Top
“Polly,” said Jasper, “could you come into the den?”
“Why, yes, Jasper,” she cried, in surprise at his face. “Oh, has anything happened?”
“No,” he said, but the gloomy look did not disappear. “Oh Polly, it's too bad to ask,—were you going to study?” with a glance at her armful of books.
“No—that is, I can do them just as well after dinner.” Polly dropped her books on the hall chair. “Oh, what is it, Jasper?” running after him into the den.
“It's just this, Polly, I hate to tell you—” He paused, and gloom settled worse than ever over his face.
“Jasper,” said Polly quite firmly, and she laid her hand on his arm, “I really think you ought to tell me right away what is on your mind.”
“Do you really, Polly?” Jasper asked eagerly.
“Yes, I do,” said Polly, “unless you hadrather tell Mamsie. Perhaps that would be best, Jasper.”
“No, I don't really think it would in this case, Polly. I will tell you.” So he drew up a chair, and Polly settled into it, and he perched on the end of the table.
“You see, Polly,” he began, “I hate to tell you, but if I don't, why of course you can't in the least understand how to help.”
“No, of course I can't,” said Polly, clasping her hands together tightly, and trying to wait patiently for the recital. Oh, what could it be!
“Well, Pickering isn't doing well at school,” said Jasper, in a burst. It was so much better to have it out at once.
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Polly, in sorrow.
“No, he isn't,” said Jasper decidedly; “it grows worse and worse.”
“Dear me!” said Polly again.
“And now Mr. Faber says there isn't much hope for him, unless he picks up in the last half. He called me into his study to tell me that to-day—wants me to influence him and all that.”
All the hateful story was out at last. Polly sprang out of her chair.
“You don't mean—you can't mean, thatPickering will be dropped, Jasper?” she cried as she faced him.
“Worse than that,” answered Jasper gloomily.
“Worse than dropped!” exclaimed Polly with wide eyes.
“To be dropped a class wouldn't kill Pick; so many boys have had that happen, although it is quite bad enough.”
“I should think so,” breathed Polly.
“But Pick will simply be shot out of the school,” said Jasper desperately; “there's no use in mincing matters. Mr. Faber has utterly lost patience; and the other teachers as well.”
“You don't mean that Pickering Dodge will be expelled?” cried Polly in a little scream.
“Yes.” Jasper nodded his head, unable to utter another word. Then he sprang off from the table-end, and walked up and down the room, as Polly sank back in her chair.
“You see, it's just this way, Polly,” he cried. “Pick has had warning after warning—you know the teachers have a system of sending written warnings around to the boys when they fall behind in their work—and he hasn't paid any attention to them.”
“Won't he pay attention to what the teacherswrite to him, Jasper?” asked Polly, leaning forward in her big chair to watch him anxiously as he paced back and forth.
“No, calls them rubbish, and tears them up; and sometimes he won't even read them,” said Jasper. “Oh, it's awful, Polly.”
“I should say it was,” said Polly slowly. “Very awful indeed, Jasper.”
“And the last time he had one from Herr Frincke about his German, Pick brought it into the room where a lot of us boys were, and read it out, with no end of fun over it, and it went into the scrap-basket; and he hasn't tackled his grammar a bit better since; only the translations he's up a trifle on.”
“Oh, now I know why you wouldn't go to ride with me for the last week,” cried Polly, springing out of her chair to rush up to him, “you've been helping Pickering,” she declared, with kindling eyes.
“Never mind,” said Jasper uneasily.
“And it was splendid of you,” cried Polly, the color flying over her cheeks. “Oh Jasper, I do believe you can pull him through.”
“No, I can't, Polly.” Jasper stood quite still. “No one can pull him through, but you, Polly.”
“I!” exclaimed Polly in amazement. “Why, Jasper King!” and she tumbled back a few steps to stare at him. “Whatdoyou mean?”
“It's just this way.” Jasper threw back his hair from his hot forehead. “Pick doesn't care a bit for what I say: it's an old story; goes in at one ear, and out at the other.”
“Oh, he does care for what you say,” contradicted Polly stoutly, “ever and ever so much, Jasper.”
“Well, he's heard it so much; perhaps I've pounded at him too hard. And then again—” Jasper paused, turned away a bit, and rushed back hastily, with vexation written all over his face. “I must speak it: I can't help him any more, for somehow Mr. Faber has found it out, and forbids it; that's one reason of the talk this morning in his study—says I must influence him, and all that. That's rubbish; I can't influence him.” Jasper dashed over to lay his head on the table on his folded arms.
“Polly, if Pick is expelled, I—” he couldn't finish it, his voice breaking all up.
Polly ran over to lay a hand on his shaking shoulders.
“What can I do, Jasper?” she cried brokenly. “Tell me, and I'll do it, every single thing.”
“You must talk to him,” said Jasper, raising his head. It filled Polly with dismay to see his face. “Get him in here; I'll bring him over and then clear out of the den.”
“Oh Jasper!” exclaimed Polly, quite aghast. “I couldn't talk to Pickering Dodge. Why, he wouldn't listen to me.”
“Yes, he would,” declared Jasper eagerly; “he thinks everything of you, Polly, and if you'll say the word, it will do more good than anything else. Do, Polly,” he begged.
“But, Jasper,” began Polly, a little white line coming around her mouth, “what would he think to have me talk to him about his lessons?”
“Think?” repeated Jasper, “why, he'd like it, Polly, and it will be the very thing that will help him.”
“Oh, I can't!” cried Polly, twisting her fingers. Then she broke out passionately, “Oh, he ought to be ashamed of himself not to study; and there's that nice Mr. Cabot, and his aunt—”
“Aunt!” exclaimed Jasper explosively. “Polly, I do believe if he hadn't her picking at him all the time, he would try harder.”
“Well, his uncle is different,” said Polly, her indignation by no means dying out.
“Yes, but it's his aunt who makes the mischief. Honestly, Polly, I don't believe I could stand her,” said Jasper, in a loyal burst.
“No, I don't believe I could either,” confessed Polly.
“And you see, when a boy has such a home, no matter what they give him, why, he doesn't have the ambition that he would if things were different. Just think, Polly, not to have one's own father or mother.”
“Oh Jasper!” cried Polly, quite overcome. “I'll do it, I will.”
“Polly!” Jasper seized her hands, and held them fast, his dark eyes glowing. “Oh Polly, that's so awfully good of you!”
“And you better run right over, and get him now,” said Polly, speaking very fast, “or I may run away, I shall get so scared.”
“You won't run away, I'll be bound,” cried Jasper, bursting into a merry laugh, and rushing off with a light heart. And presently, in less time than one could imagine, though to Polly it seemed an age, back he came, Pickering with him, all alive with curiosity to know what Polly Pepper wanted of him.
“It's about the play, I suppose,” he began,lolling into an easy-chair; “Jasper wouldn't tell me what it's all about; only seized me by the ear, and told me to come on. Draw up your chair, Jasper, and—why, hullo! where is the chap?” swinging his long figure around to stare.
“Pickering,” began Polly; and the den, usually the pleasantest place in all the house, was now like a prison, whose walls wouldn't let her breathe, “I don't know what to say. Oh dear me!” Poor Polly could get no further, but sat there in hopeless misery, looking at him.
“Eh—what? Oh, beg pardon,” exclaimed Pickering, whirling back in his chair, “but things are so very queer; first Jasper rushes off like a lunatic—”
“And I am worse,” said Polly, at last finding her tongue. “I don't wonder you think it's queer, Pickering, but Jasper does so love you, and it will just kill him if you don't study.” It was all out now, and in the most dreadful way. And feeling that she had quite destroyed all hope, Polly sat up pale and stiff in her chair.
Pickering threw his long figure out of the easy-chair, rushed up and down the den with immense strides, and came back to stand directly in front of her.
“Do you mean it, Polly?” His long face was working badly, and his hands were clenched, but as they were thrust deep within his pockets, Polly couldn't see them.
“Yes,” said Polly, “I do, Pickering.”
He stalked off again, but was back once more, Polly wondering how she could possibly bear to tell Jasper of her failure, for of course Pickering was very angry; when he said, “Polly, I want to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Polly looked at him sharply, and caught her breath.
“I won't drag Jasper down, I tell you, with me. I'll get through somehow at school. I promise you that. Here!” He twitched out his right hand from its pocket, and thrust it out at her.
“Oh Pickering Dodge!” exclaimed Polly in a transport, and seizing his hand, it was shaken vigorously.
“There, that's a bargain,” declared Pickering solemnly. “I'll get through someway. And say, Polly, it was awfully good of you to speak.”
“It was awfully hard,” said Polly, drawing a long breath. “Oh, are you sure you are not vexed, Pickering? Very sure?” And Polly's face drooped anxiously.
“Vexed?” cried Pickering. “I should rather say not! Polly, I'm lazy and selfish, and good for nothing; but I couldn't be vexed, for 'twas awfully hard for you to do.”
“I guess it was,” said Polly. Then she gave a little laugh, for it was all bright and jolly again, and she knew that Pickering would keep his word.
And that evening, after Jasper and she had a dance—they were so happy, they couldn't keep still—in the wide hall, Jasper burst out suddenly with a fresh idea.
“Polly,” he said, drawing her off to rest on one of the high, carved chairs, “there's one more thing.”
“Oh, what is it Jasper?” she cried gaily, with flushed cheeks. “Oh, wasn't that spin just delicious?”
“Wasn't it?” cried Jasper heartily. “Well, now, Polly,” flinging himself down on the next chair, “it's just this. Do you know, I don't believe we ought to have our play.”
“Not have our play?” Polly peered around to look closely into his face. “What do you mean, Jasper?”
“You see, Polly, Pick was to take a prominentpart, and he ought not to, you know; it will take him from his lessons to rehearse and all that. And he's so backward there's a whole lot for him to make up.”
“Well, but Pickering will have to give up his part, then,” said Polly decidedly, “for we've simply got to have that play, to get the money to help that poor brakeman's family.”
Jasper winced. “I know; we must earn it somehow,” he said.
“We must earn it by the play,” said Polly. “And besides, Jasper, we voted at the club meeting to have it. So there, now,” she brought up triumphantly.
“We could vote to rescind that vote,” said Jasper.
“Well, we don't want to. Why, Jasper, how that would look on our two record books!” said Polly in surprise, for Jasper was so proud of his club and its records.
“Yes, of course; as our two clubs united that evening, it must go down in both books,” said Jasper slowly.
“Yes, of course,” assented Polly happily. “Well, now, you see, Jasper, that we reallycan'tgive it up, for we've gone too far. Pickeringwill have to let some one else take the part of the chief brigand.” For the little play was almost all written by Polly's fingers, Jasper filling out certain parts when implored to give advice: and brigands, and highway robberies, and buried treasures, and rescued maidens, and gallant knights, figured generously, in a style to give immense satisfaction.
“And the play is so very splendid!” cried Jasper. “Oh dear me! what ought we to do, Polly?” He buried his face in his hands a moment.
“Pickering must give up his part,” said Polly again.
“But, Polly, you know he has been in all our plays,” said Jasper. “And he'll feel so badly, and now he's got all this trouble about his lessons on his mind,” and Jasper's face fell.
Polly twisted uncomfortably on her chair. “Oh dear me!” she began, “I suppose we must give it up.”
“And if we gave it up, not altogether, but put it off till he catches up on his studies,” suggested Jasper, “why, he wouldn't be dropped out.”
“But the poor brakeman's family, Jasper,”said Polly, puzzled that Jasper should forget the object of the play.
“Oh, I didn't mean that we should put off earning the money, Polly,” cried Jasper, quite horrified at such a thought. “We must do something else, so that we can sell just as many tickets.”
“But what will it be?” asked Polly, trying not to feel crushed, and sighing at the disappearance of the beautiful play, for a time at least.
“Well, we could have recitations, for one thing,” said Jasper, feeling dreadfully to see Polly's disappointment, and concealing his own, for he had set his heart on the play too.
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Polly, wrinkling up her face in disdain. “Jasper, do you know, I am so tired of recitations!”
“So am I,” Jasper bobbed his head in sympathy, “but we boys have some new ones, learned for last exhibition, so Pick won't have to take a moment from his lessons. And then we can have music, and you will play, Polly.”
“Oh Jasper, I've played so much,” said Polly, “they're all tired of hearing me.”
“They never would be tired of hearing you, Polly,” said Jasper simply. “Every one of us thinks you play beautifully.”
“And tableaux and an operetta take just as much time to rehearse,” mused Polly, thinking very hard if there wasn't something to keep them from the dreaded recitations.
“And I just loathe an operetta or tableaux,” exclaimed Jasper, with such venom that Polly burst out laughing.
“Oh Jasper, if you could see your face!” she cried.
“I shouldn't want to,” he laughed too; “but of all insipid things, an operetta is the worst; and tableaux—the way Miss Montague drilled and drilledanddrilled us, and then stuck us up like sticks not to move for a half-hour or so, nearly finished me.”
“So it did me,” confessed Polly. “And besides, it would take a great deal more time to go through all that drilling than to rehearse the play.”
“Of course it would,” said Jasper, “so tableaux, thank fortune, are not to be thought of. I think it will have to be recitations and music, Polly.”
“I suppose so,” she said with a sigh. “Oh Jasper!” then she sprang off from her chair, and clapped her hands. “I've thought of the verything. I believe Mr. Hamilton Dyce would tell some of his funny stories and help out the program.”
“Capital!” shouted Jasper; and just at this moment the big front door opened, and the butler ushered in Miss Mary Taylor and Mr. Dyce.
Polly and Jasper rushed up to the visitors, for they were prime favorites with the young people, and precipitated upon them all their woes. The end was, that they both promised beautifully to do whatever was wanted, for Miss Mary Taylor sang delightfully.
“And Pickering is safe, Polly, for I know now he'll go through the last half,” cried Jasper as they ran off to study their lessons for the next day.
Top
And after that, there was no more trouble about that program, for as luck would have it, the very next day a letter came from Joel, saying that Dr. Marks had given them a holiday of a week on account of the illness of two boys in their dormitory, and, “May I bring home Tom Beresford? He's no-end fine!” and, “Please, Mamsie, let me fetch Sinbad! Do telegraph 'Yes.'”
And Mother Fisher, after consultation with Mr. King, telegraphed “Yes;” and wild was the rejoicing over the return of Joel and David and Percy and Van, and Tom; for Mother Fisher was ready to receive with open arms, and very glad silently to watch, one of Joel's friends.
“And to think that Sinbad is coming!” cried Polly, dancing about. “Just think, Phronsie, Joel's dear dog that Dr. Marks let him take to the little cobbler to keep for him!” And she took Phronsie's hand, and they spun around the hall.
“I shall get him a new pink ribbon,” declared Phronsie breathlessly, when the spin was over.
“Do,” cried Polly. “Dear me! that was a good spin, Phronsie!”
“I should think it was,” said Ben. “Goodness me! Polly, Phronsie and you made such a breeze!”
“Didn't we, Pet!” cried Polly, with a last kiss. “Oh Ben and Jasper, to think those boys will be here for our entertainment!”
“I know Tom is made of the right stuff,” Mamsie said proudly to Father Fisher, “else my boy would not choose him.”
“That's a fact, wife,” the little doctor responded heartily. “Joel is all right; may be a bit heedless, but he has a good head on his shoulders.”
The five boys bounded into the wide hall that evening—Joel first; and in his arms, a yellow dog, by no means handsome, with small, beady eyes, and a stubby tail that he was violently endeavoring to wag, under the impression that he had a good deal of it.
“Mamsie!” shouted Joel, his black eyes glowing, and precipitating himself into her arms, dog and all, “See Sinbad! See, Mamsie!”
“It's impossible not to see him,” said Ben.“Goodness me, Joe, what a dog!” which luckily Joel did not hear for the babel going on around. Besides, there was Phronsie trying to put her arms around the dog, and telling him about the pink ribbon which she held in her hand.
“Joe,” said Dr. Fisher, who had been here, there, and everywhere in the group, and coming up to nip Joel's jacket, “introduce your friend. You're a pretty one, to bring a boy home, and—”
“I forgot you, Tom,” shouted Joel, starting off, still hanging to his dog; “oh, there you are!” seeing Tom in the midst of the circle, and talking away to Grandpapa and Polly.
“As if I couldn't introduce Tom!” sniffed Percy importantly, quite delighted at Joel's social omissions. “I've done it ages ago.”
“All right,” said Joel, quite relieved. “Oh Phronsie, Sinbad doesn't want that ribbon on,” as Phronsie was making violent efforts to get it around the dog's neck.
“I would let her, Joel,” said Mother Fisher, “if I were you.”
“But he hates a ribbon,” said Joel in disgust, “and besides, he'll chew it up, Phronsie.”
“I don't want him to chew it up, Joel,” saidPhronsie slowly, and pausing in her endeavors. And she looked very sober.
“I'll tell you, Phronsie.” Mrs. Fisher took the pink satin ribbon that Phronsie had bought with her own money. “Now, do you want mother to tie it on?”
“Do, Mamsie,” begged Phronsie, smoothing her gown in great satisfaction. And presently there was a nice little bow standing up on the back of Sinbad's neck; and as there didn't seem to be any ends to speak of, there was nothing to distract his attention from the responsibility of watching all the people.
“Oh, isn't hebeautiful!” cried Phronsie in a transport, and hopping up and down to clap her hands. “Grandpapa dear, do look; and I've told Princey all about him, and given him a ribbon too, so he won't feel badly.”
And after this excitement had died down, Joel whirled around. “Tom's brought his banjo,” he announced.
“Oh!” exclaimed Polly.
“And he can sing,” cried Joel, thinking it best to mention all the accomplishments at once.
“Don't, Joe,” begged Tom, twitching his sleeve.
Polly looked over at Jasper, with sparkling eyes, and the color flew into her cheeks.
“Splendid!” his eyes signalled back.
“What is it?” cried Joel, giving each a sharp glance. “Now you two have secrets; and that's mean, when we've just got home. What is it, Polly?” He ran to her, shaking her arm.
“You'll see in time,” said Polly, shaking him off, to dance away.
“I don't want to know in time,” said Joel, “I want to know now. Mamsie, what is it?”
“I'm sure I haven't the least idea,” said Mother Fisher, who hadn't heard Joel's announcement. “And I think you would do better, Joey, to take care of your guest, and let other things wait.”
“Oh, Tom doesn't want to be fussed over,” said Joel carelessly; yet he went back to the tall boy standing quite still, in the midst of the general hilarity. “That's just the way Ben and Polly used to do in the little brown house,” he grumbled—“always running away, and hiding their old secrets from me, Tom.”
“Well, we had to, if we ever told each other anything,” said Ben coolly. “Joel everlastingly tagged us about, Beresford.”
“Well, I had to, if I ever heard anything,” burst out Joel, with a laugh. “Come on, Tom,” and he bore him off together with Sinbad.
“Polly,” Jasper was saying, the two now being off in a corner, “how fine! Now, perhaps Tom Beresford will sing.”
“And play,” finished Polly, with kindling face. “Oh Jasper, was anything ever so gorgeous!” she cried joyfully, for Polly dearly loved high-sounding words; “and we'll sell a lot more tickets, because he's new, and people will want to hear him.”
“If he will do it,” said Jasper slowly, not wanting to dampen her anticipation, but dreadfully afraid that the new boy might not respond.
“Oh, he'll do it, I do believe,” declared Polly confidently; “he must, Jasper, help about that poor brakeman's family.”
And he did. Tom Beresford evidently made up his mind, when he went home with Joel, to do everything straight through that the family asked him, for he turned out to be the best visitor they had entertained, and one and all pronounced him capital. All but Joel himself, who told him very flatly the second day that he wasn't half as nice as at school, for he was now running at everybody's beck and nod.
“Instead of yours,” said Tom calmly. Then he roared.
“Hush up,” cried Joel, very uncomfortable, and getting very red. “Well, you must acknowledge, Tom, that I want to see something of you, else why would I have brought you home, pray tell?”
“Nevertheless, I shall do what your sister Polly and your mother and Jasper and Mr. King ask me to do,” said Tom composedly, which was all Joel got for his fuming. And the most that he saw of Tom after that was a series of dissolving views, for even Phronsie began to monopolize him, being very much taken with his obliging ways.
At last Joel took to moping, and Ben found him thus in a corner.
“See here, old fellow, that's a nice way,—to come home on a holiday, and have such a face. I don't wonder you want to sneak in here.”
“It's pretty hard,” said Joel, trying not to sniffle, “to have a fellow you bring home from school turn his back on you.”
“Well, he couldn't turn his back on you,” said Ben, wanting very much to laugh, but he restrained himself, “if you went with him.”
“I can't follow him about,” said Joel, in a loud tone of disgust. “He's twanging his oldbanjo all the time, and Polly's got him to sing, and he's practising up. I wish 'twas smashed.”
“What?” said Ben, only half comprehending.
“Why, his old banjo. I didn't think he'd play it all the time,” said Joel, who was secretly very proud of his friend's accomplishments; and he displayed a very injured countenance.
“See here, now, Joe,” said Ben, laying a very decided hand on Joel's jacket, “do you just drop all this, and come out of your hole. Aren't you ashamed, Joe! Run along, and find Beresford, and pitch into whatever he's doing.”
“I can't do anything for that old concert,” said Joel, who obeyed enough to come “out of the old hole,” but stood glancing at Ben with sharp black eyes.
“I don't know about that,” said Ben, “you can at least help to get the tickets ready.”
“Did Polly say so?” demanded Joel, all in a glow. “Say, Ben, did she?” advancing on him.
“No, but I do; for Polly asked me to do them; and you know, Joe, how busy I am all day.”
He didn't say “how tired” also, but Joel knew how Ben was working at Cabot and Van Meter's, hoping to get into business life the sooner, to begin to pay Grandpapa back for all his kindness.
“Ben, if I can help you with those tickets I'll do it.” Every trace of Joel's grumpiness had flown to the four winds. “Let me, will you?” he begged eagerly.
“All right.” Ben had no need to haul him along, as Joel raced on ahead up to Ben's room to get the paraphernalia.
“I can't think what's become of Joel,” said Polly, flying down the long hall in great perplexity, “we want him dreadfully. Have you seen him, Phronsie?”
“No,” said Phronsie, “I haven't, Polly,” and a look of distress came into her face.
“Never mind, Pet,” said Polly, her brow clearing, “I'll find him soon.”
But Phronsie watched Polly fly off, with a troubled face. Then she said to herself, “I ought to find Joey for Polly,” and started on a tour of investigation to suit herself.
Meanwhile Ben was giving Joel instructions about the tickets; and Joel presently was so absorbed he wouldn't have cared if all the Tom Beresfords in the world had deserted him, as he bent over his task, quite elated that he was helping Polly, and becoming one of the assistants to make the affair a success.
“I guess it's going to be a great thing, Ben,” he said, looking up a moment from the pink and yellow pasteboard out of which he was cutting the tickets.
“You better believe so,” nodded Ben, hugely delighted to see Joe's good spirits, when the door opened, and in popped Phronsie's yellow head.
She ran up to Joel. “Oh Joey!” she hummed delightedly, “I've found you,” and threw herself into his arms.
Joel turned sharply, knife in hand. It was all done in an instant. Phronsie exclaimed, “Oh!” in such a tone that Ben, off in the corner of the room, whirled around, to see Joel, white as a sheet, holding Phronsie. “I've killed her,” he screamed.
Ben sprang to them. The knife lay on the table, where Joel had thrown it, a little red tinge along the tip. Ben couldn't help seeing it as he dashed by, with a groan.
“Give her to me,” he commanded hoarsely.
“No, no—I'll hold her,” persisted Joel, through white lips, and hanging to Phronsie.
“Give her to me, and run down for Father Fisher.”
“It doesn't hurt much, Joey,” said Phronsie,holding up her little arm. A small stream of blood was flowing down, and she turned away her head.
Joel took one look, and fled with wild eyes. “I don't believe it's very bad,” Ben made himself call after him hoarsely. “Now, Phronsie, you'll sit in my lap—there; and I'll keep this old cut together as well as I can. We must hold your arm up, so, child.” Ben made himself talk as fast as he could to keep Phronsie's eyes on him.
“I got cut in the little brown house once, didn't I, Bensie?” said Phronsie, and trying to creep up further into Ben's lap.
“You must sit straight, child,” said Ben. Oh, would Father Fisher and Mamsie ever come! for the blood, despite all his efforts, was running down the little arm pretty fast.
“Why, Ben?” asked Phronsie, with wide eyes, and wishing that her arm wouldn't ache so, for now quite a smart pain had set in. “Why, Bensie?” and thinking if she could be cuddled, it wouldn't be quite so bad.
“Why, we must hold your arm up stiff,” said Ben, just as Mamsie came up to her baby, and took her in her arms; and then Phronsie didn't care whether the ache was there or not.
“Joe couldn't help it,” said Ben brokenly.
“I believe that,” Mother Fisher said firmly. “Oh Ben, the doctor is away.”
Ben started. “I'll go down to the office; perhaps he's there.”
“No; there's no chance. I've sent for Dr. Pennell. Your father likes him. Now Phronsie”—Mrs. Fisher set her white lips together tightly—“you and I and Ben will see to this arm of yours. Ben, get one of your big handkerchiefs.”
“It doesn't ache soverymuch, Mamsie,” said Phronsie, “only I would like to lay it down.”
“And that is just what we can't do, Phronsie,” said Mother Fisher decidedly. “All right,” to Ben, “now tear it into strips.”
Old Mr. King was not in the library when Joel had rushed down with his dreadful news, but was in Jasper's den, consulting with him and Polly about the program for the entertainment, as Polly and Jasper, much to the old gentleman's delight, never took a step without going to him for advice. The consequence was that these three did not hear of the accident till a little later, when the two Whitney boys dashed in with pale faces, “Phronsie's hurt,” was theirannouncement, which wouldn't have been given so abruptly had not each one been so anxious to get ahead of the other.
Old Mr. King, not comprehending, had turned sharply in his chair to stare at them.
“Hush, boys,” warned Polly, hoarsely pointing to him; “is Mamsie with her?” She didn't dare to speak Phronsie's name.
“Yes,” said Van, eager to communicate all the news, and hoping Percy would not cut in. But Percy, after Polly's warning, had stood quite still, afraid to open his mouth.
Jasper was hunting in one of his drawers for an old book his father had wished to see. So of course he hadn't heard a word.
“Here it is, father,” he cried, rushing back and whirling the leaves—“why, what?” for he saw Polly's face.
“Oh Jasper—don't,” said Polly brokenly.
“Why do you boys rush in, in this manner?” demanded old Mr. King testily. “And, Polly, child, what is the matter?”
“Grandpapa,” cried Polly, rushing over to him to put her arms around his neck, “Phronsie is hurt someway. I don't believe it is much,” she gasped, while Jasper ran to his other side.
“Phronsie hurt!” cried old Mr. King in sharp distress. “Where is she?”
Then Percy, seeing it was considered time for communication of news, struck in boldly; and between the two, all that was known of Joel's wild exclamations was put before them. All this was told along the hall and going over the stairs; for Grandpapa, holding Polly's hand, with Jasper hurrying fast behind them, was making good time up to Ben's room.
“And Dr. Fisher can't be found,” shouted Van, afraid that the whole would not be told. Polly gave a shiver that all her self-control could not help.
“But Joel's gone for Dr. Pennell,” screamed Percy; “Mrs. Fisher sent him.”
“He's very good,” said Jasper comfortingly. So this is the way they came into Ben's room.
“Oh, here's Grandpapa!” cooed Phronsie, trying to get down from Mamsie's lap.
“Oh, no, Phronsie,” said Mrs. Fisher, “you must sit still; it's better for your arm.”
“But Grandpapa looks sick,” said Phronsie.
“Bless me—oh, you poor lamb, you!” Old Mr. King went unsteadily across the room, and knelt down by her side.
“Grandpapa,” said Phronsie, stroking his white face, “see, it's all tied up high.”
“Sit still, Phronsie,” said Mrs. Fisher, keeping her fingers on the cut. Would the doctor ever come? Besides Joel, Thomas and several more messengers were despatched with orders for Dr. Pennell and to find Dr. Fisher, with the names of other doctors if these failed. God would send some one of them soon, she knew.
Phronsie obediently sat quite still, although she longed to show Grandpapa the white bandages drawn tightly around her arm. And she smoothed his hair, while he clasped his hands in her lap.
“I want Polly,” she said presently.
“Stay where you are, Polly,” said her mother, who had telegraphed this before with her eyes, over Phronsie's yellow hair.
Polly, at the sound of Phronsie's voice, had leaned forward, but now stood quite still, clasping her hands tightly together.
“Speak to her, Polly,” said Jasper.
But Polly shook her head, unable to utter a sound.
“Polly, you must,” said Jasper, for Phronsie was trying to turn in her mother's lap, and sayingin a worried way, “Where's Polly? I want Polly.”
“Polly is over there,” said Mamsie, “but I do not think it's best for her to come now. But she'll speak to you, Phronsie.”
“How funny!” laughed Phronsie. “Polly can't come, but she'll talk across the room.”
Everything turned black before Polly's eyes; but she began, “Yes, Pet, I'm here,” very bravely.
“I am so glad you are there, Polly,” said Phronsie, easily satisfied.
Footsteps rapid and light were heard on the stairs. Polly and Jasper flew away from the doorway to let Dr. Pennell, his little case in his hand, come in.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed cheerily, “so now it's Phronsie; I'm coming to her this time,” for he had often dropped in to call or to dine since the railway accident.
“Yes,” said Phronsie, with a little laugh of delight, for she very much liked Dr. Pennell. He always took her on his lap, and told her stories; and he had a way of tucking certain little articles in his pockets to have her hunt for them. So they had gotten on amazingly well.
“Why, where—” Phronsie began in a puzzled way.
“Is Dr. Fisher?” Dr. Pennell finished it for her, rapidly going on with his work. “Well, he'll be here soon, I think. And you know he always likes me to do things when he isn't on hand. So I've come.”
“And I like you very much,” said Phronsie, wriggling her toes in satisfaction.
“I know that; we are famous friends, Phronsie,” said the doctor, with one of those pleasant smiles of his that showed his white teeth.
“What's famous?” asked Phronsie, keeping her grave eyes on his face.
“Oh, fine; it means first-rate. We are fine friends, aren't we, Phronsie?”
“Yes, we are,” declared Phronsie, bending forward to see his work the better, and taking her eyes from his face.
“There, there, you must sit quite straight. That's a nice child, Phronsie. And see here! I must take you sometime in my carriage when I go on my calls. Will you go, Phronsie?” and Dr. Pennell smiled again.
“Yes, I will.” Phronsie nodded her yellow head, while she fastened her eyes on his face. “I used to go with Papa Fisher when I was at the little brown house, and I liked it; I did.”
“Well, and now you will go with me,” laughed Dr. Pennell. “Now, Phronsie, I think you are fixed up quite nicely,” slipping the various articles he had used, deftly into his little bag, and snapping it to.
“Not a very bad affair,” he said, whirling around to old Mr. King, drawn deeply within a big chair, having already telegraphed the same to Mother Fisher over Phronsie's head.
“Thank the Lord!” exclaimed the old gentleman.
“Well, now I'm going to send every one out of the room,” announced Dr. Pennell, authoritatively. “Hurry now!” he clapped his hands and laughed.
Old Mr. King sat quite still, fully determined not to obey. But the doctor, looking over him fixedly, seemed to expect him to leave; and although he still had that pleasant smile, he didn't exactly give the impression that his medical authority could be tampered with. So the old gentleman found himself outside the door.
“And now, we must find Joel,” Polly was saying to Jasper.
Top
Joel had no cause to complain now that Tom Beresford did not stick to him, for there he was hanging over him as he crouched into as small a heap as possible into a corner of Mamsie's sofa.
And there he had been ever since Joel had rushed in with Dr. Pennell; when, not daring to trust himself up in Ben's room, he had dashed for refuge to Mamsie's old sofa.
Tom had not wasted many words, feeling sure under similar circumstances he shouldn't like to be talked to; but he had occasionally patted Joel's stubby head in a way not to be misunderstood, and once in a while Joel thrust out a brown hand which Tom had gripped fast.
“It's all right, old boy, I verily believe,” Tom cried with sudden energy, “so brace up; what's the use of your going to pieces, anyway?”
“It's Phronsie,” gasped Joel, and burrowing deeper into the cushion.
“Well, I know it,” said Tom, gulping down his sorrow, for he had petted Phronsie a good deal; so he was feeling the blow quite sharply himself, “but you won't help matters along any, I tell you, by collapsing.”
“Go out into the hall, will you, Tom,” begged Joel, huddling down, unwilling to listen himself, “and see if you can hear anything.”
So Tom skipping out into the wide upper hall, thankful for any action, but dreading the errand, stole to the foot of the stairs, and craned his ear to catch the faintest sound from above.
There was only a little murmur, for Dr. Pennell was in the midst of operations, and not enough to report. Thankful that it was no worse, Tom skipped back. “All's quiet along the Potomac.”
“Ugh!” exclaimed Joel, burrowing deeper. Suddenly he threw himself up straight and regarded Tom out of flashing eyes. “I've killed Phronsie,” he cried huskily, “and you know it, and won't tell me!”
“Joel Pepper!” cried Tom, frightened half out of his wits, and rushing to him; “lie down again,” laying a firm hand on his shoulder.
“I won't,” roared Joel wildly, and shakinghim off. “You're keeping something from me, Tom.”
“You're an idiot,” declared Tom, thinking it quite time to be high-handed, “a first-class, howling idiot, Pepper, to act so. If you don't believe me, when I say I haven't anything to keep back from you, I'll go straight upstairs. Some one will tell me.”
“Hurry along,” cried Joel feverishly. But Tom had gotten no further than the hall, when Joel howled, “Come back, Tom, I'll try—to—to bear it.” And Tom flying back, Joel was buried as far as his face went, in Mamsie's cushion, sobbing as if his heart would break.
“It will disturb—them,” he said gustily, in between his sobs.
Tom Beresford let him cry on, and thrust his hands in his pockets, to stalk up and down the room. He longed to whistle, to give vent to his feelings; but concluding that wouldn't be understood, but be considered heartless, he held himself in check, and counted the slow minutes, for this was deadly tiresome, and beginning to get on his nerves. “I shall screech myself before long, I'm afraid.”
At last Joel rolled over. “Come here, do,Tom,” and when Tom got there, glad enough to be of use, Joel pulled him down beside the sofa, and gripped him as only Joel could. “Do you mind, Tom? I want to hang on to something.”
“No, indeed,” said Tom heartily, vastly pleased, although he was nearly choked. “Now you're behaving better.” He patted him on the back. “Hark, Joe! The doctor's laughing!”
They could hear it distinctly now, and as long as he lived, Joel thought, he never heard a sweeter sound. He sprang to his feet, upsetting Tom, who rolled over on his back to the floor.
Just then in rushed Polly and Jasper, surrounding him, and in a minute, “Oh, is Tom sick?”
“No,” said Tom, picking himself up grimly, “only Joe's floored me, he was so glad to hear the doctor laugh.”
“Oh, you poor, poor boy!” Polly was mothering Joel now, just as Mamsie would have done; and Tom looking on with all his eyes, as he thought of his own home, with neither mother nor sister, didn't hear Jasper at first. So Jasper pulled his arm.
“See here, Beresford, you and I will go down to the library, I think.”
“All right,” said Tom, allowing himself to beled off, though he would much have preferred remaining.
“Now, Joel,” said Polly, after they had gone, and the petting had continued for some minutes, “you must just be a brave boy, and please Mamsie, and stop crying,” for Joel had been unable to stop the tears.
“I—I—didn't—see—Phronsie coming,” wailed Joel afresh.
“Of course you didn't,” said Polly, stroking his black curls. “Why, Joey Pepper, did you think for an instant that any one blamed you?” She leaned over and set some kisses, not disturbing Joel that some of them fell on his stubby nose.
“N-no,” said Joel, through the rain of drops down his cheeks, “but it was Phronsie, Polly.” It was no use to try to check him yet, for the boy's heart was almost broken, and so Polly let him cry on. But she bestowed little reassuring pats on his shaking shoulders, all the while saying the most comforting things she could think of.
“And just think, Joey,” she cried suddenly, “you were the one who found Dr. Pennell. Oh, I should think you'd be so glad!”
“I am glad,” said Joel, beginning to feel a ray of comfort.
“And how quickly you brought him, Joe!” said Polly, delighted at the effect of her last remark.
“Did I?” said Joel in a surprised way, and roused out of his crying; “I thought it was ever so long, Polly.”
“I don't see how you ever did it, Joel, in all this world,” declared Polly positively.
Joel didn't say that it was because he was a sprinter at school, he found himself equal to the job; nor did he think it of enough importance to mention how many people he had run into, leaving a great amount of vexation in his rear as he sped on.
“He was just going out of his door,” he announced simply.
“Oh Joey!” gasped Polly. Then she hugged him rapturously. “But you caught him.”
“Yes, I caught him, and we jumped into his carriage; and that's all.”
“But it was something to be always proud of,” cried Polly, in a transport.
Joel, feeling very glad that there was something to be proud of at all in this evening'stransactions, sat up quite straight at this, and wiped his eyes.
“Now that's a good boy,” said Polly encouragingly. “Mamsie will be very glad.” And she ran over to get a towel, dip it in the water basin, and bring it back.
“Oh, that feels so good!” said Joel, with a wintry smile, as she sopped his red eyelids and poor, swollen nose.
“So it must,” said Polly pitifully, “and I'm going to bring the basin here, and do it some more.” Which she did; so that by the time Phronsie was brought downstairs to sleep in Mrs. Fisher's room, Joel was quite presentable.
“Here they come!” announced Polly radiantly, hearing the noise on the stairs, and running back to set the basin and towel in their places. “Now, Joey, you can see for yourself that Phronsie is all right.”
And there she was, perched on Dr. Pennell's shoulder, to be sure, and Mamsie hurrying in to her boy, and everything was just as beautiful as it could be!
“See, Joel, I'm all fixed up nice,” laughed Phronsie from her perch.