Pollio confessed his naughtiness, and his mother forgave him at once. Did you ever hear of a mother that wouldn’t forgive her darling child?
“O mamma! I sha’n’t ever do anyfing bad any more,” said Pollio, laying his little brown cheek against hers, so glad his sinswere over for life. “I felt awful bad, and that was why I wanted that water and that cream beer; but it didn’t do me any good. But now—O mamma!”
“What, dear?”
“If I only had some lemonade!”
“But I dare not give it to you, my child. Won’t you try to be happy without it?”
“Yes, mamma,” sighed Pollio. “I’ll be happy if I can see my Posy. But, if I don’t see her pretty soon, I’m afraid I’ll die!”
This touched his mother’s heart, and she called Nunky to send for Posy. The little girl entered the room with a look of the deepest grief on her little face; but Pollio said bravely, as Nunky lifted her up to kiss him,—
“Poh, I’d twice as rather get hurt than haveyou, Posy! I’m aboy!”
Posy’s only answer was to stroke his cheek softly, and sob.
“That wolf stepped on me, that’s all. Don’t cry, Posy! No, ’twas Billy Barstow—I mean the colt.”
“Naughty fing! I don’t like Fourfs of July!” said the gentle sister, not quite sure whether to blame the colt, the wolf, or Billy.
“O Nunky! won’t you set her up on the bed side o’ me?” said Pollio, who found her remarks very consoling.
“I’ve lost my b’loon Posy: where’s yours?”
“Well, I didn’t lost mine: a hole came into it.”
“Where’s Teddy’s?”
“A hole camed into Teddy’s.”
“What!” cried Nunky, “those three balloons all spoiled in one day!”
“Whew! that’s mean!” said Pollio. “But then,” added he, brightening, “now you won’t feel so bad any more, Nunky, ifyoudidn’thave any b’loons when you were a little boy; forthey don’t pay.”
Nunky laughed, and called Pollio “a little comforter.”
Pollio thought he might eat some supper, if Posy would feed him: so mamma, wishing to please the sick boy, tucked a napkin under his chin, spread a table-cloth on the bed, and gave him a silver waiter with dry toast, plum-preserves, and sponge-cake.
Of course the children spilled milk, and dropped crumbs; but they were as happy as a pair of nestlings till Pollio suddenly swallowed a plum-stone.
“O mamma! you pat him on the back while I pray,” cried Posy, clasping her hands. “Don’t you be afraid, Pollio. I prayed when Teddy got choked, andhedidn’t die; and I’ll pray for you now, andyouwon’t die.”
Pollio was soon relieved, but his little sister would give him no more plums.
“Mamma, won’t you please stop making plum-preserves?” said she anxiously. “It keeps me praying all the time.”
Pollio thought he should be very wretched if he could not see the fireworks; but, when Posy declared she would not go without him, he was consoled. And indeed, before it was time for the rockets to go up, both the children were fast asleep, their heads on the same pillow, and their arms around each other’s necks.
Thus ended Pollio’s Fourth of July; but I am sorry to say it was not the end of his illness.
Here is a rhyme that Nunky chanted over to him just for fun:—
“Saddled and bridled and booted rode he,Wolf’s head on his shoulders, tin pan on his knee:Home came the saddle, and home came the pan;But where is the wolf that rode like a man?”
“Saddled and bridled and booted rode he,Wolf’s head on his shoulders, tin pan on his knee:Home came the saddle, and home came the pan;But where is the wolf that rode like a man?”
“Saddled and bridled and booted rode he,Wolf’s head on his shoulders, tin pan on his knee:Home came the saddle, and home came the pan;But where is the wolf that rode like a man?”
“Saddled and bridled and booted rode he,
Wolf’s head on his shoulders, tin pan on his knee:
Home came the saddle, and home came the pan;
But where is the wolf that rode like a man?”
Polliowas better next day, and still better the day after. By the time his father came home he was feeling as well as ever, and the sad affair was almost forgotten.
But, alas! a week after the accident Pollio was seized with a very strange ailment.
It was morning. His bed-fellow, Teddy, had dressed and gone down stairs, leaving him playing with the yellow-tailed kitten; but a little while after, when Posy went into the chamber to say “Good-morning!” she found her dear brother crying.
“O Posy! I can’t get up. When I try to get up, I tumble down.”
She helped him with all the strength of her little arms, but it did no good; for no sooner was he fairly on his feet than he fell again to the floor.
Very much frightened, she ran down stairs, exclaiming,—
“My Pollio’s very sick: he can’t stand up!”
“I think that must be a mistake, dear,” said mamma, kissing her; “for I just heard him and Teddy laughing together.”
“I didn’t know he was sick,” said Teddy.
“Well,Iknow it,” returned Posy with trembling lips. “He’s awful sick!”
When mamma saw that the little girl was so much in earnest, she went up stairs with her, though she did not suppose for a moment that any thing really ailed Pollio.
When she saw him half dressed, and crying helplessly, she put her arm round him, and asked if his head ached.
“No’m: head doesn’t ache.”
“Is your throat sore?”
“No’m: froat isn’t sore.”
“Well, darling, where do you feel sick?”
“Not sick anywhere, mamma.”
“Are you crying because you and Teddy have quarrelled?”
“No’m: we didn’t krorrel.”
“Then tell me, my little son, what is it?”
“Can’t walk, mamma,” sobbed the poor child, plunging headlong upon the floor, and crawling upon his hands and knees.
“Fie! that’s not nice. Get up, my son: you’ll soil your clothes.”
“Can’tget up, mamma.”
“Isaidhe couldn’t get up: my Pollio’s very sick,” repeated Posy, hoping her mother would believe her now.
“Let me see if there isn’t a pin or bit of glass in his shoe,” said Mrs. Pitcher. But when she had hunted, and found nothing, she began to be alarmed, and sent Posy to call her father. Posy went eagerly, for she wanted papa to see and pity her Pollio.
Judge Pitcher was shocked to find his little son creeping about like a baby, and sent presently for Dr. Field.
When the doctor entered the room, Pollio hid his face in his purple-bordered handkerchief, with his forehead touching the floor.
“Well, my little man, what’s this? Are you playing baby? Oh, no! I guess you are a black dog, like Beppo: let us hear you bark.”
Pollio jerked both elbows angrily. He did not like to be laughed at when he was in trouble. But, if he had only known it, thedoctor pitied him very much, and was hiding two big tears under his “eye-bushes.” For he saw now that Pollio’s back had been hurt worse than he supposed. There was a sore spot on it; and, strange as it may seem,thatwas why he could not walk.
“Well, how do you like being a dog?” asked the doctor, scowling away another tear.
“I’m not a dog,” exclaimed Pollio, turning over on his side. “But my legs are spoiled: they won’t go.”
“How do they feel?”
“They feel like India-rubber boots,” snapped Pollio, thinking the doctor very inquisitive.
“Well, I am going to give you some medicine, and I hope in a few days they will feel as stiff ascalfskinboots,” said the doctor, writing something on a slip of paper.
After he was gone, Judge Pitcher took Pollio in his lap and tried to soothe him; while the children clustered around, all talking together.
“It seems queer,” said Teddy, “that his legs won’t go, just because his back is hurt. But I suppose the bones are all hitched together somehow.”
“Wish the doctor’d unhitch ’em,” groaned Pollio. “Oh, dear! I’m tired of being hitched.”
“We hope this won’t last long, my son: you will get over it by and by, and run as fast as ever,” said his father. “Won’t you try to be patient for a little while?”
“I don’t want to be patient!” cried Pollio, swinging his arms. “I hate to awfully!”
Posy came then, and threw both her little arms about his neck, as if to say, “I’ll help you bear it, my Pollio.”
Mamma was going to help him too: you could see that by the tender smile on her face. Her heart ached for her darling boy, but she would not let him know it: she would always smile whenever she possibly could.
The first day was pretty long. If you don’t believe it, just shove yourself about on the floor for half an hour, and see how it seems.
“Oh, dear!” said Pollio, “I’d give ten cents to buy some hinges for my legs.”
“Please, darling, don’t you s’pose if you’d get on my back, I could carry you?” said Posy.
It was the first time Pollio had smiled that day; but it was such a funny speech from that mite of a girl! He would as soon have thought of leaning on a good-sized flower, say a honeysuckle.
“Why,Teddycouldn’t hardly carry me:heisn’t big enough,” said the poor boy, feeling suddenly that he was very heavy.
“Well, papa can carry you, and Nunky can carry you, and Dick.”
“Now, you stop! Do you s’pose I want to go pickapackallthe time?” whined unhappy Pollio.
To comfort him, Posy took a glass of lemonade from the table, and raised it to his lips, and of course spilled it on his neck.
“Needn’t do that again, miss! Guess I can drink my own self, ’thoutyouhelping!”
Posy was deeply grieved, for this did not sound like Pollio.
“No, I sha’n’t go pickapack, Posy Pitcher! I shall go on my hands and knees long asIlive!”
Posy slid round to the arm of the sofa, dropped her head, and began to cry softly.It was hard to have him so cross; but she could have borne that: it was the idea of his never walking again that broke her heart.
“Where’s Beppo?—Beppo, come here!” called Pollio.
The dog came wagging his tail, and, seeing his master lying down and looking so sad, trotted up to him, and licked his face lovingly.
“Poor fellow! I’m awful worse. I’m going to be a doggie just like you. The doctor says so. How do you like being a dog?”
Beppo snuggled his head close to Pollio’s, and licked his cheek again. The two heads were of nearly the same color; but Beppo’s hair was curly, and Pollio’s straight. Beppo’s eyes were black, like his master’s, and had just now a wistful look.
“He wants something: I guess he wants to talk,” said Pollio.
“I guess so too,” said Posy, trying not to sob.
Pollio lay for some time stroking the dog’s nose. Did Beppo grieve about not talking as boys did about not walking? Thatwouldbe sad indeed.
It was a long day and a very long week. Pollio had friends enough. Oh, no lack of those! Nunky, papa, and Dick carried him pickapack; mamma and aunt Ann read to him; Teddy was as kind as he could be; and, as for Posy, there was nothing in the world she wouldn’t have done for her Pollio. Then the little boys in town—why, they rushed in in an army! or you would have thought so if you had heard Eliza scold about the mud they brought on their shoes. Even Jimmy Cushing came with a basket of fruit, and begged forgiveness for hitting Pollio’s nose ever so long ago.
Hop-clover came, for Pollio wanted to see her. “Poh! I s’pose you think you’re lame; but look here,” said he, dropping on all-fours. “Can you beat that?”
Hop-clover humbly confessed that she couldn’t.Herlameness wasn’t much: a horse never stepped onher;she only fell down stairs when she was a baby, and she’spectedshe lost out one o’ the bones. But now she could read in the Second Reader, andshedidn’t care.
Mrs. Pitcher was so charmed with Hop-clover’s sweet little face and patient ways, that she gave her some of Edith’s dresses, and asked her to come twice a week and stay to tea. This made the little girl perfectly happy.
“Oh, how good your mamma is!” said she to Posy. “It’s wicked to wish you was cats and dogs, and I don’t; but I’mostwish I wasyour Muff or your Beppo, so I could live in this house. I like a house that has asignto it,” added she, looking wistfully at the framed motto over the nursery-door: “God bless our home.”
Sometimes Pollio was as patient as Hop-clover, and said he was “glad he had something the rest of the family couldn’t catch.” Sometimes, too, he thought he shouldn’t live long. “When I die, I’ll ask God to let me come down and see youonce, Posy.”
“Perhaps I’ll die first,” returned she.
“Well, then, I guess there’ll be a row ifIcan’t go up and seeyou,” said Pollio.
He really meant no harm; but he did say very improper things sometimes, and it troubled Posy.
When Nunky told him a story, he begged that it might be about Indians, for he liked to feel his hair stand on end. Posy couldnot understand that at all: there were many things about her dear brother she neverwouldunderstand.
But Nunky refused to tell horrible stories, and chose only such as the children would be the better and happier for remembering. He was very kind, too, about drawing pictures on the slate for Pollio to copy; and this was a thing the little fellow greatly enjoyed.
Indeed, everybody was so kind to him, that the small boys in town rather envied Pollio. “I’d ’most be willing to creep round as he does, if my mamma’d give me such nice things to eat,” said they; which shows that they had no idea of Pollio’s trials.
When he was down stairs, he wanted to go up; and, when he was up stairs, he wanted to come down. You would feel just as he did if you couldn’t walk. Everybody wasready to carry him, and nobody complained, But Pollio found after a while that he did not need so many “horses:” he could travel on all-fours nearly as fast as Beppo or Muff.
You ought to have seen him run! How he did run away from his medicine! Why, he went so fast that his aunt Ann could not catch him. It was her business to give him his drops three times a day; but the moment she began to shake the vial he was missing. He could slip out of the room without any noise, then up stairs or down cellar,—anywhere to get away from that hateful vial and spoon.
“Pollio, this is very naughty,” said his auntie, quite out of breath. “Your little sister Alice didn’t behave like this: she tookhermedicine without any trouble.”
“Did she? Then what made her die?” exclaimed Pollio, slipping under a chair.
It was too hard for aunt Ann to be led such a chase; and Nunky said he would take charge of the medicine. Pollio knew then that it was all over with him, for Nunky could run like a fox. But Nunky had no idea of running. He was a man who believed that little children should be taught to obey.
“Pollio, you have made enough trouble, my boy; and from this time I expect you to swallow your medicine as soon as I have counted ‘One, two, three.’”
Pollio looked up, and saw his uncle was in earnest.
“Sha’n’t you catch me first?”
“Catch you? No, sir! you’re already caught! Open your mouth, General, ‘One, two,three!’”
Pollio swallowed, and sighed; and after that there was no more trouble about the drops.
Mr. Littlefieldcame to see Pollio while he was lame, and brought some fine honey which his wife “Liddy” had sent.
dog being hugged by children“Beppo was hugged half to Death by the Children.”Page 99.
“Beppo was hugged half to Death by the Children.”
Page 99.
“It is hard for thee to learn the lesson of patience so young; but it will do thee good, my boy,” said he, patting Pollio’s head with a smile.
“Is Dr. Field any’lationto you, Mr.Littlefield?” asked Pollio anxiously; and was very glad to learn he was not. Pollio loved Mr. Littlefield dearly; but he would never love the doctor on account of his dreadful jokes.
While Mr. Littlefield was at the house, something happened to Beppo which I must tell you about.
Now, Beppo was not only a pleasant playfellow for the children, he was also a dog of very fine character. But he had one fault: he would bark in the night whenever the least noise roused him, and bark so furiously, too, that he waked everybody in the house. For this reason it was thought best that he should sleep in the stable; but even there he sometimes made such a noise as to disturb the family.
The children had often heard their father say he meant to punish Beppo for this; but they did not believe he would ever do it, for he was as gentle-hearted as a woman, and extremely fond of the good dog.
But, on the very night when the Quaker was visiting them, the judge and his wifewere wakened by the terrific barking of Beppo. It kept on and on, louder and louder, till the judge grew very nervous.
“Why haven’t I whipped that dog long ago?” said he.
“I think you ought to have done it,” replied his wife. “He is a dear old fellow, but it is our duty to cure him of his faults.”
“I declare I’ve a great mind to go out to the stable this minute,” said the judge.
“Well, if you do go, you won’t whip him, my dear: so I advise you to take brother Rufus with you.”
“Rufus, indeed! Why, I’m not quite a baby,” said the judge, springing out of bed: “if I make up my mind to whip that dog, I can do it.”
I dare say if Mrs. Pitcher had not spoken of calling uncle Rufus, her husband would not have gone, and then Beppo would not have been punished.
I must confess he did not hurt the dog one bit. Beppo did not feel the horse-whip any more than if it had been a wisp of straw; but he hung his head in grief, for it was the first blow he had ever received. When all was over, he gave a side-glance at his master, as if to say, “I’ll never do so again: I won’t bark any more.” And then he lay down very meekly on a cushion of hay; and the judge went back to bed, thinking he had done his duty, but feeling sorry enough to cry.
There was no more noise that night from Beppo; though two or three carriages passed, and he must have heard them, and wanted to bark.
Next morning he lingered about the yard, ashamed to come into the house.
“Poor fellow, he takes it to heart!” said the judge; and then told what happened.
The children looked sober; and Posy gazed through her tears at Pollio, who winked hard, and tried to brave it out. Friend Littlefield was glad to see that they all cared so much for the dog.
But, just as the breakfast-bell rang, Teddy rushed into the parlor, exclaiming,—
“Papa, our pears are stolen!”
“Pears, child! What pears?”
“Why, you know those two trees bending down to the ground,—the nicest pears there are in the world. Well, there isn’t a thing left but just the leaves!”
“And that must have been what Beppo was barking for. No doubt he heard the thieves at work, and was trying to let us know it. The faithful old creature!” said the judge, looking distressed, but thinking much more about the dog than about the pears.
“O papa! And you w’ipped him!” cried Pollio, whirling round and round on the floor.
“Yes,” sighed papa, “I whipped him.”
Pollio didn’t try any longer to brave it out: he swept through the room like a hurricane, to go and have a cry on his dear dog’s neck.
“How’d I feel if my papa had w’ippedmewhen I wasn’t naughty!” said he. But he couldn’t possibly imagine it; for he had never been punished even by a “love-pat” in his whole little life.
Beppo was hugged half to death by the children; and the judge himself stroked his head, called him “fine fellow,” and fed him from his own hand with broiled beef-steak.
“Does he know you’re sorry, papa?” asked Pollio.
“Well, I think he has some notion of it:at any rate, he knows we’re good friends once more. See, he wags his tail, and looks quite cheerful again.”
“So he does,” laughed Posy, clapping her hands. “Real cheerful! I guess he’ll get over it, don’t you? He won’t think you are a bad man now.”
Posy could not bear to have him think her father a bad man; and it was plain that he did not, for he licked the judge’s hand after finishing the steak, and looked up in his face as if he trusted him with his whole heart.
“Dogs know ’most as much as folks,” said Posy. “I’ll make a chain of flowers, and we’ll put it on his neck, and I guess he’ll like it; don’t you?”
Pollio was sure he would be charmed. And, whether Beppo enjoyed the flowers or not, he must have known he was treateduncommonly well that day; for he had a dish of cream for dessert, and was allowed to spend most of his time in the parlor.
Now, what follows is not a dream or a fairy-story, though I know it will sound very strange. It really happened that morning, while the twins and uncle Rufus were in the parlor, and Beppo was lying on the rug, watching Pollio.
There was nothing remarkable about Beppo, except that he was a large, handsome dog. His eyes just now had an asking look, as if he longed to say something: but you have seen that sort of look in any dog’s eyes; it isn’t at all uncommon.
“Beppo wants to speak, I know he does,” said Pollio to Posy.
The dog wagged his tail, as if to reply, “You understand my feelings, my dear little master.”
“Well, try it: see if you can’t speak.” Beppo raised his eyes, wagged his tail again, and, to the intense surprise of the children, said, or seemed to say, in a fine, piping voice,—
“I was w’ipped last night.”
Pollio rolled over; and Posy sprang up, exclaiming,—
“Who said that?”
“Why, who did?” cried Pollio, almost turning a somerset.
There was no person in the room but themselves and Nunky, who was too busy reading the newspaper to take any notice. Who had spoken? Itcouldn’tbe Beppo!
“Your papa w’ipped me!” said the piping voice again, Beppo still gazing straight at Pollio.
How wonderful! It was exactly the sort of voice a dog would be likely to speak with,if he could speak at all: it was thin and babyish.
“Oh, oh!” cried Posy.
“My sakes!” cried Pollio.
They knew as well as you do that dogs are dumb animals; but here was Beppo looking right up in their faces, and talking. They were greatly excited.
“Uncle Rufus, uncle Ru-fus!”
But they had to run up to him, and pull his sleeve, before he would pay any attention.
“Uncle Ru-fus!Beppo is talking!”
“Oh! is he? Well, why shouldn’t he talk? He has lived so long among chatter-boxes that I should think he might by this time.”
“But you needn’t make fun, Nunky. He did talk just now. I’ll leave it to Posy.”
“That’s so!” replied Beppo, wagging his tail.
“Oh, hear him!” exclaimed Posy, dancing about in a great flutter; while Pollio rolled over and over, and jerked his elbows, crying,—
“I never, never, never! Didyouever, uncle Rufus?”
“Your papa w’ipped me!” repeated Beppo.
Uncle Rufus seemed very much interested now, and watched the dog closely; but he was a man who was seldom surprised at any thing.
“No, I never heard a dog talk before; but what is there so very remarkable about it? Parrots can talk; and parrots don’t know half as much as dogs.”
“O Nunky, Nunky! itisqueer,” exclaimed Pollio, astonished at his uncle’s coolness. “Why, he has lived here ever so long, and didn’t ever talk before.”
“No,” said Posy; “no more’n the cat.”
“How did he happen to speak now?”
“Why, I asked him to.”
“Oh! you did, did you?”
“But don’t you think it’s queer, Nunky? don’t you think it’s queer?”
“Well, rather so, perhaps; but I always knew Beppo was a bright dog.—Come here, old fellow, and tell us why you never talked before.”
“Afraid you’d laugh at me,” replied Beppo, looking up in Mr. Gilman’s face rather bashfully.
“Oh, I must tell mamma! I must tell everybody!” burst forth the twins with one voice.
Mamma was busy up stairs with her dressmaker; and nobody was to be found but Teddy, who smiled in the most provoking way when told that Beppo was talking.
“You expect me to believe that story, doyou?” said he, entering the parlor with a curling lip.
“Nowsee!” cried Pollio. “There, Beppo, sir, this is Teddy. Now say, ‘How do you do, Teddy?’”
Beppo held out his paw as he had been taught to do, but said nothing.
“That’sthe way he talks, is it?” said Teddy scornfully. “I’ve seen him do as much as that a good many times.”
“Oh! but hedidtalk, now truly.—We didn’t cheat; did we, Posy?—Talk again, Beppo. Say, ‘Your papa w’ipped me,’ and I’ll give you some cream.”
Beppo rolled his soft brown eyes as if trying to speak, but not a sound passed his lips.
“Say one word; say ‘Teddy,’ and I’ll give you some chicken.”
No answer.
“Well, say some other word. I don’t care what word.”
Still Beppo was speechless.
“Poh! I can’t stop any longer for this: it’s too foolish,” said Teddy.
“Oh! just a minute, Teddy. He did talk before you came in. I’ll leave it to Nunky.—Didn’t Beppo talk?”
Uncle Rufus dropped his newspaper upon his knee with a roguish smile.
“Teddy, will you believe me if I say he did?”
“No, sir: Ican’tbelieve you,” said Teddy stoutly, “because there’s no common sense in saying a dog talks.”
“Then I sha’n’t say it.”
“O Nunky, that’s too,toobad!” cried Posy.
“Up and down mean!” cried Pollio; “for youheardhim talk.”
“I, my child? Why, I never heard a dog talk in my life!”
“O Nunky, Nunky Gilman! When you were the very one that sat right there and looked straight at Beppo, and heard him say, ‘Your papa w’ipped me.’”
“I heard him say nothing of the kind,” returned uncle Rufus, rising, and planting himself on the rug, with his arms folded.
“There, there! I knew better all the time,” said Teddy, snapping his fingers.
Thiswasvery trying.
“O Nunky, Nunky!” cried angry Pollio, “you’ve told a”—
“You’ve made a little mistake,” struck in Posy, as angry as her brother, but more polite.
“They say ‘little Pitchers have great ears,’” said uncle Rufus, smiling: “perhaps they hear what isn’t to be heard. Think aminute, children, and see if you can’t be wrong. If a dogshouldtalk, it would be a miracle.”
“But we heard him,” said Pollio.
“Did you see his lips move?”
“Oh! I—I don’ know. I didn’t think of that.”
“Well, I want to teach you to think, my boy; and that is why I have teased you a little. Beppo will speak again; and perhaps you’ll watch his lips this time, won’t you?”
“Your papa w’ipped me,” squeaked the fine little voice; but the twins both observed that Beppo never opened his mouth. They saw now that their uncle had been playing a trick upon them.
“Oh, now I know, now I know! Nunky did it himself.”
“Of course he did, you goosie! ’Fore I’d be so silly as you and Posy,” said Teddy, proud of his own wisdom.
“Not so fast, Teddy,” said his uncle. “I could have cheated you in the same way a year or two ago. And I don’t believe now you can tell how I do it. Look at me while I speak so again.”
Teddy did look; but uncle Rufus scarcely stirred his lips, as he said in a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of the cellar,—
“I’m a rat! I’m drowning in the pork-barrel!”
“Oh! howdoyou do it?” cried Teddy. “How can you make your voice soundway off, and so different fromyourvoice? Do you do it down in your stomach?”
“Yes, I suppose so. It is called ‘ventriloquism.’ I have cheated wiser people than our little Pitchers in this way.”
“Well, you can’t cheatmeagain,” said little Pollio, deeply mortified.
“No: because next time you willthink. But here comes friend Littlefield. Now, Teddy, don’t you tell him about this; please don’t.”
It was well Nunky said that; for Teddy was rather apt to report “the children’s” little mistakes, and they were very sensitive about it.
Pollio had now been lame for several weeks, and everybody thought it might be months before he would get well. But, one morning not long after this, Posy swung open the dining-room door, drawing her brother after her, and saying gleefully,—
“O mamma! O papa! my Pollio can walk!”
Yes, he was actually walking. Never was Napoleon Bonaparte any prouder after a great victory than our little hero as he stalked into that dining-room.
They all rose from the table just as surprised as they had been on the first morning when hecouldn’twalk. Then what a clapping of hands, what a shouting! Eliza Potter and Jane Roarty, who were in the kitchen, wondered what could have happened; and so did Ike, who was passing by the dining-room windows.
Ike saw Mrs. Pitcher hugging Pollio as if he were the best boy in the world, just because his legs had stopped feeling like India-rubber boots; and then they hugged him all round, and his father tossed him up to the ceiling.
“Let’s celebrate; let’s have a picnic at Rocky Brook,” said Dick.
“But Pollio can’t walk so far,” objected Edith.
“Why, yes, I can. I can walk all over the world,” exclaimed Pollio, trying to dance, but tipping backward against Teddy.
“Six’m.”
Teddy laughed, for that was what Posy said one day when a lady asked how old she was.
A whole year had passed since the twins began to go to school, and nearly a year since Pollio was hurt. People had almost forgotten the time when he crept on all-fours; for he was as active as ever now, indeed, the “spryest” boy in town.
But his lameness had done him a little good. He was more careful to obey his mother, and he was more thoughtful of sickpeople. He did not whoop quite so loud now when aunt Ann had the headache; and he was very kind indeed to Hop-clover, who never, never, would be able to walk without limping.
Hop-clover’s mother, whowasn’ther mother, had run away; and sometimes the man she called father didn’t come home all night, and poor Hop-clover had to go to the neighbors’ houses to sleep: but she was a happy child, for all that, and still said to Posy, with a smile, “God will take care o’me!” Her own mother had told her so, and she always believed it.
“Pollio, my son,” said Judge Pitcher one morning. Pollio came hobbling along, with a mallet under his arm for a make-believe crutch. He and Posy were playing croquet.
“Will you run to the ‘little woman’s’ store for me?”
The children called Miss Rounds “the little woman,” because she was small, and had a hump on her back.
“Come, Posy,” said Pollio, rushing for his hat.
“Wait a bit, my son. What are you going for?”
Pollio looked a little ashamed; but he alwayswasin such a hurry! He and Posy came back for the errand, and saw that their father was holding out his beautiful cream-colored meerschaum, with a lady’s head carved on the bowl. He wanted some tobacco.
“O papa!” said Posy, looking grieved.
“Well, darling, you needn’t go with brother unless you choose. But why don’t you want papa to smoke?”
Posy blushed, but could not answer.
“Come here, my love, and whisper it in my ear,” said her mother.
“So his mouth’ll be sweet to kiss, like Nunky’s,” whispered the little girl, with another blush.
“Dear papa! I wish you’d cure him of smoking. Will you try?” whispered mamma.
Posy looked up to see if she were in earnest.
“Yes, mamma, I’ll try,” said she gravely, and ran to join Pollio.
“What were you whispering about?”
“Oh, you’ll see!” replied Posy, with an air of importance. “Letmebuy the tobacco.”
When they reached “the little woman’s” store, Posy walked up to the counter ahead of Pollio, and said with much decision, “If you please’m, we want the worst tobacco you’ve got.”
Miss Rounds stared.
“Theworst!” exclaimed she, lookingalong the row of glass boxes, and then back again at solemn Miss Posy. “Did your papa say so?”
“No’m; but we want to cure him of smoking.”
The little woman laughed, and the next time she saw the judge she told him about it.
“Well, well,” said he thoughtfully, “if my little daughter is taking me in hand, it is high time I tried to do better.”
He knew Posy did not like his pipe, and he began to think that was why Nunky got more of her kisses than he did. Dainty little Posy! The touch of her sweet, pure lips was very precious to her father.
He tried her that night. He did not take out his meerschaum; and she remained sitting on his knee, looking very happy, instead of slipping off, and running to Nunky. She kissed him, too, a great many times.
“You do love papa; don’t you, darling?”
“Oh, dearly I do! But I wish your head wasn’t so bald,” said Posy, patting it mournfully. “I’m afraid you’ll be my grandpa ’fore I know it.”
The judge laughed.
“Well, poor papa can’t help growing bald. But do you think he’s nicer when he doesn’t smoke?”
“Oh, ever andeverso nicer!”
“And how many sweet kisses will you give me every day I’m good and don’t smoke?”
“Five hundred million thousand!” cried Posy, clapping her hands.
Papa smiled, and said that was one too many; and then he looked sober, for he had a great mind to begin, for Posy’s sake, to stop smoking. Dr. Field said the pipe was making him sick, and had often scolded; butPosy’s kisses touched him much more than the scoldings.
From this time he really broke off the habit entirely; and it was his little daughter who cured him.
One day Posy was crying on the street, as she was walking with Pollio; and, before she could wipe her eyes, Dr. Field crossed over, and asked,—
“Ah, what’s the matter, Mrs. Thumb?”
“She’s crying about your whiskers,” spoke up Pollio, who needn’t have told. “I said I was going to have some just like ’em when I grow up, and then she cried.”
Dr. Field laughed, and said,—
“Well, well, Mrs. Thumb, I suppose he will; but don’t cry about ’em till they begin to grow.”
If he hadn’t called her Mrs. Thumb! and if he hadn’t laughed! Dr. Field was a wiseman in every thing else, but he didn’t understand little folks.
He had really crossed the street to say something delightful, for a wonder. The sabbath school was to have a picnic next day, and he wanted to be the one to tell the good news; but, in laughing at Posy, he had forgotten it.
The children went home. Pollio led Posy into the parlor, and was affectionately drying her eyes with the lace curtain, when Mr. Lane, the new minister, called. Eliza went for Mrs. Pitcher; and Posy was going too, but her brother held her back. He thought they both ought to stay and entertain the stranger till mamma came down.
“Good-morning, my dears,” said Mr. Lane, with a smile very different from Dr. Field’s: “I suppose this is Judge Pitcher’s little daughter?”
“Yes, sir,” said Posy, blushing.
“Me, too,” cried Pollio, stepping up, and offering his little hand. He was tired of being told that he did not look like the rest of the family, and meant to explain matters at once. “Folks think I’m French or Latin, but I’m not. I’m my father’s youngest son.”
“Oh! I’m very glad to hear it. Pardon me for not knowing you at once,” laughed the minister. “So you are this dear little girl’s brother?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Pollio, much pleased to hear her called “a dear little girl.” “Oh, I tell you, she’s a jolly good sister! Sometimes I think she’s better thanME!”
The minister laughed again, but very pleasantly. He had a fair, sunny face, and kind manner; and children always opened their little hearts to him at once. He took Posy on his knee, and she sat there quietly;blushing, it is true, but more for Pollio’s speeches than for fear of Mr. Lane. Itwasstrange what things that boy would say sometimes. Posy being so very silent, he thoughtheought to keep up the conversation: so he leaned his elbow on the minister’s other knee, and asked the first question that came into his little head:—