IX.THE OLD TEA-KETTLE.
The rain dripped most dismally on the roof of the Little Brown House. It had rained just so, without any appearance of stopping, for three days, and Phronsie held a sad little face against the window-pane.
“Won’t it ever stop, Polly?” she asked.
“Yes, I s’pose so,” said Polly dismally; “though I don’t know when. Mamsie, did you ever see it rain so long?”
“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, looking up from her stocking-mending over in the corner, “plenty of times, Polly. If folks don’t worry over the weather and talk about it, it’s all right. Fly at your baking, child, and let the rain take care of itself.”
“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“It’s so dark,” said Polly discontentedly, “we can’t see anything,” as she went into the buttery for the flour.
“It’s so dark,” grumbled Joel, trying to make a box over in the corner, and catching her tone, “can’t see anything.”
Davie sighed, and went over to his mother’s corner, and stood there with a very long face.
“There, now you see, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, as Polly came back with the flour-sieve and the bread-bowl, and set them on the kitchen table.
Polly looked around the kitchen with a startled air. “Oh, I’m awfully sorry!” she cried, a wave of color flying up to her brown hair, “Mamsie, I truly am.” Then she rushed over to Joel, who was banging petulantly at a refractory nail, “Look out, you’ll pound your thumb,” and she kneeled down beside him.
“Don’t care,” said Joel crossly; “can’t see anything. Mean old rain spoils everything.”
“Joel!”—it was Mother Pepper who spoke, and her black eyes flashed sternly,—“that’s wicked. Don’t you let me hear you say such things again.”
“O Mamsie!” began Polly.
“And a boy who talks about the rain in such a way, is not only wicked but foolish. I think he had better go into the Provision Room, andshut the door, and sit down and think by himself for a while.”
“OMamsie!” exclaimed Polly imploringly.
“Go straight along, Joey,” said Mrs. Pepper; “and when you feel right about it, you may come back.”
Joel laid down his clumsy hammer, and his round face working dreadfully, he stumbled off, and down the rickety steps, and presently they could hear him shut the old door fast.
“O Mamsie—Mamsie!” Polly sprang to her feet, and rushed tumultuously across the room, and threw herself at Mrs. Pepper’s feet. “It’s all my fault,” she sobbed, burying her face in the blue-checked apron—“and I am the one who ought to be sent into the Provision Room.”
“You’re too big to send there, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper sadly; “why, you’re ten years old.” She laid down her mending, and her toil-worn hands smoothed the brown hair gently.
“But I made Joel say the bad things,” cried Polly gustily, her shoulders shaking with her efforts not to cry aloud.
Phronsie, who had turned in her chair where she had been looking out of the window, at theunusual disturbance in the old kitchen, now got down very gravely, and came over to Mother Pepper’s corner.
“What is the matter with Polly?” she asked with wide, disapproving eyes.
“Mamsie will take care of Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“She’s sick, I guess,” said little Davie wonderingly.
At that Phronsie uttered a low cry, “Oh, don’t let my Polly be sick—don’t let her, Mamsie!” then she screamed in dismay.
“Polly,” said Mother Pepper, putting the stockings into the big mending-basket with a hasty hand, and drawing Phronsie to her lap, “now I guess you’ll have to do your best, my child, to set matters right.—There, there, Phronsie, stop screaming,—Polly’s all well.”
Polly felt for the first minute as if she could never lift her head and speak cheerily to the children. Oh, how much she would give to be Phronsie’s age, and be cuddled and allowed to have her cry out! But Mamsie’s words! She swallowed hard the terrible lump in her throat, wiped off the tears, and said brokenly, “I’m all right,—there, see, Pet,” and put up her head.
When Phronsie saw that Polly could really move, she stopped screaming; and Davie began to smile, “I guess she ain’t sick.”
“No, indeed,” said Polly, finding it easier to control herself since she had begun, and hopping to her feet; “I’m going back to my baking,” she cried.
“So do,” cried mother Pepper approvingly, with a little smile over at Polly, that ran right down into the sad little heart.
“May I bake?” cried Phronsie, the last tear rolling off by itself in a lonely fashion. “May I, Polly, may I?” and she scrambled down from her mother’s lap, and ran over to the table.
“Yes, indeed,” cried Polly, delighted at the change in affairs.
“Then I shall,” said Davie; “at least when Joel gets out. May I call him, Mamsie?” he begged.
“No,” said Mrs. Pepper, picking up the stocking again, and attacking the biggest hole; “Joel must wait till he knows he’s right.”
“Then, I don’t want to bake yet,” said David with a sigh.
Polly flew around at her preparations for baking, making a great clatter with the things,and keeping up a cheery little chat with Phronsie. But all the while her heart was sore over Joel sitting lonely and disconsolate in the old Provision Room. It seemed as if she could not bear it another minute longer, when suddenly she heard the door open slowly, and his feet coming over the rickety steps. Mrs. Pepper mended steadily on, and did not turn her head. Polly held her breath, as Joel, without a glance for any one else, marched straight past the baking-table, and over to Mamsie’s side.
“I’m sorry I was bad, Mamsie,” he began. But he never got any further, for Mother Pepper had him in her arms, and there he was cuddled to his heart’s content. And Polly deserted the baking-table, leaving Phronsie to work her own sweet will among the materials, while she rushed over and dropped a kiss on Joel’s stubby head, telling him it was she who was so naughty, and she never was going to do it again. And little David clasped his hands, and beamed at them all in great satisfaction.
“Now you had better see what Phronsie is about,” advised Mrs. Pepper wisely.
“I don’t care,” cried Polly in a glad recklessness, and plunging over to the baking-table, withboth boys at her heels. “Oh, my goodness me! what have you been doing, Phronsie?”
“Baking a cake,” hummed Phronsie, in a state of bliss. She had upset the flour-pan in trying to pull it toward her; and what didn’t fly over the floor was on her face and pinafore, while she patted the yeast in the cracked cup with her spoon.
“Hoh—hoh—how you look!” laughed Joel and David, “just like the old ash-man, with that brown flour all over your face.”
But Phronsie didn’t care; so while Polly shook off the flour, and cleaned things up, taking great care to get the yeast-cup the length of the table away from the little fingers, she was singing all the time, “I’m going to bake a cake—Polly said so.”
At last the bread was made, and, covered with an old towel, was set down to rise by the stove; Phronsie’s cake was set in her own little tin patty-pan, and tucked into the oven; and then the three children stood and looked at each other. It was still dark, the rain going patter—patter—patter worse than ever on the roof.
“Mamsie, do you mind if I tell them a story?” asked Polly, looking at them all.
“No, indeed,” cried Mrs. Pepper cheerily. “Just the very thing, Polly. I’m glad you thought of it. I sh’d like to hear it too, myself.”
“Would you, Mamsie?” cried Polly, quite delighted.
“Yes, indeed. Seems as if my needle would go in and out faster if I could hear something meanwhile,” replied Mother Pepper.
So Polly, feeling quite important at being about to tell a story that Mother Pepper was to listen to, gathered the three children in a knot about her on the floor ready to begin.
“I wish Ben was here,” began Joel.
“It’s good Ben has wood to saw at Mr. Blodgett’s,” spoke up Mrs. Pepper quickly. “He’s in that nice tight woodshed, so the rain won’t hurt him: and just think, children, of the money he’ll bring home.”
Polly couldn’t help but give a little sigh. How perfectly lovely it would be if she weren’t a girl, but could go off and earn money just like Ben to keep the little brown house going! But Mother Pepper didn’t hear the sigh, it was such a tiny one, as Polly saw by glancing over at her. And so away flew the story-teller as fast as she could, on her entertainment.
“Now, children,” began Polly, hoping Mamsie would like the story, and racking her brains to make it up as she went along, “I’m going to tell you to-day about an old Tea-Kettle.”
“Hoh! hoh!” jeered Joel, knocking his heels together; “that isn’t any story.”
“That’s funny,” laughed little David, looking over at the Pepper tea-kettle humming away on the stove. “Was it like ours, Polly?”
“Yes,” said Polly, “as like as two peas. Well, this Tea-Kettle lived in a house where there weren’t any children, only an old woman and a cat.”
“It’s Grandma Bascom she means,” shouted Joel, very much disappointed. “Don’t tell about any one we know, Polly; we’ve seen her old tea-kettle lots of times, and”—
“And I sh’d think it would be better to let Polly tell the story in her own way,” said Mother Pepper, “if there is to be any story.”
“Oh, she may—she may!” cried Joel, casting an alarmed glance over his shoulder on the comfortable figure in the old chair, mending away. “Go on, Polly,—do go on.”
“Well, it isn’t Grandma Bascom,” said Polly, “this old woman isn’t. My old woman withthe Tea-Kettle and the cat lived on the edge of a wood and”—
“And there were bears and hyenas and dreadful things there,” cried Joel delightedly. “I know now,—and you’re going to have ’em come out nights and bite her.”
“No,” said Polly, “we’ve had so many bears lately, you don’t want any more, Joe.”
“Yes I do too,” contradicted Joel flatly; “we can’t have too many bears. I sh’d think you might give ’em to us, Polly,” he added wheedlingly.
“Well, there aren’t any in this story,” declared Polly firmly. “Wait till I get through; you’ll like it, I guess.”
“Yes; wait till she gets through,” echoed Davie. “Go on, Polly, please.”
Phronsie patted her pink pinafore, and pulled it into shape patiently. Polly hurried on.
“Well, this old woman who lived on the edge of the wood used to go out every single day, and pick up pieces of branches of trees to burn. You see, she didn’t have any children to go for her. And the cat stayed home to mind the house, and there was nobody to talk to but the old Tea-Kettle.”
“Oh, dear me!” said David.
“Now, the old Tea-Kettle was cross sometimes,” said Polly; “she was so very old.”
“How old?” interrupted Joel.
“Oh! I don’t know. Fifty years, I guess,” said Polly at a venture.
“And she was black all over, oh! as black as she could be—blacker’n anything I see round here,” said Polly, glancing at the rusty little shoes stuck out before her. “Well, and she was tired too, besides being black; because, you see, she had sung and hummed and buzzed every single day for all that long time just in that one spot. Oh! she was so tired, she just wanted to roll down on the floor, and off and away to see the world. And one morning the old woman put on her big black cap over her white one, and took down her thick stick with a knob on the end of it.
“‘Mind the house now,’ she said to the cat, who sat by the fire. And off she went to the wood to get her branches and sticks.
“Mind the house, now,” she said to the cat.
“Mind the house, now,” she said to the cat.
“Suddenly there was a big noise just like this,”—and Polly gave a hiss as near like a bubbling-hot tea-kettle as she could manage,—“and then a voice said ‘Hem.’
“‘Oh! that’s you, Mrs. Tea-Kettle,’ said the cat, without turning her head.
“‘Who else would it be but me?’ said the old Tea-Kettle sharply; ‘when there’s not a soul comes in here day after day. Come, you cross thing, why don’t you talk?’ for the cat looked as if she were going to sleep that very minute.
“‘I haven’t anything to talk about,’ said the cat sleepily.
“‘Well, I have,’ snapped the Tea-Kettle—‘puff—puff,—and I’m very angry indeed. And I’m tired of staying in this old place day after day. And I tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to jump right down, and go off to see the world. Yes I am.’
“‘You can’t,’ said the cat, still not turning her head; ‘for you haven’t any legs.’
“‘As if that was any matter,’ snorted the old Tea-Kettle. Then she raised her lid, and sent out angry little whiffs of steam, so that the cat moved uneasily. ‘I don’t have to depend on legs, like you great lazy things. I can roll just as good.’ With that she gave a great lunge, and over she went on her fat side, and off with a bang to the floor. The cat, not knowing which way she might come, wisely sprang for the old table, and peered at her over the side. Like this,” said Polly, hanging over an imaginary table-edge.
The children screamed with delight, and Mamsie set a whole row of stitches briskly into place while she smiled contentedly over her needle. “‘Oh you bad, naughty thing!’ criedthe cat; ‘Phif—spit—meow! to do such things and run away while the mistress is gone.’
“‘I can’t help it,’ said the old Tea-Kettle, rolling busily on toward the door, while a pool of hot water trailed off into little streams on the floor. ‘I’m tired to death sitting in a hump on that old stove day in and day out. You can go out and see the world. It’s all very well for you to talk.’
“‘I have to mind the house,’ said the cat, sitting up stiffly on the table, her tail lashed around her body, and her green eyes staring at the old Tea-Kettle.
“‘Nonsense!’ The Tea-Kettle had got through puffing, because, you see, there wasn’t any steam left in her; and now she began to roll along more slowly. At last she knocked up against the door with a bump.
“‘You can’t get out,’ exclaimed the cat, ‘anyway, for you don’t know how to open the door.’ And she laughed softly under her whiskers to herself sitting there on the table.
“The old Tea-Kettle lifted its long nose angrily in the air. ‘Jump down this minute,’ she cried, ‘and open it for me. Come, I’m in a hurry, for I’m going to see the world.’
“‘I sha’n’t open the door,’ declared the cat with great composure,” said Polly, feeling very glad she had slipped over the big word so well; “‘so there!’ and she lashed her tail stiffer than ever around her legs.
“The old Tea-Kettle cried and whimpered and begged, but it was no use. The cat sat up like a wooden cat, and just stared at her. At last the Tea-Kettle rolled over on her side, and laid her long turned-up nose on the floor.
“‘I’m afraid she’s dead,’ said the cat to herself. ‘And’”—
“And was she dead?” asked little Davie; “was she, Polly?”
“You’ll see,” she cried, “pretty soon. Well, so the cat was so awfully afraid the poor old Tea-Kettle was dead, that she stepped down from the table, and went and bent over and looked at her. And no sooner had she touched her with her paw to feel and be sure about it, than the old Tea-Kettle hopped up as quick as a wink; and the cat flew back, and then she had to run, oh, so dreadfully fast! because the Tea-Kettle began to roll at her. And round and round the room they went, and the Tea-Kettle kept always between the table andthe cat, so she couldn’t jump on that; and she couldn’t hop on the stove because it was hot; so she had to open the door. And before she could shut it, there was the Tea-Kettle close behind her!”
“And did she get away?” cried Joel; “clear off to see the world?”
“Yes,” said Polly; “and she never came back. She screamed out as she rolled down the long hill before the cottage door, ‘Goo-d—by—o-old—o-o-ld—cat.’”
“Oh, dear, dear!” said both boys. And “Go-o-d—by—ol-d—cat,” sang Phronsie.
“And did she ever come—oh, see—see!” screamed Joel looking up, and nearly upsetting David as he jumped clear past him, “blue sky—see—come on, Dave, out-doors!”