CHAPTER XXXIWORKING HARD TO KEEP CHEERY
PARSON HENDERSON walked slowly between the hollyhocks, his hands folded behind his back. His wife hurried down the narrow path to join him.
“Oh,” she said breathlessly, “we are all going to feel dreadfully when Polly has really gone.”
“We mustn’t think of ourselves,” said the parson. “Poor Mrs. Pepper!” and he sighed.
“I know it, and yet you did right to advise her to let Polly go,” Mrs. Henderson peered anxiously up into his face.
“I’m not a bit sorry that I did so advise,” declared Parson Henderson firmly. “Almira, it is a clear case of the working of Providence for that girl to have the chance.” He stopped short on the garden path.
“I know it,” cried his wife gleefully, “think of the music! Oh, Adoniram, how Polly has longed for a chance to learn to play.”
She clasped her hands and the smile ran up to capture the anxiety in her face.
“I do think. I think of all the good that will come of the visit.” The parson began his walk once more, this time with a stride. Mrs. Henderson trotted by his side, trying to keep up with him.
“Don’t go so fast, husband,” she begged.
“Yes,” as he slackened his pace, “and another thing. We ought to consider how much the Peppers are indebted to Jasper. If it hadn’t been for him—just think.” She ran her hand within his arm.
“That’s the reason I was able to persuade Mrs. Pepper to let Polly go,” cried Mr. Henderson. “She put aside everything else, when she saw that she could do this for the boy.”
“Yes—yes. Oh, I’m so glad. But, O dear,” she couldn’t for the life of her keep from adding, “those children—can you imagine what they are going to do without Polly!”
The parson’s face fell gloomily.
“There’s Ben,—it will come desperately hard on him,” he said.
“Ben will make up his mind to bear it—heis the oldest—and he is such a strong boy,” said Mrs. Henderson quickly. “The one I am worrying about the most is Davie.”
“Poor Davie will take it pretty hard, I am afraid.”
“And he will keep it all in on account of Mrs. Pepper, and it will wear on him terribly. O dear me!” Mrs. Henderson now looked so very miserable that her husband lost thought of the Peppers and turned to comfort her.
“See here, Almira,” he cried, “we are acting badly, both of us. What sort of example, pray tell, are we to the little-brown-house people. We’ve simply got to cheer up.”
“So I will,” cried his wife, trying to smile; “I’m ashamed of myself. And now that Polly is really going, I mustn’t stay here talking any longer, when I could help to get her ready. There’s that old brown merino dress of mine; it’s been up in the attic for I don’t know how long, I shall make it over for her.” She drew her hand away from his arm and ran down the path ahead of him. “I’ve a fine chance to get the pattern of Polly’s calico gown, now that the children are all away in the woods to-day.”
“The children all away in the woods!” repeated the parson in surprise.
“Yes, Mrs. Pepper told me yesterday that she was going to let them have that treat. Polly has been wanting it so long. And it would help to cheer things up. Oh, I am so glad I took over that little pat of butter. O dear!” for a sudden turn in the path, and there was Miss Jerusha, a scowl on her face.
“Of all things on this earth,” she exclaimed, lifting her long hands, “the silliest is to send that Pepper girl to the City.”
“Don’t let us talk about it, Jerusha,” said the parson’s wife, trying to get by.
“Talk about it! It’s time for some one to talk.” Miss Jerusha’s angular figure successfully blocked the way. “Such goings on! Adoniram,” as her brother came up, “what on earth did you put such a notion into that girl’s head for! The idea of her going into those rich folks’ house! She’ll be snubbed to death—that’s one comfort,” and Miss Jerusha gave an unpleasant little cackle.
“Polly Pepper will never be snubbed, Jerusha,” declared the parson decidedly. “On the contrary—”
Miss Jerusha interrupted him, “We’ll see,” she cried, the cackle becoming a shrill laugh. Mrs. Henderson stepped off into the grass, and hurried up into the attic, leaving the parson to get away as best he could.
And now all Badgertown knew that Polly Pepper was going to the City on a visit to Mr. King’s house.
Mr. Atkins took down a roll of gingham from his shelf of dry goods. “I’ll give her enough for two dresses,” he said. “Land o’ Goshen! she needs somethin’ to help her out. I wouldn’t be in th’ same house, with that old Mr. King for a hundred dollars,—no, not by a long shot.”
And the little shoemaker called Davie in one day, as he was running by. “You tell Polly that I’ve got a splendid pair o’ shoes waiting for her,” and then he turned to old Mrs. Beebe. “She’ll set by those shoes when she’s in th’ City,” he said complacently, “an’ goes a-walkin’ with Mr. King.”
And Mrs. Beebe shuddered again, and said, “I can’t never imagine her walkin’ with him, Pa.”
And then one day Mr. Tisbett drove hisstage up with a great flourish to the little brown house and Polly’s hair trunk was strapped on—and she was almost off—when out she sprang.
“I can’t go!” she cried, “oh, I can’t!” and dashing between them all, she flew back through the kitchen to throw herself down in a torrent of tears by Mamsie’s bed.
No one quite knew how they got her back again—but the stage at last, with Polly inside, rolled off, and Mother Pepper and the four little Peppers went into the little brown house and shut the green door.
Davie ran as fast as he could, for the first time in his life not wanting Joel, his mind intent on reaching the spot where the day in the woods had been spent. There, under a clump of oaks on a little mossy bank, were bits of leaves and flowers, the remains of the wreath Polly had made to carry home to Mother. When David saw them, he threw himself down and buried his face, in an agony of tears. “I want Polly!” he cried.
A little bird hopped along the branch over his head to turn a sharp eye down at him. The sun shone, and he had eaten several worms andwas perfectly comfortable. What any one could cry about, he couldn’t understand. For his part, he felt much more like singing. And accordingly he did, and such a lively air, all trills and high notes, as quite astonished himself. But that only made Davie cry worse, for it brought back the story that Polly had told them as they all sat around her while she made the wreath, of a little bird—why, it must have been that very one now singing over his head.
So of course the little bird, very much hurt in his feelings, at last stopped his song and flew away. And the wood became quite still.
All of a sudden, a whoop and a shout—and a boy’s feet came tearing through the bushes, and between the trees.
“Joel!” gasped David to himself. There was no time to run, and besides Joel would see him. The only thing to be done was to burrow deeper in the mossy bank.
“You ran away,” cried Joel, in great displeasure, and precipitating himself on him.
David couldn’t very well say he hadn’t, so he said nothing.
“And it was mean of you,” cried Joel wrathfully,and rolling him over to stare into his face. “Oh—oh—you’ve been crying!”
“Let me alone,” cried David crossly, and twitching away, he rolled back again. “Go right home, and let me alone.”
“You ran away,” Joel repeated loudly, so astounded at such a reception, that all he could do was to repeat it again, “you ran away.” This time his round face became very sober—and in a minute down he went flat on his face by David’s side.
Davie by this time was quite gone in misery, and he burst out, “I want Polly!”
Joel didn’t say anything as Davie cried on. And everything was so still that Davie forgot that he was there—until a queer little rustle made him poke up his head. Joel was stuffing the end of his calico blouse into his mouth and making frantic efforts to hold back his sobs. It was now David’s turn to precipitate himself on Joel.
“I want Polly,” came in gusts from Joel, and he rolled over and over trying to stop.
“Oh, don’t, Joel,” begged Davie, very much frightened.
“I want her,” screamed Joel, “and I’m goingright straight after her to Mr. King’s house to bring her home.” With that he hopped to his feet. His face was dreadfully red, but he had stopped crying. “They sha’n’t keep her there,” he declared, and his black eyes flashed defiantly.
“Oh, Joel, you wouldn’t do that!” David, in his terror, gripped Joel’s sleeve.
“I would, too,” declared Joel stoutly. “I shall start this minute,” and he tore himself free, and darted down the mossy bank.
David, without stopping to think of the impossibility of such a plan ever coming to completion, dashed after him, screaming, “Don’t, Joel,” with all his might, and catching his foot in a rambling vine, over he pitched headlong down a steep descent in the bank.
Joel heard him go, and rushing back to scramble down after him, he found David picking himself up from a heap of dried leaves.
“I’m not hurt,” he said.
Joel, who had been shaking with terror, now laughed till his little white teeth shone. “They’re all in your hair, Dave,” he said. “I’ll get ’em out,” pawing the soft light waves, in which the little dried wisps were sticking.
“You won’t tell Mamsie I cried,” said Davie, looking up anxiously.
“I don’t know,” said Joel. Then he stopped picking the leaves out of the soft hair. “If you won’t tell her that I did,” he began.
“Oh, I won’t—I won’t,” promised David eagerly, “not a single bit of it, Joel.”
“We both cried, and we both won’t tell,” decided Joel in a matter-of-fact way.
“And Mamsie will worry if we don’t get home,” said Davie, “and we mustn’t want Polly to come back.” He twisted his small hands together, as he regarded Joel nervously.
“But I do want Polly to come back,” declared Joel obstinately, shaking his head.
“It will make Mamsie sick.” Davie could think of nothing better to say, so he repeated it in a despairing voice, “It will make Mamsie sick.”
Joel scuffed the heap of dry leaves with his rusty little shoes—then he blurted out. “I don’t want my Mamsie to be sick,” he said slowly.
“Then you won’t go after Polly to bring her back?” David didn’t dare to breathe, as he asked it, but hung on Joel’s answer.
“No,” said Joel magnificently, “she can stay.”
Times were pretty hard in the little brown house about these days, and Mother Pepper had all she could do to have it look as if any ray of sunshine had ever hopped in. If the work hadn’t pressed so, it would have been much worse. But night after night the three boys dragged themselves up to bed in the loft, too tired to do anything but tumble on to the shakedowns and get ready for the next day. For there was all Polly’s work to do, and as much of it as they could accomplish to save Mother was eagerly sought by them all.
And Phronsie, lost to everything but that Polly was gone, refused to be comforted, and hung around her mother’s chair, or mourned for Polly when Mrs. Pepper went down to the store, or was away to help Mrs. Blodgett.
David, who took upon himself the task of amusing her, was almost in despair. He had given up going to help Mr. Atkins in his store to stay at home and take care of her. He even tried to tell stories, and racked his brain to think how Polly would relate one. But hecouldn’t make any headway in getting her to stop crying, “I want Polly.”
At last one day Grandma Bascom waddled in.
“O me—O my!” she exclaimed, sitting heavily down on the first chair. There sat Phronsie on the floor, the very picture of woe, and crying into her pinafore. David was squatting in front of her, frantically trying to draw a picture on his slate and explain it by a story.
Phronsie got up and went over to Grandma’s chair.
“I want Polly,” she said, the tears trailing down her little cheeks.
“Yes, I know,” said Grandma, who seemed to understand, even if she couldn’t hear very well, and patting her yellow hair. “Oh, you poor creeter, you!” she said to Davie.
“She doesn’t like my stories,” said Davie, getting up from the floor, his cheeks very much flushed. He came over and put his mouth close to Grandma’s cap. “And I can’t tell any good ones.”
“Well,” said Grandma, “that’s becauseshe’s heard Polly’s stories. Ef I was you, I wouldn’t try to tell ’em.”
“WhatcanI do?” cried Davie in despair. The flush died off, leaving his cheeks quite white, and he twisted his small hands in distress.
Grandma Bascom gave him a keen look, then bobbed her cap wisely till the frill quivered. “Now, Phronsie,” she said, “you must take care of Davie. He’ll be sick if you don’t.”
“Oh, Grandma,” exclaimed David, quite horrified at such a turn of affairs, “I’m not sick.” He tried to shout it into her ear, but she kept on, “Davie will be sick ef you don’t take care of him, Phronsie.”
“I’ll take care of Davie,” said Phronsie, wiping away the last tear on her pinafore, “and I shall put him to bed, so that he won’t be sick.”
“That’s my good little lamb,” said Grandma, her cap-frill bobbing worse than ever. “Now, Davie, you go an’ curl on your ma’s bed, an’—”
“Oh, no, no,” cried Davie. “Why, I’m a big boy, and I don’t want to go to bed in theday-time.” He was in such distress over the idea that his voice was very sharp, and Grandma heard every word.
“You ain’t as big as the parson,” said Grandma coolly, “an’ Mis Henderson said she put him to bed last week right in the middle o’ th’ day.” It was a long speech for Grandma to make, and she wheezed so at the end that Davie forgot everything else and ran and got her a cup of water.
“An’ I’m goin’ to stay here a spell, an’ Phronsie must set by th’ bed an’ watch you,” beginning again when she got her breath, and the cup was taken back.
Phronsie, feeling very important that she was to take care of David and keep him from being sick, now clamored for him to get on Mamsie’s bed, and let her tuck him up. And nothing would do but that she should take his hand and lead him off to the bedroom.
Grandma chuckled to see them go. It presently became so still in the old kitchen that she dozed in her chair, waking up with a start.
“I declare ef I haven’t lost myself jest for a minute,” she said. “Now I’ll see how them blessed childern is gettin’ along.”
She opened the bedroom door softly and peeped in. Davie, with the patchwork quilt drawn up to his chin just as Phronsie had tucked him in, and with one arm thrown over his head, was sleeping as he hadn’t been able to do since Polly went away. And Phronsie, curled up on the floor, her yellow head on the old braided rug, was dreaming that she was watching Davie and keeping him from getting sick.
Ben and Joel found them so, when they came home from Deacon Blodgett’s where they had been piling wood. Joel rushed past Grandma Bascom like a whirlwind. “Sh!” she said, raising her hand. Too late! Into the bedroom flew Joel waving something over his head. “Hoh!in bed!” he cried. “Get up, Dave!”
“Look out!” cried Ben, “you almost stepped on Phronsie!” and he picked her up, as Joel jumped on the bed.
“It’s for you,” he cried, shaking the arm thrown over Davie’s head. Then the old patchwork quilt was twitched down, and something white was thrust in its place.
“What is it?” asked Davie, his blue eyesdewy with sleep, and he rolled over to show very pink cheeks.
“A letter from Polly,” cried Joel, waving it impatiently.
Davie flew up to sit in the middle of the bed. “Oh!” he cried hungrily, “a letter from Polly!”
“Yes—yes, and it’s for you,” screamed Joel, sticking it into his hand.
Davie threw off the patchwork quilt and, tumbling off the bed, ran out into the kitchen. “A letter from Polly—and it’s for me!” he shouted.
Just then the door opened and Mother Pepper came in to meet Ben coming out from the bedroom with Phronsie on his shoulder. She kept saying, “I watched Davie all the while—I did.”
It took Davie so long to open the letter with trembling fingers, that Joel impatiently kept crying, “Do hurry, Dave!” beating on the table for emphasis.
“Hush, Joe,” cried Ben, “we couldn’t hear the letter if it were open, you make such a noise.”
“I’ll stop when he opens it,” said Joel.“Oh, do hurry, Dave!” and he ran across the kitchen with Mamsie’s big bread-knife. But Davie already had the letter out of its envelope, and spread in his hand.
They all held their breath to catch every word, and Grandma Bascom put her hand behind her best ear, and Davie began:
“Dear Davie:“I just wish I could hop into the little brown house and—(O dear me! I wrote that crooked) see you all. To-morrow I’m going to write to Joel.”
“Dear Davie:
“I just wish I could hop into the little brown house and—(O dear me! I wrote that crooked) see you all. To-morrow I’m going to write to Joel.”
“Hooray!” screamed Joel. He rushed up to Grandma and shouted in her ear, “Polly’s going to write to me to-morrow!”
“Come back,” cried Ben, “if you want to hear the rest. Go on, Dave.”
“Wait for me,” roared Joel, skipping back. “Have you read any more, Dave?” he cried anxiously.
“No,” said Davie, “I haven’t read a bit more.”
They all held their breath to catch every word, and Davie beganThey all held their breath to catch every word, and Davie began.—Page490.
They all held their breath to catch every word, and Davie began.—Page490.
They all held their breath to catch every word, and Davie began.—Page490.
“Well, I want to tell you how kind dear Mr. King is. (He wants me to call him Grandpapa.) He has a music teacher for me. Just think, I’m really going to learn to play on the piano—really and truly! Oh, Davie, I was almost afraid to touch the piano, it is so magnifesent (I haven’t spelled that right I know) but Grandpapa said I must not feel that way, so I don’t now, for of course if I were afraid of the piano, I never could learn to play.“And oh—little Dick is too cunning for anything. Phronsie would like to play with him.”
“Well, I want to tell you how kind dear Mr. King is. (He wants me to call him Grandpapa.) He has a music teacher for me. Just think, I’m really going to learn to play on the piano—really and truly! Oh, Davie, I was almost afraid to touch the piano, it is so magnifesent (I haven’t spelled that right I know) but Grandpapa said I must not feel that way, so I don’t now, for of course if I were afraid of the piano, I never could learn to play.
“And oh—little Dick is too cunning for anything. Phronsie would like to play with him.”
“I should,” said Phronsie, smoothing down her pinafore, “very much indeed.”
“Oh, and Prince, this morning, when Jasper asked him if he didn’t want to send his love to Phronsie, said just as plain as could be, ‘Bark—Bark!’”
“Oh, and Prince, this morning, when Jasper asked him if he didn’t want to send his love to Phronsie, said just as plain as could be, ‘Bark—Bark!’”
Phronsie screamed so with delight that it was some time before Davie could go on.
“And now you must write to me, Davie, and tell Phronsie to write to me, too, all by her own self. And, oh, tell Mamsie I mended my stockings last week ’cause two big holes came. I must save some room for Jasper wants to write.“Polly, with love to all in the little brown house.”
“And now you must write to me, Davie, and tell Phronsie to write to me, too, all by her own self. And, oh, tell Mamsie I mended my stockings last week ’cause two big holes came. I must save some room for Jasper wants to write.
“Polly, with love to all in the little brown house.”
“Dear Dave:“You must write to Polly, all of you, because I want her to like it here, and she won’t unless she hears often from the little brown house.“Polly just practises every chance she can get. The music teacher says she is the best—Polly is stopping me, so I can’t tell the rest.“Jasper.”
“Dear Dave:
“You must write to Polly, all of you, because I want her to like it here, and she won’t unless she hears often from the little brown house.
“Polly just practises every chance she can get. The music teacher says she is the best—Polly is stopping me, so I can’t tell the rest.
“Jasper.”
Davie stood quite still, not minding when Joel twitched the letter out of his hand, then he marched straight up to Grandma and said under her cap-frill,
“Now I know what Phronsie would like to do,—write a letter to Polly every day.”
Then he flew over to Mother Pepper. “You don’t need to take care of Phronsie, I’m going to do it every single day, Mamsie, all by myself,” he said, his blue eyes shining.
THE END