XIX.THE GREEN UMBRELLA.
Polly was at her wits’ end to think of anything to make a story out of. She was longing to run out into the conservatory and be with Turner in his work among the flowers, and it seemed as if her feet must carry her off in spite of herself. But there were all four of the boys standing in a row before her, and Phronsie’s little face expectantly lifted waiting for Polly to begin.
“Oh, dear me!” she exclaimed with an impatient little flounce, “I do wish”—
“Is that the story, Polly?” asked Phronsie wonderingly.
“No, it isn’t,” said Van. “And I don’t believe she means to tell us any.” The faces all fell dismally at that.
“Don’t you, Polly?” asked Phronsie anxiously.
“Well, you see, pet,” Polly began, half ashamed of her ill humor.
“No, she doesn’t mean to,” declared Joel, scanning Polly’s face closely; “she’s going off somewhere, maybe with Ben, and she won’t tell us where. I’m going to tag them.”
“Oh, no, I’m not, Joe!” said Polly quickly. “I was going into the conservatory to help Turner work over the flowers.”
“Oh, bother that old conservatory!” exclaimed Joel, who was always lost in wonder over Polly’s love for flowers; “it’s mean not to stay and tell us a story,” he added in a dudgeon; “we haven’t heard one for ever so long.”
“Polly wants to work over the flowers,” said Phronsie. Yet she looked very grave as she said it.
“Yes, I do,” said Polly, and she turned back and regarded the little group of boys most decidedly; “and I’m tired to death telling you children stories. I want to have a nice time once in a while myself;” and a little red spot began to come on each cheek.
The boys all stared at her without a word; and Phronsie crept nearer, and put her little hand against Polly’s dress.
“And you tease and tease the life out of me,” cried Polly, who, now that she had begun, found it impossible to stop herself; “and I wish you’d go away and let me alone.” And there stood Mother Pepper; how she got there, no one ever knew, but there she was in the doorway.
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper,and there was alook in her black eyes that made Polly’s brown ones droop,“you needn’t tell any story just now.”
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn’t tell any story just now.”
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn’t tell any story just now.”
“O Mamsie!” cried Polly, all the color gone from her cheek; and bursting into a torrent of tears she rushed to Mother Pepper’s side, “please let me—oh, do! I’d rather tell a story than do anything else; I would, truly.”
“Oh, we don’t want any story!” screamed Joel, breaking away from the others to precipitate himself into Mrs. Pepper’s arms, his face working frightfully in his efforts not to cry. The other boys stood helplessly by, lost in astonishment.
“No, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper firmly, “not now; the story must wait. And now, children, you can go away and shut the door.”
“Can I stay?” begged Phronsie, two tears rolling down her round cheeks, as she came up and stood imploringly by Mother Pepper’s side.
“No, dear.” So Phronsie crept off like a hurt little thing after the others, and carefully shut the door. Then they all sat down on the lowest stairs to think about it.
“Was that really Polly Pepper?” asked Van in an awe-struck whisper, after a long silence.
“Who did you think it could be if it wasn’t Polly?” demanded Percy crossly, and turning on him.
“Some old witch dressed up in Polly’s clothes,” said Van stoutly. Little Davie laid his head down on the stair above him, “Nobody could get into Pol—Polly’s clothes,” he sobbed convulsively.
“Of course not,” said Percy gloomily; “it’s only because Van is such a silly, that he says so.”
“And if you say that again about an old witch getting our Polly’s clothes, I’ll pitch into you,” cried Joel with a very red face; and doubling up his stout little fists, he made a lunge at Van.
Van pretended not to be afraid, but managed to get on the other side of Percy.
“Oh, dear—dear!” wailed David steadily.
“And you’ve made Dave cry,” cried Joel; “and I’ll pound and bang you for that.” This time he managed to reach Van; but in the same moment, “Hoity-toity!” exclaimed a voice above them; and there at the top of the stairs, and looking down at them, was Grandpapa.
“What are you all doing?” he asked, regarding them fixedly.
“We’re just sitting here,” said Percy, whowas the only one to find his tongue, and looking up sidewise.
“So I perceive,” said the old gentleman.
“Joel was pitching into Van, Grandpapa,” cried little Dick in the most cheerful of tones, and scrambling up-stairs at a very rapid rate, “and Polly”—
“Ugh!” screamed Joel after him, “don’t let him tell, Grandpapa,” he begged, bounding over the steps to rush past Dick and reach the old gentleman’s side first.
“You pushed me,” cried little Dick savagely, and coming up red-faced and shining. “He pushed me, Grandpapa;” and he doubled up his fists at Joel.
“Hoity-toity!” exclaimed the old gentleman again. “You mustn’t be so free with your fists, my boy.”
“It’s my fault,” said Joel; “I was going to pitch into Van. Don’t let Dick say anything, Grandpapa,” he begged anxiously.
“Polly said”—began Dick; but Joel clapped his hand over his mouth—and there were the two boys whirling round and round, the old gentleman in the centre looking at them helplessly.
Meantime Phronsie had come over the stairs to put her hand into the old gentleman’s. “Please stop them, Grandpapa,” she begged piteously.
“Goodness me, dear!” exclaimed Mr. King. “There, there, Phronsie child, don’t cry.”
At the word “cry” Joel’s hand fell helplessly down from Dick’s mouth, and he stood quite still while little Dick slid out from under his arm triumphantly.
“If you do speak, you’ll be a mean little beggar, Dick Whitney,” cried Van, flying over the stairs, “and Polly Pepper won’t ever tell you a story in all this world again.”
At these words Dick closed his mouth, and concluded not to say what was on the tip of his tongue.
“And I was just as bad as Joel, Grandpapa,” went on Van, crowding up to the old gentleman’s side; “for I said bad things about”—
“Ugh!” exclaimed Joel, turning on him suddenly, “don’t let him tell, Grandpapa. Make him stop.”
“Phronsie,” said old Mr. King, turning to her very much puzzled, “I can’t make anything out of these boys; they’re in a bad way. Youcome with me, child;” and he seized her little hand, and moved a step or two away. But Phronsie gently pulled him back.
“I think I ought to stay here, Grandpapa,” she said, regarding the boys gravely, while the tears went slowly over her round cheeks.
“Nonsense, child; you can’t do them any good. If they want to pound each other’s heads they’ll do it; and I think myself it might be a good dose for them both.”
“But they ought not to, Grandpapa,” said Phronsie in distress. “Polly wouldn’t like it.”
At mention of Polly’s name Joel left pursuit of Van, and plunged up to old Mr. King. “I won’t touch either of them,” he cried; “I don’t care if they pound me; I’ll let them.”
“And I’m not going to pound him,” declared Van with a positive air.
“I am,” announced little Dick magnificently. “I shall knock Joel flat;” and he beat the air with his fists.
At this old Mr. King burst into such a laugh, in which Percy and Van and Joel joined, that the tears forgot to roll down Phronsie’s cheeks, and David got off from the lowest stair, and came up to add himself to the group.
“Well, now,” said Grandpapa cheerfully, “seeing everything is so nice and comfortable, you would all do well to come into my room and see what I’ve got for you. Put up your fists in your pocket, Dickybird, and save them for next time.” With that he marched the whole bunch of children before him into his own writing-room. And there, behind the table and waiting for them, was Polly Pepper.
The children all stared at her a moment; then Phronsie piped out, rushing tumultuously over behind the table to get into Polly’s lap. “It is Polly. She’s got back.”
“Yes, Polly has got back,” said the old gentleman. “Now, Polly,” before any one had a chance to say a word, “I think you would better set right to work about that story.” And he bustled about in such a lively manner, getting everybody into chairs, that almost before the children knew it, there was Polly in the very midst of—
THE GREEN UMBRELLA.
And it began like this:—
“Ever and ever so many years ago,” said Polly, “there was a queer little man; and he lived in the middle of a big city, in a perfectlyfunny little house, with only one window in it besides the door, and he had a little daughter,—she was only so high;” Polly put her hands up above the table-top a little way,—“and she could speak thirty-seven different languages.”
“O Polly!” exclaimed old Mr. King under his breath.
“And there wasn’t anything that would make music that she couldn’t play on,” said Polly;“so they didn’t have to have the hand-organs stop in front of the house. The queer little old man used to climb up the tree in front of the perfectly funny little house, and if he saw a hand-organ man coming along, he would scream out,‘Go right away! my daughter makes all the music I want.’”
“Go right away! my daughter makes all the music I want.”
“Go right away! my daughter makes all the music I want.”
“Even if there was a monkey with him?” asked Joel, breaking in.
“Yes, even if there was a monkey,” said Polly, “that made no difference; he made him go away all the same. Well, and then down the queer little man would slide along the tree till he got to the ground; and then he would rush into the house in a great state, and he would cry out, ‘Come, my daughter, and play me a tune;’ and then he would begin to dance; round and round and round and round he would spin until his feet were all twinkling in and out underneath his coat, for I must tell you that he wore a long coat that flapped around his heels every step he took.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Joel, in which the others joined, Polly smiling at them to see their brightness restored. “Well, and there he would keep Araminta Sophia, for I forgot to tellyou her name, playing away till she almost tumbled down she was so tired; and at last, when he had danced as much as he wanted to, he said, ‘Now take the green umbrella, and go out and buy me some fish for breakfast.’
“So Araminta Sophia hopped up from the piano-stool, and ran out into the shed that was tacked onto the perfectly funny little house; and there, hanging on a gold peg, was the green umbrella.”
“Real gold, Polly Pepper?” cried Van.
“Yes,” said Polly, “real true gold; and it was—oh! so big, you can’t think, and ever so thick through. Well, and on it dangled the green umbrella, for that was the place where it always had to be kept whenever Araminta Sophia brought it home. I don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t hung it up there.”
“Didn’t anybody ever carry it but Araminta Sophia?” asked Percy.
“Dear me, no,” said Polly; “for if they should, it would run away with them.”
“Oh! make the queer old man carry it, and have it run away with him,” screamed Joel; “do, Polly.”
“No, no,” said old Mr. King, seeing Pollyhesitate; “I sha’n’t have any such work as that. This story is begun, and I’m going to hear the rest about Araminta Sophia. Go on, Polly, my girl.”
“And some other day I’ll tell you how the queer old man did carry the green umbrella, and it did run away with him,” said Polly, with a bright smile for all. “Well, so Araminta Sophia took down the green umbrella from its golden peg, and then she hung a little basket on her arm to bring the fish home in, and off she started, as nice as you please. And just as soon as she got outside the door of the perfectly funny little house, all the birds in the tree that hung over it, and in the trees all around, whispered to each other, and piped and trilled, and sang it over and over, ‘Here comes the green umbrella! Here comes the green umbrella!’”
“What did they all say that for?” asked Joel.
“Oh! you’ll hear,” answered Polly, “if you wait. Well, that is just what all the birds did say; they always said it whenever they saw Araminta Sophia come out under the green umbrella. You see, if she hadn’t got it, all thebirds would have flown at her, and jumped down on her head, and made a nest in her hair.”
“Oh, dear me!” cried all the boys together.
“And so she had to take it every single time she went out to walk,” said Polly decidedly, “else it would have been perfectly dreadful. Well, off she went, with the little basket that she was to bring the fish home in, hanging on her arm; when, as she turned a sudden corner, an old woman with a big brown cloak on, and her face all hidden in the back of a big hood, stepped up to her and said, ‘Pretty little lady, what have you there?’ Now Araminta Sophia, had always been told by her father, the queer little man, not to talk to strangers; and she was going right on under her green umbrella, when the old woman said again, ‘Pretty little lady, how your eyes shine! what have you there?’
“‘I am going to buy some fish, good woman, for my father’s breakfast,’ said Araminta Sophia, stopping just a moment. And before she could say another word, the old woman put her hand under her long brown cloak, and drawing it out, she bent over the little basket. ‘Look within!Look within!’ she screamed.”
“Look within!” screamed the old woman.
“Look within!” screamed the old woman.
“What was it?” shouted Joel; and theothers demanding to know the same thing, old Mr. King’s writing-room was presently the scene of great confusion. When it cleared away, Polly was saying, “And so Araminta Sophia peered into the basket; and the more she looked, she couldn’t see anything. And soshe said pretty soon, ‘Good woman, I see nothing.’
“‘Give me the umbrella a minute, stupid creature,’ said the old woman; ‘I’ll hold it over your head, and do you tip up the basket with both of your hands, and then you will get the pretty gift I have thrown within it for you.’
“Now, Araminta Sophia wanted dreadfully the beautiful gift the old woman had put in the basket. ‘Hold the umbrella carefully over my head,’ she said, giving it into the skinny hand. And in a minute, as soon as the words had left her mouth, away flew the old woman, the green umbrella and all, into the sky.”
“Oh, dear me!” howled all the boys together. Phronsie snuggled down into Polly’s lap, and held tightly to her.
“‘Pretty creature with the shining eyes, look out for the birds!’ screamed the old woman in the brown cloak, mounting the sky, and holding the green umbrella tightly in her skinny hands. And then she laughed a dreadful laugh. And Araminta Sophia sat down on a big stone by the roadside, and put her face in her two hands, and cried as hard as she could.”
“Oh, dear me!” said the boys again; while Phronsie gave a long sigh, and crept within Polly’s arms closer than ever.
“Don’t feel badly,” said Polly; “but wait and see if perfectly splendid times don’t come to Araminta Sophia. Well, there she sat, crying away on her stone, her little basket dangling on her arm, and the birds flying about her; and as soon as they saw the old woman mount up to the sky carrying the green umbrella, every single bird screamed right out, ‘Oh, come, the green umbrella’s gone! the green umbrella’s gone!’ and they all hopped down on Araminta Sophia’s head, till you couldn’t see anything but a heap of birds, and”—
“Oh, dear me!” cried all the boys again,—and, “Do make somebody come out and shoot them,” cried Joel in great excitement.
“Wait and see,” said Polly merrily. “Well, when Araminta Sophia felt all the birds hopping down on her head, she spoke up very humbly, ‘Oh, if you please, little birds, I should like to have you get off from my head.’
“‘We can’t,’ said one of the birds, peering at her with one eye; ‘for the old woman that has gone up into the sky won’t let us.’”
“She’s a bad old woman,” shouted Joel vindictively; “make something come and eat her up.”
“‘Please get off from my head,’ begged Araminta Sophia, and ‘We can’t, because the old woman up in the sky won’t let us,’ the birds kept saying; when suddenly, when no one was looking, along came a man with a big gun over his shoulder. ‘Ah, ha!’ he said, ‘now I’ll have those birds.’”
“Goody!” cried Joel, slapping his hands together smartly. “Oh! make him catch every single one, Polly.”
“Don’t let him hurt Aramin—what is her name, Polly?” begged Phronsie.
“Araminta Sophia. No, pet; she’s not to be hurt,” promised Polly, patting Phronsie’s yellow hair. “Well, up went the man’s big gun, and bang! bang! every single bird fell dead to the ground.”
It was impossible to describe the excitement now, and Polly felt warm little thrills at her heart to see it all.
“And don’t you think, boys and Phronsie,” she ran on gayly, “that the old woman in the brown cloak, who had mounted the sky carryingthe green umbrella, peered down from under it; and when she saw what was going on she was very angry, and she cried great big tears, and she couldn’t stop, but kept crying and crying, and the tears grew bigger and bigger, and they fell all over her skinny hands, and washed the handle of the green umbrella out of them; for the tears fell over them so fast she couldn’t hold it, you know; and so away it fell down to earth again, down, down, till it came right on top of Araminta Sophia’s head.”
“And Ara—what is it, Polly?” cried Phronsie, greatly excited, “got her green umbrella again, didn’t she, Polly?”
“Yes,” said Polly, nodding her head briskly; “there it was, just as good as ever. So Araminta Sophia jumped up, and was just going off with her little basket she was to bring home the fish in, and carrying the green umbrella over her head, when the man with the big gun said, ‘Stay!’ so Araminta Sophia stopped right straight off where she was.
“‘Is that old woman in a brown cloak any relation of yours?’ for the old woman was coming down from the sky, and they could just see her cloak.
“‘Oh, no!’ said Araminta Sophia, looking out from under her green umbrella, and getting up closer to the man with the big gun; ‘she ran off with my green umbrella.’
“‘Flew off, you mean,’ said the man; ‘you should always say what you mean, child. Well now, old woman with the brown cloak, you have flown up there, and there you must stay.’
“‘Let me come down,’ squealed the old woman angrily; ‘get out of the way, and let me come down.’
“‘No, indeed,’ said the man, and he put his big gun to his shoulder; ‘you flew up there, and there you must stay, or I’ll shoot your head off.’”
“Whoopity-la!” howled Joel, springing to his feet, followed by Davie and the Whitney boys, “this way;” and he put an imaginary gun to his shoulder, and took aim at a fanciful old woman in a brown cloak up in the sky. “Bang! bang! there you go, old woman, and your head’s off.”
“No; no, he didn’t say so,” cried Davie, running up to Joel; “the man with the big gun said he would shoot her head off if she came down, Joe.”
“I don’t care,” said Joel, banging away; “I’m going to shoot her, anyway; she’s a horrible old woman, and I sha’n’t let her come down. Bang! bang!”
“Well, that isn’t the way to do it,” said Van, twitching at the imaginary gun; “you don’t aim high enough.”
“And couldn’t the old womanevercome down, Polly?” asked Phronsie, a troubled look beginning to settle over her face.
“No, dear,” said Polly; “there she had to stay.”
“Notevercome down?” persisted Phronsie.
“No; that is,” as she looked at Phronsie’s face, “I guess the man with the big gun would let her come down once in a while; and then Araminta Sophia could stay in the perfectly funny little house and shut the door, you know, so the old woman couldn’t let any more birds get in her hair. And then back she would have to fly up into the sky again,—the old woman with the brown cloak, I mean,—for the man with the big gun said if she didn’t he should know it, and he would come and shoot her head off.”
“Polly,” said Phronsie, laying her cheek against Polly’s rosy one, “I am so very glad you let that old woman come down sometimes, because maybe she had a little girl and she wanted to see her. I am so glad, Polly.”