burst out, seizing his arm:
"Come up into my room—Dave's and mine," and over the stairs they went.
"Is this your room?" gasped Jack, forgetting his discomfort and staring all about.
"Yes, it is," said Joel; "Dave's and mine. See my tennis racket, Jack.Isn't it prime!"—darting over to pull it out of a corner.
"I should say it was," declared Jack, fingering it lovingly as Joel thrust it into his hand with a, "Do you play?"
"A little," said Jack. He did not think it necessary to add that he was the champion player of the Common Street team on the dingy little open space given up to goats and tenement-house children.
"That's good!" exclaimed Joel, with shining eyes, and clapping him on the back; "we'll have a bout together sometime. And here are my boxing-gloves." He seized them and struck an attitude. "Come on, Jack," he cried in huge delight.
So Jack did come on, and when he emerged, why, there were the fencing foils to try; and when this was all over, and both boys sat down, flushed and panting, why, Jack's best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes and his oiled hair didn't look so badly, to Joel's way of thinking.
David now ran in.
"It's time to get ready to go to Mrs. Sterling's supper," he said, with a nod to Jack.
"So it is," cried Joel, beginning to run here and there for his other shoes and clothes.
Jack turned away with a feeling that it wasn't good manners to be looking on, and glanced out of the window.
"Come over and look at our butterflies," cried Joel, running over to a cabinet against the wall, "they're just beauties."
"Oh, have you collected butterflies?" cried Jack, whirling around, greatly excited.
"Yes; Dave and I have," said Joel, "we have lots and lots."
It didn't take Jack long to be over in front of the cabinet, and pulling out its many drawers. So that he was lost to all the fuss of dressing that Joel and David were undergoing, and it wasn't till he had been clapped on the back most vigorously with a, "Wake up, old chap," that he realized that the dreaded time had arrived when he must go out to his first company. Then a dreadful feeling came over him.
"Oh, I can't go," he declared, his face turning as red as a beet, and he stood still, perfectly miserable.
"Why, Mrs. Sterling expects you," began David!
Joel had no such gentle ways.
"Come along, you," he cried, hauling Jack away from the cabinet and hurrying him off downstairs. Then he began to chatter as hard as he could, saying the first things that came into his head, until the gray stone mansion was reached, and they were fast and safe within the door.
Joel drew a long breath and began to mount the stairs.
"Any boys here yet?" he asked, looking up at Gibson in the upper hall.
"Yes," said Gibson; "three boys have come."
Joel didn't wait to ask who they were; he left David to bring Jack along and raced in to speak to Mrs. Sterling and the members of the Comfort committee.
"I am very glad to see you, Joel." Mrs. Sterling beamed at him from her sofa, feeling quite sure of the success of the first company she had given to the boys, now that Joel Pepper had come.
Joel gave her a bright little nod; then, remembering himself, he went over to her sofa and stuck out his little brown hand.
"I'm glad I've come," he said, bobbing at the same time in great satisfaction to the boys.
"Where is your friend, Joel?" asked Mrs. Sterling, in disappointment. "I surely thought you would bring him."
Joel glanced around in dismay, then pranced out into the hall. A scuffling noise struck upon his ear, and leaning over the banister, he saw David and Jack apparently hanging on to each other and whirling around in the hall below. He was down over the stairs in a flash.
"He says he must go home," said David, still holding fast to the edge ofJack's jacket, and looking up with a very pink face.
Jack looked thoroughly ashamed, but he still cast wild eyes at the big front door, as Joel considering whatever was to be done at all, should be done quickly, launched him upstairs, and before he had a moment to breathe freely, pushed him into the beautiful sitting-room above with a, "Here he is."
The room swam all around before Jack, as he went up to the sofa-edge, and Mrs. Sterling's soft, white hand took his hot, nervous one. He didn't know in the least what she said, or how she looked, as he couldn't raise his eyes, but he remembered afterward that her voice was sweet and low, and that somehow he wasn't so afraid after that, and then Joel dragged him into a knot of boys, for by this time several were pouring into the room. And in five minutes Jack felt as if he had known them all for years, and he quite forgot that this was the first time he had ever gone into company.
When the bustle of the arrival was over, and every member of the Comfort committee was present, Mrs. Sterling said:
"Now I think, Gibson, the first thing we should do is to have supper."
So Gibson went over and touched the electric button on the wall, and in came the butler and two maids bearing trays full—well, just crowded with all the good things a boy could desire to eat. And these having been placed on the big, mahogany table in the center of the room, usually filled with books and magazines, but which had been cleared for the purpose, each boy was invited to come up and be helped to whatever he wanted, an invitation that wasn't long left unaccepted.
Joel, in his fear that Jack would somehow be left out in the cold, bent all his energies toward getting him something to eat. The consequence was, that he forgot all about waiting on Mrs. Sterling, and, glancing around after he had poked a plate of cold chicken and jelly into Jack's hand, he saw two or three of the boys—Frick and even little Porter Knapp—vying with each other to be the first to serve their hostess.
"Ugh!" cried Joel, seizing the first thing on the table that caught his eye. It proved to be the salt-cellar, and he rushed up and presented it with a flourish.
"Ho, ho!" exploded Frick, as the little knot of boys parted in the middle, "why we've only got her a napkin and a plate."
Joel glanced down ruefully at the salt-cellar in his hand, and was going to beat a retreat with it, quite crestfallen.
"Thank you, Joel; I shall want it pretty soon," said Mrs. Sterling, smiling into his red face. "There, we'll put it on the table"—for Mrs. Gibson had been busy drawing up a light stand to the side of the sofa—"and will you bring me some cold chicken?"
"Me?" cried Joel, perfectly radiant, but scarcely believing that he could be meant, after his awkwardness.
"Yes, you," said Mrs. Sterling, laughing; "so hurry, and get it, Joel."
No need to tell him that. Joel sprang at the table again, bore off a plate of the desired delicacy, and a spoonful of currant jelly by its side, and flew back again.
"Is that right?" he asked anxiously, with a dreadful feeling that he ought to have asked her if she wanted brown or white meat.
"How did you know I am very fond of white meat, Joel?" asked Mrs. Sterling."And above all things I like the wing."
"Do you?" cried Joel, in a transport. "Now what else?"
"Nothing now, and the next time, why, I must let Frick and some of the other boys help me," said Mrs. Sterling, "so run back and get something to eat yourself, Joel."
So Joel, with a mind to edge up to see how Jack was getting on, found to his amazement that he was laughing and talking with the last boy with whom he would have supposed it to be possible—Curtis Park!
"Dear me!" exclaimed Joel to himself, tumbling back instinctively when he saw that he wasn't wanted, and he fell up against David.
"I couldn't help it," said Davie, who had been quite miserable since his ill success in getting Jack over the stairs after Joel. He was aimlessly crumbling up a biscuit on his plate, and eating nothing.
"Well, 'tisn't any matter," said Joel, "and he's here now, and having a good time; just hear him laugh," he added enviously.
"Is that Jack laughing?" asked David incredulously, poking his head around the intervening boys to see for himself.
"Yes, it is," said Joel, bobbing his head decidedly.
"Oh, well, then, it's all right," said David happily. So he ran off to fill his plate and go over in the corner to eat its contents with a group of boys of whom he was especially fond.
Joel, left alone, was feeling very dismal, when suddenly he looked over, and caught Jack's eye. Curtis Park was saying something very jolly—Joel knew it was, for he caught scraps of it, and so did some of the other boys who pushed up to hear the rest. But Jack Parish evidently didn't listen, for his eye had been anxiously roving around the room, and just at that moment, they rested on Joel, and they lighted up so unmistakably that Joel sprang forward, a light in his own.
"Did you want me, Jack?"
"Yes," said Jack, "I did." The words were not much, but they seemed to satisfy Joel.
And after every boy protested that he couldn't eat another bit, the butler and the two maids packed up the trays and carried them down again.
"Now, Comfort committee," said Mrs. Sterling, "all draw up here."
So the circle of chairs and crickets was made around the sofa, and the real business of the evening began. It was in the very commencement of things Joel noticed that every one of the members seemed to take a fancy to Jack.
Curtis Park leaned over from his chair. "I say, Frick, change places with me." Frick was next to the visitor, Joel, of course, being on his other side.
"No, you don't," said Frick, not over politely.
"Oh, that's mean," began Curtis, then he remembered where he was, and sat back in his chair, biting his pencil.
Frick straightened himself up with enjoyment
"You can take my pencil," he said to Jack magnanimously; "we all brought 'em, you know, she wanted us to."
Joel caught the last of this. "Oh, dear me!" he exclaimed, in remorse, "I forgot mine; and, Jack, I was going to bring one for you."
"He can take mine," said Frick, shoving a very stubby specimen into Jack's hand.
"Mine's better," said Curtis, reaching over a brand-new one, just sharpened to a fine point; "take mine, Jack, you much better."
Jack, not knowing how to refuse, took it. And the other boys, seeing Curtis Park come down from his high-flown notions enough to notice so conspicuously the new boy, all began to find ever so many things in him that were worthy of, their attention. So, instead of Joel having to push him along, Jack became quite popular. The result was that Joel was left out in the cold.
"Now," said Mrs. Sterling brightly, after a little of this chat had been going on, and Gibson had shaken up her pillows, and raised her mistress into a more comfortable position, "you all know, of course, that Doctor Fisher reports Lawrence ready for a little amusement, if we send it to him, for no one is allowed yet to see him."
"But we will be soon. Doctor Fisher told my father so yesterday," piped outPorter Knapp, sliding to the edge of his chair.
"I don't doubt it," said Mrs. Sterling, smiling at him, "but until that good time does come, why we who belong to the Comfort committee ought to set to work on something that will cheer him up. And as I believe work of that kind always gets along better when ever so many club together at it, why, I thought I'd ask you all to meet here, and we'd see what could be done this evening. Now what shall we do first?"
She looked all around the circle, but no one spoke. "Oh, dear me!" she said, and her face fell.
"I'd rather write out conundrums than anything else," said Curtis Park, seeing some answer was expected.
"Good!" Mrs. Sterling beamed on him. "Does any other boy have something to propose?"
"Puzzles," said Frick decidedly. "I'd a great deal rather have puzzles; conundrums are just horrid."
"Two things to choose from," and Mrs. Sterling laughed. Her spirits were rising now, and all the doubts she was beginning to feel overwhelming her as to the wisdom of inviting these boys in for the evening, fled at once.
"I think puzzles are just as horrid as conundrums," said Joel Pepper, beginning already to feel the prickles run up and down his legs, from sitting still so long, and wishing for nothing so much as a good scamper; "they're both as horrid as they can be."
"Oh, Joel!" exclaimed Mrs. Sterling, quite crestfallen.
"Well, propose something yourself, then, Joe," said his next neighbor, with a nudge.
"Oh, I can't," said Joel, quite horrified; "I don't know anything that we can write down."
Jack leaned over and whispered in his ear.
"The very thing!" cried Joel, slapping his knee. And, "Tell it yourself,Jack," in the next breath.
"Oh, no, no," protested Jack, shrinking as far back in his chair as he could, and getting very red in the face.
"I very much wish you would, Jack," said Mrs. Sterling. And she looked at him in such a way, that Jack although he had wild thoughts of taking a flying leap out of his chair, and off to the small grocery shop, nevertheless stuck to it manfully and at last found his tongue.
"We might cut out pictures that spell the names of books," he said.
"Capital!" said Mrs. Sterling.
"Well, those are puzzles," said Frick.
"Well, not like the ones you meant," said Joel, leaning back of Jack to bestow a punch. "Do be still," he added furiously.
"But mine would be puzzles, anyway," declared Frick, unwilling to give up the point.
"Well, we'd much rather have these, anyway," said Curtis Park, projecting himself into as much of the circle as possible. "Who cares for your old puzzles, Frick?"
"Boys—boys," said Mrs. Sterling gently.
"Beg pardon," said Curtis. "But we really do want these that Jack has just proposed, Mrs. Sterling. At least I do, and I'd give up conundrums to have them; so please let us have these."
"How is it, Frick?" asked Mrs. Sterling. "Do you give up your puzzles in favor of our making Jack's pictures?"
Frick wriggled in his chair; he wanted his puzzles dreadfully, and he couldn't see, since he had proposed them first, why he shouldn't carry the day, but every boy was looking at him sharply, so he mumbled, "Yes."
It was Jack who settled it happily after all.
"Let's have one of his"—bobbing his head at Frick—"and a conundrum," and he looked over and smiled at Curtis, "then one of mine after that. Won't that do, ma'am?"
"Well, now, Jack, you've fixed it cleverly," said Mrs. Sterling, much relieved. "Get your pencils all ready while Gibson goes into my bedroom and brings out the pile of magazines, and we'll have such a lovely evening of work. You know you must each select pictures, and each write a puzzle, and each give a conundrum; then they must be read aloud and we will choose the very best ones to send. Now then "—as Gibson deposited her armful of magazines on the little stand, and laid several pairs of scissors on the top of the pile—"let us all set about it."
Then what a whirling of leaves and snipping of paper, because they all decided they would begin on Jack's first.
"Can't we have some mucilage?" asked Joel.
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Sterling. "Gibson, will you get——"
Boom, boom, clang, clang, clang! It was the fire-bell, loud and clear and strong. Down went all the scissors, and a whole litter of papers to the floor, and the magazines sprawled every way, as each boy sprang out of his chair.
"Gibson," said Mrs. Sterling faintly.
"Now, you boys," cried Gibson, hurrying in, her cap strings flying in her perturbation, "don't you know no better than to jump up like that?"
"Gibson—Gibson," said Mrs. Sterling reprovingly, but she laid her hand on her heart.
"It's a fire!" cried Joel, with very red cheeks, whirling around from the window where the mass of boys was pressed.
"Well, is that any reason why you should act so and scare the mistress to death?" said Gibson sharply.
"We didn't scare her," said Joel bluntly; "it was the fire."
"Well, we must go," declared little Porter Knapp, struggling out from the knot of boys, who, all bigger and stronger, were pinning him against the window most uncomfortably.
"Oh, he mustn't," Mrs. Sterling said, in alarm.
"His father wouldn't like it at all; he was to stay here until he was sent for."
"It's a fire!" exclaimed Porter, kicking dreadfully, and his face getting red, "and Ishallgo!"
The other boys, just on the edge of saying the same thing, now stood quite still. Every nerve was quivering to be off to the fire, which, from all appearances, must be a splendid one. The bells were clanging fast and furiously, hoarse cries were heard, as if raised from hundreds of throats, and now, to add to the general melee, an engine dashed around the corner. They could hear the mad plunge of the horses, the shouts of the people; and then off in the distance, yet approaching nearer each instant, was another and evidently a more powerful one, the horses at a mad gallop. It was too much for any boy to stand.
"You see wemustgo." Curtis Park went over to the sofa, and said this hoarsely. "He's a baby"—pointing to Porter—"and he's got to stay here, but we big boys must go."
Mrs. Sterling looked up, and her face grew white. "But your fathers wouldn't wish you to go, I am quite sure," she said.
Curtis turned away his face, but his teeth were set. "I'm going," he said briefly.
Jack Parish's head spun, and he clenched his hands. Why had he come to this sick woman's house! If he were only out in the free, open air, he'd go in a flash. His father let him run to fires, and it wouldn't be many minutes before he'd be in the thick of it. He'd make a break and run!
But how white she looked as she laid her head on the pillow. Like it or not, there he was in her house, an invited guest; and she'd been so kind to him and sent him the first invitation he'd ever had. He opened his hard fists and closed them tighter than ever. Curtis Park was now at the head of the stairs. Having decided, he was bolting off. Little Porter Knapp was engaged in kicking Gibson, who was detaining him by the end of his jacket, and screaming wrathfully and slapping her hands. The other boys, most of them making up their minds to follow Curtis, were watching proceedings.
Jack strode off to Curtis. "See here," he said, "we ought not to go, don't you know?"
Curtis turned on him in a towering passion. "You let me alone, you grocer's boy, you! What business is it of yours?"
"I may be a grocer's boy," said Jack, feeling himself wonder fully cool, as the other's anger raged, "but I know something of good manners, p'raps, and we're scaring that lady to death."
Curtis Park was dreadfully proud of his manners, and he would have stopped there, but as it again occurred to him that this was the son of a grocer who was setting up to be an authority, he cried angrily:
"You're a great one to teach me manners," and he dashed down the stairs and was out of the house.
"I wish I'd stopped him," said Jack to himself. "Hello, here's the whole mob"—as all the boys except Joel and David, and of course Porter, now plunged out to do the same thing. "No, you don't." He squared up in front of the staircase. "Not one of you goes down there."
They brought up with a gasp. At that instant a cheery voice in the hall below rang out:
"Hello, boys; I knew you were to be here tonight. Don't you want to come with me to the fire?" It was Hamilton Dyce to whom the voice belonged.
And in five minutes Hamilton Dyce set forth, with Mrs. Sterling's complete approval; a string of boys in his wake, including little Porter, who was parted from Gibson only on her hearing her mistress say, "Yes, indeed, he can go; but do look out for him."
Mr. Dyce nodded over to her couch. "Come on, you little rascal"—toPorter—"you stick close to me or—" he didn't finish the sentence.
Gibson, pale, and shaking in every limb, but seeing no reason to regret that she had hung on to little Porter's jacket, sank into a chair, and simply looked at her mistress.
"Nevertheless," said Mrs. Sterling, with a long breath, and beginning to smile, "I am very glad those boys were here to supper."
If her mistress could smile, it wasn't so very black and dreadful after all, and Gibson came enough out of her gloom to mutter, "But look at this room," and she waved her hands in despair.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Mrs. Sterling cheerfully, and then she laughed outright as she glanced around at the effects of the tumult. "Gibson, come here a minute."
The old serving-woman crept out of her chair, and went over to the sofa.
"Do you know"—Mrs. Sterling took her arm and pulled her gently down to a level with the face on the pillow, and her soft eyes twinkled—"it really seems good to see such a muss for once in my life: you do keep me so immaculately fine, Gibson."
"Oh, mistress!" breathed Gibson, aghast.
"And to think I have had boys, actually young life here in this room." Mrs.Sterling raised herself suddenly to rest on one elbow.
"Mistress—mistress," implored the alarmed Gibson, with restraining hands, "you'll hurt yourself."
"No, I shan't," protested Mrs. Sterling, her eyes beaming, and going on resolutely, "and just to think of boys being here!"—she looked around the room with a sudden affection—"and liking it—for they did, Gibson, they surely did, until the fire started. Oh, it is perfectly beautiful!"
"Well, do lie back, mistress," begged Gibson, thumping up the pillows invitingly, "else those dreadful creatures will finish you entirely."
"Don't say so," cried Mrs. Sterling laughingly, "and I will be good," and she settled back comfortably into her accustomed place. "Yes, Gibson, I have my young folks now, the same as other people," she added proudly. "You needn't try to fix up the room yet; you may finish the story you were reading to me last night."
She had to turn her face on the pillow, for the smile would come, at the picture of Gibson, the immaculate, sitting down calmly in the midst of the awful effects of the tumult that had so vexed her soul.
She had her young people, there was no manner of doubt after that. And though the exit from their evening's excitement was not again made to the clang of the fire-bell, all the subsequent visits held fun and jollity, and quiet enjoyment, and everything else that was delightful, mixed up together.
And the Comfort committee had so much pleasure out of the whole thing, that one evening little Porter looked up from his laborious pasting, whereby a joke from a funny paper was going down for the sick boy's amusement.
"I wish some one else would get hurt," he said abruptly, without stopping to think.
"Oh, you beggar!" It was Curtis Park who turned on him, though every boy had glanced up in surprise.
"We can't have such fun," said Porter, waving his sticky hands in both directions, "unless they do," and he twisted uncomfortably in his chair, as he realized the effect of his words.
"Well, we must think of somebody else to help with our Comfort committee," said Mrs. Sterling from her sofa. "Don't worry, Porter, we won't let ourselves die out for want of work. Boys—" She looked at them suddenly, and raised herself on her elbow, Gibson over in her watchful corner trotting across in great apprehension.
"Mistress—mistress," she began.
"There are ever so many young people who are hurt and sick and distressed and are taken right out of life." She was gazing at them now with eyes that were large and dark and shining.
"But we don't know them," burst out Joel Pepper, for she seemed to expect somebody to answer.
"No, but they need you."
"Mistress—mistress," begged Gibson, hanging over her.
"And if you do the work after Lawrence doesn't need it, and he is here with us, well and happy once more, I will see that some sick or unhappy boy gets it."
Joel Pepper hopped out of his chair, upsetting the mucilage bottle, seeing which, Gibson left her mistress to reach the table in time to save a disaster.
"Will you—will you?" he cried, running over to the sofa. "Will you give our things, if we make them, to some poor sick boys who are hurt, Mrs. Sterling?"
"I surely will, Joel," promised Mrs. Sterling, taking his two brown hands in her thin one.
"Then I'm going to make things," declared Joel, who never in his life before had been willing to sit still and cut out and snip and paste and write, and he plunged back to his seat. "Oh!" he cried, in dismay, and his face grew terribly red, "did I upset that?"—pointing to the mucilage bottle.
"You surely did," said Gibson tartly, and taking up the last of the sticky mess with a wet towel, "and I suppose you'll do it again, or some of the rest of you boys will. It don't make much difference which," and she moved off slowly.
"Gibson—Gibson," said Mrs. Sterling gently.
"Oh, Gibson!" Joel flew after her and twitched her apron string.
"What is it?" She turned on him with asperity. "I never will upset the mucilage bottle again, I won't, Gibson, really."
"See that you don't," replied Gibson, moving off with small faith in such promises.
And another promise had that very evening been made, just before the boys had gathered in Mrs. Sterling's handsome sitting-room.
Curtis Park had been through several spasms of distress over his attack on Jack, when, whirling around from the friendly attitude he had chosen to assume, he had made a tirade on the grocer's son. Look at it whichever way he might, it didn't seem pleasant to view. And all the delight in the fire and the companionship of Mr. Dyce, of whom all the boys were exceedingly fond, was suddenly blotted out. He went home that night, and crept into bed, a most disconsolate boy.
"I was a beastly cad," he fumed, kicking the covering down to the foot, and rolling out with the vain attempt to find some diversion. But that being impossible, he tumbled in again, with his unhappy thoughts.
And all through the following days, go whichever way he might, there was the fact to stare him in the face, that he, Curtis Park, who had hitherto prided himself upon his fine manners, had dropped from his height, to blackguard a boy, who, despite the fact of having been born the son of a little grocer on Common Street, had yet shown himself capable of the height.
"It's no use to deny it. I've been a bully and a cad," he groaned, and wiped the perspiration from his face. "What can I do!"
There was only one way, and he knew it, just as well at first as after all the fencing with himself that ensued the next few days. And at last on this very evening, he stopped fighting the idea, and marched up to what it suggested, like a man.
"See here, will you, though I shouldn't think you'd want to speak to me." It was a boy who said this to Jack standing on the step of the grocer's front door, next to the shop.
"Hey?" said Jack, in a great bewilderment. Was that really Curtis Park, whose rap on the door had announced him?
"Oh, it's no use to deny, Jack," said Curtis, speaking rapidly and desperately, "that I've been a cad—a mean, low cad—to talk to you in that way. It's done, and can't be helped now, only I want you to know what I think of it."
Jack swallowed hard. He was going to put out his hand, but luckily thought in time, This is Curtis Park.
"I don't wonder you won't shake hands with me," said Curtis, who saw the movement. "I'm no end sorry; and perhaps sometime, Jack, why, you will."
Jack's brown hand shot out so swiftly it nearly knocked the other boy from the doorstep.
"It's all right," he said heartily.
"And you will never have another chance to call me a cad, I promise you," declared Curtis, wringing it. "Come on now, Jack"—hooking him by the arm—"it's time to go to Mrs. Sterling's; this is the evening, you know."
And the boys who had begun to think they had made a mistake in supposing that Curtis Park had taken a fancy to Jack Parish, were pushed back into their first conviction by seeing them come into the meeting of the Comfort committee arm in arm.
Polly Pepper ran down the steps of Miss Taylor's house, and set off at a lively pace on the pavement. Presently she came to an abrupt stop. "Oh, how could I forget, Mamsie wouldn't like me to run in the street," she thought remorsefully. And this took away some of the glad little thrills running over her.
When she got to Mrs. Cummings' very select boarding-house on the avenue, there was Miss Rhys at the window of her room, looking up from her embroidery. When she saw Polly Pepper, she smiled.
"Oh, it's you, Polly; I'm glad to see you."
"Is Alexia there?" called Polly, looking up, and feeling her lovely bit of news dancing within her again, so that she could hardly control her impatience. "Do tell her to come out, please, Miss Rhys."
"She isn't here. She went down-town."
Miss Rhys laid her precious work in her lap, and put her face close to the window screen. "Her candy wasn't a success, and she's gone down for more confectioner's sugar."
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Polly, quite gone in distress over the failure of the candy, and feeling very helpless in the fact that there was no one to tell her news to, for of course Alexia must be the first one to hear it. "Which way did she go, Miss Rhys?"—lifting a troubled face to the window above.
"I don't know," said Miss Rhys absently, her mind on her embroidery, and very much wishing she could return to it. "She was going to your house, I know, for one thing, on her way down."
"Oh, she couldn't have gone there," cried Polly, "for I should have met her on the way."
"So you would," assented Alexia's aunt, wondering whether the bunch of grapes should be filled in solid, or worked with the mixed stitch that she had seen in a shop. "Well, then, I think on her way back she was going to see you, Polly."
"Then, I am going to run down and meet her," declared Polly, with a long breath. "Was it Pennsey's where she was going for the sugar, Miss Rhys?"—pausing a moment.
"Yes," said Miss Rhys, turning back with a sigh of relief to her embroidery again, while Polly hurried off, wishing that she was a boy, when it would be quite proper for her to run through the streets.
"Oh, if it were only Badgertown!" she sighed to herself, thinking of the many happy runs she had enjoyed down the lane to Grandma Bascom's cottage, or over across the fields to the parsonage. "Dear me!"—when a voice, "Polly Pepper, Pol—ly Pepper!" called after her. She looked back, and there, with the window screen up, and her face thrust well forward, was Alexia's aunt, loudly summoning her.
When she saw that Polly heard, and had turned back, she beckoned smartly with her long fingers, on which shone, as Alexia had once said, "all the rings the Rhys family had ever owned," drew in her head, and waited till Polly came up under the window again.
"Oh, Polly, it's just this—how fortunate you hadn't gotten far. I want you to tell Alexia to get me some more green floss at Miss Angell's."
"Yes, Miss Rhys," said Polly, with a dismayed remembrance just how far it was to the little shop where the very latest patterns and materials for fancy work could be obtained, and the first supper of the Cooking Club to be given to-night!
"And stay, Miss Angell may send me up some more patterns to choose from; that is, if she has had any new ones since I was there last week, and I presume that she has."
Polly could only utter, "Yes, Miss Rhys," so very faintly it could scarcely be heard. Dear me! and it was three o'clock already, and all that candy to be made over again!
She crept off on very dismal feet, till she reflected it wouldn't help matters any to lose heart, and so she set forward at a brisk pace again. Miss Rhys pushed down the window screen and set to work with a complacent smile at the prospect of having her errand performed so nicely.
"That's the good of having young people around," she said; "it's so convenient at times to get one's errands done."
Polly went the whole length of North Street to the great establishment of Pennsey's, where the avenue people traded. But search as she might, up one aisle and down another, there was no trace of Alexia; and inquiring of a clerk at the sugar department, if she had been there, he whipped his pencil out from behind his ear, and picked up his order pad before he stopped to think.
"She's just gone," he said. "Yes, madam"—all attention to the next customer.
Polly hurried on rapid feet. It was half-past three by the big central clock as she went down the main aisle—well, she must hurry home, for Alexia was probably on her way there, as Miss Rhys had said, when, "Dear me, Polly Pepper, wait!" struck her ear.
She turned, and there before an opposite counter was Alexia, picking up her package of sugar and preparing to race after her.
"I'm getting some more nuts," she said; "my candy was perfectly horrid, and everything was spoiled."
"Yes, I know," said Polly, coming up close to comfort as much as possible, for Alexia had a very long face on, and looked as if it would take a good deal to cheer her up. "How can I tell her about that dreadful green floss and those patterns?" said Polly over and over to herself. "I must wait till we get out on the street."
But when the two girls were outside the shop, Polly carrying the bundle of nuts tucked under her arm, it was just as bad, and she put it off until the corner was reached down which they must turn to go to Miss Angell's. And worst of all, they were hurrying on so fast the lovely bit of news must be postponed.
"How glad I am, Aunt didn't take it into her head to send me spinning off down there!" observed Alexia, glancing down the long thoroughfare with anything but a pleasant expression on her long face. "I just hate that Miss Angell's shop. Goodness me! we never could do it, with all this candy to make, and get our Club supper to-night."
Polly stopped short, and seized Alexia's arm. "Oh, don't feel badly!" she gasped, and then, thinking, "It's better to have the whole out at once," she finished in one breath, "Your aunt wants some green floss, Alexia."
"Well, she shan't have it," declared Alexia, stopping short, too, and glaring at Polly over her bundle of sugar. "No, indeed!" and her pale eyes grew very angry. "The very idea! she's always wanting green floss, every single minute. Come on, Polly Pepper." She set her face straight ahead and marched on. But not hearing Polly following, she looked over her shoulder, and then ran back. "Why don't you come on? I shan't get that old green floss"—all in one breath.
"We can get there in a few minutes perhaps," said Polly, "Alexia, do let us hurry," and, turning down the corner, without so much as a glance backward, she went swiftly on, without trusting herself to look down the long street.
"I shan't get that old green floss," declared Alexia wrathfully, standing quite still on the corner, yet, as Polly kept steadily on, showing no intention of stopping, she pattered after. But she kept saying, every step of the way, "I shan't get that old green floss, Polly,wait!"
But it was not until the door of Miss Angell's shop was reached that the two girls came together.
"It's a hateful mean shame," exploded Alexia, huddling up her bundle of sugar passionately. "There, I've punched a hole with my thumb; see what you've made me do."
Polly turned around in dismay, to see a little trail of fine sugar drifting from the package down over Alexia's gown.
"Oh, dear me!" she exclaimed, in dismay. "I'll help you; stand still,Alexia, do; it's all running out."
"Well, you made me," cried Alexia, whirling around and wildly patting the bag in just the wrong places, so that the stream of sugar became now quite big.
"Do stand still, Alexia," implored Polly; "here, I'll pinch it up," She set down her bundle of nuts on the top step, which a lady, not seeing, came out of the shop, and promptly fell over.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Polly, in terror, and running down the steps. "Did you hurt you? Oh, I'm so sorry!"—clasping her hands and looking the picture of distress. Then she saw it was Mrs. Patterson, a friend of Auntie Whitney's.
"No," said the lady tartly, getting up to her feet to draw a long breath and gaze up and down the street. "Why, Polly Pepper!"—bringing her gaze upon the flushed face.
"Are you sure you are not hurt, Mrs. Patterson?" Polly looked at her anxiously. Oh, dear me! how could she be so careless!
"Not a bit of it," declared that lady, "but, oh, Polly, do you suppose any one saw me?" and she gazed ruefully up and down the street again.
"I don't believe any one did," said Polly, peering this way and that.
"Polly, do come; this sugar is all running away," cried Alexia loudly.
"And do let me brush your gown," implored Polly, feeling as if everything were going wrong this afternoon.
"Never mind, I'm going directly home, here is the carriage," said Mrs.Patterson, as her handsome equipage drew up. "Don't you worry a bit, PollyPepper; I'm not in the least hurt," and off she drove.
"Polly, will you come?" called Alexia, dancing about impatiently on the top step, and clutching the bag of sugar with nervous ringers that didn't help matters any. "Oh, dear me, do look!"—pointing tragically to the little pile of sweetness at her feet.
"Oh, I do hope she wasn't hurt," cried Polly, stumbling up over the steps, how, she didn't know.
"Oh, that tiresome Mrs. Patterson! Well, it will do her good to tumble down once in a while," said Alexia unsympathetically, "she's so stiff and mighty; and I should think you might pay some attention to me," she cried, in a loud, injured tone; "I'm all in a mess with this sugar, and I haven't got any candy, and you made me come clear down to this old shop, and——"
"Well, do come in," cried Polly, interrupting her stream of complaint, and, picking up the bag of nuts before any one else could tumble over it, she hurried Alexia into the little shop.
"And I'm glad enough to get where I can lay this old thing down," declared Alexia, dumping the bag of sugar upon the first resting-place she saw, an aesthetic little lounge, covered with elaborately embroidered pieces. "Oh, me! my arms are almost broken," and she stretched them restfully, "and beside, the sugar is 'most all run out."
"Oh, Alexia!" cried Polly, quite aghast, as she saw where Alexia had deposited the sugar, just as the proprietor of the shop hurried up with dismay written all over her countenance.
"Oh, my beautiful centerpieces!" she exclaimed, raising both hands in dismay, "I am sure they are quite, quite ruined."
"It's nothing but sugar," grumbled Alexia, as she huddled up her bundle again.
"And I'll brush it all off," said Polly anxiously, bestowing little pats over the various specimens of fancy work. "See, Miss Angell, I don't believe it's hurt," she said, lifting her flushed face.
"Well, I don't wish them," declared two ladies together, coming back from the small table Where they had gone to examine more work.
"They are quite mussed and tumbled now," added one, "and not at all what we want. Come, Sister," and she walked to the door, viewing with disfavor Alexia and her bundle, and Polly Pepper as well.
Miss Angell's face dropped to such a length that Polly couldn't bear to look at it.
"Oh, please don't go," cried Polly, flying after the irate customer; "I don't really believe the pretty things are hurt. Do just come back and see, please."
The other lady was standing irresolutely by the lounge, but she wouldn't even look at the centerpieces that Miss Angell was smoothing out with a despairing hand, preparing to put them into their boxes again.
"It was clean sugar," Polly ran on, feeling quite sure if she stopped talking, that all hope was lost.
"But they are mussed," began the lady by the door, very decidedly.
Alexia was huddling up her bundle quite gone in despair, and lost to all the distress of having no candy to take to the Cooking Club supper. If those two ladies would only buy the centerpieces they had selected, it was all she hoped for in this world.
"No, indeed! Come, Sister!" and she opened the door. "Why, Mrs. Alexander!"
Mrs. Alexander, a portly person, with a great deal of black jet and lace, that seemed to be always catching in the apparel of those who passed her, worked her way into the small shop, and up past the knot of people, giving friendly nods of recognition on her way.
"How d'ye do, Miss Ellicott, Miss Juliana. How are you, Polly? And, Alexia, how is your aunt?" And without waiting for a reply, she sprang, if such a ponderous body could be said to spring, at the box of centerpieces Miss Angell was packing away. "Oh, oh! how beautiful! Stop"—laying her large hand on one. "Just what I want. How much is it?"
"Fifteen dollars," said Miss Angell, whipping it neatly out of the box, her dismal frown becoming an expansive smile. "Yes, it is a beauty—one of the very latest things," and she spread it forth on the lounge with an experienced little nourish.
Miss Ellicott deserted the door and hurried over to the lounge. "I'll—I'll"—as she tried to work herself in between. But the portly Mrs. Alexander had no idea of being interrupted at such an important crisis in life when centerpieces were to be decided upon, so she loudly kept on in her bargaining. "I'll take it," she said, in her most decided fashion. "And the next one, too, I fancy; let me see that."
"But that is," gasped Miss Juliana, threading her way into the group, "the very one that I liked."
"Eh?" said Mrs. Alexander, looking up with the acute eyes of a bargain-hunter. "Oh, I don't wonder you like it; it's a beauty. Yes, I'll take it also. How much did you say it was, Miss Angell?"
Miss Angell, who hadn't said, saw no reason why she shouldn't now make it any price that appealed to her better judgment.
"Twenty dollars," she answered, clapping on a cool third of its price, and Mrs. Alexander, who cared very little what she paid for it, beamed at her, and said:
"Put them in a box and send it out to my carriage; they are the handsomest things I've seen for a long time, and so wonderfully cheap! You are quite right; they are beauties."
"If you'd done as I wanted you to," cried Miss Juliana, the tears of vexation gathering in her eyes, as she saw the now incomparable bits of fancy work borne off before their very faces, "you wouldn't have stopped for such a trifle as a few crumbs of sugar, Sister."
Miss Ellicott's face was very red, but she knew better than to show the chagrin she felt, to add to the delight of the purchaser over her bargain, so she contented herself with saying, as she stalked to the door:
"You said you didn't want them, Juliana, the same as I did."
"But I wasn't so set about it," said Miss Juliana, with a regretful glance at the box, now gayly tied up by the jubilant Miss Angell and delivered into the hands of the little errand-girl to be given to the Alexander footman, "and I'm sure if you hadn't insisted, I should have seen that they weren't hurt."
"Well, do come on now, Juliana," said her sister sharply, in all the anguish of having the whole blame deposited upon her person. "Since the things are gone, what is the use of talking about the matter?"—as they disappeared out of the shop.
Polly and Alexia, therefore, had to wait for all this confusion and excitement to clear away, before the green floss could be bought and the message from Miss Rhys as to the patterns could be given. Meanwhile, Polly was tying up the package of sugar, and patting the shrunken paper bag into shape over the hole.
"You tell your aunt," said Miss Angell, her cheeks quite flushed with elation over her good bargain, "that I haven't any more patterns come in since she was here. Yes, Mrs. Alexander"—to that lady, with her head over a drawer, deep in a hunt for more bargains-"there are some exquisite designs among those. There's the floss"—bunching it up hurriedly into a wad, and speaking all in one breath. "Would you mind, Miss Alexia, doing this up yourself?"—pointing to the white tissue paper on the table.
Alexia, who didn't mind anything so long as she could get out of the shop, twisted up the floss into a wad of the paper.
"Do hurry, Polly," she cried, and scampered out to the street, Polly following with her bag of nuts.
"Oh, dear! I've forgotten that tiresome old bundle of sugar after all," she cried, prancing back.
"I'll carry it, and you take the nuts," said Polly, cramming her bundle into the long arms and getting anxious fingers on the bag of sugar, as Alexia came running up with it.
"I'm sure I wish you would." said Alexia, seizing the nuts delightedly. "I just hate that old—Polly Pepper, it's four o'clock!"—as the church bell on St. Stephen's tower pealed out.
So Polly didn't have a chance, after all, to tell her glad piece of news, until they were at the Club supper, which was to be given at Larry Keep's to celebrate his getting well.
"Oh, Alexia," she was guilty of whispering, "it's the most splendid thing."
"Isn't it!" cried Alexia, in the greatest satisfaction. "To think I got it done after all our fright! And it's the best candy I ever made"—glancing over the room, where the dish was being passed about eagerly.
"Yes, I know," said Polly carelessly, "but this is much better than candy,Alexia, that I mean."
"Much better than candy!" echoed Alexia, laying clown the slice of sponge cake that Clem had made, on her plate, and peering around into Polly's face. "What do you mean, Polly Pepper? There can't anything possibly be better than candy."
"Yes, there can," contradicted Polly, twisting in delight on her chair, "and you'll say so when you hear it. It's the most beautiful thing that could possibly have happened, Alexia Rhys. It's"—and just then the door opened and in walked Miss Mary Taylor and Mr. Hamilton Dyce, and the first glance that Alexia took of their faces, she guessed the whole thing.
"Polly!" she gasped, seizing Polly's arm, "you don't mean that our MissMary is going to marry Mr. Dyce?"
"Yes, I do," said Polly happily, "mean just that very thing, Alexia."
"I don't believe it," declared Alexia, while all the time she knew it was true by their radiant faces.
"Well, it is true, as true can be," said Polly, "for she told me so this very afternoon at her house."
"And you've known it all this time," cried Alexia, for the first time In her life in a passion at Polly, "and never told me at all!"
"Oh, Alexia, how could I?" cried Polly, in an aggrieved little voice; "for we were in such a perfectly dreadful scrape over getting ready for the supper! How could I, Alexia?" She turned such a miserable face that Alexia made haste to say:
"You couldn't, you sweet thing, you!" and gave her a reassuring hug.
"Well, just look at Mr. Dyce, and hear him laugh!"
And Mr. Hamilton Dyce being unable to keep his delight within bounds, and seeming to think it incumbent upon himself to take the young people into his confidence, just coolly announced it. And then there was no more paying attention to the cakes, and the little biscuits, the custards, and the whipped cream; and even Alexia's nut candy went begging.
And Miss Mary had to sit in the center of each group of boys and girls, a few minutes at a time, for the supper was passed around on trays, till Mr. Dyce said he wished he hadn't told the news until the feast was ended. And after that, when they all finished up the evening festivities with a dance, why, every one there, tried to get her for first partner. But it was Alexia who swept them all one side.
"She's my Sunday-school teacher," she declared, "and I shall have her first."
"Well, so she is our Sunday-school teacher," cried half a dozen of the girls at once, as they crowded up.
"Well, she's my very dearest friend—that is, except Polly Pepper," said Alexia positively. "Come, Miss Mary"—hanging obstinately to her hand, on which shone a new ring with a big, bright gem in it.
"Well, you said Miss Salisbury was," Pickering Dodge, on the fringe of the circle of girls, couldn't help saying.
"Oh, well, I mean Miss Mary is my very dearest friend after that," saidAlexia coolly, tossing him a saucy glance, as she bore off her belovedSunday-school teacher down the whole length of Mrs. Keep's drawing-roomfloor.
Phronsie ran down the hall.
"Oh, Mamsie!" she cried, hurrying into
Mrs. Fisher's room, "Grandpapa says she is coming—she really is!" She clasped her hands and stood quite still in front of her mother.
"Who, dear?" asked Mrs. Fisher absently. She was standing over by the window, with one of Phronsie's pinafores in her hand and wondering if any more were needed to carry her through the summer.
"She really is, Mamsie," said Phronsie, very much disappointed that her mother didn't seem to notice. Then her mouth drooped, and she gave a long sigh.
Mrs. Fisher tore her mind off from the pinafores and looked down quickly.
"Well, I declare, child;" and she took her in her arms. "Now, then!" She put the pinafore in a chair, and herself in another; then she drew Phronsie into her lap. "Tell Mother all about it," she said.
"Yes," said Phronsie, "I will"—snuggling in great satisfaction up against her mother's neck: "you see, my little girl is really coming; Grandpapa said so."
"Oh, yes—Rachel."
"Yes." Phronsie bobbed her yellow head; then took it up from its resting-place in her mother's neck, to peer up into the face above. "And she'll be my little girl all the time she is here, and I must get Clorinda fixed this very minute," she added, dreadfully excited. And, her news all told, Phronsie clambered down from Mrs. Fisher's lap and scurried off.
And in a few minutes everybody knew all over the house that the letter had come, in which the invitation for Rachel's visit had been accepted by Miss Parrott. Moreover, she was to arrive on the following day.
"Whoopity-la!" sang Joel, who very much liked Rachel, for she was always ready to play anything that he proposed, and was a perfect adept in climbing trees and inventing a circus out of small material; "now that's just prime! I wish she was coming to-day."
Van and Percy, just as well pleased, ran hither and yon, very much excited.
"What shall we do to show her we are glad she's coming?" asked Percy, who seized every chance that offered itself to celebrate such events.
"Why, she'll see it," said Joel, pounding away lustily. He was mending his tennis racket. "Whickets! I 'most split that"—holding it up ruefully.
"Mrs. Fisher told you not to say that," cried Van, who dearly loved to bring Joel up for correction.
"Well, I didn't mean—" Joel whirled around on him, "And I guess you'd say it if you'd 'most split your racket, so!"
"She told you not to," repeated Van, knowing his power in holding to that simple statement.
"Well, I didn't mean to, I tell you," cried Joel loudly, and very red in the face.
"And she won't like it," said Van, delighted to see the effect of his words.
Joel's face worked, and he flung the broken racket across the room. It fell with a crash; and he ran over to the bed, hopped into the middle of it, and buried his face in his brown hands, his shoulders in distress.
"I didn't mean—go away," he screamed, kicking as hard as he could.
Van, terribly frightened at the storm he had raised, stood perfectly still in the middle of the room.
"There, now, I hope you're satisfied," said Percy, from the other side. "See what you've done. I guess you'll catch it, Van Whitney," he added pleasantly.
Van, not so much worried over what he would catch as terrified about Joel, ran over to his brother.
"Oh, do stop him," he implored, seizing Percy's hand.
"I can't stop him," said Percy; "you know yourself it's silly to ask me that."
"I must, then," cried Van, scurrying over to the foot of the bed. "Joel, do stop," he begged frantically.
"Go away!" screamed Joel, kicking lustily. "I didn't mean to say it. Oh, dear me! Mamsie—Mamsie!" he blubbered, rolling from side to side on the neat, white bed.
"I guess he's going to have a fit," said Percy cheerfully, coming up to view matters at a safe distance from the flying feet.
At this, Van's distress knew no bounds, and, regardless of all possible danger to himself, he ran around the bed and flung himself upon it, to burrow close to Joel's stubby black head.
"Joe, don't," he cried, bursting into tears and hugging him with both frantic arms.
Joel wriggled and screamed, "Go away!" and kicked more than ever, but Van held on sturdily, and together the two boys rolled over and over across the bed, back and forth, till their breath gave out.
"Oh, just look what you are doing," exclaimed Percy, prancing up and down the room. He had started two or three times to run out and call Mrs. Fisher; then thought better of it. "You've mussed the bedspread all up; and only look at those shams!"—hanging over the footboard in extreme dismay.
Hearing these last words, both boys rolled apart and thrust up their heads, to gaze at the details in question. There they were, spick and span as usual at the top, but the lower parts were all mussed and wrinkled, while the lace at one end hung down in a small tag.
"Oh, dear me!" cried Joel, huddling up to Van, to throw his arm around his neck, "just see what I've done!"
"Oh, you didn't do it; I did," said Van, giving Joel an affectionate squeeze. "It was all my fault."
"No such thing," declared Joel sturdily; "if you say so again, I'll fight you."
"And perhaps you can straighten that lace," suggested Percy, with no relish for any further hostilities.
Van and Joel drew off to the foot of the bed, and huddled up there to regard his efforts, as he ran around to the pillows, patting and smoothing them straight.
"That won't do any good," said Joel, in great disfavor; "you can't make the lace whole again."
Van sorrowfully embraced his knees, his feet tucked up under him.
"Oh, what will Jane say?" he breathed fearfully.
"Jane? I don't care for her," said Joel scornfully. "It's Mamsie," and he swallowed hard.
"Perhaps she won't care," cried Van, leaving his knees to take care of themselves, in alarm lest Joel was going off again.
"And just see how you've mussed up the bedspread," Percy couldn't help saying, to relieve his chagrin over the failure to make the pillow shams look nicely, and he drew off and pointed to it tragically. "It looks as if crocodiles had been all over it," he declared, hunting for the worst thing he could think of.
Joel and Van rolled fearful eyes all over the bed.
"I'm going to Mamsie!" was all Joel said, as he rolled over the edge and disappeared from the room.
"Oh, wait," screamed Van. Then he rolled off his side of the bed, took two big steps, and stood quite still in the middle of the floor.
"You've got to go with him and help tell," said Percy pleasantly, as if proposing the most delightful thing. But Van didn't stir.
"Aren't you ashamed!" cried Percy, with a sniff. "I'd like to know if Polly will think it's nice for you to sneak out of it, Van Whitney."
"Ow!" squealed Van. He shot out into the hall, and without giving himself time to think, ran as hard as he could to join Joel in Mother Fisher's room.
Left to himself, Percy set himself to work on straightening the bedspread, running around from one side to the other to pat and twitch impatiently.
"As soon as I get one side nice, it all comes away from the other," he said to himself. "How in the world does Jane ever make a bed, I wonder?" And at last he deserted it altogether and drew off with a very hot face. "Heigh-ho! I wish we could do something to celebrate when Rachel comes," and he wrinkled his brows in perplexity. "Oh, I know," and he clapped his hands in glee. Then he ran softly out and up to Ben's room.
But Ben wasn't in; so Percy, nearly bursting with a plan that now seemed to him very grand, was obliged to take some one else into his confidence. And that one happened to be old Mr. King, whom he met as he came downstairs with a very rueful countenance.
"What's the matter, Percy?" asked the old gentleman, with a keen glance.
"Nothing, Grandpapa," said Percy dismally.
"Goodness me! Do you carry about such a face as that for nothing?" cried the old gentleman, with a laugh. "You look as if you'd something on your mind, my boy."
"Well, I have, Grandpapa," said Percy, now driven into a corner, and looking up at last.
"Best have it out then," said Grandpapa firmly, taking one of Percy's hands, and they went on to the writing-room.
"There, now, here is just the place for a boy to get things that are unpleasant off his mind, I take it," he said, closing the door on them both. "Sit down and tell me what is troubling you, Percy."
"Can't I stand up, Grandpapa?" asked Percy, over by the table.
"To be sure," laughed Grandpapa; "stand up or sit down, just as you choose.Only let us get at this bugaboo that is worrying you, my boy. Out with it."
"It isn't a bugaboo," said Percy, with open eyes; "it's a plan, Grandpapa. Only I can't find Ben," and he began to be dismal once more. "Dear me! where can he be!"
"Oh, it's a plan, is it?" said Grandpapa, vastly relieved. "Well, well!"Then he began to laugh. "And so you wanted Ben to help you with it, eh?"
"Yes, Grandpapa," said Percy, his happiness returning, and he deserted the table and ran up to the old gentleman's side. "You see, Rachel is coming."
"Yes, she is," said old Mr. King, with a satisfied nod, "and you like it, I hope, my boy." He looked up with a keen glance.
"Awfully," said Percy, great satisfaction settling over his face.
"Well, I think all of us like the plan," remarked the old gentleman, in extreme complacency at achieving the visit, "for she's a very nice girl, Rachel is, it appears to me."
"She's awfully good fun," said Percy, "only Joel will make her play with him all the time, I suppose," and his face fell.
"Oh, you must cut Joe out," said old Mr. King, laughing heartily.
"I can't," said Percy dismally; "we can't any of us, Grandpapa," and he opened his blue eyes very wide at the mere thought.
"Well, yes, I think we are all pleased, very much pleased indeed that Rachel is coming," repeated old Mr. King, going back to the expected visit, "and, as she comes to-morrow——"
"To-morrow!" echoed Percy, aghast, "why, then I can't get up my surprise, Grandpapa." For, strange to say, the time of the arrival had slipped from his mind. The old gentleman hastened to comfort him.
"Suppose you tell me the grand plan," he said at last; "then we'll see if there won't be time enough."
"Oh, I was going to get Ben to take me out into the woods to-morrow," said Percy, feeling as if he should very much like to cry, he was so disappointed, "and we could have dug up some cunning little plants and ferns: Rachel said she liked them at the garden party. We could have planted them in a box, and 'twould have been so nice, and now it's too late." And, overcome with despair, he sat down on the first thing he could find, which was a pile of books on the floor.
"Take care," warned Grandpapa, but over Percy had gone, the books flying all ways under him.
"I'll pick them up," he cried, when he could get his breath.
"I am glad you are not hurt," said Grandpapa King, with a rueful glance at the big reference volumes, only laid out for his use that morning, which certainly wouldn't be improved by their fall. "Here, wait a bit, and I'll help you, Percy, my boy," and he got out of his chair.
"Oh, I can do it; let me, Grandpapa; let me do it alone," begged Percy, tugging at the books and piling as rapidly as he could, for they were quite heavy. "There, see, they're almost back again"—as he staggered up with the last one.