path: root/49471-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 49471 ***

BOOKS BY

MARGARET SIDNEY


  A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN
  _Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill_      _Price, $1.50_

  A LITTLE MAID OF BOSTON TOWN
  _Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill_      _Price, $1.50_


THE FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS

IN ORDER OF PUBLICATION

  _Eleven Volumes_   _Illustrated_   _Price per volume, $1.50_

  FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW
  FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS MIDWAY
  FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS GROWN UP
  PHRONSIE PEPPER
  THE STORIES POLLY PEPPER TOLD
  THE ADVENTURES OF JOEL PEPPER
  FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS ABROAD
  FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AT SCHOOL
  FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND THEIR FRIENDS
  BEN PEPPER
  FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS IN THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON




[Illustration: Polly telling her stories.

“_So one of Mamsie’s bed-slippers was tied on Phronsie’s little sore
foot, and Polly began_”--]




                              THE STORIES
                           POLLY PEPPER TOLD

                                TO THE

                      _FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS IN THE
                          LITTLE BROWN HOUSE_


                                  BY

                            MARGARET SIDNEY

          AUTHOR OF “FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW,”
              “A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN,” ETC., ETC.


                            _ILLUSTRATED BY
               JESSIE McDERMOTT and ETHELDRED B. BARRY_


                                BOSTON
                     LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD CO.




                  [Illustration: PEPPER TRADE-MARK]

                  Registered in U. S. Patent Office.


                           COPYRIGHT, 1899,
                                  BY
                      LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY

                        _All rights reserved._


                       _Forty-fourth Thousand._


               TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON, BOSTON.

                     PRESSWORK BY BERWICK & SMITH.




                                  TO

                       MARGARET MULFORD LOTHROP

                      WHO REPRESENTS TO THOSE WHO
                          KNOW HER, BOTH THE

                      “POLLY” AND THE “PHRONSIE”

                                OF THE

                          FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS

                       THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED.




PREFATORY NOTE.


The author has received from mothers and other persons interested in
the Pepper Family, so many requests for the Stories told by Polly
Pepper (to which frequent allusion has been made in the Series called
the “Five Little Peppers’” Books), that this initial volume of Polly’s
earlier stories has been prepared in obedience to these requests.


WAYSIDE, CONCORD, MASS.

_March, 1899._




CONTENTS


 CHAPTER                                                   PAGE
      I. THE LITTLE WHITE CHICKEN                             9
     II. THE PRINCESS ESMERALDA’S BALL                       25
    III. THE STORY OF THE CIRCUS                             43
     IV. THE LITTLE TIN SOLDIERS                             61
      V. CHRISTMAS AT THE BIG HOUSE                          72
     VI. MR. FATHER KANGAROO AND THE FAT LITTLE BIRD         86
    VII. THE MINCE-PIE BOY AND THE BEASTS                    99
   VIII. THE CUNNING LITTLE DUCK                            116
     IX. THE OLD TEA-KETTLE                                 129
      X. THE PINK AND WHITE STICKS                          146
     XI. THE OLD STAGE-COACH                                160
    XII. MR. NUTCRACKER; THE STORY THAT WASN’T A STORY      176
   XIII. MR. NUTCRACKER                                     196
    XIV. THE RUNAWAY PUMPKIN                                214
     XV. THE ROBBERS AND THEIR BAGS                         229
    XVI. POLLY PEPPER’S CHICKEN-PIE                         254
   XVII. PHRONSIE PEPPER’S NEW SHOES                        272
  XVIII. THE OLD GRAY GOOSE                                 295
    XIX. THE GREEN UMBRELLA                                 309
     XX. THE GREEN UMBRELLA AND THE QUEER LITTLE MAN        331
    XXI. THE LITTLE SNOW-HOUSE                              358
   XXII. LUCY ANN’S GARDEN                                  381
  XXIII. THE CHINA MUG                                      405
   XXIV. BROWN BETTY                                        419
    XXV. THE SILLY LITTLE BROOK                             437
   XXVI. DOWN IN THE ORCHARD                                451




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                                  PAGE

  Polly telling her stories.                            _Frontispiece._

  “Take me, Polly,” implored Phronsie.                              12

  “And--he--saw--the--bear.”                                        22

  Polly threw her arms around Ben.                                  31

  “In came the Princess Esmeralda.”                                 35

  “The circus story,” said Polly, “is about so many best and
      splendid things that you must keep quite still.”              45

  “Where’s the Circus-man?” asked the great big man.                57

  Ben was mending Mother Pepper’s washboard.                        63

  The little tin soldiers.                                          66

  Grandpapa had taken out all the papers.                           74

  Joel laid his head in Polly’s lap and burst out crying.           82

  “I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.                          87

  “What’s the matter down there?” asked Mr. Kangaroo.               93

  The two pulled out the kitchen table.                            101

  The mince-pie boy and the beasts.                                109

  “O Polly!” she cried, scuttling over to her.                     112

  Joel came racing back.                                           119

  The cunning little duck.                                         122

  “Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Pepper.                                130

  “Mind the house, now,” she said to the cat.                      141

  She crept into Polly’s lap, and put her little hand up on
      her neck.                                                    152

  The pink and white sticks.                                       157

  “Take care, Joe,” she warned.                                    161

  The old stage-coach.                                             165

  So Polly smoothed and patted his stubby head in a way that
      Joel liked.                                                  179

  “You are scaring that poor old man most to death,” said
      Polly.                                                       186

  Polly began to parade up and down the old kitchen floor.         201

  And the pigs wouldn’t go the way he wanted ’em to.               205

  “I guess I’ll tell you of the Runaway Pumpkin,” said Polly.      216

  “Pumpkin! say, Pumpkin, don’t you hear me?”                      225

  Mrs. Whitney heard the noise, and ran in to see what the
      fun was.                                                     243

  The robbers and their bags.                                      247

  Ben grasped it tightly under one arm and flew home.              255

  The old gray goose holds a conversation with the black
      chicken.                                                     262

  “Oh! I am so hungry, Polly.”                                     275

  “Phronsie Pepper’s new shoes.”                                   282

  And there was the shoe tumbled right over her nose.              292

  “You said so, Polly Pepper,” cried little Dick with big
      eyes.                                                        298

  Sally Brown and the old gray goose.                              305

  “Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn’t tell any story just
      now.”                                                        311

  “Go right away! my daughter makes all the music I want.”         318

  “Look within!” screamed the old woman.                           323

  “Here she is!” cried Van, throwing open the door of
      Jasper’s den.                                                337

  Phronsie smoothed down her white apron in satisfaction.          344

  The umbrella runs away with the queer little man.                353

  The boys bringing home the meal and potatoes.                    368

  The little snow-house.                                           373

  Lucy Ann’s garden.                                               391

  She put her head in her hands, like this.                        394

  Little Dick plucked off the big bit of wet brown paper from
      his eye.                                                     407

  The beautiful man and the lovely lady on the china mug.          410

  “O Polly, a hundred ants!” cried little Dick with an
      absorbed face.                                               424

  Brown Betty and the ants.                                        429

  Phronsie shook her yellow head mournfully.                       442

  The birds and the silly little brook.                            446

  “’Twas as big as this!”                                          459

  The Little White Rabbit and Mister Fox.                          464




THE STORIES POLLY PEPPER TOLD TO THE FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS.




I.

THE LITTLE WHITE CHICKEN.


“You see,” said Polly, “the little white chicken was determined she
_would_ go into Susan’s playhouse.”

Phronsie sat in Mamsie’s big calico-covered rocking-chair. The last
tear had trailed off the round cheek since Polly had come home and was
by her side, holding her hand. The pounded toes were thrust out before
her, tied up in an old cloth, and waiting for the wormwood which was
steeping on the fire. Grandma Bascom, protesting that soon Phronsie
wouldn’t know that she had any toes, sank into a chair and beamed at
her. “You pretty creeter, you,” she cried, her cap-border bobbing
heartily.

“I wish she wouldn’t talk,” grunted Joel, burrowing on the floor, his
head in Polly’s lap, where her soft fingers could smooth his stubby
black hair.

“’Sh!” said Polly, with a warning pinch.

“Go on,” begged Davie, hanging over her chair, intent as Phronsie on
the fate of the white chicken; “did she go in, Polly; did she?”

Phronsie sat still, her eyes on Polly’s face, her fat little hands
clasped in her lap, while she held her breath for the answer.

“Dear me, yes,” cried Polly quickly; “she stretched her neck like
this,” suiting the action to the word, for Polly always acted out, as
much as she could, all her stories, particularly on emergencies like
the present one, “and peered around the corner. Susan wasn’t there, for
she was up at the house sitting on a stool and sewing patchwork. But
there was a black object over in the corner, and”--

“Oh, you pretty creeter, you!” exclaimed Grandma suddenly, at
Phronsie, on whom she had gazed unceasingly, “so you did pound your
toes--there--there--you pretty creeter!”

“Ugh--ugh! make her stop,” howled Joel, twitching up his head from its
soft nest. “Oh, dear, we can’t hear anything. Stop her, Polly, do.”

“Joel,” said Polly, “hush this minute; just think how good she’s been,
and the raisins. O Joey!”

“They are dreadful hard,” grumbled Joel; but he slipped his head back
on Polly’s lap, wishing her fingers would smooth his hair again. But
they didn’t; so he burrowed deeper, and tried not to cry. Meanwhile
Phronsie, with a troubled expression settling over her face at this
condition of things, made as though she would slip from the old chair.
“Take me, Polly,” she begged, holding out her arms.

“Oh, no, you mustn’t, you pretty creeter,” declared Grandma, getting
out of her chair to waddle over to the scene, her cap-border trembling
violently, “you’ll hurt your toes. You must set where you be till you
get the wormwood on.” And Davie running over to put his arms around
Phronsie and beg her to keep still, the little old kitchen soon became
in great confusion till it seemed as if the white chicken must be left
for all time, peering in at Susan’s playhouse and the black object in
the corner.

“Oh, dear me!” cried Polly at her wit’s end; “now you see, Joey.
Whatever shall I do?”

“Take me, Polly,” implored Phronsie, leaning out of the big chair at
the imminent danger of falling on her nose, and two tears raced over
her round cheeks. At sight of these, Polly suddenly lifted her out and
over to her lap, Joel deserting that post in a trice, and wishing he
was Phronsie so that he could cry and be comforted.

[Illustration: “Take me, Polly,” implored Phronsie.]

“Dear, dear, dear!” exclaimed Grandma Bascom gustily, trotting off to
the tin cup with the wormwood steeping on the stove. “She must have the
wormwood on. Whatever’ll become of her toes if she don’t set still, I
d’no. There, there, she’s a pretty creeter.”

“I don’t want any on,” said Phronsie from her nest in Polly’s arms, and
contentedly snuggling down. “Please don’t let her put any on, Polly,”
she whispered up against her neck.

“I’ll put it on,” said Polly soothingly. “Well, now, Phronsie,” patting
the yellow head, and with an anxious look up at the old clock, “you
know I can’t bake Mamsie’s birthday cake unless you have that wormwood
on and sit in her chair like a good girl. And then think how very
dreadful it would be to have Mamsie come home and it shouldn’t be done.
Oh, I can’t think of such a thing!” Polly’s hand dropped away from the
yellow hair, and fell to her lap, as she sat quite still.

Phronsie lifted her head and looked at her. “I’ll have the wet stuff
on, Polly, and sit in the chair,” she said, with a long sigh; “lift me
back, Polly, do; then you can bake Mamsie’s cake.”

So Phronsie was lifted back with great ado, Polly kissing her many
times, and telling her how glad she would be on the morrow when
Mamsie’s birthday cake would be a beautiful success, and how happy
Mamsie would be to know that Phronsie helped to bake it by being such a
good girl. And the little toes were wet with the wormwood, and tied up
in an old cloth; and Grandma Bascom, dropping the tin cup which she was
bearing back to the stove, with a clatter on the floor, created such a
diversion as Polly and the boys ran to get cloths and spoons to save
the precious wormwood and wipe the floor clean, that the little old
kitchen rang with the noise, and it was some time before Polly could
get it quieted down again.

At last Polly drew a long breath. “Well, now, children, if you’ll be
very still I’ll tell you the rest about the white chicken, while I’m
making Mamsie’s cake. And I’ll pull your chair, Phronsie, up to the
table so you can see me.”

“Let me, let me!” screamed Joel, hopping up to lay hasty hands on the
old calico-covered rocker. “I want to, Polly; let me pull it up.”

“I want to,” begged David, just as nimble on the other side.

“So you shall; you can both help,” cried Polly merrily, deep in
thought over the intricacies of ‘Mirandy’s weddin’-cake receet.’

“Well,” said Grandma, seeing Phronsie on such a high road to recovery,
“I’m dretful glad I found that receet. I put it in my Bible so’s to
have it handy to give John’s folks when they come; they set great store
by it to the weddin’: and I must go home now, ’cause I left some meat
a-boilin’.” So off she waddled, Joel going to the door and gallantly
assisting her down the steps and to the gate, glad to make amends. Then
he rushed back.

“Now for the white chicken!” he cried, drawing a long breath, and
perching on the end of the baking-table.

“Yes,” said Polly; “but you’ve got to have on one of Mamsie’s old
slippers first, Phronsie.”

“Oh, ho,” Phronsie laughed gleefully, “how funny!”

So one of Mamsie’s old cloth slippers was tied on to Phronsie’s little
foot with a bit of string through the middle, the children one and all
protesting that it looked like an old black pudding-bag; and Polly
began again, “Now,” she said absently, “I’ll tell you about the little
white chicken--just as soon as I have--oh, dear me! let me see if I
have all my things ready.” She wrinkled her brows and thought a minute.
Joel kicked his heels impatiently against the table-side, while Davie
clasped his hands tight so as not to say anything to worry Polly.

“Yes, I believe they’re all here,” said Polly, after what seemed an
age to the children. “Well, there now, children, I’m ready to begin on
the story. Oh, let me see, all but the big bowl;” and she ran into the
buttery and brought it out, and began to mix the cake with quite an
important air. Phronsie drew a long breath of delight that ended in a
happy little crow. “You must know that the white chicken made up her
mind that she _would_ go into Susan’s playhouse, although”--

“You told that,” interrupted Joel, filliping at the dish where the
raisins, with a plentiful sprinkling of flour, lay ready to lend their
magnificence to Mamsie’s birthday cake; “go on where you left off,
Polly.”

“You said she saw a black object over in the corner,” said Davie, with
big eyes; “tell about that.”

“Oh, yes, so I did!” said Polly; “now, Joe, you mustn’t touch the
raisins. Every single one must go into Mamsie’s cake.”

Joel drew away his hand; but it was impossible not to regard the plate,
on which he kept his gaze fastened.

“Well, in crept the little white chicken,” said Polly tragically, and
stirring briskly the cake-mixture with the long wooden spoon, “hoping
the black object wouldn’t see her. She had to go in you see, because
just outside the door, coming under the apple-trees, was a noise, and
it sounded very much like a boy; and the little white chicken had
rather be scared by a black object in the corner inside, than to let
that boy spy her. So she crept in _very softly_, and was just beginning
to tuck up her feet and sit down behind the door, when the black object
stirred, and over went the little white chicken all in a heap.”

Joel gave a grunt of great satisfaction, and tore his eyes from the
raisin-plate.

“What was it?” gasped Davie fearfully, and getting nearer to Polly’s
side. Phronsie kept her wide eyes on Polly’s face, and sat quite still,
her little hands folded in her lap.

“You wait and see,” said Polly gayly, and stirring away for dear life.
“Well, over went the little white chicken, and”--

“You said that,” interrupted Joel; “do hurry and tell the rest.”

“Then she shut her eyes just like this,” Polly stopped stirring, and
turned to Phronsie, wrinkling up her face as much like a chicken in
despair as was possible. “Oh, you can’t think how she felt; she was
_so_ frightened! She tried to call her mother, but the ‘peep--peep’
that always used to be so loud and clear, stuck way down in her throat;
and then she knew she never in all this world could make her mother
hear because she hadn’t minded her. And outside she could hear old Mrs.
Hen calling her brothers and sisters to come and get the worms she had
just scratched up.”

“And wouldn’t the little white chicken ever get a worm?” broke out
Phronsie in dreadful excitement; “wouldn’t she, Polly, ever?”

“No--oh, yes; she could when she was good,” said Polly at sight of
Phronsie’s face.

“Make her good,” begged Phronsie, unclasping her hands to pull Polly’s
gown; “oh do, Polly!”

“No, make her bad,” cried Joel insistently; “as bad as can be, do,
Polly!”

“O Joel!” reproved Polly, stirring away; “whoever would want that
little white chicken bad--any more than for a boy to be naughty.”

“Well, make her bad enough to be scared; and have the awful black thing
be a bear, and most bite her to death, and chew her head off,” cried
Joel, feeling delicious thrills at the dreadful possibilities that
might happen to the chicken.

“Oh, dear me!” cried Polly in horror, “the poor little white chicken!”

“Don’t let it bite her _much_,” said Davie. “But do make it a bear,
Polly!”

“Well, I will,” said Polly obligingly, “make it a bear, boys.”

“And don’t let it bite her any,” begged Phronsie; and she put up her
lip, while the brown eyes were imploringly fixed on Polly’s face.

Joel squirmed all over the table-end. “Just such a little bear,” he
remonstrated. “Hoh! he couldn’t bite much; I’d just as lieves he’d bite
me,” baring his brown arm.

“No--no--no!” protested Phronsie, shaking her yellow head decidedly;
“I don’t want him to bite her any, poor little white chicken;” and she
looked so very near to crying, and Mamsie’s old black slipper on the
pounded toes began to flap so dismally, that Polly hastened to say,
“Oh! I’ll tell you, children, what I’ll do; I’ll have Tommy come out
and shoot the bear right away.”

“Oh, whickety!” whooped Joel. David clasped his hands ecstatically.
This was much better,--to have Tommy and the bear, than the bear and
the little white chicken. Phronsie laughed delightedly, “Make him come
quick, do, Polly!” she screamed.

“Hurry up!” called Joel; “O Phron! don’t talk. Do hurry, Polly!”

“Well, you see,” went on Polly, stirring away for dear life, “that when
Susan went into the house to sit on the stool and do patchwork, her
brother Tommy thought he would take his gun and see if he could find
anything to shoot, like rabbits, and”--

“No--no,” cried Joel in alarm, twitching her sleeve, “bears, bears!”

“He didn’t expect to see a bear,” said Polly; “he went out to shoot
rabbits. But he found the bear instead, you know,” catching sight
of Joel’s face, which immediately cleared up, and he settled back
contentedly. “Well, Tommy went along by old Mother Hen clucking and
scratching, and all the rest of the chickens, except the little white
one; and just as he was going by Susan’s playhouse he thought he would
look in and scare the dolls with his big gun.”

“Don’t let him, Polly!” begged Phronsie in a worse fright than before.
“Oh, don’t let him; don’t let him!”

“Ow! there ain’t any fun. Phron keeps stopping us all the time,”
howled Joel. “Let him, Polly. Gee--whiz--bang! that’s the way I’d do,”
bringing an imaginary gun to his shoulder and blazing away.

“Well, then he’d have scared the bear so he couldn’t have shot him,”
said little Davie quietly.

“So he would, Davie,” said Polly approvingly, and dropping the spoon to
pet Phronsie; “if Joel had been there, the bear would have got away.”

Joel, much discomfited at this, ducked suddenly and looked sheepish.
“Well, go on,” he said.

“And Tommy didn’t scare the dolls, because you see he was scared
himself. The first thing he saw was the little white chicken crouched
down like this.” Down went Polly on the old kitchen floor, and made
herself so much like a little white chicken very much frightened, that
the children held their breath to see her.

“And then Tommy looked at what scared the little white chicken,” went
on Polly, hopping up and beginning to stir the cake-mixture again.
“And--he--_saw--the--bear_!”

[Illustration: “And--he--saw--the--bear.”]

It is impossible to describe the effect this statement had on the old
kitchen and its occupants; and Polly, well pleased, rushed on, dilating
on how the bear looked, and how Tommy looked, and how the little white
chicken looked; till, in a pause, the crackling in the old stove
proclaimed all things ready for the baking of Mamsie’s birthday cake,
and she exclaimed, “Deary me, I must hurry. Oh well! Tommy saw the bear
getting ready to spring, just like this; and he put up his gun, like
this, and it went bang--bang! and over went Mr. Bear quite, quite dead.”

“Like this?” cried Joel, tumbling off from the table-end to a heap in
the middle of the old floor; “just like this, Polly?” sticking up his
stubby black head to look at her.

“No--no!” cried Davie, hurrying to make another heap of himself by
Joel’s side; “he stuck up his legs, didn’t he, Polly?” and out went
David’s arms and legs as stiff as sticks, as he lay on his back staring
at the ceiling.

“Hoh--hoh!” laughed Joel in derision; “bears don’t tumble down that
way, Dave, when they’re killed; do they, Polly?”

“Yes, they do too,” contradicted little David, not moving a muscle;
“don’t they, Polly?” while Phronsie tried to get out of her big chair
to show, too, how she thought the bear would tumble over.

“Oh, no, Phronsie pet, you mustn’t!” cried Polly in alarm; “you’ll hurt
your poor toes. Well, I think the bear looked something like both of
you boys. He didn’t stick his legs up stiff, but he was on his back
like Davie.”

“Well, I’m on my back,” cried Joel, whirling over; while David’s stiff
little wooden legs and arms fell down in a twinkling. “Well, now you
boys must get me the cinnamon,” said Polly, with a brisk eye on the old
clock. “Deary me, I ought to have this cake in the oven--it’s in the
Provision Room, you know.”

“And then we’ll get something to eat,” cried the two bears, hopping up
to race off.




II.

THE PRINCESS ESMERALDA’S BALL.


“It was a most beautiful place,” cried Polly. “Oh! you can’t think,
children, how perfectly beautiful it all was;” and she clasped her
hands and sighed.

“Tell us,” they all begged in one breath, crowding around her chair.

“Well, I can’t till Ben gets back, because you know he wanted to hear
this story;” and Polly flew out of her rapture, and picked up her
needle again. “Dear me!” she exclaimed, and a wave of remorse sent the
color flying over her cheek, “I didn’t mean to stop even for a minute;”
and she glanced up at the old clock.

“Ben never’ll come,” grumbled Joel, racing to the window with Davie at
his heels; “he’s so awful slow.”

“Well, it’s slow work,” said Polly, stitching away briskly, “to carry a
great heavy molasses jug and a bag of Indian meal way up here from the
store. Now, if you two boys wanted to go and meet him, you could help
ever so much.”

“I went last time down to that old store,” said Joel, kicking his toes
against the wall as he stared out of the window; “it’s Dave’s turn now,
Polly.”

“Oh, oh!” cried little Davie, “I’ve been ever and ever so many more
times, Polly; truly I have.”

“And we’ve just got through doing all our work,” went on Joel, ignoring
David’s remarks; “and we had such a lot to do to-day Polly,” he added
in an injured tone.

“You needn’t go if you don’t want to,” said Polly, with a fine scorn;
“I said if you _wanted_ to go.”

“Well, we don’t want to,” declared Joel loudly, and he kicked his toes
triumphantly. Phronsie, curled up in a ball on the floor at Polly’s
feet, while she nursed Seraphina, stared at them gravely.

“I’ll go, Polly,” she said at last, laying Seraphina, with a sigh, on
the floor, and getting up to her feet.

“Oh, no, Pet! you can’t go,” said Polly quickly; “you’re too little.
Why, you aren’t bigger’n a mouse, Phronsie;” and she began to laugh,
but she turned a cold shoulder to the boys.

“I’m very big, Polly,” said Phronsie gravely, and standing up on her
tiptoes. “See--oh, so big! and I must go down and help poor Bensie. Let
me, Polly, do!” and she put up her lips, and the tears began to come
into the brown eyes.

“Now you see, boys,” began Polly, casting aside her work to take
Phronsie on her lap.

“Oh, I’ll go, Polly!” cried little Davie, springing forward, his face
all in a flame. “I want to go; truly I do.”--

“No, I will,” howled Joel, dashing away from his window. “You’ve been
ever so many times, Dave; I’m going.”

“Joel,” cried Polly, as he was rushing off, “come here a minute.”

He came back slowly, with one eye on Davie. “What do you want, Polly?”
he cried impatiently.

“David _wants_ to go,” said Polly slowly, and looking steadily into his
flushed face. “Now, unless you really want to go to help Bensie, why
you must stay at home.”

“I--want--to go--to help Bensie,” declared Joel insistently, with a
very red face. “O Polly! I do. Let me go.” He was so near to crying
that Polly said hastily, “I know, Joey, you do want to help Bensie;
there, there,” and she gave him an approving little pat.

“I want to help Bensie,” cried Joel; his smiles all come again to the
chubby face, and off he dashed.

“Now, Davie,” said Polly in her briskest fashion, and setting to on the
long seam, “I think if I were you, I’d play with Phronsie a bit,” with
a glance at the disappointed little face.

“Come on, Phronsie,” said little David, gulping down his disappointment;
for now that Joel was fairly on the way to meet Ben, nothing seemed
better than to be of the party. But he sat down on the floor, where
Phronsie immediately crouched beside him; and in a minute the only sound
in the old kitchen was the soft hum of their voices, and Phronsie’s
delighted little gurgle as the play went on.

“I better be going over that story again in my mind,” said Polly to
herself. “I’ve a good chance now, it’s so quiet and lovely;” and she
beamed at Davie when he looked up, in a way to make his little heart
glad. And then Polly was lost in the depths of her story till the old
kitchen and the little brown house and the children faded away; and she
was revelling in the glories of the palace, with retinues of courtiers
and servants at her beck and call, and all the paraphernalia of royalty
around her. For was she not the Princess Esmeralda herself? And a smile
played around Polly’s lips as she stitched on, all unconscious of the
task her fingers were performing.

“Hi-hi!” It was Joel shouting close to her chair, and there was Ben
coming in the door with a pleased look on his face. “Now for the
story,” screamed Joey, setting down the bag of meal with a bang on the
table; and down tumbled Polly’s castle all around her ears. “Well, I’m
glad I’ve got it fast in my mind so I can tell it good,” she said with
a sigh of relief. “Yes, I’m ready;” and she smiled at Ben.

“That’s good,” said Ben heartily, “that you didn’t tell that story
until I got home, Polly.”

“Did you suppose I would, Ben?” said Polly with an air of reproach.

“No, I didn’t really,” said Ben, wiping his hot face. “But it was good
of you, Polly, to wait for me. And it was good of you Joe, too, to come
to meet me, for I had to go around to Parson Henderson’s with a letter.”

“O Ben!” exclaimed Polly, “did you have to go all around there with
those heavy things?”

“Yes,” said Ben, “I did. But you wouldn’t have had me not go, Polly;
for Mr. Atkins said Parson Henderson had been for his letters very
early, and this came afterwards, and he wouldn’t be there again to-day.”

“Oh no, no, of course not,” said Polly hastily. “I mean I wouldn’t
have had you not go for anything in this world, Ben Pepper. You know I
wouldn’t;” and she looked so distressed that Ben hastened to say most
assuringly,--

“I know you wouldn’t, Polly; and don’t you think, Mrs. Henderson said
it was a most important letter indeed; and if Mr. Henderson hadn’t had
it to-day it would have been very bad.”

“Oh, I am so glad he got it to-day, Ben Pepper!” Polly flew out of her
chair to run and throw her arms around him. “And you were the one to
carry it to him.”

[Illustration: Polly threw her arms around Ben.]

“And then when I got to the Four Corners,” went on Ben, “there was
Joel running to meet me. You can’t think how good it seemed to see him!”

“O Joey! did you get clear down to the Four Corners?” cried Polly,
turning to him in a transport.

“Yes, I did,” bobbed Joel, glad to think he had run every step of
the way without stopping to think, and forgetting how his arms ached
carrying the meal-bag. “Now, Polly, tell us the story quick, do.”

“So I will,” cried Polly merrily, rushing back to her chair and the
sewing. “Oh, it’s so splendid that Ben’s back! We’ve got a whole hour
now before Mamsie’s to be home. Now, then,” as the group huddled up
around her. “Once upon a time, long years ago, there was one of the
richest kings and queens that the world has ever seen. Why, they had
so much money that nobody had ever counted it; they hadn’t time, you
know. And it kept coming in until the bags of gold pieces filled up all
one side of the courtyard, and they had to build great sheds to put the
rest in.”

“Where’d it come from?” broke in Joel abruptly, unable to keep still at
thought of such a state of affairs.

“Oh! the things they sold in the whole kingdom were so many,” said
Polly; “there were millions--no, billions of bushels of corn, and wheat
and rye and silks and ribbons and butter and cheese, and laces and
artificial flowers and candy, and”--

“Oh, my!” cried Joel, smacking his lips.

“Like the pink sticks old Mrs. Beebe gave Phronsie the day she hurt her
toe?” queried David, his mouth watering at the remembrance.

“Yes, the very same,” said Polly.

“Now, you children mustn’t interrupt every single minute,” commanded
Ben; “if you do, Polly and I will go off into a corner, and she will
tell me the story. And Phronsie--we’ll take her, because she hasn’t
said a word.”

“Oh, we won’t--we won’t again, will we, Dave?” cried Joel, with a punch
on that individual’s back.

“No,” said little David promptly; “please go on, Polly.”

“You see, everything that anybody wanted to buy--I mean the people in
other countries--was all for sale in this kingdom; and big ships went
sailing off ever so many times a day with the things piled in them;
and when they came back the captain brought all the money he got for
the things, tied up in big bags; and the ships kept coming back, ever
so many a day, so that there was no hope that the gold pieces would
ever be any less. And one day the king walked up and down his palace
hall, wringing his hands. ‘Oh! I wish there wasn’t so much money in the
world,’ he cried; ‘for pretty soon I shall be turned out-of-doors, with
all the gold pieces crowding me out.’ And he looked so very sad as his
wife, the queen, put her head in the doorway, that she said, ‘My dear,
we will have the golden coach brought around to take us out to drive.’

“‘Don’t say golden anything to me,’ cried the king in a passion, for
he was almost beside himself. ‘I’m sick of the sound of the word, my
dear;’ and he beckoned her to him, and they went and sat together on
the great throne at one end of the hall. It shone with diamonds and
rubies and emeralds, and all manner of precious stones; and it had
great curtains of twisted ropes of jewels looped up over their heads;
and there they sat, and he held her hand. ‘I’m really afraid,’ and
he looked in her face, ‘that something must be done, for this is a
dreadful state of things.’

“‘Now, if you are going to talk business,’ said the queen tartly,
‘I think it is time to call Esmeralda.’ You see, whenever there was
anything to decide in the kingdom, the king and queen never did the
leastest little bit of a thing about it, without at first calling
Esmeralda, and laying the case before her. So now they rang five or
six golden bells in turn; and the king blew a blast on a glass horn,
oh, ever so many feet long! that hung by his side of the throne; and
the queen whistled on a tremendous silver whistle that hung by her
side of the throne; and pretty soon Esmeralda came running in all out
of breath. She was dressed in sea-green satin, over a white lace
petticoat pinned up with diamonds, and she had a bunch of flowers in
her hand that were sweet with the morning dew. She had long floating
yellow hair, just like Phronsie’s;” and Polly paused long enough to
glance lovingly at the small head snuggled up against her knee.

[Illustration: “In came the Princess Esmeralda.”]

“‘Good-morning, father,’ and ‘Good-morning, mother,’ said the Princess
Esmeralda, kneeling before her parents sitting on the throne; and she
laid the flowers, with the morning dew on them, in their hands.

“‘We have summoned you, Esmeralda,’ said the king in a troubled way,
‘because we are in dire extremity, and must have your advice.’

“Esmeralda wrinkled her pretty brow, and looked very wise; but her
heart beat dreadfully against her bodice and”--

“What’s a bod”--began Joel.

“Ugh!” cried Ben with a warning finger held up, as Joel ducked
instantly.

“It’s a waist that princesses always wear,” said Polly; “and
Esmeralda’s was all spangled with gold and silver. It shone so that no
one could look at it more than a minute at a time. Well, so she said,
‘Yes, father,’ and ‘Yes, mother.’

“‘We have too much gold,’ said the king, smiting his hands together.
‘Esmeralda, I tell you truly, if it keeps coming in we shall all have
to move out from this palace, and find another home. What shall we do,
my child?’

“Esmeralda jumped up from her knees, and ran to the casement, and
climbed up the golden seat beneath it, and peered out. There were the
ships below her in the harbor, with the men taking out the bags and
bags and bags of gold; and as far as her eye could reach, there were
more ships and more ships and more ships all coming in, filled with
bags to the very brim. She got down, and ran back. ‘It is certainly
very dreadful, father and mother,’ she said, clasping her hands.

“‘Indeed it is,’ declared the king; and he began to tear his hair.

“‘Husband, don’t feel so badly,’ implored the poor queen at that sight,
throwing her arms around him. ‘Esmeralda, you must think quickly,
because you see we are both going quite distracted.’

“So Esmeralda said the first thing that came into her head. ‘You might
tell the men to untie the bags, and pour the gold pieces into the sea
at the mouth of the harbor.’

“‘The very thing!’ exclaimed the king in delight; and his face was
covered with smiles. ‘Oh, what it is to have a clever child!’ and the
queen fell upon Esmeralda’s neck, and kissed and kissed her.

“So then the king rang all his bells, and blew his long glass horn,
and then he struck a big silver gong that was always the signal for
the Lord High Chamberlain to appear. And when he popped in with his
robes of office all caught up in his hands, to let him run to obey the
king’s call, and his high peaked hat awry for the same reason, the
king gave him the order just as Esmeralda said; and then the Lord High
Chamberlain plunged out, after bowing himself before the throne five
and twenty times to the marble floor; and the king said to the queen,
in the greatest satisfaction, ‘My dear, we must give Esmeralda a Ball
for being so clever.’

“And the queen said, ‘Yes, a Ball,’ with the greatest alacrity. And
Esmeralda hopped up and down in glee, she was so happy; and she danced
and danced until off flew seventy-nine of the diamonds from her lace
petticoat, and rolled away into as many cracks and crevices in the
corners of the marble hall. But she didn’t care; for there were bushels
in her room, and a dozen or two women always sitting on their crickets,
with their needles threaded with silver thread, ready to sew on more.

“So then the word went out from the palace all over the kingdom, that
there was to be a Ball for the Princess Esmeralda; and all the while
the golden stream was pouring out every minute from the big bags
into the mouth of the harbor. And Esmeralda fell asleep every night
to dream of the beautiful music, and flowers, and lights, and the gay
young princes to be sent for as company from every other kingdom; for
you must know that never had there been such a ball in all this world
before as this one was to be. And every morning Esmeralda waked up
quite, quite happy, because the Ball night was just so much nearer. And
at last her dress was all ready, and laid out upon her little white
bed. It was”--Polly paused most impressively to allow her hearers to
take it all in properly, “it was made out of the very finest cobwebs
that had all been spun in the sunshine of the palace court-yards. For
this, millions of spiders had been caught by the command of the king,
who had sent out an edict for that purpose; and they had been set
spinning until they had made this beautiful dress of the princess. And
it was trimmed around the bottom and the neck by a rainbow, and”--

“O Polly!” exclaimed Ben.

“There, Ben’s talking!” broke in Joel in huge delight. “Hoh! hoh!”

“Yes, a rainbow,” repeated Polly stoutly; “a beautiful red and green
and blue and yellow rainbow. Oh! you can’t begin to think, children,
how perfectly lovely Esmeralda did look when she was all dressed ready
for the Ball. Well, and then the princes began to arrive. There were
two hundred of them, and each one brought the princess a present. But
the king had said that she should not accept anything of gold, so it
had been some little trouble for them to get anything that was nice
enough without having it golden. But they did, and there were two
hundred presents set out in the palace hall. And Esmeralda was to walk
up and down the whole length, and choose the present she liked the best
out of the whole collection; and then she was to dance with the prince
who had given her this present. Oh, dear me! she thought she would cry
her eyes out when the king decided this must be done; for how was she
to choose between so many perfectly beautiful things, and there would
be one hundred and ninety-nine princes feeling very unhappy indeed. She
was just going to say, ‘Oh, my father! I cannot do it;’ and then she
knew the king would ring, and strike his big silver gong, and blow for
the Lord High Chamberlain to take him off from the throne and put him
to bed, and then the lights would be turned out, and everybody would
go home, and there would be no Ball at all. She couldn’t do that, of
course, as you see. So she stopped a minute to think, as she always did
when she had hard questions to decide, until the king roared at her,
‘Do as I say, daughter, or out go the lights;’ and then she said the
first thing that came in her head. ‘I like all the presents best, and
we’ll all dance together at once.’

“‘Dear me!’ exclaimed the king, ‘how clever!’ and he screamed joyfully
to the musicians to begin; and the princess and the two hundred princes
all began hopping and jumping about the hall, and presently it looked
so nice, the king gave his hand to the queen, and she slid down from
the throne, and began to hop about too; and the Lord High Chancellor
picked up his flowing robes, and danced on the tips of his toes; and
the court ladies skipped back and forth; and the servants came to look
in the doorways, and so did the retinues of soldiers. And they couldn’t
help it, the music was so fine; and oh, dear me! it went just like
this,”--and Polly broke off into a merry little tune as she sprang to
her feet and held out her hands, “Come on, let us all dance!” and she
seized Ben’s arms, and danced him half across the old kitchen floor.

“Take me, Polly!” begged Joel, who had tumbled over himself in
surprise, and now got to his feet to run after the two spinning off so
finely.

“Can’t,” said Polly over her shoulder; “you take Phronsie;” and then
she began again on the gay tune--Ben whistling away for dear life as an
accompaniment.

“Dave’s got her,” said Joel in great discomfiture, turning around to
see little Davie and Phronsie’s pink calico gown flying along at a
merry rate. “I haven’t got anybody,” seeing which Polly stopped short.
“Come with us;” and she held out her hand, and Ben grasped Joel’s arm,
and away they went till the old kitchen rang with the fun.




III.

THE STORY OF THE CIRCUS.


“You see,” said Polly, “as it rains to-day, I think we ought to have
the Circus story.”

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried all the Five Little Peppers together, Ben not being
ashamed to add his shout of approval too.

“Do you think you really ought to, Polly?” he asked, coming out of it,
and leaving the others in the babel of rejoicing. “Won’t you want it
more for some other time?”

Polly ran over and caught him by the jacket sleeve.

“I really think we ought to have it to-day, Bensie,” she whispered.
“You see, they’ve been awfully good, and it’s rained for three days
now, and you know there wasn’t enough mush for breakfast, and Mamsie
couldn’t get any coats to do this week, ’cause Mr. Atkins didn’t dare
let her have any more to sew until he’d sold what he had, and trade’s
so poor.” And Polly sighed, and wiped away two tears. Ben turned away a
moment, and swallowed something hard that was in his throat. Polly, at
sight of this, began to laugh; and she said gayly, “Yes, indeed, we’ll
have the Circus story now. Get your chairs, and let’s sit round in a
ring, children.”

With that the babel of rejoicing changed into a scuffle for chairs
and crickets, Joel protesting that he should sit next to Polly, and
Phronsie scuttling along to crowd into Polly’s lap, till the little old
kitchen fairly rang with the noise.

“Let’s sit in a ring on the floor, Polly, that’s best,” begged
little David. So they all got down, and Polly had Joel on one side
and Phronsie on the other; though to be sure everybody was next to
everybody else, as the ring was constantly moving up closer till it was
a bunch of Five Little Peppers; and everybody looked as if there had
been plenty of breakfast, and all sorts of good things in the Little
Brown House enough for all time to come.

“Now, you know, children,” said Polly, folding her hands in her lap,
and feeling quite elegant to be sitting down in the morning telling
stories; and she looked at them impressively, “I’ve promised you the
Circus story for a lo-ong time.”

“Yes, we know,” said Joel, hitching impatiently. “Don’t talk, but
begin.”

Polly shot him a reproving glance that made him duck behind Davie, who
sat next, as she went on, “And now to-day I’m going to give it to you.
I know Mamsie’d say ’twas best, everything’s all clean spick span;” and
she glanced with pride around the little old kitchen that shone from
top to toe.

“Mamsie’d like it,” cooed Phronsie; and she patted her pink apron down
and looked at Polly to begin.

“The Circus story,” said Polly, beginning with a great flourish, “is
about so many best and splendid things that you must keep quite still
and not interrupt me a single teenty wee bit.”

[Illustration: “The circus story,” said Polly, “is about so many best
and splendid things that you must keep quite still.”]

They one and all protested that they wouldn’t say a word. So she began,
while each one sat as still as a mouse.

“Way far over the top of a high mountain,” said Polly, “so far that
no one had ever been entirely over it, at least to come back, lived
a big man. He was so large that he couldn’t have found any house in
all Badgertown big enough to get into if he had tried ever and ever so
much. He had arms and legs and eyes to match, you know, and feet and
ears, so he could take perfectly dreadfully large steps, and he could
lift as big rocks in his hands as the one hanging over Cherry Brook.
Oh, and he could see with his big eyes that stood right out of his face
just like cannon balls, so that nothing could hide from him, even if it
tried ever so much.”

Joel twisted uneasily and wriggled up nearer to Polly’s side. “And one
day the big man sat down on a spur of the mountain and dangled his feet
down the side. This was his swing, you know; and he always sat there
when he was thinking hard over anything, or making plans.

“Well, there he sat thinking--thinking away as hard as ever he could.
And pretty soon he got up and slapped his knee, just as Mr. Tisbett
does, you know; and he roared out, ‘The very thing--the _very_
thing!’ And folks down in the valley all ran to their windows and
said it thundered, and they drove into the barns and sheds and got
ready for the storm. Well, after the big man stopped roaring ‘the
very thing,’ and slapping his knee, he looked down the mountain,
the side he lived on, you know, and the first thing he saw was a
hippo--hippo--moppi--poppicus.” Here Polly paused to take breath. She
was very fond of long words, and it was her great delight to wrestle
with them; so now she thought she had done very well indeed, and
she ran on in the best of spirits--“Oh, he was so big--there isn’t
anything, children, that can tell you how big he was! Well, the big
man no sooner saw him than he ran like lightning on his perfectly
dreadfully large feet down his side of the mountain, and he said to the
hippo--pippo--poppi--moppicus--‘Here, you, sir, put your head in this;’
and he twitched out of one of his side pockets a string. It was made of
leather, and was just as strong--oh, you can’t think. Well the ‘hippo,’
I’m going to call him that for short,” said Polly suddenly, quite tired
out, “took a good look all around, but he saw no way of escape; and the
big man kept growing more dreadfully cross every minute he waited, so
the poor hippo at last said, ‘As you please, sir,’ and he put his head
into the string and was tied fast to a big tree that was one hundred
and sixty-seven feet round. Then the big man laughed a perfectly
dreadful laugh; and he said, when he had finished, ‘Now you are going
to the Circus, sir, and see the pennies taken in at the door.’ Then he
went off up to his mountain-spur again.

“And presently he looked down his side of the mountain again, and he
spied a gre-at big snake, oh, a beautiful one! all green and gold
stripes, and great flashing green eyes to match; for the big man
watched Mr. Snake raise his head as he wriggled along, and he ran down
his side of the mountain on his dreadfully large feet as quick as a
flash, and stood in front of Mr. Snake, who looked this way and that
for a chance to escape. But there was none, you see, for the dreadfully
large feet of the big man took up all the room; so at last Mr. Snake
said in a tired-out voice, just like this: ‘If you please, sir, would
you move just a _very_ little?’

“‘Put your head in here, sir,’ roared the big man at him, so that the
snake shook and shook just like a leaf on one of our maple-trees in a
storm. Well, and at last he had his head with the flashing green eyes,
fast in a big bag, which you must know in a twinkling the big man
had pulled out of his other side pocket, and then he was left to go
flopping and flopping around on the ground most dismally. And then the
big man scrambled up to his mountain-side again.

“Well,” said Polly with a long breath, “the next thing he saw was a
gi-raffe, as much bigger than the others as you can imagine. And he got
him fast, too, so he couldn’t get away; and then he went up to spy out
more animals. And by the time the sun went down behind the mountain,
and he couldn’t catch any more, he had two hundred creatures all tied
fast to trees, or with their heads in bags. And then he sat down on a
big stone to rest.”

“I should think he’d have to,” said Ben under his breath.

Polly shot him a reproving glance, and hurried on. “Well, after he was
all rested nicely again, he jumped up from his stone, and looked them
all in the face, that is, he looked those who were tied to trees in the
face, but those with their heads in bags, of course he couldn’t, and
he said, ‘My friends,’ for he thought he ought to treat them kindly,
they’d been so good to him, ‘I’m going to take you to see the world a
little.’ Then he untied those who were tied to the trees, and set them
in a line, the hippo in front, because he had him the longest, so it
was right to give him the first place, and the creatures with their
heads in the bags he set in the middle, because they didn’t need to
see, but could just follow the noise of the animals stepping in front
of them, and then a long line of more animals. Then the big man cut
down one of the large trees and switched it at the heels of the last
animal, which was a rhododendron.”

“O Polly!” gasped Ben.

“Yes ’twas,” she declared positively, with red cheeks, “I’m quite sure
of that word, for I saw it in the book Parson Higginson lent us; so
there! Ben Pepper.”

“Well, never mind,” said Ben faintly; “go on with the story, Polly.” So
Polly made her rhododendron move as swiftly as all the others in the
line; and presently the whole procession, with the big man at its rear
switching the heels of the last animal, was at the top of the mountain;
and then he called in a loud voice, “Come, Mr. Circus-man, and get
your menaj-menaj-arie.” Polly got over this very well, and hurried on
glibly. “And all the people who had opened their barn-doors and houses,
thinking there was to be no storm, clapped them to again in a fright.
All except one man, and they screamed to him that he was risking his
life; but he didn’t care, and he wouldn’t pay any attention to them.
So he poked his head out of his doorway, and he screamed, ‘I’m going
up the mountain to see for myself if there’s going to be a storm.’ And
they all bade him good-bye, and said they were sure they should never
see him again; and then they locked their doors, and padlocked them,
and away he ran up the mountain.

“The big man was waiting for him; and he said to his animals, ‘Now,
my friends, when that man’s head begins to show over that scrub-oak
there,’ pointing to the tree, ‘do you all say, “How do you do, and
_how_ do you do, and how do you do again.”’ So the animals said they
would; and as soon as the man’s head was to be seen peeping over the
tree-top, as he ran pretty fast, they all said it. The Hippo roared
it, and Mr. Snake grumbled it clear down half his length, and the
rhi-rhino-cerus squealed it, and the elephant howled it, and the”--

“What did the rhododendron do?” asked Ben.

“And the guinea-pig--oh, I forgot to tell you there was a perfectly
splendid guinea-pig in the collection,” said Polly, not taking any
notice of Ben; “and he said it big and loud in his natural voice, and
the monkey shrieked it, and”--

“Oh! is there a dear sweet little monkey?” cried Phronsie in a
transport. “O Polly! I want him to play with, I do.”

“Oh, no, Phronsie, you can’t,” said Polly hurrying on; “the Circus-man
has to have him, you know. Well, and oh, dear me! every single one of
those animals said, ‘How do you do, and _how_ do you do, and how do you
do again.’ And the man took one look at them and he said, ‘Pretty well,
I thank you.’

“And the big man said, ‘You’re the man for me; and I give all these
animals to you, for you are the only one who isn’t afraid. Now, march,
and good-by.’ And the Circus-man rubbed his eyes and looked again,
and there wasn’t any big man; all that was left was the long line of
animals and crawling things. So down the mountain-side the procession
went. And at the foot there were sixteen red carts with yellow
borders, and a cunning little carriage drawn by ever and ever so many
dear sweet ponies no bigger than dogs, and then in a minute, out from
behind the trees, came rushing as many as a dozen, no, two dozen big
horses with long tails. And they swept up to the Circus-man to have him
scratch their noses.”

The Five Little Peppers now became dreadfully excited. And Joel jumped
up. “Whoop-la!” he screamed, as he pranced around and around the group
on the floor, stepping high, and slapping himself as he raced along.
“Come on, Dave; this is the way I’d make ’em go, all those horses.”

“Polly, do you suppose we’ll ever see a Circus?” cried little Davie
with shining eyes; “ever in all this world?”

“Ever in all this world?” hummed Phronsie, while Ben set his teeth
tight together and looked at her. “Yes, indeed,” declared Polly
confidently, with eyes only for Ben. “Don’t look so, Ben,” she cried;
“we’ll see one sometime.”

“Polly always gets her flowers,” said little Davie in a moment, in a
reflective way.

“And if we don’t ever get to see a really, truly Circus,” cried Polly
impulsively, “we can hear all about it same’s we have already from Mr.
and Mrs. Beebe. So just think what those children must have to do, who
don’t ever have anybody to tell them about it as we have.” She folded
her hands in her lap and was lost in thought.

“Whoop-la! Whoopity-la! G’lang!” cried Joel with an awful noise, making
his steeds put forth all their best paces, around the little old
kitchen. “And I’m so glad,” Polly was saying, “that Mr. and Mrs. Beebe
did see a Circus when they went down to Rockport; it’s the greatest
comfort. Now, if you don’t stop, Joel, I can’t tell the rest of the
story;” “and you make so much noise we can’t hear anything,” said Ben.

So Joel gave up slapping his imaginary beasts, and bounded into the
middle of the group again, and the little old kitchen quieting down,
Polly took up the story once more.

“Well, but you ought to have seen the big white tent that was really
the home of all the animals and crawling things, when they actually got
home and staid still,” exclaimed Polly, starting off. “Oh! it was quite
magnificent, I can tell you. It was as big as the church-green, and it
had a great flag on top that swung out in the breeze at every bit of
wind, and there were rows and rows of seats all around it in a ring,
and down in the middle was the place where the horses danced, and”--

“Like this?” whooped Joel, breaking away again from the bunch of Five
Little Peppers on the floor. But Ben picked him by the jacket sleeve
and made him sit down suddenly. “Hold on, there,” he said; “you keep
still, Joe, you’re worse than a tornado. Go on, Polly, I’ll hold him,”
as Polly laughed and hurried on.

“One day they were having a beautiful time; the band that always rode
in the red wagon with the yellow wheels, was playing away, oh, such
lovely music!” sighed Polly; “and the big tent was just crammed full of
people, and the horses were dancing, and everybody was just as happy as
could be, when a great big man, oh, his head was almost up to the top
of the tent when he stood up straight, came up to the door and stooped
down and peeked in.

“‘Go right away!’ screamed the door-man at him as cross as he could be.

“‘Where’s the Circus-man?’ asked the great big man, and he kept
peeking in. ‘I sha’n’t go till I’ve seen the Circus-man.’

[Illustration: “Where’s the Circus-man?” asked the great big man.]

“So somebody had to run and get the Circus-man; and they made him stop,
although he was just in the midst of showing off the monkey who was
having a waltz on the back of the biggest elephant; and he was pretty
cross, and he marched up to the great big man, and he pretended not to
know him; and he said very sharply, ‘Go right off; you’re making a
perfectly dreadful noise, and you haven’t paid, and you can’t go in.’

“‘Don’t you know me, Mr. Circus-man?’ cried the great big man; and he
stood up quite straight, and his eyes, that stuck out like two cannon
balls, stared at him.

“‘Go right away!’ said the Circus-man angrily. ‘I never saw you before
in all my life; or I’ll set the dogs on you,’ and he snapped his whip.

“‘Oh, I’ll go,’ said the great big man. ‘Good-by, Mr. Circus-man;
the next time you come up to my mountain you needn’t stop to see me.
Come every single one of you beasts and beastesses, and reptiles
and reptilesses, and animals; it’s time to go home,’ he roared. And
everybody inside the big tent screamed that it thundered, and that
they’d all be killed, and the elephant knocked the monkey off from his
back, and the big snake slipped out, and the rhinoceros jumped over the
heads of the children who were giving him peanuts, and the hippo ran,
and”--

“And the rhododendron,” said Ben--“what did he do? Don’t forget him,
Polly.”

“And the gi-raffe,” said Polly, with a cold shoulder for Ben, “and all
of them, they just ran and jumped and skipped and hopped and wriggled
out of that tent, and the great big man was going off on his perfectly
dreadfully large feet, till he was miles away in a few minutes; and off
they all hurried, every single one of them, after him; and although the
Circus-man chased and chased and _chased_ after them, he never could
catch them. And that’s all,” said Polly, leaning back quite exhausted.

“Well, well!” exclaimed Mother Pepper, coming in suddenly upon the
absorbed little group; “now, that looks comfortable,” and her face
lighted up and she beamed at Polly.

“O Mamsie!” screamed every one of the bunch, as they sprang to their
feet and surrounded her.

“There was a sweet dear little monkey,” cried Phronsie stumbling up,
dreadfully excited “and a gre-at big man. Take me, Mamsie,” and she
snuggled up to Mother Pepper’s wet gown.

“Take care, child,” cried Mrs. Pepper, hungry to get her baby to her
heart; “mother’s all wet. There, there, Polly, Mr. Atkins let me take
the umbrella, so I did very well; I’ve set it in the Provision Room;
that’s a good girl,” as Polly took off the big shawl and hung it up to
dry.

“Now, Ben and you boys run and put some more wood in the stove, do,”
cried Polly; “oh, I do so wish you had some tea, Mamsie!” and her face
clouded over, and the corners of her mouth drooped.

“It’s better than tea, to see all you children,” cried Mamsie brightly.
But nobody dared ask her if she had any coats and sacks to sew; for
there wasn’t any big bundle, and Polly sighed and looked at Ben.




IV.

THE LITTLE TIN SOLDIERS.


“You must know,” said Polly, “that they had cake every day, little
cunning ones, and Sundays they had pink on top of ’em.”

Nobody spoke. At last Joel managed to ask, sitting on the edge of his
chair, “On every single one of the cakes, Polly Pepper?”

“Yes,” said Polly decidedly; “every single one of ’em Joey.”

“Not _every_ Sunday?” asked Joel incredulously.

“Yes, every single Sunday; as surely as Sunday came around,” declared
Polly in her most decisive fashion. “They didn’t miss once.”

“Now, I know you aren’t telling us true things,” cried Joel in a loud,
insistent tone; “’cause no one ever has cake every day, and pink on top
every Sunday. So there, Polly Pepper!”

“Of course I’m not telling you true, live things,” retorted Polly in
her gayest tone; “I’m making ’em up out of my head as I go along. And a
person could have cake every day with pink on top of ’em, if there was
enough to go around.”

“Oh!” sighed little Davie, clasping his hands with a long sigh.

Phronsie never took her eyes from Polly’s face, but she said not a word.

“If you keep interrupting all the while, Joe, Polly can’t get on with
her story,” said Ben, who was mending Mother Pepper’s washboard over in
the corner, with one ear out for the narration proceeding under such
difficulties.

[Illustration: Ben was mending Mother Pepper’s washboard.]

“Well, go on,” said Joel ungraciously, his mouth watering for the cake
with pink on top; “but I don’t b’lieve Johnny ever had all that, every
day and Sunday.”

“Well, you must believe it,” said Polly, shaking her brown head at him;
“or I’m not going to sit here telling you stories. Joey Pepper, you
must act as if you believed every single word I say, else you won’t be
polite.”

“Oh, I’ll believe it,” exclaimed Joel in alarm at the thought of
Polly’s stories ceasing. “I wish I had some of the cake with the pink
on top, now, I do. Tell on, Polly.”

“And I,” said Phronsie putting out a little hand; “I wish I had some
too, Polly, I do.”

“Well, we haven’t any of us got any,” said Polly. “But I’ll tell you
all about Johnny’s. Sit still, Pet, you joggle me so I can’t sew
straight; and these seams must be done before Mamsie gets home, else
she’ll sit up to-night to do ’em.”

Polly was stitching away on one of the sacks that Mrs. Pepper had
promised Mr. Atkins she would take down to the store on the morrow, her
needle rushing in and out briskly; and she glanced up at the old clock.
“Oh, dear me! if I don’t hurry, I sha’n’t get to the time when Johnny’s
little tin soldiers ran.”

“Oh--whoppity--la!” screamed Joel in a transport, forgetting how his
mouth watered for the pink-topped cakes; “tell about the soldiers,
Polly; tell about them.”

“Well, I can’t if you keep interrupting me all the time, Joel,” said
Polly; “I was just going to, when you stopped me about the cakes.”

“That’s just it,” said Ben over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t tell him a
single thing, if he goes on like that. Take my advice, Polly, and don’t
promise him another story.”

But Polly was already launched into her gayest and best narration; and
Joel slipped off from his chair-edge to the floor, where he snuggled
up against her feet, his head on her knees, Phronsie longing to do the
same thing; but remembering what Polly had said about sewing Mamsie’s
seams, she sat up very straight in her chair, and folded her hands in
her lap.

“Did Johnny have tin soldiers too?” asked David, in an awe-struck tone.

“Of course, child,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “Why, he had a big
house full of just _everything_.”

“Make Dave stop talking,” said Joel irritably; “we can’t hear anything.
Do go on about the soldiers, Polly; you said you would.”

“Now, the first one of you children that says a word,” said Polly
merrily, “will have to go out into the Provision Room and stay till
I finish this story. I never shall get through at this rate; now
remember.”

“Good for you, Polly.” Ben bobbed his approval, and set in two or three
nails with smart little taps of his hammer.

“Well, Johnny made up his mind that his tin soldiers had too easy a
time, because there hadn’t been anybody to fight, you know, for one
thing, Johnny being off for three days fishing with the Mullen boy who
lived next door, and too busy to get up a battle with any one; and so
things had got to be pretty easy. And the tin soldiers were just as
lazy as could be; and some of them, don’t you think, were lying on
their backs on the closet shelf; and one had even rolled off, and was
having a nap down in the corner where he thought nobody could see him.”

“‘Wake up there!’ hallooed Johnny, flinging wide the closet door
very suddenly. ‘There’s going to be a big battle. Attention--Get
ready--Form!’”

“Ugh--ugh!”--grunted Joel, starting up. Then he clapped his two brown
hands over his mouth and sat down again.

Polly ran on, with an approving smile at him. “And then Johnny saw the
poor little fellow fast asleep in the corner.” Here she caught sight of
Phronsie opening her mouth; and she hastened to add, “And he picked him
up and set him straight. ‘Now, fall into line, my men!’ he shouted at
them; and before anybody knew just how, there they were, every single
little tin soldier out in the garden under the grape-vine arbor and”--

[Illustration]

“Ugh--ugh--_ee_!” cried Joel explosively. Then he ducked, and came up
red and shining, his lips tightly pressed together.

“You’re such a good boy, Josey!” exclaimed Polly. “Now, you see how
perfectly elegant it is to tell stories without having to stop every
minute to explain things. Well, and there were Jack Mullen’s wooden
soldiers all standing up to fight, with Jack as proud and stiff as he
could be, back of them. They weren’t as nice as Johnny’s, because, you
see, Jack had left his out in the rain the night his mother gave a
party--he forgot to take ’em in--and the paint was all washed off, and
one soldier had his legs chipped off a bit where Jack’s little cousin
had tried his new knife on it, so he went lame; and another one had his
gun smashed where it got stepped on by the hired man when Jack dropped
it in the barn one day. But they were brave as they could be, and
there they were all ranged up in battle-array when Johnny brought out
his soldiers.

“‘Hoh-hoh-hoh!’ cried Johnny, prancing along, driving his soldiers down
the path; their swords and guns were clanking, and they looked so smart
in their scarlet coats and caps with the nodding plumes. ‘My men can
beat yours any day, Jack Mullen!’

“‘You’ll see,’ cried Jack, firing up. ‘Let’s get ’em to work, that’s
all I say;’ and he stuck his hands in his pockets, and laughed long and
loud.

“Johnny went around among his men, and whispered something in each ear.
It sounded like ‘cakes;’ and then every soldier nodded real pleased,
and smacked his lips, and”--

Here there was tremendous excitement among the children, but Polly
pretended not to see it; and only stopping to bite off her thread, she
hurried on, “And suddenly Johnny screamed, ‘Wait a minute,’ and off he
dashed and ran into the kitchen. ‘Jane--Jane! I must have sixteen--no,
seventeen cakes to-day. Make ’em big, Jane, and put pink on top, same
as my Sunday ones.’”

“_Gee!_” screamed Joel. But Davie, in alarm lest Joe should be sent off
to the Provision Room and just in the most splendid part of the story,
jumped off from his chair, and flung his arms around him in distress.

“‘Hurry up!’ roared Jack after him; ‘else I’ll begin the battle, and
shoot every one of your men’s heads off. Bang--Bang!’” Here Polly
put down the big sack a minute, and thrust up an imaginary gun to
her shoulder to show exactly how Jack Mullen looked. Ben dropped the
washboard, and came out of his corner to look at her.

“And sure enough,” said Polly, with kindling eyes, “he was at it when
Johnny got back, red and breathless, from his run from the kitchen. So
of course his tin soldiers had a perfectly awful time from the very
beginning. Oh, you can’t think, children, how they did have to fight!
And don’t you believe they were crowded off inch by inch down that
perfectly beautiful garden-path under the grape-vine arbor, until there
was only one little corner to stand on for a place of defence. And the
guns banged, and the cannon roared, and the smoke was so thick you
could cut it with a knife, and in and through it all were the scarlet
coats and caps with the nodding plumes of the little tin soldiers.
And every one of ’em was as brave as could be, and saying ‘cakes’ to
himself. But there must come an end, and”--

Joel was just going to scream “No--no!--don’t let it come to an end,
Polly,” when he remembered in time; and she ran on gayly, “And Johnny
was hopping up and down, feeling dreadfully but trying to get up a last
charge, and Jack was screaming, ‘We’ve beaten you--hurrah for my men!’
when a dozen boys jumped over the fence, and dashed right into the
battle-field.

“‘The circus-carts are coming down this street,’ screamed every single
one of ’em; ‘come on!’

“The tin soldiers, of course, supposed, in the din of battle and all
that dreadful smoke, that a terrible charge from the wooden soldiers
had come, set on by those perfectly dreadful boys; and the wooden
soldiers thought that the boys were helping the tin soldiers; so each
side started to run away from the other; and the tin soldiers ran the
fastest because they were thinner and lighter, so they didn’t find out
their mistake until too late, and they all fell into the fish-pond
at the bottom of the garden. Meanwhile, after Johnny and Jack had
climbed the fence and were off at the corner of the street with the
twelve boys, Jane came out with seventeen little cakes with pink on
top, and not finding any one, she placed the tray on the seat under the
grape-vine. And the black cat, the largest one at Johnny’s house, you
know, the one with the green eyes, came stepping softly up, and smelt
them all over. Then she yowed for the neighbor’s gray cat, with whom
she was quite sociable, and they ate them all up, every crumb.”




V.

CHRISTMAS AT THE BIG HOUSE.


“You must know, children,” said Polly, most impressively, “that there
was to be a Christmas at the Big House.”

“Christmas!” Each of the three younger Peppers, “the children,” as
Polly and Ben called them, set up a shout at the magic word. Ben set
his teeth together hard, and listened. No one of them had ever seen a
Christmas, or knew in the least what it was like, only from what Jasper
had told them. And now Polly was to draw from her imagination, and give
them a story-Christmas. No wonder at the babel that ensued.

“The Big House,” began Polly, “had ever and ever so many windows and
doors to it, and it set back from the street; and there was a road up
for the carriages, and another for folks to walk up--oh, and there were
lots of children that belonged to the house, as many as we are,” and
Polly glanced around on the bunch of little Peppers. “Well, you know
the Big House had always had a Christmas every year whenever it came
around; they had hung up their stockings and had trees, just like what
Jasper told us of; and all sorts of nice things they’d tried time and
again, so what to do this Christmas, why, none of them could think. At
last Jenny, she was the biggest girl, proposed that each child should
write out what he or she wanted to do most of all, and not let any
one else see what was written, but fold the paper, and tuck it into
Grandpapa’s white hat in the hall. Grandpapa always wore a tall white
hat whenever he went out, and when he was at home the hat stood on
its head on the hall-table. And no one was ever allowed to touch that
hat. So the children knew it would be a perfectly safe place to drop
the papers in; and then, when all were in, even the baby’s, because
Jenny would write hers for Mehitable, that was the baby’s name, why
Grandpapa would take the hat, and turn out all the papers and read
them, and decide what they better do in order to keep Christmas. Well,
every single child in the Big House had written on his paper, and put
it carefully into Grandpapa’s big white hat, and Grandpapa had taken
out all the papers; the children had seen him as they peeked out of the
door into the hall, and then he went away into another room and shut
himself in.

[Illustration: Grandpapa had taken out all the papers.]

“‘Children,’ he said, as at last, after what seemed to them a perfect
age, he opened his door and came out, ‘we will have a tree this
Christmas’; then he laughed, and held up seven papers--for you must
know that besides the five children who always and every day lived
at the Big House, there were two cousins, a girl and a boy, who were
visiting there. ‘Every single paper,’ declared Grandpapa, as soon as
he could speak, ‘had “Tree” written across it.’

“Well, you see by that, the children were not tired of Christmas trees,
and as soon as Grandpapa told them that they were to have one, they
were quite satisfied; although Jenny did say that if she had known
every one else had chosen it, she would have written some other thing
on her paper. But that didn’t make any difference now, and what they
all had to do was to get ready; and the next day found the whole Big
House in--oh, such a bustle! You would think they never had gotten a
tree ready for Christmas in all their lives, there was such a fuss
made. In the first place, Grandpapa had to go out and speak to a man to
send up into the country and get him a big spruce-tree of good shape,
not long and spindling, but stout and with a pointed tip; for the Big
House was in the city, and of course no city trees could be cut down
without folks being put into jail for it. And then everybody had to
sit down and count up the money they had to spend; and if that wasn’t
enough, they had to go to the bank and draw out some more; that is, the
big folks did. And as the children were emptying their banks to see
how much they had, Grandpapa came up behind them, and dropped a gold
dollar into each one’s pile.”

It was impossible for the Five Little Peppers to keep still at that;
but after they were quiet once more, Polly occasioned a fresh outburst
by saying, “And then Grandmamma came up behind them, and she dropped a
gold dollar on each pile too.”

“Polly,” cried little Davie, quite overcome, “did they have the tree
too?”

“Yes, child,” said Polly; “and dear me, lots of other things too--a big
Christmas dinner for one thing.”

“O Polly!” cried Joel, “turkey and pudding?”

“O my, yes--and candy, and raisins, and everything,” declared Polly;
“with flowers in the middle of the table.”

“And roast beef and fixings?” Ben for the life of him could not help
asking this.

“Yes--yes,” answered Polly. “You can’t think of anything that those
children didn’t have at that Christmas dinner. But I must tell you
about the tree. Well, you must see it took a great while to get
everything ready; besides the things that Jenny and her cousin Mary,
and Jenny’s brother Tom, and his cousin Edward were making, there were
ever so many presents to buy; and to get these, all the children had to
go to the shops with Grandmamma and Grandpapa and with each other, and
then they had to hide them in all the out-of-the-way places they could,
so that no one would find them until they were hanging on the Christmas
tree. Oh, there was just everything to do; and the day before Christmas
they all went to the shops for the last things that had been forgotten
till then. It had snowed the night before; but it was sunny and cheery
on this afternoon, and the walks had a little bit of snow, too hard to
clear off nicely, and just enough to slide on, when the procession came
out of the Big House, and turned down the street where the shops were.
Everybody was out buying things. They had little bags of money dangling
by their sides, only some held their purses in their hands, and kept
looking at them to be sure they were there--but oh, the shops!”

“Tell about them,” begged all the other Peppers together. “Tell every
single thing that was in them,” said Joel.

“Oh! I can’t begin to tell half that was in those shops,” laughed Polly
merrily. “Mercy me, Joey, there was just everything there,--drums and
tin soldiers, and little boxes that had music shut up in ’em, and dolls
and jews-harps, and mittens and comforters, and trains of cars, and
candy and flowers, and birds in cages, and oh, boots and shoes and
books and oh--just _everything_!” Polly brought up suddenly with a
gasp, being quite tired out.

“Go on,” urged Joel breathlessly.

“She can’t--there’s too many things,” said Ben. “Never mind going over
them; just tell what the folks did, Polly.”

“Well, you see, the children each wanted Grandmamma and Grandpapa to
help them choose things that all the others were not to see,” said
Polly; “and Grandmamma and Grandpapa couldn’t go in seven places at
once; so at last one of them, it was Tom, thought of a plan. It was to
rush off himself and choose something, and then come running back down
the shop-length; and when the others all saw him coming, they were to
hurry away from Grandmamma and Grandpapa, and let him whisper what it
was into their ears so nobody else heard, and ‘Would you?’ and then
if Grandmamma and Grandpapa said ‘Yes,’ away Tom would rush and buy
it, whatever it was. So all the other children tried the very same
plan; and don’t you believe when they asked ‘Would you?’ Grandmamma and
Grandpapa always said ‘Yes, my dear.’ They did every single time.

“Well, and finally they came out of the last shop, and the lamps in
the street were being lighted, and the snow under their feet shone
and creaked as they stepped, and every one of the children would have
slidden, if their arms had not been full of bundles clear up to their
chins. And Grandpapa laughed, and said they ought to have brought an
express wagon; and Grandmamma said, ‘Oh, no! she wouldn’t have them
sent home if she could, it was so nice to carry bundles.’ And everybody
they met had big and little white paper parcels; and people knocked
into each other, the streets were so crowded and the bundles stuck out
so; and so finally they got home, and all the bundles were put in one
big room where the tree was; and the door was locked, and Grandmamma
put the key in her black silk pocket.

“Well, in the middle of the night when that big house was still as
could be, all the children were asleep in their beds, something came
softly over the roof, and stopped right by the chimney. There was just
a little tinkle-tinkle, like the noise Mrs. Henderson’s cow makes when
she shakes her bell; and then a paw-paw, just like one of Mr. Tisbett’s
horses when he puts his foot down quietly, the gray one, I mean; and
somebody said, ‘Hush, there, you’ll wake up the folks;’ and before
anybody could think, up springs something, with a big pack on his back,
and down he goes right through the chimney.”

“I know, I know!” screamed Joel and David together; “it’s Santy Claus!”

“It’s Santy!” hummed Phronsie dreadfully excited. “Oh! I want to see
him, Polly, I do.”

“Perhaps you will sometime, Phronsie, if you are a good girl,” Polly
made haste to answer. “But never mind now, Pet, I must go on with the
story.”

“Well, it was Santa Claus who hopped down the chimney with his pack on
his back, and Mrs. Santa Claus sat in the sleigh and held the reins.
And he went into every room, and looked at each sleeping child; and he
could tell by its face whether he had been good or bad.”

“And had they?” cried Joel eagerly. “Say, Polly, oh, make them be good!
and did Santa Claus give them a lot of presents?”

“Most of the children had been good,” said Polly; “but there was one,
and he had been bad, very bad indeed. He had eaten up his brother’s
piece of cake; and then he had cried and screamed for more, and made
everybody unhappy. And Santa Claus stood over his bed and said, ‘Poor
child.’”

“And didn’t he get any presents from Santa Claus?” cried Joel. “Do let
him have a little bit of a present, Polly;” and he stuck his fingers in
his eyes, trying not to cry.

“Why, how could he?” cried Polly, “when he had been bad, Joey?”

“P’raps he--he won’t--won’t eat up his brother’s cake any more?”
mumbled Joel, in great distress. Then he broke down, and laid his head
in Polly’s lap, and burst out crying.

[Illustration: Joel laid his head in Polly’s lap and burst out crying.]

“Joel--Joel!” cried Polly, shaking his arm, “it’s only a story. Stop,
Joey, you’ll make Phronsie cry.”

“But I want--want that boy to get a present from Santa Claus,” sobbed
Joel, unable to be comforted.

“Do fix it some way,” whispered Ben over Polly’s shoulder. “Phronsie
is beginning now.” And so she was. She had gravely insisted on getting
into Polly’s lap; and now she hid her face on Polly’s arm, while soft
little sobs shook her figure.

“Dear me!” cried Polly aghast, “was there ever such a time! Children,
now stop, both of you. I’ll tell you what Santa Claus did. He looked
at Teddy sleeping there; and he said to himself, ‘Now, I’ll give this
boy something to make him good, even if he is bad now. And then, if he
keeps on being bad, why, he must give it back to me next Christmas;
and besides, I’ll have a rod for him.’ So he slipped a toy in Teddy’s
stocking and”--

“And was he good?” cried Joel, thrusting his head up quickly, and
wiping his wet face on Polly’s gown.

“Yes; oh, you can’t think how good Teddy was all through that year!”
said Polly happily. “His mother called him ‘Little Comfort,’ and his
father said he was a little man.”

“That’s nice,” said Joel, smiling through his tears.

Phronsie, when she saw that Joel was all right, and that no one else
was crying, lifted up her head from Polly’s arm, and laughed gleefully.
So on Polly ran with the story.

“Well, and after Santa Claus had gone, for you know he had so many
other children to go to see, and it was pink all over the sky, and the
children were out of bed; why, it was the hardest thing to keep them
out of that room where the tree was. And that day, oh, it was the very
longest in all the days of the year! But at last it was night; and then
the candles on the tree were all lighted, oh! I guess there were two
hundred of them; and they gleamed out such a sparkling brightness, just
like little stars, and”--

“Two hundred candles, Polly!” cried every one.

“Yes,” said Polly; “I surely believe there were two hundred candles,
all lighted and winking away on that beautiful tree; and somebody,
the children’s mother I believe, played on the piano, and everybody
marched in line, and the big door was thrown open, and there, with its
tip almost to the top of the room, was the most beautiful tree; and
every branch was crowded with presents, and everybody got what was
most wanted, and there were flowers everywhere. Oh! and a little bird
sang--they’d put the cage at the bottom of the tree, because it was too
heavy for the branches; and there sat Dicky-bird, his black eyes as big
as could be, and he was stretching his throat and singing at the top of
his voice. And then everybody took hold of hands, and danced around and
around that most beautiful tree a whole hour I guess, and Santa Claus
all the while was peeking in at the window. You see, he goes around the
next night as soon as it gets dark, to see how the children like his
presents. O children,” and Polly glanced out of the window, “if here
doesn’t come Mrs. Beebe!”




VI.

MR. FATHER KANGAROO AND THE FAT LITTLE BIRD.


Phronsie was wailing dismally, sitting up in the middle of the old bed.
Her face pricked, she said; and she was rubbing it vigorously with both
fat little hands, and then crying worse than ever.

“O me--O my!”--cried Polly; “how you look, Phronsie!”

“I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.

[Illustration: “I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.]

But Mamsie couldn’t come. She was sewing away for dear life, to keep
the wolf from the door. So Polly curled up on the bed beside Phronsie,
and fed her mouthfuls of the toast, with its unwonted richness--the
sweet butter that Mrs. Henderson, the parson’s wife, sent over--while
she told the doings of all the chickens in the Hendersons’ hen-coop;
then gayly launched off into other stories. And this is one of the
stories she told:--

“You must know,” began Polly briskly, as Phronsie leaned back against
the pillow, the last morsel of toast despatched, “that the children had
never seen a kangaroo, and--keep your toes in bed Phronsie;” and Polly
jumped off the bed, and gave a quick pull at the bed-clothes, “oh, dear
me! or the dreadful old measles will catch ’em.”

Phronsie pulled in her fat little toes where she had stuck them out
from the edge of the patched bed-quilt, and huddled them under her
in terror. “They’re so hot, Polly,” she wailed. “Oh, dear! will the
dreadful things catch ’em? Will they, Polly?” hugging Polly around the
neck.

“Not if you keep ’em in bed, child,” said Polly, patting the little
bunch under the bed-quilt reassuringly; “there, stretch ’em out,
Phronsie; there won’t anything hurt ’em if you keep ’em in bed.”

“Won’t they, Polly?” asked Phronsie fearfully, still huddling up in a
heap.

“No, no! Come on, Mister Toes,” sang Polly gayly, pulling at them.
“Doctor said you mustn’t get cold, or the measles would run in.
There, that’s all right,” as Phronsie’s toes came down again; “now
everything’s just splendid, and I’ll go on about my lovely kangaroo.
He”--

“They’re so hot,” sighed Phronsie, wriggling all her toes; “and they
prick, Polly--they do”--

“Well, we can’t help that,” said Polly; “you see, that’s the measles.
And I suppose the kangaroo had prickly toes too, sometimes, Phronsie.
Now I’m going to get up on the bed again, and hold your hand, and then
we’ll hear all about him.” So Polly hopped up beside Phronsie, and took
her hot little hand in both of her bigger ones, and began again. “You
see he”--

“Please don’t let him have the--the”--broke in Phronsie, turning her
flushed face eagerly toward Polly’s on the pillow, “don’t Polly,” she
begged.

“Have the what?” cried Polly, racking her brains to think what she
could do with her kangaroo. She must tell Phronsie a good story about
him. “Well, I’ve seen the picture of him in the minister’s book, and I
guess I can make up something about him that she’ll like.

“What is it that you want me not to do to him, Phronsie?” she asked.

“Don’t let him have--th--these--things--like mine?” pleaded Phronsie,
the tears coming into the brown eyes. And despite all her efforts, she
wriggled her toes, and cried, “Oh, it pricks so, Polly,” burrowing down
deep in the old bed, and rubbing her chubby face.

“Oh, he sha’n’t have the measles!” cried Polly; “and you mustn’t do
so, Phronsie,” all in one breath. And pulling Phronsie up against the
pillow again, Polly seized both of the little fat hands and held them
close. “There, there, just hear all about my lovely kangaroo, Phronsie;
why, he ran into the forest, and he carried all the little bits of
kangarooses in a bag with him.”

“Did he have a bag?” asked Phronsie. And she let her hands stay quite
still in Polly’s clasp, and the two tears on her round cheeks ran down
on the old quilt unheeded.

“Yes, indeed; a big bag that hung down in front of him, and whenever he
called, all his little children kangarooses would run and hop, and jump
into that bag.”

“Oh!” screamed Phronsie delightedly.

“Yes, and then the old father kangaroo would peek over the edge of the
bag and say, ‘Lie still, my children, and don’t kick each other;’ and
then he”--

“Did he tie it?” asked Phronsie anxiously, and poking up her head to
peer into Polly’s face. “Please don’t let him tie it tight, Polly.”

“No; he couldn’t tie it,” said Polly, “because you see there were no
strings to his bag.”

“Oh!” said Phronsie, sinking back very much relieved.

“He gripped the edges together fast, and--but the little kangarooses
had cunning little places they could stick their noses out,” she
hastened to add, as she caught sight of Phronsie’s face. “Oh! they
liked it ever so much. And then the old father kangaroo would run--oh,
such dreadful big steps he would take, Phronsie, you can’t think, as
big as all across this bed in one hop!”

Phronsie’s eyes widened delightedly, and she gave a long sigh of
content.

“Tell me some more,” she begged.

“Well, one day Mr. Father Kangaroo was out in the forest getting
dinner. He had short little wee feet in front, and he couldn’t walk
very fast you see. And”--

“Where was the mother kan--what was it, Polly?” interrupted Phronsie.
“Tell me, Polly, do.”

“Kangaroo? Oh, she was in the house, working away. You see, with so
many children-kangarooses, Phronsie, there was lots and lots to do,”
said Polly, growing quite desperate at the thought of Mother Pepper
sewing out there in the old kitchen, and all the dishes not yet washed,
and everything else at a standstill. “Now, you lie still, and perhaps
you’ll go to sleep while I tell the rest.”

“I can’t go to sleep,” said Phronsie, putting up her lip sorrowfully.

“Never mind,” said Polly merrily; “don’t try.--Oh, where was I?”

“You said Father Kangaroo went off to get some dinner,” said Phronsie,
concluding not to cry.

“Oh, yes,--well, you see, they hadn’t any of them had any breakfast.
Just think of that, Phronsie, and you’ve had toast and elegant butter;”
and Polly’s mouth watered, for she hadn’t tasted any of the little pat
that Mrs. Henderson sent.

“Hadn’t they?” asked Phronsie sadly.

“No, not a single bite. Well, Father Kangaroo just stalked off, that
is, he hopped with great big hops, for he knew he had to get some
dinner, else the little bits of kangarooses would starve to death.
And pretty soon he came right into the very middle of the forest; and
there under the trees, in the midst of a bramble-bush, lay a little
bird,--Oh, such a cunning little bird, you can’t think, Phronsie, so
fat and juicy!”

“Oh, don’t let Mr. Father Kangaroo catch the little bird, Polly!”
screamed Phronsie in terror; and springing up she seized Polly’s neck
with both hands, and burst into tears.

“Oh, dear me, what shall I do?” cried Polly in despair, and cuddling her
up. “No, he sha’n’t eat the bird, Phronsie; now stop crying this minute,
the kangaroo sha’n’t eat him, I say. I’ll make the little bird go home
with him, and sing to the children kangarooses--there--there--now,
says I, we’ll lie down again.”

So she patted and tucked Phronsie in again under the clothes, and wiped
her face dry with the old soft handkerchief Mamsie had left under the
pillow, and then she began once more.

“Deary me, where was I?--Oh, I know, I was going to have the little
bird go home with Mr. Father Kangaroo.”

“Yes,” said Phronsie happily; “you were going to, Polly.”

“So Mr. Father Kangaroo looked sharply at the fat little bird lying
there in the middle of the bramble-bush; and he asked, ‘What’s the
matter down there, little bird?’

[Illustration: “What’s the matter down there?” asked Mr. Kangaroo.]

“And the little bird cocked up one eye at him just like this,” said
Polly, suiting the action to the word.

Phronsie poked up her yellow head to see, and smiled gleefully.

“And the little bird piped out, ‘Oh Mr. big Kangaroo-man, I can’t get
out.’”

“Oh, make him help him, Polly,” cried Phronsie very much excited, and
pulling her hands out of Polly’s to clasp them together tightly. “Do,
Polly, quick!”

“Yes; indeed I will, Pet. So Mr. Father Kangaroo leaned over the
bramble-bush, and roared in a big voice, ‘Here, I’ll hold the brambles
away with my paws, and you can jump into my bag.’”

“Oh, oh!” screamed Phronsie in delight. “And he did, and up jumped
the little fat bird,” said Polly, tossing her hands out with a whir;
“and in he came flopping oh, so quickly, into the big bag of Mr. Father
Kangaroo. ’Twas just as nice, Phronsie, oh, you can’t think!”

“’Twas just as nice,” cooed Phronsie happily; “the little bird in the
big bag. Tell some more, Polly, do.”

“Well then, you see, the big Mr. Father Kangaroo didn’t know what to do
with the little fat bird; so he said, ‘Now, my dear, don’t you want to
fly out of my bag and go home?’ And the little fat bird huddled down
into the darkest corner of the bag and he piped out, ‘Oh, I haven’t any
home, Mr. Kangaroo. A great cross old squirrel came up to my nest this
morning, and ate up all my brothers and sisters, and I flew away and
tumbled into the bramble-bush.’”

“Oh, dear!” cried Phronsie in dismay.

“But wasn’t it good that Mr. Father Kangaroo found the fat little
bird?” cried Polly in her cheeriest fashion.

“Yes,” said Phronsie, “it was good, Polly.”

“Well, so Mr. Father Kangaroo said, ‘I’ll take you to my home.’ He
didn’t know what in all the world he should do; for he had six--no,
seven hungry little kangarooses, and not a bit to give them for dinner.
But he couldn’t leave the poor little fat bird to starve, you know.”

“He was a good Mr. Father Kan--what is it, Polly?” declared Phronsie,
clasping her hands.

“Kangaroo. Yes, wasn’t he Phronsie? So he looked down into the bag, and
he said, ‘Now don’t you cry, little bird, and you shall go home with
me where the cross old squirrels cannot catch you;’ for he thought he
heard the little fat bird sobbing down in the dark corner.”

“And was he?” cried Phronsie.

“Perhaps so--a little wee bit. But he didn’t cry any more; for as soon
as he heard Mr. Father Kangaroo say that, he chirped out, ‘Thank you,
Mr. Kangaroo-man, and I’ll sing for you all the day long.’”

“That was nice in the little bird, wasn’t it, Polly?” cried Phronsie,
wiggling her toes in a satisfied way.

“Yes, indeed. Well, so away they trudged--I mean Mr. Father Kangaroo
trudged, and hopped, and skipped, with great long steps, and pretty
soon he came to his home. And the little kangarooses saw him coming;
and they all ran and hopped out to meet him, screaming, ‘O pappy! have
you brought us our dinner?’”

“Oh, dear!” said Phronsie, very much troubled; “he hadn’t any dinner.”

“But just think what a dear sweet little fat bird he had brought them,
who was going to sing all day long, Phronsie!”

“Yes,” said Phronsie, but she sighed. “Tell me some more, Polly, do.”

“Well, so Mr. Father Kangaroo didn’t say anything about dinner; for he
thought if they saw the little bird first, and heard him sing, they
would forget all about that they were hungry.”

“And did they?” asked Phronsie.

“Yes, indeed; they never thought of it again. And they hopped and
danced all around the fat little bird; and he told them of good Father
Kangaroo, who had saved him when he got caught in the bramble-bush,
where he fell when he flew away from the cruel squirrel; and then he
sang--oh, it was just lovely to hear him sing, Phronsie.” Polly lay
back upon the pillow and folded her hands, lost in thought.

“Tell me some more, Polly,” cried Phronsie, pulling her sleeve.

“Oh, yes--well, then, you see, all that noise brought Mother Kangaroo
in; and she just held up her paws in astonishment. And she didn’t like
it very well; and she said, ‘What! bring another hungry mouth to feed,
and you haven’t any dinner for us?’ and Father Kangaroo sat down in the
corner, and his big head went down on his breast, and he sat still to
think.”

“Don’t let Mother Kangaroo send the poor little bird away, Polly. Don’t
let her do it!” protested Phronsie in distress.

“No, I won’t,” promised Polly. “Well, when Mother Kangaroo saw Father
Kangaroo sitting so sad and still over in the corner, she hopped over
to him, and put both her paws around his neck, and she kissed his furry
cheek, ‘The little bird shall stay,’ she said, ‘and I’ll go out and
get some dinner.’ And all the little children-Kangarooses took hold of
paws, and danced around the fat little bird in delight.”

“Oh--oh!” cried Phronsie in delight.

“Mercy me!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, putting her head in the doorway, “I
thought Phronsie was worse. Now, that’s cosey;” and she beamed at Polly
in a way that made the little sunbeams sink right down into Polly’s
heart.




VII.

THE MINCE-PIE BOY AND THE BEASTS.


“’Tisn’t time to go to bed,” grumbled Joel; “and you and Ben are going
to whisper and wink your eyes as soon as I go.”

“We sha’n’t have to whisper when you are out of the way, Joe,” said
Ben; “come, hurry up and start.” “Now, Joey, you promised,” said Polly
reproachfully. She was aching to talk over all the splendid plans
with Ben; and there were the bright bits of paper left after they had
covered the nuts; and just this very night she was to set about making
Phronsie’s paper doll, and Ben was to begin on a windmill for Davie,
and Mamsie was to sit down at the big table drawn out from against the
wall, and make Seraphina’s bonnet. And Christmas was getting _so_ near!

“O Joe!” exclaimed Polly suddenly, in such a tone of despair that Ben
said sharply, “Go along, or she’ll stop telling you stories. You won’t
get another one to-morrow--sir!”

“I’ll go,--I’ll go,” cried Joel, clattering over the stairs in a
trice--“I’m going, Polly--you’ll tell me another to-morrow, won’t
you--won’t you, Polly?” he screamed at the top.

“Yes indeed,” cried Polly merrily, running along to the foot of the
stairs leading to the loft. “That’s a good boy, Joey; I’ll tell you a
good one to-morrow.”

“It’s got to be a long one,” said Joel; “not such a little squinchy one
as ’twas to-day. Hoh! that was no good.”

“Hush up there,” shouted Ben at him, from the kitchen, “or you’ll wake
Dave up. Come on, now, Polly.”

So Polly ran back again; and the two pulled out the kitchen table; and
Mamsie brought her big basket, and Seraphina’s bonnet was snipped out
of the piece of ribbon so long waiting for it; and Polly whisked out
the bits of bright paper from the bureau-drawer in the bedroom; and
Ben got out his big jack-knife, and commenced to whittle bravely; and
everything was as brisk as a bee and as cheery,--and the tongues flew
just as fast as the fingers, till the little old kitchen was alive
with the work of getting ready for Christmas.

[Illustration: The two pulled out the kitchen table.]

But on the next morning, all the signs of the coming festivity tucked
carefully away, and the every-day work done up, then didn’t Polly just
have to spin off a story when in marched Joel with a “Come on, Dave,
Polly’s sewing; now for the story!” he whooped, and threw himself on
the floor at her feet.

“O Joel”--Polly was just ready to cry out, “I can’t think of a thing.”
And then she remembered that she had promised. “Dear me, Joe, what do
you want?” she asked, and making her needle fly faster than ever.

“Oh, something nice--about having mince-pie,”--Joel smacked his lips,
“and bears and wolves and crocodiles. Tell a good one, Polly; and it’s
got to be long”--he waved his arms as far as he could--“long as that;
now begin.”

“I’ll tell about a mince-pie,” said Polly, wrinkling her brows; “that’s
the first thing you asked for; and”--

“And bears and wolves and crocodiles,” said Joel hastily; “I want all
those; you’ve got to, Polly, ’cause I go to bed every night, and you
said you would.”

“I can’t get all those things into one story,” said Polly.

“Hoh! yes you can,” contradicted Joel; “that’s just as easy. Now begin,
Polly.”

“Well, once there was a boy,” said Polly, with a flourish of her needle
as she put in a new thread; “and his mother had to hide the mince-pies
whenever she baked any, ’cause she was afraid to leave ’em round, and”--

“Don’t tell such a story,” howled Joel in disgust; “tell something
nice, Polly.” He winked his black eyes fast, and Polly thought she saw
something shine in them; and then he dug his fists in them, and hid his
stubby head on her lap in among her sewing.

“So I will, Joey,” she cried, dropping her work to lean over and drop
a kiss on his black hair. And then it all came to her what to say; and
before she knew it, she had begun again on “The Wonderful Mince-Pie Boy
and the Beasts.”

“You see, it was long, long ago,” ran on Polly in her gayest fashion;
“and almost anything could have happened then--why, Adolphus lived
ages before this time when we are living in Badgertown; so he had all
sorts of funny people as his neighbors, and they did all kinds of
queer things. And the animals all talked just like boys and girls, and
everybody understood them. And it was just the strangest world, you
can’t think! And that’s the reason that the story is just as it is.”

“Go on,” said Joel quite himself again, and his mouth opened in an
expansive smile. “Come on, Dave. Gee-whickety! Polly’s going to tell an
elegant buster of a story.”

“Joel, I sha’n’t tell a single thing if you say such dreadful words,”
declared Polly sternly, as little David came in, and sat down on the
floor by Joel’s side.

“I won’t,” cried Joel in alarm, “say it again ever, Polly.”

“Think how badly Mamsie would feel to hear it,” said Polly reprovingly.
“O Joe! how can you?” Down went Joel’s head on her lap,--

“I--won’t again--Polly,” he burst out, trying not to cry. “O Polly! I
won’t--I don’t--want--Mamsie to feel bad”--and he burrowed deep in her
lap.

“He won’t, Polly,” said little David anxiously, patting Joel’s stubby
head with one hand, and with the other pulling Polly’s gown--“I most
know he won’t say any more dreadful words.”

“See that you don’t then, Joe,” said Polly; “and both of you boys
must remember that it would make Mamsie sick to hear you say any such
things. Well, now for the story,--‘The Wonderful Mince-Pie Boy and the
Beasts.’”

“Oh, oh!” cried Davie in a transport, and clasping his hands. Joel sat
up quite straight, and held his breath.

“The mince-pie boy lived in an old stone house,” began Polly, “all
overgrown with vines. There were big trees that sent their arms clear
across the top of his house, and the vines ran all over them, so that
it looked for all the world as if it was a great arbor. Well, and just
a little ways off, about as far as from here to Grandma Bascom’s, was a
gre--at big cave. And that was all grown over with vines too, and funny
dangling trees that looked as if they were upside down.”

“Oh!” laughed Joel, “how funny!” And “How funny!” said little David.

“Yes; but it wasn’t half so funny, as it was inside of the house and
the cave,” said Polly, sewing away busily; “because you see the man who
was Adolphus’s father owned all the wild beasts that were in the cave.
And as he had them all brought out of the cave, and up to the big
house sometimes, when he had company, and he wanted to amuse them, why,
you know everything was made so they might show off, and the people
could have a good time.”

“Tell about it,” cried Joel, crowding up to Polly’s work so closely
that she couldn’t see where to set her stitches. “Take care, Joe,” she
warned; “I sewed that crooked. Mr. Atkins won’t give Mamsie any more
sacks to do if they’re done badly. And I want to learn to sew them all
for her.” And Polly’s face was very sad as she picked out the poor work.

Joel huddled out of the way in dismay. “There, that’s all right now,”
announced Polly in a minute; “you didn’t do any mischief, Joe. Let me
see, where was I?”

“You said Adolphus’s father had all the wild beasts brought out of the
cave, and into the house, when he had company,” cried Joel. “Oh, make
him bring ’em all in now, Polly, do!”

“So he shall,” nodded Polly. “You see, boys, Adolphus’s father had lots
and lots of animals in his cave; but he liked the wolves and the bears
and the crocodiles the best.”

“Oh, dear me!” said Davie quite overcome.

“Now, Adolphus liked the best thing in the world,--yes, the very best
thing in all the world, mince-pie. And he had it for breakfast, dinner,
and supper.”

“Whick--oh, dear me!” exploded Joel.

“Yes; all the beasts liked mince-pie too, every single one of all those
sixteen hundred beasts.”

“Were there sixteen hundred of ’em?” cried little David with flaming
cheeks, and pushing up close to her work.

“Yes,” said Polly recklessly. “Adolphus’s father had sixteen hundred
wild beasts in his cave, and”--

“Make it some more,” cried Joel. “Make him have eighteen hundred,
Polly, do.”

“No,” said Polly firmly; “he hadn’t a single one more than sixteen
hundred, not a single one, Joe.”

“Well, go on,” said Joel.

“But the beasts couldn’t get any mince-pie, ever,” said Polly, hurrying
on.

“Why?” broke in both of the boys.

“Because Adolphus’s mother said that she couldn’t spend the time to
bake mince-pies for so many beasts and beastesses, because you see,
all the animals would have to have a pie apiece. And Adolphus used to
go out into the front yard, and eat his pie; and all the creatures
would come out of their cave, and stand in their yard, and lick their
chops, and wish they had some.”

“And so do I wish I had some, Polly,” declared Joel, licking his mouth.
“Did it have plums in, Polly?”

“Gre--at big ones,” declared Polly, “oh, so rich and juicy! My! there
never was such a pie as those that Adolphus got every day,--one for
breakfast, and one for dinner, and one for supper.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed both boys again, unable to find other words.

“Well, one day there was a great stir in the big house under the vines,
and everybody far and near knew that Adolphus’s folks were going to
have company. And that very same night the beasts and beastesses got
together, and held a meeting. And when everybody in the big house was
sound asleep, and nothing was stirring but the mice scampering up and
down in the walls, all the creatures in the cave were wide awake, and
talking all together.

“‘I’ll tell you what,’ said a big white polar bear”--

“What’s a polar bear?” interrupted Joel, with a shout.

[Illustration: The mince-pie boy and the beasts.]

“You mustn’t interrupt,” said Polly; “it’s a bear that lives at the
Poles.”

“What Poles? Are they clothes-poles?” asked Joel persistently. “Say,
Polly; and did the bear help to hang out the clothes to dry?”

“No, no--don’t ask so many questions, Joe; I never shall get through
if you do. This bear came from the North Pole, where it is dreadfully
cold. And he loved mince-pie, oh, terribly! And he began, ‘Now, fellow
bears and bearesses, and wolves, and--and--wolveresses.’”

“And crocodiles,” said Joel; “don’t forget them.”

“No, I won’t. ‘And crocodiles and croco--crocodilesses and all the rest
of you,’ because, you see, he couldn’t mention them all by name, for he
wouldn’t have had time for his speech if he had; ‘we must get some of
that boy’s mince-pie. It isn’t fair for him to have so much, and we to
have none. Now, I have a plan; and if you will all do just as I say,
I will get you some mince-pie.’ So they all--the different beasts and
beastesses--crowded around the white polar bear, and he spoke out his
plan.

“‘You know the company is coming to the big man’s house’--the beasts
always called Adolphus’s house by that name--‘and we shall be sent for
as usual. Now, when we get there, let us march into the hall as if we
were going to perform. But instead of that I shall go right straight
up in front of the big man and that dreadful mince-pie boy, and shall
roar at them: ‘I will eat off your head and scrunch your bones, unless
you give me some mince-pie this minute!’”

Polly roared it out so loud, and looked so very dreadful, that Phronsie
came running in from the bedroom where she had been putting on her
red-topped shoes which Mamsie let her do sometimes, but not step
in them for fear of hurting them. One shoe was half off, and every
button of the other was in the wrong button-hole. “O Polly!” she cried
scuttling over to her; “what was that dreadful noise?”

[Illustration: “O Polly!” she cried scuttling over to her.]

“Now you see, Joel,” cried Polly, throwing down her work, and gathering
up Phronsie into her lap, “I’ve scared her most to death. ’Tisn’t
anything, Phronsie pet, but some bears and things Joel wanted me to
tell of”--as Phronsie hid her yellow head on Polly’s arm.

“Polly made that noise with her own mouth,” said Joel; “and ’twas
splendid, Phron. Make it again, Polly, do.”

“No, I sha’n’t,” said Polly. “There, there, Phronsie, don’t be scared;
it was I made it, and not a truly bear.”

“If it was you, Polly,” said Phronsie, lifting her head, “and not a
truly bear, I don’t mind. But please don’t make it again, Polly.”

“I won’t, Pet,” promised Polly. “Dear me! just look at your red-topped
shoes. Take ’em off, or you’ll spoil them; Mamsie doesn’t like you to
walk in them, you know.”

“I want to go back to the bedroom,” wailed Phronsie, “and show ’em to
Seraphina. Oh, dear! can’t I, Polly? I’ll go on the tips of my toes.”

“No, I’ll carry you,” said Polly, preparing to spring up; but Joel
jumped to his feet,--

“Let me, Polly; I’ll carry her. Come on, Phron.” He seized her and
staggered off, depositing her on the bedroom floor, close to Seraphina
lying face downward where she had been dropped in fright.

“Now go on,” he cried, springing back to huddle at Polly’s feet.

“‘I’ll scrunch your head off,’” said Polly in a stage whisper. “I can’t
say it loud as I did before, boys, or Phronsie’ll hear. ‘Give me the
pantry keys!’

“At hearing these dreadful words, the crocodile began to cry. ‘I’m
afraid, I’m afraid,’ he said. But one of the wolves ran up and boxed
his ears. ‘Nobody dares to say he is afraid here,’ he cried. ‘Yes, we
are going to have _those pantry keys_.’”

It was impossible to describe the excitement that now seized the two
boys as they huddled closer and closer to Polly, as she hurried on,--

“And when all the beasts and beastesses had promised to do just as the
white polar bear should tell them, he roared at them in a perfectly
dreadful voice: ‘You must all say with me, “I’ll scrunch your heads off
if you don’t give me those pantry keys.”’ So they all said it after
him, the crocodile weeping great tears that ran over his cheeks as he
repeated the words. And then every animal went to bed; and the next
night the company came to the big house under the vines, and Adolphus’s
father sent for all the beasts and beastesses.”

“And did they scrunch their heads off?” screamed Joel.

“Hush--you’ll scare Phronsie again,” cried Polly.

“Did they, did they?” cried Joel, lowering his voice--“oh, make them,
Polly, do, scrunch all their heads, every single one!”

“You must wait and see,” said Polly; “and don’t interrupt, or I never
will get a chance to tell the story. Well, all the animals went up to
Adolphus’s house, two by two; and there, in the long hall, sat all the
company in tall chairs, and Adolphus in the middle. And the first thing
that anybody knew, before one of them was asked to perform a single
thing, the white cat that lived up at the big house, and always slept
on a white satin cushion, and drank from a silver bowl, sprang into
the centre of the hall, and made a bow and a curtsey. She had a green
ribbon embroidered in silver tied under her chin, and she looked too
perfectly splendid for anything.

“‘My master wishes me to say,’ she announced, with another low bow down
to the ground, ‘that you are asked over to-night, not to show off,
but to eat mince-pies.--Behold!’ And there right at her elbow were
twenty-five boys dressed in green and scarlet, and all with big trays
full of mince-pies, with plums sticking out all over them, and”--

“Ugh!” grunted Joel, and kicking his heels in great disgust. “Now the
white polar bear can’t scrunch those people’s heads off. Hoh! that’s no
story, Polly Pepper!”




VIII.

THE CUNNING LITTLE DUCK.


“The little duck ran away,” announced Polly, “to begin with,” to the
group around her chair.

“Then he was a very naughty duck,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow
head.

“Tell about him!” cried Joel with a gusto.

“Yes, I’m going to,” said Polly, setting her stitches with a firm hand.
“But, children, you interrupt so much that it makes me forget all what
I’m going to say, when I’m telling stories.”

“Oh, we won’t; we won’t!” they all promised. “Do begin, Polly, do.”

“Well, once upon a time,” said Polly, with true story-book flourish,
“no, when I was a little girl, years ago, that’s the way Grandma Bascom
begins her stories”--

“But ’twasn’t years ago when you were a little girl, Polly,” said
little David thoughtfully.

“Well, ’tis in a play-story,” said Polly. “And all my stories are
make-believe, you know. Now, I’m an old lady, children; and I’m going
to tell you about my little duck I had, oh, ever so many years ago!”

The little bunch of Peppers shouted at the idea of Polly’s being an old
lady; and Joel got up and whirled around, clapping his fists together
till the old kitchen rang with the noise. “Put on a big cap, Polly,” he
screamed, “just like Grandma’s!”

So Polly, who dearly loved to dress up and play things, dropped her
sewing, and ran off into the bedroom. “There isn’t anything I can tie
on that’s like a cap,” she said, coming back, “but this; wasn’t it nice
Mamsie had it?” It was a big piece of light brown paper that had done
up the last batch of sacks brought home from the store for Mrs. Pepper
to sew up.

“Hoh, that isn’t _white_!” cried Joel in disdain, while the faces of
the others fell.

“Well, we must play it’s white,” said Polly. “I’m going to; and all
frilled with deep lace, too.”

So the children began to smile with satisfaction once more. If Polly
could play it was white and all trimmed with beautiful lace, it was
all right.

“Run to the string-bag, one of you children,” said Polly, crinkling up
the paper on her head to make it look as much like an old lady’s cap as
possible, and nearly putting out one eye with the corner of the paper,
“and tie it fast while I hold it on.”

“I will--I will!” cried little Davie, springing off.

“No, I will; I can get it twice as quick!” cried Joe, tumbling after
him, and seizing his jacket. Thereupon ensued a scuffle as to which
should first reach the string-bag in the Provision Room. Joel did, and
soon came racing back with a very red face, and bearing it triumphantly
aloft. “Here ’tis!--I got it, Polly; now I’ll tie you up.”

[Illustration: Joel came racing back.]

Polly looked out from under her big paper--“Go and hang that string-bag
right up again, Joey,” she said slowly.

“I got it,” said Joel stoutly.

“Go and hang it up,” said Polly.

“I--I--got--it,” said Joel faintly--“I sh’d think I might keep it,
Polly,” he said in an injured tone.

“Go and hang it up this minute,” said Polly, coming entirely out from
under her big paper cap and fixing her eyes on him. When Polly looked
like that, it always made them think of Mamsie; so Joel turned at once,
and went slowly down the steps to the Provision Room, dragging the
string-bag after him. He soon came back, twisting his small hands, and
trying not to cry. “Now, Davie,” said Polly pleasantly, “will you go
and get me the string-bag?”

David started to run on joyful feet; but seeing Joel moping in the
corner, he stopped suddenly, “I’d rather Joe went,” he said.

“No, I want you to go,” said Polly firmly; “and if you don’t hurry,
I shall have to go and get it myself, and you wouldn’t want me to do
that, I’m sure.”

Thus adjured, David ran as fast as his feet could carry him, and soon
brought the string-bag to Polly.

“Now says I,” she cried, “somebody must tie my old cap on, and I’m
going to ask Joel to do that.” And she pulled out a long string. “Come
on, Joey.”

“I--didn’t--mean--to,” sobbed Joel, over in his corner. “Polly, I
didn’t.”

“Well, see that you don’t run and scramble and take away Davie’s things
again when he starts first,” said Polly. “Come on, Joe, I’m waiting.”

So Joel tumbled out of his corner, wiping away the tears on the back
of his little red hand; and soon Polly’s cap was tied on in the most
approved style, amid the shouts of the children, who all escorted
her to the cracked looking-glass over the bedroom bureau, when she
pronounced it “just too perfect for anything.”

“Well, now,” said Polly, drawing a long breath, and racing back to sit
down and pick up her sewing, “I must hurry and tell about my cunning
little duck, or I don’t know what I shall do. Now, children, you know
I’m an old, old lady, and”--

“How old?” demanded Joel, who dearly loved facts and figures.

“Oh! I don’t know--most a hundred I guess,” said Polly; “well”--

“Ho--Ho! Polly’s most a hundred,” laughed Joel, and Davie burst out
laughing too. “Polly’s most a hundred,” echoed Phronsie with a gurgle.

“Now, see here, children, I shall never tell this story if you keep
interrupting me like that,” said Polly, pushing back her paper cap that
settled over one eye. “Dear me, I didn’t s’pose it was such trouble to
pretend to be old--this slides all over my head, and I can’t see to
sew. Well, I once had a cunning little duck, when I was a little girl
years and years ago.”

[Illustration: The cunning little duck.]

“Was he as big as that?” asked Phronsie, bringing her two fat little
hands almost together in intense excitement.

“Yes,” said Polly, “and a little bigger. Well, he was all my own, you
know; my grandmother gave him to me.”

“Did you have a grandmother?” asked David. “I thought you were the
grandmother,” looking at the big cap with its nodding border.

“Well, so I am, but I had a grandmother too when I was a little girl.
Everybody has a grandmother when they’re little.”

“Oh!” said Davie.

“Well, my grandmother gave me this little duck. Now, don’t interrupt
again,” said Polly. “You see, he was so little when he was born, that I
s’pose he got lost in the grass, and no one saw him; and then the cat
must have stepped on him, for his leg was bent, and”--

“What’s bent?” demanded Phronsie, pushing an absorbed little face
forward.

“Oh! doubled up like this,” said Joel, suiting the action to the word,
and twisting his leg into as much of a knot as was possible.

“Oh, Polly!” said Phronsie gravely, “please don’t let the little duck’s
leg be like Joel’s.”

“Well, you’ll see, Phronsie,” said Polly reassuringly. “I’ll fix the
little duck’s leg all right. My grandma gave him to me, you know. Well,
he was yellow and white, a cunning little ball, oh, so soft and puffy!”

Phronsie trembled with excitement, and she put out her little hands as
if she had the duck between them. “But please fix his leg, Polly,” she
breathed.

“Yes, yes, child,” said Polly quickly. “Oh, dear me! I’ve sewed that
seam wrong; now that has all to come out.”

“But please fix that little duck’s leg first, Polly,” begged Phronsie,
her lip quivering, “before you pick out those wrong stitches.”

“Oh, dear me, was there ever such a peck of trouble!” cried poor Polly,
picking frantically at the bad stitches. Then her old paper cap, with
its deep border, slid down over her eyes, and her scissors tumbled on
the floor.

“Look at Polly’s cap! Look at Polly’s cap!” screamed Joel.

“It’s grandma,” said little Davie, who dearly loved to carry out all
Polly’s make-believes, while Phronsie still insisted that the little
duck’s leg should be fixed before anything else was done.

In the midst of all this confusion the door opened suddenly, and there
was dear old Mrs. Beebe, her round face smiling over a big basket.

“Well, well, my pretty dears!” she exclaimed. “Why, what’s the matter?
Polly got hurt? Oh, you poor creeters!” seeing the big paper flapping
over Polly’s brown head, and all the children crowded around her chair.

“No’m,” said Polly, twitching off her big cap. And “She’s playing
grandma,” said Joel and David.

“But her cunning little duck has hurt his leg,” cried Phronsie, with
clasped hands flying over to Mrs. Beebe, “and Polly is going to fix it
right away.”

“Yes,” said Polly at sight of her face. “I must. Boys, go and tell dear
Mrs. Beebe all about it, while I take her in my lap and fix that duck’s
leg.” So Joel and David, very important at the piece of work set them,
ran over and poured the whole recital into good Mrs. Beebe’s ear, how
Polly was playing grandmother, and they hadn’t anything to make a cap
of but an old piece of brown paper that came around the sacks from the
store that Mrs. Pepper brought home to sew, and how the old thing kept
tumbling over Polly’s nose, so that she sewed up the seam wrong; and
she was trying to pick it out, because, you see, she had to get it done
before Mamsie got home, who had gone to the minister’s to help Mrs.
Henderson make her soft soap; and how Phronsie almost cried because
Polly said the little duck’s leg was bent in the grass, because maybe
the cat stepped on it; and how that was the reason Polly was talking
to her now, and fixing the leg up. And, oh, dear me! all this and much
more; good Mrs. Beebe oh--ing and ah--ing at just the right times. “And
that’s all,” announced little David at last, flushed and important.

Joel hung his head, “No, it isn’t,” he blurted out; “I was bad.”

“You were bad?” echoed Mrs. Beebe. “Oh, no! I guess not,” she said
soothingly.

“Yes, I was,” said Joel stoutly. “I scuffled Davie, and got the
string-bag first.”

David shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “He put it back,” he
said.

“Polly made me,” said Joel, twisting his mouth not to cry, and with an
eye to the big basket, which was not for naughty boys. “Oh, dear me!”

Old Mrs. Beebe cast a puzzled glance at him, but was saved the
necessity of replying; for old Mr. Beebe came in just then, rubbing his
hands. “Well, how are you all, my pretty dears? I can’t stay a minute,
for my shop’s all alone, an’ folks’ll be knocking on the door an’ can’t
get in. Come, Ma, give ’em the things in the basket, and then come out
an’ get in the wagon.”

Mrs. Beebe gave a sigh. “Dear me,” she said, “I wish I could set
awhile; but then, there’s the shop.” So she got out of her chair, and
began to undo the basket. And Polly, with Phronsie radiant, and hanging
to her hand, came running up, and they all crowded around the good
woman. And old Mr. Beebe laughed, and shook his fat sides, and rubbed
his hands together worse than ever. And at last all the things were out
and on the table ready to surprise Mamsie with when she came home.

“And I guess if one of you will feel in my pockets,” he said at last,
when his wife clapped to the cover of the empty basket, “p’raps maybe,
now, you’d find something you’d like.”

“Let David,” said Joel, swallowing hard.

“No, let Phronsie,” said little David.

So Phronsie went up to old Mr. Beebe, who lifted her into a chair, to
be on a level with the pockets in his great-coat, and oh, oh! first
she drew out slowly a pink stick, and then a great thick white one
of peppermint candy! And then, midst a babel of thanks from the Five
Little Peppers, and one or two kisses from old Mr. and Mrs. Beebe, away
the big empty basket and the two good people went to their wagon.

“I’m sure,” said Polly to herself, long after they had danced and
danced around the table with its good things, “none of them care for
the little duck now; so I can fly to my sewing, and have a good time to
pick it out, and do it right.” So she settled herself in the old chair
in the corner, the children in great excitement still circling around
the gifts which they were not to touch till Mamsie got home.

“I choose that,” said Joel, smacking his lips; “that big fat doughnut,
all crisp and brown. O whickets!”

“Joel,” said Polly over in her corner, “what did you say?”

Joel hung his head. “And I choose that,” said Davie, pointing to some
gingerbread, dark and moist, while he carefully licked the remnant of
pink stick in his hand, for Phronsie had insisted on sharing her candy
with them all, the minute the Beebes had gotten into their green wagon,
“what do you choose, Phronsie?”

“I like this,” said Phronsie, holding up a sticky wad of pink stick in
her fat little hand, and smiling with a very much smeared face.

“Oh, deary me!” cried Polly at sight of her. “Well, I s’pose it’s no
use to wash her up till it’s all gone. Well, I am thankful I didn’t
have to tell all the rest about that dreadful little duck.”




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.”

[Illustration: “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, and
shut the door, and sit down and think by himself for a while.”

“O _Mamsie_!” 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 the unusual 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, with both 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 with the 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.

[Illustration: “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!’ cried the 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 and the 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!”




X.

THE PINK AND WHITE STICKS.


“Were they as nice as dear Mrs. Beebe’s pink and white sticks?” asked
Joel anxiously.

“And dear Mr. Beebe’s,” added Phronsie; “were they, Polly?”

“Yes--no; that is, they couldn’t be quite as nice, Pet. No pink and
white sticks could be, you know. But they were very nice indeed, and
they all lived together in a candy-jar.”

“Oh--oh! Tell about it, Polly,” they all begged.

So Polly got the little bunch of Peppers together in “the
breathing-spell,” as the edge of the twilight was called, when it was
too soon to light a candle, because mother Pepper couldn’t afford any
light in the old kitchen except when it was absolutely necessary; and
then she began:

“Yes, they all lived together in the big candy-jar.”

“Where was it?” cried Joel insistently, at which the others clamored
immediately to be told the same thing.

“In the window of the little shop, just like Mr. Beebe’s, only it
wasn’t Mr. Beebe’s,” said Polly.

“And was my dear, sweet Mrs. Beebe in there, and all the little shoes?”
demanded Phronsie excitedly.

“No, no, Pet; I said it wasn’t Mr. Beebe’s shop, so of course Mrs.
Beebe wasn’t there, nor the shoes,” answered Polly; “but it was like
Mr. Beebe’s.”

“Did it have a green door?” asked Joel, “and a big knocker that went
clang--clang--like this?” and he jumped up and sent out his arm after
an imaginary brass knocker hanging on a big green door.

“Yes,” said Polly. “I guess my shop-door had a big knocker on it, all
shiny like Mr. Beebe’s.”

“Your shop? oh! is it your shop?” broke in little Davie incredulously.
“O Polly!”

“Of course it’s my shop,” cried Polly gayly, “’cause I make it up out
of my head, so I own all the things in it too.”

“Oh! give me some of the candy then,” howled Joel, plunging into the
middle of the group. “I want some right away, Polly.”

“Why, I’m giving you some now,” said Polly, laughing at his face. The
children all looked puzzled enough.

“You see, you’re getting some of the pink and white sticks in the
story; and if I didn’t make it up, you couldn’t have any. Now you must
just play you’re eating candy. My, isn’t it nice!” Polly held up long
imaginary pink and white sticks, and took a good bite off from one of
them.

Joel’s sharp black eyes followed her closely. “I’d rather have the real
sticks,” he said slowly.

“Of course,” said Polly; “but if you can’t have real ones, it’s better
to have make-believe story ones. Well, now I’m going to begin.”

“Yes, go on,” said Joel, bringing down his gaze as Polly’s hands fell
to her lap. “You said they were in the big candy-jar, Polly;” smacking
his lips.

“Yes--oh! and it stood on the shelf that ran along inside the window;
and there was a little bit of a man who kept the shop, and he had a
little bit of a wife who helped him, and”--

“Why ain’t they big as Mr. Beebe, and big as Mrs. Beebe?” cried Joel,
putting his hands out as far as he could reach in front of him; “I like
’em big. Why ain’t they, Polly?”

“Because they aren’t Mr. and Mrs. Beebe,” said Polly. “Now, if you are
going to interrupt every minute, I can’t tell the story.”

“I wish we could hear about those pink and white sticks,” said little
Davie patiently, and drawing a long sigh.

“Yes, you see the others want to hear about it, Joel,” said Polly; “and
it keeps us all back when you stop me so much.”

“I want the pink and white sticks,” said Phronsie, stretching out her
feet. “Please hurry, Polly.”

So Joel clapped one hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting Polly
again, and she began once more.

“Yes; old Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle were little and dried
up, just like two little withered nuts; and they had ever so many
little Periwinkleses, and so they had to work very hard to keep shoes
and stockings on their feet, and to get them enough to eat. So Mrs.
Periwinkle used to make candy and doughnuts and”--

“Oo!” exploded Joel, forgetting himself. Then he clapped the other
hand, too, upon his mouth.

“And then Mrs. Periwinkle would run out into the shop, and say to Mr.
Periwinkle, ‘Here’s another batch of candy, my dear;’ or ‘Look what
I’ve brought you,’ sliding a pan of doughnuts on the counter just in
time for the folks opening the green door and coming into the shop to
buy things. Well, one day a perfectly dreadful thing happened!” Polly
drew a long breath, and gazed at her audience.

“What was it?” cried little Davie breathlessly. Phronsie sat quite
still with clasped hands, and wide eyes fixed on Polly’s face. Joel was
cramming his fists up against his mouth in great distress.

“Why, the pink and white candy sticks were gone, and there was the big
jar all tumbled down on its side!” said Polly, with a very impressive
air; “just think of that, children!”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the two little Peppers, while Joel nodded his
stubbly black head.

“Yes, they were,” said Polly, still more impressively; “every single
one of all those pink and white sticks.”

“How many were there--ugh!” cried Joel, forgetting himself. Then he
clapped his hands up to his mouth again.

“Oh! I don’t know--yes, there were six--no, I guess eleven of those
pink and white sticks,” said Polly thoughtfully; “six white ones and
five pink ones.”

“I’d rather have had six pink ones,” said little Davie reflectively.

“Well, I’ll change them,” said Polly accommodatingly, “and let the
white ones be five. Yes, that’s best after all,--there were six pink
ones, children. Well, and so”--

“I’d rather have the white ones be six,” cried Joel in a roar, and
dropping his fists; “they’re best, any way. Mrs. Beebe’s white ones
were bigger’n the pink ones, and lots sweeter. Let the white ones be
six, Polly, do!”

Thereupon an animated discussion began, as to which should be six, and
which should be five, between the two boys, little David taking an
unusually firm stand, as he insisted on the pink ones. So at last Polly
broke in: “I’ll tell you, children, what we will do; there shall be
twelve sticks, six pink and six white ones; now, that’s fine.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” cried Joel and David together. “Well, go on, Polly.”

“Now, where do you suppose those pink and white sticks could have
gone to?” cried Polly, clasping her hands. “Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs.
Periwinkle hadn’t sold them--what _could_ have become of them?”

The little Peppers shook their heads. “And the little Periwinkleses
hadn’t touched them--oh, no indeed!” declared Polly in a tone of
horror--“so what could really have become of them?”

“What?” It was Phronsie who asked this, and she crept into Polly’s lap,
and put her little hand up on Polly’s neck.

[Illustration: She crept into Polly’s lap, and put her little hand up
on her neck.]

“Well, nobody knew,” said Polly, stopping only long enough to give
Phronsie a hug and ever so many kisses. “And then, what do you think,
children, they found had happened to the pink and white sticks?”

At this there was great excitement, the children protesting they
couldn’t guess, and wouldn’t Polly hurry and tell them? So she dashed
along,--

“Well, Mr. Periwinkle said he was going to sit up that night and
watch, and Mrs. Periwinkle said she was going to, and all the little
Periwinkleses said they were going to do the same thing. So nobody went
to bed at all.”

“Oh, dear me!” said David.

“Didn’t the littlest little Peri--what is it, Polly?” asked Phronsie in
a troubled way.

“Periwinkleses,” said Polly.

“Yes, didn’t the very littlest get into the trundle-bed?” asked
Phronsie.

“No, not even the littlest of the Periwinkleses,” said Polly. “She was
the baby; and she sat up in Mrs. Periwinkle’s lap.”

“Oh!” said Phronsie.

“Well, along about ten o’clock,--no, I guess it was about the middle
of the night,” said Polly, “all the Periwinkleses were keeping just as
still as could be, you know; and there they sat on their chairs and
crickets with their eyes wide open, staring at that big jar--oh! I
forgot to tell you that Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle had put some
more pink and white sticks in it, so as to see what would happen to
them, and”--

“Were there six pink and six white ones?” screamed Joel, before the
others could say a word.

“Yes, I guess there were just exactly so many,” said Polly; “and there
they stood up, as tall and splendid in the jar.”

“Oo!” Joel smacked his lips.

“Well, along in the middle of the night,--nobody stirred, but all the
eyes were staring at those pink and white sticks, when suddenly there
was a little wee, faint noise.”

Phronsie snuggled up closer to Polly.

“It came from under the counter; and pretty soon they all heard a faint
voice say, ‘Is it time to come out and do it?’”

“‘Yes,’ said another voice; ‘the clock has just struck twelve, and all
the big Periwinkles and the little Periwinkleses are asleep.’”

“But they ain’t, Polly,” broke in Phronsie, suddenly sitting straight
in Polly’s lap.

“I know, Pet; but these little things with the voices under the counter
thought so, you see. And now I’m going to tell you all about it. Well,
so out they crept--and they crept--and they crept”--

Joel and David huddled up as close as they could get to Polly, till
they were almost in her lap--“And there, in the middle of the floor,
were two little brown mice!”

Phronsie clapped her hands in glee.

“I’d rather have had a bear,” said Joel, falling back disappointed.

“I hadn’t,” said David; “go on, Polly, do.”

“And those two little brown mice didn’t seem to see Mr. Periwinkle and
Mrs. Periwinkle and all the little Periwinkleses sitting round on their
chairs and crickets, but they just danced off towards the big jar in
the shop-window.”

“O Polly! are they going to take more pink and white sticks?” cried
Phronsie, coming out of her glee, and looking very sober.

“You’ll see, Pet. Well, and in a minute out jumped from their hole
under the counter Father and Mother Mice, oh! just as big as you
please, and just as smart; and they said, ‘Wait, my children, you can’t
move the jar, you’re too little;’ and with one spring apiece they
were up on the shelf; and then they ran up on the top of the jar, and
tumbled down inside among the pink and white sticks.”

“Oh, oh!” cried the little Peppers.

“Yes; and ‘Stand away there, my children,’ came in very faint tones
from the jar, ‘or you’ll be killed;’ and one of the great big mice--it
was Mr. Father Brown Mouse--stood on the very tip most top of the jar,
and let his tail dangle over.

“‘Now run down, my dear,’ he said to his wife, Mrs. Mother Mouse, ‘and
stand on the ground,’--he called the shelf the ground, you know,--‘and
pull my tail as hard as you did last night, you know; then you must
fly, just as you did last night too, when you see the jar coming, or
you will be killed.’ So Mrs. Mother Mouse promised she would do it all
just as he told her, and she did. And over came the jar on its side on
the shelf!”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the little Peppers.

“Then in rushed the two little brown mice, and after them pell-mell
the two big brown mice, to drag out the pink and white sticks. But Mr.
Periwinkle hopped up, and so did Mrs. Periwinkle, and all the little
Periwinkleses, and he said, ‘No, sir, and No, ma’am, and no, you little
Mousiekins, you don’t take my pink and white sticks, and’”--

[Illustration: The pink and white sticks.]

“O Polly!” cried Phronsie, grasping Polly’s arm, “please do let the
poor, sweet little brown mousies have the pink and white sticks.
Please, Polly!” she begged, dreadfully excited.

“Hoh, hoh! why, they were Mr. Periwinkle’s pink and white sticks,”
cried Joel. “O Polly! I hope he took a big stick and whacked ’em.”

“Oh, no,--no!” cried Phronsie, the tears beginning to come into her
brown eyes; “poor little brown mousies. Please, Polly don’t let him
hurt them.”

“Well, he sha’n’t hurt them,” said Polly, relenting. Davie twisted
about very uncomfortably, longing for Polly to make the naughty little
brown mice give back Mr. Periwinkle’s pink and white sticks for Mrs.
Periwinkle and the little Periwinkleses. But he couldn’t go against
Phronsie; so he swallowed his disappointment, and said, “Do let the
little brown mice go, Polly.”

“Well, I will,” said Polly, amid howls of disapproval by Joel. “Well,
when Mr. Periwinkle said that, out jumped Mr. Father Brown Mouse, and
Mrs. Mother Brown Mouse, and the two little brown mice, and each had a
pink or a white stick in his mouth, and away they ran for their hole
under the counter.”

Phronsie leaned back in Polly’s lap quite satisfied.

“Was it a white stick Mr. Father Brown Mouse had in his mouth?” asked
Joel, smothering his disappointment as best he could.

“Yes, he had the white one,” said Polly, smiling at him.

“Well, Mrs. Mother Brown Mouse got the best anyway,” said Davie; “she
got the pink one.”

“Hulloa!” cried Ben rushing in, his face all aglow. “Well, I declare,
if you are not all up in a bunch in this dark corner. Aren’t you going
to light a candle?”

Phronsie jumped out of Polly’s lap, where she was nestling like a
little bird, and rushed tumultuously up to him. “O Bensie!” she
screamed, clasping her hands; “we’ve had pink and white sticks, and
poor, sweet little brown mousies, and I liked ’em, I did,” she cried.




XI.

THE OLD STAGE-COACH.


“G’lang!” shouted Joel; “’twas just like Mr. Tisbett’s, I know,
Polly--wasn’t it?” he screamed, coming up bright and shining after a
race around the kitchen, in which he cracked an imaginary whip, and
called to a make-believe pair of horses that were prancing this way and
that and causing him no end of trouble.

“Yes,” said Polly; “it was something like Mr. Tisbett’s.”

“Make it just _exactly_ like his,” begged Joel, crowding up to Polly.

“Take care, Joe,” she warned; “you most made me upset that dish of
potatoes. Go away now like a good boy, until I get ready to tell the
story;” and she bustled off into the pantry again.

[Illustration: “Take care, Joe,” she warned.]

Joel set up another prancing around the kitchen. This time little Davie
joined in; and Phronsie came flying up in the rear, with very red
cheeks and Seraphina upside down in her arms.

“Goodness me!” exclaimed Polly, coming out again with both hands full.
“What a racket!”

“It’s Mr. Tisbett’s stage-coach,” announced Joel with a flourish, and
cracking his whip. “Hooray, there--get out of the way or you’ll be run
over! Any passengers?--want to get in, ma’am?”--with a bow to Polly.

“No,” said Polly; “thank you, I’m not going away anywhere to-day, Mr.
Tisbett.”

“G’lang then!” and away they swept off rattling and lumbering along,
and Polly was left in peace to get supper; for Mamsie would come home
tired and hungry before long.

But at last everything was ready; and the children, tired of play,
began to tease Polly for the story she had promised them; and Joel
drove Mr. Tisbett’s big stage-coach into the corner, and tied the
horses fast.

So Polly had to begin it right away. “Well, you know I told you it was
a big stage-coach.”

“Yes, yes, we know,” said Joel, flopping down on a cricket, and folding
his chubby hands. “Now go on.”

“You see, there were four horses to this stage-coach,” announced Polly,
watching to see the effect of this on Joel.

“Whickets!” cried Joel, springing off from his cricket. “O
Polly--_four_ horses!”

“Yes, there were,” declared Polly, “four horses,--two black ones and
two white ones.”

Joel stood perfectly still, and did not speak a word for several
minutes, quite overcome at this. So Polly seized the opportunity to
rush along as fast as she could in the story. “Well, and there was a
funny old man who drove the stage-coach. He wasn’t in the least like
our Mr. Tisbett; he was little and round, and he had a squeaky voice;
and he always said, ‘Pay me your money before you get in, ma’am,’ like
this,” said Polly, her voice going up in a funny little squeal, “which
isn’t the leastest bit in the world like our nice, good Mr. Tisbett.”

“He lets me ride sometimes when I don’t pay any money,” said little
Davie reflectively.

“And once,” said Phronsie, pushing back her yellow hair to gaze into
Polly’s face, “he let Mamsie and me ride oh--away far off--up to the
store, I guess.”

“I know,” said Polly, “he did, Pet. Oh! our Mr. Tisbett is just as
dear as he can be. Well, this stage-driver was sometimes just like a
snapping-turtle. I guess he had the tooth-ache, maybe.”

“Oh, dear me!” said David, with a lively remembrance of his experience
in that direction.

“Anyway, he was cross sometimes,” said Polly; “so, you see, people
didn’t say much to him; but they just paid down their money into his
hands, and hopped in as soon as ever they could.”

“How do you know two of the horses were black?” demanded Joel abruptly,
and coming up behind her.

“Oh! goodness me, Joe, how you scared me!” exclaimed Polly with a jump.
“Why, because I make ’em so in the story.”

“Were they big? and did they dance and prance like this?” demanded
Joel, kicking out behind, and then going through as wonderful
evolutions as he thought his steeds could accomplish if he held the
reins.

“Yes, I s’pose they could do everything,” said Polly; “but I want to
tell the story now.”

“When I’m a big man I’m going to be a stage-driver,” announced Joel in
a loud voice, “and I shall have six horses; so there, Polly Pepper.”

“Well, one day this great big stage-coach I’m telling you about,” said
Polly, hurrying on with the story, as it was almost time for Mamsie to
come, “was just as full as it could be, and there were two people upon
the box with the funny old driver.”

[Illustration: The old stage-coach.]

“That’s me--one of ’em is,” declared Joel; “and you--you may sit up
there too, Dave.”

“Yes, I’m going to sit there too,” said little David, hugging himself
in great satisfaction.

“There was a fat old woman who took up most of one whole seat; and she
had a parrot in a big cage, tied over with a newspaper, all except a
hole at the top so she could breathe. And the old woman kept leaning
over and peeping into this hole, and asking, ‘Hey, pretty Polly; how
are you now?’ and Polly Parrot always screamed back, ‘Polly wants a
cracker,--Polly wants a cracker.’”

“And didn’t anybody give her a cracker, Polly?” asked Phronsie.

“No,” said Polly, “they didn’t. Well, and”--

“Why didn’t somebody give her a cracker?” persisted Phronsie gravely.

“Oh! because they didn’t have any, and then--besides, oh, she had
plenty of seeds in her cage. Well, so”--

“Did she like seeds?” asked Phronsie, pulling Polly’s arm gently to
make her pay attention.

“Yes, I guess so,” said Polly absently. “Well, so you see”--

“Please let somebody give her a cracker, Polly,” said Phronsie in a
grieved little voice that made Polly stop at once.

“Oh! I will, Pet,” cried Polly at sight of her face. “Yes indeed, that
old green parrot shall have a cracker. The little thin man in the
corner of the stage-coach felt in his pocket, and he found one, and he
gave it to her.”

“I think he was nice,” said Phronsie, in great relief.

“Well, let me see--where was I?” said Polly, wrinkling her brows. “Oh!
well, in the other side of the stage-coach, sitting with their backs to
the horses”--

“Two of them were black and two were white,” said Joel.

“Yes;” Polly hurried on to get him off from the horses; “well, there
were three boys crowded into the seat; and they had a basket they were
carrying to their grandmother, and there was a chicken-pie in it.”

“Oh, my!” exclaimed all the little Peppers together.

“Yes; and it was rich, and fat, and juicy,” said Polly, for her life
not being able to keep from saying it.

“O Polly! I want some, I do,” broke in little David imploringly. Joel
was just going to say so himself, but he caught Polly’s eye.

“Well, you can’t have any,” she said grimly. And she set her teeth
together hard. How splendidly she could make a chicken-pie if she ever
had the chance! Why couldn’t the little brown house ever have anything?
And for a moment she drooped her shoulders in a sorry little fashion,
and all the brightness went out of her round face.

“We never have anything,” said little Davie plaintively.

“Never,” said Phronsie sadly, shaking her yellow head. And there they
sat, two sorry little figures, just ready to cry.

“Be still,” said Joel, with a savage pinch on Davie’s arm.

“Ow!”

“Well, you’re making Polly sick.”

At the word “sick” Phronsie raised her head. “Are you sick, Polly?”
she cried, getting into her lap.

“No; that is--I was naughty,” said Polly, waking out of her dream.

“Oh, you’re not naughty, Polly,” cried Phronsie, kissing her. “You
couldn’t be.”

“Yes, I was,” declared Polly; “just as naughty as I could be, and I
ought to be put in the corner.”

The idea of Polly’s being put in the corner so astonished the children
that no one spoke, so she plunged into the story as fast as she could.
“Well, now, you know the little thin man I told you about over in the
other corner, who gave Polly parrot a cracker, had a”--

“Yes, I know,” said Phronsie, patting her pinafore in a satisfied way.
“He was a nice man, Polly, and I like him.”

“Well, he had a big black dog with him, and it was under his seat.”

“Oh, dear!” cried all the children together.

“Yes; well, there were some other passengers in the stage-coach, and”--

“Never mind about them, tell about the big black dog,” begged Joel.

“Yes; tell about the big black dog,” begged the other two.

“Well, I will. Now, the big black dog smelt the chicken-pie, you see,
before the stage-coach had rattled on many miles.”

“Oh, dear!” cried the children.

“Yes; you see all these passengers were going down to Bayberry, and it
was an awfully cold day, and everybody was all wrapped up in big woolen
shawls, and they had their caps pulled down over their ears, and they
all had mittens on. Oh! and the chicken-pie dish was hot when the boys’
mother gave it to them to carry to their grandmother. It was just out
of the oven, you know; so they took turns in carrying the basket on
their knees. It kept their hands warmer, you know.”

“That was nice,” said little Davie reflectively.

“Wasn’t it? Well, they were all going along as fine as you
please,” cried Polly, racing on in the story, “when all of a
sudden,--Whoa!--Gee--whoop--whoa-a!” called Polly in a very loud voice;
and she pulled hard on an imaginary pair of reins, and held in two
pairs of fiery steeds.

“I can stop ’em better’n that,” screamed Joel, springing to his feet.
“Here, give me the reins.” So he whoaed, and pulled, and roared, and at
last announced that the horses were brought up standing, and the big
stage-coach was quite still.

“Thank you, Joel,” said Polly; “well, then, down jumps the fat little
cross stage-driver from his box, and he comes up to the door. ‘Fly out
of here,’ he says, ‘every one of you.’

“‘What must we get out for?’ asked the woman with the parrot. You see,
she was very fat and she didn’t wish to be hurried out in this way.

“‘Get out this minute,’ roared the little cross old driver, ‘or I’ll
tumble the stage over, ma’am.’

“So she got out with a great deal of trouble, and set her cage, with
the parrot in it, all tied up in a newspaper, except a hole in the top
for him to breathe by”--

“Please don’t let them spill out his cracker, Polly,” said Phronsie
anxiously.

“No, I won’t, Pet. You see, the little thin man stuck it in very tight
in the bars over the seed-cup, Phronsie.”

“Polly, I like that little thin man very much, I do,” declared Phronsie
in a burst of enthusiasm.

“So do I, Phronsie. Well, and then the other passengers all got out;
they had to, you see, because the cross little stage-driver was
screaming and roaring at them, you know, and last of all the three boys
with the chicken-pie-basket got out. And they set it on the grass, very
carefully under a bush by the roadside; and then they ran with all the
rest of the people to see what the matter was with the stage-coach.
Everybody ran but the big black dog.”

“Now I know that he is going to eat up the boys’ grandmother’s
chicken-pie,” cried Joel--“oh, dear me!”

“Hush,--don’t tell things till I get to ’em, Joe,” cried Polly, who
dearly loved to announce all the startling surprises in her stories
with as much of a flourish as possible.

“Well, I most know he is,” said Joel, subsiding into a loud whisper.
“Ain’t he, Polly?”

“Maybe. Well, now, you know everybody was peering and looking this way
and that, all over the big stage-coach. ‘I don’t see anything broken,’
said the little thin man, getting down on his knees on the hard frozen
ground to examine it underneath.

“‘And neither do I,’ said the big fat woman very angrily; ‘and I’m just
going to get in again.’

“‘No you won’t, either, ma’am,’ declared the cross little stage-driver;
‘for this is my stage-coach, and I tell you I heard something crack.’

“‘’Twas a piece of a stone in the road, I guess,’ said the thin little
man, getting up from his knees, and brushing the dirt off.

“‘Or a stick you ran over most likely,’ said another.

“But the little old stage-driver said, ‘No,’ very crossly; ‘it wasn’t
either of these things.’ It sounded just like the bottom of his
stage-coach cracking, and he wasn’t going to have it smashed. And he
kept them all out there in the cold, till he looked over and under and
around it very carefully. At last, as he couldn’t find anything, not
even the smallest, tiniest bit of a crack, he let them get in again. So
the big fat woman picked up her parrot in the cage, with the newspaper
tied over it, all except a hole in the top for it to breathe through,
and everybody else got their things and clambered in,--all but the
three boys, who couldn’t find the chicken-pie they were carrying to
their grandmother, that was under the bush by the roadside.”

“Oh, dear me!” they all exclaimed, while Phronsie clasped her small
hands in despair, and sat quite still.

“No, it wasn’t there,” declared Polly, shaking her brown head,--“not so
much as a scrap of the crust, nor a bit of the dish, nor a single speck
of the basket. And oh, how those boys did feel!”

“What did they do?” cried Joel, feeling such a calamity not to be borne.

“They just couldn’t do anything,” said Polly. “And down they sat on
three stones by the roadside. And everybody had stopped getting in,
and turned to help look for the pie. And pretty soon they all heard a
dreadful noise.”

“What was it?” asked Phronsie fearfully.

“Oh! now I know it is the chicken-pie coming back; and those three boys
can take it to their grandmother,” exclaimed little David joyfully.

“Hoh--hoh--a chicken-pie can’t come back like that,” said Joel, with a
snort.

“And the little thin man came skurrying out of the bushes, and dragging
after him his big black dog,” said Polly with a fine flourish, “who
smelt of chicken-pie all over his face; and he wouldn’t look at
anybody, and especially the three boys sitting on their stones by
the roadside; but he rolled his eyes up like this,” Polly looked off
sideways, and up at an imaginary sky; “and his master, the thin little
man, said, and he dragged him by his collar up in front of those boys,
‘Now, sir, say you’re sorry you’ve eaten up all that pie;’ and that dog
said, ‘Bark--bark!’ just as loud, oh, you can’t think!”

Phronsie screamed in great excitement, and clapped her hands together
to think of the big dog. Then she grew very sober. “But what will the
boys do, Polly?”

“And the grandmother?” finished Joel and David together.

“Oh! the little thin man said, ‘Hold your hands, boys;’ and then he
dropped one--two--three--four--five--six gold pieces into them.”

“Gold?” screamed Joel excitedly.

“Yes, real, true shiny gold,” cried Polly, nodding away; “enough to buy
two dozen chicken-pies, all richer and juicier and better than the one
the boys were carrying to their grandmother.”

“‘Now let’s all hop into the stage-coach,’ cried the little thin
man--Why, here’s Mamsie!”




XII.

MR. NUTCRACKER; THE STORY THAT WASN’T A STORY.


“Come on!” whooped Joel, rushing into the kitchen, and tossing his cap
in the corner; “my chores are all done; now tell the story, Polly, tell
the story!” he clamored.

“Oh, dear me!” began Polly in a vexed tone, and looking up at the old
clock in the corner. Then she remembered what Mamsie had said once, “If
you promise anything, do it cheerfully.” “I will, Joey,” she finished,
a smile running over her face; “just wait one minute;” and she flew
into the buttery.

“I can’t wait a single bit of a minute,” grumbled Joel.

But Polly was back almost before he could say another word. “Now, says
I,” she cried, “we’ll have the story, Joe.”

“It’s got to be a long one,” declared Joel, a remark he never failed
to make on like occasions.

“All right,” said Polly gayly. “Now, I thought up something you’ll
like, I guess, for this story; it’s about Mr. Nutcracker!”

“Jolly!” exclaimed Joel, hugely pleased; “I guess I shall, Polly;” and
ripples of satisfaction ran over his round cheeks. “Well, do hurry!”

“I’ve got to do some work,” said Polly, pausing a moment to think;
“I can’t ever sit down to tell stories in the daytime without I’m
working,--ever in all this world, Joe Pepper. And Mamsie has just
taken all the sacks home to Mr. Atkins; she finished ’em last night.
Whatever’ll I do?” she wrinkled her brows, and stood lost in thought.

“You might mend our stockings,” said Joel, knocking one set of
toes impatiently against the other. “Do hurry, Polly, and think of
something,” he implored, his face falling.

“Mamsie’s done those,” said Polly. “I peeked into the mending-basket
after breakfast; and they’re all finished and rolled up into little
balls.”

“Well, come on, then,” said Joel, thoroughly out of patience; “if there
isn’t any work, do tell the story, Polly.”

“It doesn’t seem right to be sitting down in the morning, without I am
working,” said Polly slowly; “I don’t know when I’ve done it. But there
really isn’t any sewing; and the biscuits I was going to make can be
done just as well by and by; so I s’pose I can tell you the story now,
Joey.”

“Come on, then!” shouted Joel, throwing himself flat on the floor, and
drumming with his heels. “Do hurry up, Polly Pepper!”

So Polly sat down on the floor, feeling still very queer to be telling
stories in the daytime without a needle in her fingers, and Joel
squirmed along and laid his head in her lap. “I’m glad you ain’t
sewing,” he declared in great satisfaction; “’cause now you can smooth
my hair.”

So Polly smoothed and patted his stubby head in a way that Joel liked
to have Mamsie do, and presently she began:

[Illustration: So Polly smoothed and patted his stubby head in a way
that Joel liked.]

“Mr. Nutcracker had a house”--

Rap--rap--came somebody’s fingers on the old green door.

“Oh, bother!” cried Joel, jumping up. And Polly skipped, too, in
surprise; for visitors didn’t come very often to the little brown house
door, and they both ran as fast as they could to open it.

An old man stood on the flat door-stone, leaning both hands on a knobby
old stick; and his head, underneath his torn hat, was bobbing as he
trembled with age. The children stared at him in dismay. “I’m very
hungry,” he said, looking at Polly; “I haven’t eaten anything to-day;
can’t you give me a bite?”

Oh, dear! Polly looked at Joel in dismay. There wasn’t anything in the
house, except some cold potatoes that Mrs. Pepper was going to fry for
dinner, and Polly’s biscuits, as she called them by courtesy, that
were still to be made, as the bread had given out.

“We haven’t anything”--she began, in a faltering voice.

“Why, Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Joel loudly, and crowding past her to
get a better view of their visitor; “we have too--lots and lots;” for
Joel never could bear to have people think they were poor.

“Where is it?” asked Polly, turning on him. Then she flew around again,
for the old man was sinking down on the flat stone. “Oh, dear me! don’t
please, poor old man,” she begged, trying to help him up to his feet
again.

“I’m very hungry,” he quavered, shaking over his stick.

“Come into the house,” said Polly, with both hands under his arm--“Joe,
take his other arm--and you can sit in our Mamsie’s big chair; it’s
splendid, and it will rest you.”

The old man nodded, and set his poor trembling feet just where Polly
told him to; and at last, Joel puffing and pushing on his side with a
great deal of importance, he was helped into the kitchen, and set down
in Mother Pepper’s big calico-covered chair over in the corner.

“That’s so nice,” he said with a deep sigh, and resting his head on his
shaking hands.

“Joel,” said Polly, drawing off that individual into the entry with
great difficulty, as he had no eyes or ears for anything but their
visitor, “I’m afraid he’s going to die, he’s so very hungry. I must get
him something to eat. Now I’m going to bake my biscuits; Mamsie’d let
me give him some of those, I know.”

“No, no!” cried Joel; “you’ve got to tell me about Mr. Nutcracker,
Polly,” seizing her gown.

“For shame, Joe!” cried Polly warmly, “when that poor old man is maybe
going to die because he hasn’t had anything to eat. What would Mamsie
say if she could hear you?”

Joel ducked his stubby head, and kicked the floor with his toes in a
shamefaced way. “Well, you may, Polly,” he cried; “and I’ll help you,”
he added, brightening up, and running into the kitchen after her.

“So you shall,” cried Polly briskly. “See if there’s plenty of wood in
the box, Joe, the first thing,” as she hurried into the pantry to get
the baking materials.

“Yes; there is,” declared Joel, poking his head back of the stove to
investigate; “lots and lots, Polly Pepper. I’m going to put some more
in;” and he set up immediately a great clatter that told the work was
well under way.

“Don’t put too much in, Joe,” warned Polly, knowing his energies in
that direction; “you will have the house a-fire. Goodness me, do take
out that last stick,” as she came in with the bread-bowl.

“Can’t,” said Joe; “it’s got little sparks on the end.”

“Then I’ll blow ’em out,” said Polly, setting down the bread-bowl on
the table; and running over to the stove, she pulled out, to Joel’s
extreme dislike, the big stick he had last crammed in, and suited the
action to the word. “There, you’ve got plenty in already, goodness
knows, Joe Pepper!” she declared, getting up with a very red face. “You
know Mamsie doesn’t like us to crowd the stove tight chock full. It
burns splendidly, this new one does, and we’ll have the chimney a-fire
if we don’t look out.”

“The chimney ain’t a-fire,” grunted Joel. “I’ll run out and see.” And
he dashed toward the door.

“Come back: of course it isn’t now,” said Polly with a laugh, and
flying over to the baking-table. “Oh, dear me! I ought not to
laugh when that poor old man is hungry.” Then she suddenly dropped
everything, and ran over to him trembling away in Mamsie’s big chair.

“We haven’t anything in the house to eat but some cold potatoes,” she
said, the color all over her face; “and our mother is going to fry
those for our dinner when she comes home. But I’m going to bake some
biscuits, if you _could_ wait, poor old man. They’ll soon be done; for
we’ve got a new stove, and it bakes splendidly.” Then Polly hurried
back to her table, while the old man mumbled something down in his
throat, she couldn’t tell what, he shook so.

“It’s good Phronsie and David are over to Grandma Bascom’s,” said
Polly, flying at her work; “for she’d worry dreadfully over that poor
old man, and she’d tease me to hurry and bake ’em fast, so I couldn’t
do a thing. There, now that pan’s ready for the oven.”

“Let me carry ’em and put ’em in,” cried Joel, who, having given up
his plan to rush out and investigate the old chimney from the small
door-yard, was now hanging over Polly’s baking-table, and dividing his
attention upon her work and the old visitor over in the corner. “Let
me, Polly,” springing up, and holding out both hands.

“Oh, I’m afraid!” began Polly. Then remembering how he had to wait for
the story, she added hastily, “Well, be careful, Joe,” as she put the
pan into his outstretched hands.

“I’ll be careful,” said Joe, marching off with his black eyes fastened
on the pan which he was carrying carefully in both hands. “Now, says I,
you’re going into the oven, Mr. Biscuits.”

Polly rushed back into the pantry to get another pan, when she heard
Joel’s voice: “Oh, I couldn’t help it, Polly,” and when she flew out,
there was Joel sitting on the floor in a heap; and the pan was upside
down beside him, while several little lumps of dough seemed to be
trying to get back of the stove.

“O Joe, are you hurt?” cried Polly, flinging down her empty pan, and
running up to him.

“No--no--no!” roared Joel in the greatest distress, “but I’ve
up--up--set--upset--upset”--and he screamed on worse than ever.

“Never mind,” said Polly soothingly, and swallowing something in her
throat as she looked at the poor little lumps of dough on the floor.
“See, you didn’t spill ’em all, Joe,” and she turned the pan right side
up; “there are some stuck fast.”

Joel, at that, took out one black eye from under his arms, and regarded
the pan through his tears.

“And you are scaring that poor old man most to death,” said Polly,
hastily gathering up the little lumps of dough. “Look at him, Joe.”

[Illustration: “You are scaring that poor old man most to death,” said
Polly.]

Joel stopped instantly as he looked over at Mamsie’s corner. There sat
the poor old man, staring at them both, and hanging to the arm of the
big chair in consternation.

“Now you’ve got to go over and tell him that you won’t cry any more,”
said Polly decidedly; “else I don’t know what will happen. Maybe he’ll
go out on the doorstep again, and tumble straight down. Just think,
Joel Pepper!” And with that she opened the oven door and popped in the
pan that had a few lonely little dough-lumps scattered in it.

Joel, thus adjured, scampered over to the poor old man.
“I--I--won’t--cry any more, sir,” he blurted out, twisting his face
dreadfully.

“Hey?” said the old man, “what’s the matter?” So Joel told him the
whole story.

And the old man, who hadn’t heard the tumble and the upset of the pan,
only Joel’s roars, soon quieted down and leaned back in his chair.

“And now,” said Polly, over by the table, “I shouldn’t wonder if this
pan was ready for you to carry over and put in the oven, Joey.”

“What?” exclaimed Joel, not believing his ears; “you going to let me
put that one in?”

“Yes,” said Polly, “to be sure. You won’t stumble this time, Joe, if
you look where you’re going.”

“I caught my toe in the rug,” said Joe, racing over to the table; “I
was looking at the pan, and I didn’t see where I was going.”

“Well, you must use your eyes so you do see where you’re going,” said
Polly with a merry laugh. “There now,” and she put the second pan in
Joel’s happy hands. “This one will go all right, I guess.”

And this one did. And it was presently shut up tight in the hot oven,
along with the lonely little dough-lumps, now puffing up finely; and
Joel, proud as he could be, strutted up and down the kitchen floor.
And Polly put away her baking-things, and soon the old kitchen was
spick-span, it was so fresh and tidy.

“And now,” she said, “we can’t do anything for that poor old man till
those biscuits are done. Oh, dear me, how perfectly splendid; here
comes Mamsie!”

And out through the old doorway, and over the flat stone, raced Polly,
with Joel at her heels. And they seized Mother Pepper on both sides,
holding her arms, while Joel took her big bundle, all the time pouring
the story of the poor old man, and the dreadful state he was in, and
the biscuits baking, and, oh! Joel must confess how he had upset the
pan with the first ones, though Polly tried to stop him, and oh!
couldn’t Mamsie fry him some potatoes right away, and ever so much
more, till they all three stood in the old kitchen.

“He must have some tea,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a sharp look at him,
and throwing off her shawl. “Run, Polly, and get the tea-caddy.”

“O Mammy!” exclaimed Polly. Mother Pepper never had tea unless she had
caught cold, or was so tired she must take it, or get sick; and there
was now such a very little bit down in the bottom of the caddy. And
Polly stood quite still.

“Run, I say, Polly,” commanded Mrs. Pepper; and she pulled the old
tea-kettle into a hotter part of the stove. “A fine cup of tea will do
his bones good, more’n anything else.”

“There’s such a little bit left,” gasped Polly, not moving.

“Polly!” Mrs. Pepper turned suddenly on her. “Why, Polly--hush, he’ll
hear you. For shame, child; he’s such a very poor old man.”

“And then you won’t have any,” said Polly, at her end of self-control.
“O Mamsie! I wish I hadn’t brought him in,” she added under her breath,
and she burst into tears.

Mrs. Pepper only stopped to pat her head; and then she hurried into the
pantry and brought out the tea-caddy; and Polly, with the tears racing
over her face, watched her as the precious tea was poured into the
little black pot and set on the stove.

“Now run, Polly, child,” cried Mother Pepper as cheerily as ever, “and
get the big pink-and-white cup on the upper shelf.” This used to be
Father Pepper’s, and was carefully laid away; so while Polly ran off
with her tears, wiping them on her apron, Mrs. Pepper sliced up some
cold potatoes, and set them in the spider to fry. Joel in the meantime
had been opening his mother’s big bundle, as he always tried to do
whenever she brought home the fresh supply of sacks and coats to make,
so he heard nothing of what was going on.

“And I guess you better have a look at those biscuits in the oven,”
observed Mrs. Pepper wisely, as she sliced away. So Polly ran, and
kneeled down before the stove, and drew out first one pan and then the
other--the one with the lonely little lumps in it--

“O Mamsie!” she exclaimed happily; “see, they’re as fine as they can
be!”

And sure enough they were; every biscuit had turned a lovely brown, and
it had puffed up in just the right place, as much as to say, “You see,
we did our duty.”

“So they are,” cried Mrs. Pepper, pleased to see Polly all right once
more; “it beats all, Polly, to see how nicely you can bake things.
Mother’s proud of you.”

Polly set down the two hot pans on the kitchen table, and ran round
back of her mother, and dropped a kiss on the black hair. “I’m awfully
sorry,” she whispered.

“I know it,” said Mrs. Pepper; “and now we just won’t say any
more about it, Polly, child.” Then she briskly began to turn her
potato-slices that were sizzling away in the spider in the cheeriest
fashion.

And Polly got a little old towel, very clean and nice, and spread it on
the tray, and she put the big pink-and-white cup upon it, and Mamsie
poured the tea into it, and dished out some crisp potato-bits on a
plate, and Polly put some little biscuits around it all, and there was
a dinner fit for a king!

“Oh, my!” howled Joel, smelling the potatoes; “what have you got?”
jumping up, and nearly upsetting Polly, and tray, and all, as she
carried it slowly across the kitchen to the old man’s chair.

“Take care, Joe,” warned Mrs. Pepper, following to help Polly.

“Oh--oh!” Joel seemed to lose sight of everything but Father Pepper’s
pink-and-white cup, and he pointed an astonished finger at it.

“I know it,” said Mrs. Pepper, setting her lips together firmly;
“Father’d like to have us let the old man take it. Now, Polly, you can
feed him the potato, and”--

“No, let me,” said Joel, crowding in between, and trying to get
possession of the two-tined fork.

“No, I think Polly better; but you can break the biscuits apart,” said
Mrs. Pepper. So pretty soon the old man was sitting up quite straight
for him; and after he had taken one or two good draughts of the
steaming tea, he felt quite revived, and let Polly feed him the crisp
potato-bits, and the biscuits which Joel industriously broke apart,
until Mrs. Pepper put down the empty cup, and regarded Polly’s plate,
on which there wasn’t a scrap of anything left but the fork.

“I can’t thank you,” said the old man, quite heartened up, and looking
around at them all.

“No, don’t try,” said Mrs. Pepper; “you can go to sleep now. Come,
children;” and she drew them off into the bedroom.

“Now, Polly,” she said, when the door was shut, “you must run down to
Parson Henderson’s at once. He’ll know what to do with the poor old
man, for we can’t let him go. He’ll tumble down in the road.”

“I will, mother,” cried Polly, tying on her sun-bonnet. “What’ll I say,
Mammy?”

“Say? Why, tell just what it all is,--how he came, and ask Parson
Henderson what we are to do. Run along, child, and don’t let the grass
grow under your feet.”

“Will Parson Henderson know what to do with him?” cried Joel in a loud
whisper.

“Yes, of course,” said Polly quickly; “Parson Henderson knows
everything. But ’spose he shouldn’t be home, and I sh’d see Miss
Jerusha!” and Polly’s round cheek turned pale with fright.

“Go along, child, and don’t worry about things till you get to ’em,”
said Mrs. Pepper. “The Lord’ll provide, and I believe He’ll let Parson
Henderson be home.”

So Polly ran off on the wings of the wind, and presently back she
came in state, riding in the big old chaise that Parson Henderson had
borrowed from one of his parishioners. And on the way the minister
told so many pleasant things, that Polly wished, if it hadn’t been for
Mamsie’s anxiety over the old man, that that ride might last forever.
And then they were in front of the little brown house, to which they
drove up with a flourish, bringing Joel out with an envious whoop, and
Mrs. Pepper to the window.

And then Parson Henderson and Mrs. Pepper and the children helped the
poor old man tenderly into the big chaise, to go to the nice place
that the parson knew about, till he would be well enough to go on his
journey. And then home came Phronsie and David from Grandma Bascom’s,
down the lane, just in time to see the chaise go whirling off; and Ben,
hungry as a beaver, came rushing in from his work for dinner. So Mother
Pepper and Polly had to fly to get the midday meal ready, leaving it to
Joel to tell the story in his own way, an opportunity that he improved
to the utmost.

And after dinner Ben said that he wanted Joel to go back with him to
work; for there was wood to pile, and that meant ten cents more pay at
night. So it was evening before Joel thought of the interrupted story;
and he screamed right out, “O Polly Pepper, you didn’t finish about Mr.
Nutcracker!”

“No,” said Polly, “I didn’t; and how could I?”

“Well, you must tell it now,” declared Joel in a very injured fashion.

“Why, Joel Pepper, look at that clock!” cried Polly, pointing to it.

“It’s only half--a little after seven,” said Joel, looking every way
but at the clock.

“O Joe, it’s twenty-five minutes to eight!” said Davie, running up to
stand under the clock.

“Well, that isn’t much,” grumbled Joel.

“It’s five minutes after your bed-time, Joel,” said Mother Pepper,
going into the bedroom for her big work-basket; “so take yourself off.”

“And I’ll finish Mr. Nutcracker to-morrow, Joe,” promised Polly, as
Joel clattered up-stairs.




XIII.

MR. NUTCRACKER.


And so it came about that Polly began on the morrow, without any more
ado, the story of Mr. Nutcracker; for Mother Pepper said that she might
sit down as soon as the dishes were washed, and tell it to Joel. So
this is it:--

“Mr. Nutcracker,” began Polly in her gayest fashion, “was very high up
in the world. In fact, he didn’t like to have anybody above him. So he
built his house clear up ever so far above everybody else. Then he was
quite satisfied.”

“What kind of a house?” broke in Joel.

“Never mind. You wait till you hear more of the story,” said Polly.
“Well, Mrs. Nutcracker liked her house that he built her very much
indeed. That is, she would have liked it, but the children, the little
Nutcrackers, you see, wouldn’t stay in.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Joel.

“No; they kept jumping out as fast as they could. And those that didn’t
jump out, tumbled out.”

“Oh, dear me!” said Joel again.

“Until it was very dreadful,” declared Polly, shaking her brown head;
“for it kept poor Mrs. Nutcracker running every minute to the door
of her house to try to keep her children in. At last she said to her
husband, Mr. Nutcracker, ‘Pa, you surely must build me a house nearer
to the ground.’”

“And did he?” cried Joel, absorbed in interest.

“No, he said, ‘Oh, never! No Nutcracker has ever lived lower down in
the world than we are! and I can’t do it, my dear!’”

“That was bad of him,” exploded Joel with very red cheeks; “bad, mean
old man not to do as Mrs. Nutcracker wanted him to do. Wasn’t he,
Polly?”

“Well, you’ll see,” said Polly, hurrying along as fast as she could.
“And the little Nutcrackerses kept jumping and tumbling out of the
house at a great rate, until one day something very dreadful happened.”

“Tell about it,” cried Joel, hugely pleased.

“Yes, I’m going to. Well, Pa Nutcracker had gone off about his
business, and Mrs. Nutcracker was doing the work, when suddenly there
was a loud noise down on the ground, and two or three of the little
Nutcrackerses jumped out to the door, and leaned over, and said they
were going down to see what it was, and then away they rushed with a
hop, skip, and a jump. And six of them, brothers and sisters, said they
were going; and they were in such a hurry they didn’t look straight
before them, and they tumbled through the air--whiz--whiz”--

“Did they come on their heads?” cried Joel excitedly.

“No; they stuck their feet out, and they came right down on them,” said
Polly, “just as good as could be. So you see they weren’t hurt a bit.
Well, and then as Mrs. Nutcracker was all alone, why she thought she
might as well go too. So she went down. And there was the Nutcracker
house left all by itself. Then came the dreadful thing.”

“What was it?” asked Joel fearfully, and snuggling closer to Polly.

“Well, at first it was just as still,” said Polly, dropping her voice
to a little whisper, “you can’t think how still it was, Joey Pepper.
Not a creature was stirring, and”--

“Why didn’t she shut the door,” cried Joel, “when she went out, and put
the key in her pocket? Say, Polly?”

“Why, there wasn’t any key,” said Polly, racing along. “Now, you
mustn’t stop me any more, Joe, else I never’ll get through.”

“Mr. Nutcracker wasn’t a nice man at all, I think,” said Joel in great
disapproval, “if he couldn’t give ’em a key. Was he, Polly?”

“You’ll see,” said Polly, redoubling her speed.

“Well, when Mrs. Nutcracker ran along so swiftly, being in such a
hurry, you see, her great long train to her dress swept out and”--

“Is it a train of cars?” asked Joel, his eyes sticking out as far as
possible. “O Polly! I’ve never seen ’em, ’cept in a picture.”

“No,” said Polly. Then she burst out laughing, “How could a train of
cars be hanging on Mrs. Nutcracker’s dress, Joe? Dear me, that would be
funny!”

“You said train,” declared Joel, dreadfully disappointed.

“I know; but this is different. It’s something made like the rest of
the dress, and it hangs off when the one who’s got the dress on walks,
and she can swish it around perfectly splendidly; just like this, Joel
Pepper,” and Polly hopped to her feet, and began to parade up and down
the old kitchen floor, holding an imaginary trailing gown, and then
letting it fall like a peacock’s tail as it swept the ground, while she
held her head high, and sailed off.

[Illustration: Polly began to parade up and down the old kitchen floor.]

“Hoh, how you look!” cried Joel in disdain.

“Joel,” she cried, coming up to him, with sparkling eyes and her cheeks
rosy red, “it must be perfectly lovely to have a train to your dress.
Oh, don’t I wish I had one just like that picture in Mr. Beebe’s book!
Then I’d have a fan, a red fan just like that lady--no,” said Polly,
wrinkling her brows as she tried to decide, “I b’lieve I’d rather have
a pink fan, Ben does so love pink. Yes, my gown shall be pink, too,
pink satin with sweet little white flowers all over it, and shiny. O
Joel, it shall shine just like everything!” and Polly swept up and down
again like a lady of fashion.

“Well, that isn’t Mrs. Nutcracker,” called Joel loudly, in an injured
tone.

“Oh, I forgot!” exclaimed Polly, all her airs and graces tumbling off
from her in a flash, and she skurried back to Joel. “Oh, let me see!
where was I?”

“You said Mrs. Nutcracker’s long train swept out,” supplied Joel.

“Oh, yes, so I did. Well, and you know the dreadful creature that was
always watching to see if he could find the Nutcracker house left all
alone, caught sight of her long train sweeping away, and he snapped his
green eyes with delight and he laughed a perfectly dreadful laugh, and
he said, ‘Now I have it, now I have it!’”

“Oh! who was he?” screamed Joel, flinging himself forward almost into
Polly’s lap.

“Wait, and you’ll see,” she replied, laughing. “Well, so, sure enough,
just as soon as Mrs. Nutcracker was fairly off, in hurried this
dreadful creature, right in the doorway of the Nutcracker house.”

“Did he get on Mr. Nutcracker’s bed?” cried Joel.

“Wait, and see,” said Polly again.

“You say, ‘wait and see,’ every single time I ask anything,” grumbled
Joel.

“And I am going to all through this story,” said Polly coolly; “so
it won’t be any use for you to ask me, Joe. Well, and there he was
as quick as could be, inside that dear little house, and all those
Nutcrackers away.”

Polly spread her hands in a sad little way.

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Joel in distress.

“Well, now you know when Mrs. Nutcracker went down she didn’t mean to
stay long, but she met a friend,”--

“Who was it?” asked Joel abruptly.

“Oh, it was--dear me!” said Polly, bursting into a little laugh; “it
was her cousin, and”--

“You said it was her friend,” corrected Joel.

“Well, and so it was,” said Polly merrily. “I’m sure a cousin is a very
nice friend, indeed.”

“I wish I had a cousin,” said Joel; “I’ve never had one. Why don’t we
have some, Polly?”

“Some what?” asked Polly absently, with her mind on the story,
wondering how she should end it.

“Some cousins,” said Joel, twitching her gown. “Why don’t we ever have
any; say, Polly?”

“Oh, some folks don’t have any,” said Polly, stifling a sigh as she
thought how very nice it would be to have a houseful of cousins to go
and see.

“I s’pose poor folks don’t have any,” said Joel reflectively.

“Um--maybe,” said Polly, her chin in her hands, and only half hearing
what he said.

“Well, do go on,” begged Joel in alarm lest he should never get the end
of that story, and jogging her elbow; “what next, Polly?”

“Oh!” Polly started suddenly and rushed on again. “Yes, there he was,
that dreadful creature right in the”--

“You said that,” cried Joel. “Mrs. Nutcracker met her cousin, you told
already; now what next?”

“So I did,” said Polly brightly. “Yes, she met her cousin, and so they
stopped to talk and to ask after each other’s families; and that took a
good deal of time, you know; and all this while there was that dreadful
creature in Mrs. Nutcracker’s little house.”

“Oh, dear me!” cried Joel.

“Yes; and there were all the little Nutcrackerses having such a good
time running round, trying to find out what the noise was all about,
and Mr. Nutcracker, too, he”--

“Polly,” asked Joel suddenly, “what was the noise about?”

“Oh! it was nothing but a boy driving a lot of pigs to market, and they
wouldn’t go the way he wanted ’em to; so he chased ’em, and he switched
his stick over their backs, and they squealed awfully. And the little
Nutcrackerses were so sorry that they had taken the trouble to come
down just for that; so they said they’d race up home again and see who
would beat.”

[Illustration: And the pigs wouldn’t go the way he wanted ’em to.]

“O Polly!” cried Joel, in great excitement; “and did they, and find the
dreadful creature with the green eyes waiting for ’em in their home?
Did they, Polly?”

“Yes,” said Polly; “they did. And the littlest of the Nutcrackerses,
Jim Nutcracker, he got home first; and he rushed in the doorway
screaming out, ‘I’ve beaten--oh--dear me!’ there was the great creature
lying down on the floor, ready to eat him up!”

Joel clapped his little brown hands in delight. “Make him bite him,” he
begged; “do, Polly.”

“Oh, no, I can’t!” said Polly; “he was such a little Nutcracker, you
know. Well, he tumbled right back against his brothers and sisters
rushing up. ‘Don’t go in,’ he screamed at them. So they stopped,
and all got in a round ring, and thought about it. And the dreadful
creature in the house kept, oh, so still, hoping little Jim Nutcracker
hadn’t seen him, or at least that he’d come back and bring his brothers
and sisters with him. And pretty soon Mrs. Nutcracker got through
talking with her cousin; and so she came hurrying up home, and after
her, running as fast as could be, because you see it was getting late,
came Mr. Nutcracker.

“‘Oh, here come mammy and pappy!’ screamed all the children, as glad as
they could be; and”--

“Oh! make Mr. Nutcracker fight the dreadful man with the green eyes in
his house,” cried Joel; “make him knock him down, and hit him and bang
him all over and”--

“O Joey!” cried Polly.

“Yes, do,” begged Joel; “and bite him till he squealed just like the
pigs. Will you, Polly?”

“Well, you’ll see,” said Polly again, nodding wisely. “Now, Mr.
Nutcracker wasn’t a bit afraid; so he cried out very boldly, ‘Be quiet,
my children,’ to all the little Nutcrackerses; ‘I’ll take care of the
bad creature in our house.’ But Mrs. Nutcracker was awfully scared, for
she thought if she had only stayed at home the dreadful thing couldn’t
have got in. So when Father Nutcracker started to go and fight the bad,
wicked creature, she just grasped hold of his ta--I mean, his train,
and”--

“Did Father Nutcracker wear a dress?” cried Joel, in the greatest
astonishment.

“He?--oh, no!” laughed Polly; then little gurgles kept running up and
down her throat, while Joel persisted, “You said so; you said she
grabbed hold of his train, so there.”

“O Joey, I didn’t say ‘grabbed,’” corrected Polly who dearly loved to
use nice words.

“Well, anyway, you said she took hold of it, and he had a train just
like Mrs. Nutcracker’s, so he must have worn a dress,” cried Joel
stoutly; “I think that’s funny.”

“So I sh’d think,” said Polly, laughing again. “Well, now, he didn’t
wear a dress, and you mustn’t interrupt me again, Joe; if you do, I
shall never get through this story in all this world. ‘Come, children,’
cried Mrs. Nutcracker,”--and Polly dashed off speedily; “‘help me to
hold your Pa, for he mustn’t fight that dreadful thing in our house.’
So all the little Nutcrackerses ran up to their mother, and helped her
hold Mr. Nutcracker fast and”--

“Oh, I think that’s too bad!” howled Joel, horribly disappointed; “now
there won’t be any fight, Polly Pepper!”

“You wait and see,” advised Polly once more; “then I guess you’ll like
it, Joel Pepper.”

So Joel smiled again quite comfortably; since Polly said he’d like it,
he was quite sure he should. And so, on Polly hurried. “Well, there was
Mr. Nutcracker with Mrs. Nutcracker and all those little Nutcrackerses
hanging on to him, oh, so tight and fast! so he couldn’t get away you
see, although he begged and begged. And then Mrs. Nutcracker spoke up
loud and sharp, ‘Children, you hold tight on to your Pa, and don’t you
let him go; while I run down and get the cousins to come and help us.”

“O Polly! now I know,” exclaimed Joel in great glee; “there’s going to
be a big, big fight. I like it a great deal better to have all those
cousins come and help, I do, Polly, truly.”

“So I thought,” said Polly bobbing her brown head. “Well, I must hurry.
So Mrs. Nutcracker ran as fast as her feet would carry her, down to the
ground, and she called every one of those cousins she’d been talking to
such a little while ago, and the big tears rolled out from her eyes,
and she couldn’t speak for a whole minute.

“‘Dear, dear, dear!’ cried all the cousins, huddling around her, ‘what
is the matter, Cousin Nutcracker?’

“And then she finally told them all about it; and every one of those
cousins promised he’d go up with Mrs. Nutcracker, and help to drive out
the bad, wicked creature who had stolen into her house.”

“Oh, that was nice!” screamed Joe, in a joyful tone. “Now there’s
going to be a big, big fight;” and he wriggled all over in great
satisfaction.

“And so up they all came in a troop--I guess there was a dozen of ’em,”
said Polly.

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Joel.

“Yes; and Mrs. Nutcracker rushed up ahead of ’em all, to her husband.
‘Pa,’ she cried, ‘here we are--we’ll help you to drive out the bad,
naughty, wicked thing from our house.’

“And every single one of those cousins said, ‘Yes, we’ll help you,
Cousin Nutcracker.’

“So the little Nutcrackers let their pa go; and they were very glad to
do so, for they ached all over holding him so long,--he was very big,
you know; and he kicked dreadfully, and bit and scratched, whenever he
didn’t like things, and”--

“That wasn’t nice in a man,” observed Joel; “I ain’t going to bite and
scratch when I’m grown up, Polly.”

“Hey?” said Polly. “Oh!” and then she laughed. “Well, don’t interrupt
again, Joel,” she warned, holding up her finger. “Well, Father
Nutcracker, he said, ‘Now, Ma and children,’ turning to the little
Nutcrackerses, ‘and you, cousins, let’s plan how we’ll do this thing;
since you’ve come, you might as well help, though I could have done
very well alone. Now, I’m going ahead; and just as soon as my nose
sticks in the doorway, do you jump in and scream, “Now we got you!” and
we’ll all hop on to that dreadful horrid creature, and beat him, and
pitch him out of our house.’”

Joel gripped Polly’s arm in speechless enjoyment.

“‘All right,’ said the cousins, bobbing their heads. ‘And I approve
of your plan, Pa,’ said Mrs. Nutcracker very proudly; and the little
Nutcrackerses hopped and skipped in joy, and so they started.”

Joel’s eyes got very big, but he didn’t say a word as he clung to
Polly’s arm.

“And don’t you think,” said Polly, “that the hateful, bad old thing in
the Nutcrackers’ house didn’t hear them coming; they all stepped on the
tips of their toes, you know; and he just winked and blinked his green
eyes as he said to himself, ‘I’ll catch ’em every one pretty soon.’ And
then he looked up, and there was Mr. Nutcracker’s nose in the doorway.”

Joel jumped as if he were shot. “O Polly!” he screamed.

“And after him came all those cousins and Mrs. Nutcracker. She was
slower, ’cause she was so big, you know; yes, and every single one of
those little Nutcrackerses; they just ran in between all the others,
and all together they jumped and hopped onto the great big dreadful
creature, and”--

“Make him hop at them, and kick, too, Polly, that big man with the
green eyes!” howled Joel, quite gone in excitement.

“Oh, it was very dreadful!” exclaimed Polly, holding up both hands,
“for about a minute or so. And instead of the great, dreadful thing
crying out, ‘I’ve got you!’ he began to whimper and beg. ‘Oh, let me
go! let me go!’ And pretty soon all the whole bunch of Nutcrackerses,
and their cousins who had come to help, just lifted up that bad,
wicked, horrid thing with the green eyes, that had stolen into their
house, and they pitched him, head over heels through the doorway, and
down--down; and he was ten feet long; so he was dreadful slow in”--

“O Polly Pepper!” roared Joel, “what you saying? why, there isn’t any
man so big as that.”

“It wasn’t a man,” said Polly coolly.

“Wasn’t a man?” fairly squealed Joel; “what was it?”

“A great brown, striped snake,” said Polly; “he was lovely, but he was
bad you know, to steal into the Nutcrackers’ house when they were all
away.”

Joel tumbled back and thought a minute. “Was Mr. Nutcracker a man,
Polly?” he asked, fixing his black eyes upon her face.

“Oh, no!” said Polly with a little laugh. “Why, didn’t you guess, Joey
Pepper? He was the sweetest dear of an old gray squirrel you ever saw;
so of course he had to have a brush-train, just like Mrs. Nutcracker’s,
you know.”




XIV.

THE RUNAWAY PUMPKIN.


“I don’t see,” said Van as they were all seated on the rug before the
library fire, listening to one of Polly’s stories, “how you ever do
think of such splendid things, Polly Pepper.”

“That’s nothing,” said Jasper, “to the stories she has told time and
again in The Little Brown House in Badgertown.”

“Oh, tell us one of those now!” begged Van eagerly, “do, Polly Pepper;”
and “do, Polly Pepper,” cried Percy and little Dick together. And “do,
Polly” said Jasper pleadingly, “if you are not all tired out.”

“Oh, I’m not tired!” said Polly, shaking back the little fluffs of hair
from her brow. Then she sat looking into the fire a minute. “I guess
I’ll tell you of ‘The Runaway Pumpkin.’”

[Illustration: “I guess I’ll tell you of the Runaway Pumpkin,” said
Polly.]

“Do,” cried Jasper in great satisfaction. “I remember that; that’s
fine. Now, keep still, you three chaps, or else Polly can’t tell it.
You’re worse than the menagerie any day,” as the boys began to express
their enthusiasm in such a babel, Polly could scarcely get a word in by
way of beginning.

“Well, once upon a time,” began Polly, trying to frown at them; but
instead, the brown eyes were laughing as she hurried on, with quite
a flourish. “You must know that my story is all about the time when
animals talked, and pumpkins walked, and”--

“Oh, don’t have any poetry!” began Van in alarm; “that’s perfectly
horrid. Don’t, Polly.”

“Why, it isn’t in poetry,” she said.

“Yes, ’tis,” contradicted Van.

“Look out,” cried Jasper. “The first chap who contradicts will get off
from this rug, and have no story at all.”

“I didn’t mean,” began Van.

“No, he really didn’t mean to contradict, I believe, Jasper,” said
Polly. “But what did make you think I was going to tell you a poetry
story, Vanny? Why I couldn’t if I wanted to. Tell me”--

“Why, you said the animals talked, and the pumpkins walked.”

“Oh, dear me!” cried Polly, almost tumbling over on the rug, and
laughing merrily, in which they all joined; “I didn’t know I made a
rhyme. So I did say that, didn’t I? Well, you needn’t be frightened,
I won’t do so any more. I don’t believe I could if I wanted to. Now,
then,” and she sat straight, and wiped her eyes, “I’ll begin again.”

“And if you interrupt another time, old fellow,” said Jasper in
his fiercest fashion, and he pretended to make a dive for Van’s
coat-collar, “out you go, sir, neck and heels. Go on, Polly; I’ll keep
this chap straight.”

“Well, pumpkins did walk and talk too,” said Polly, plunging on in her
gayest mood, “in those days I’m telling you about. Now, Farmer Stebbins
had a big field of them,--oh! it was as big as this house and the
grounds, and way, way off,--I don’t know how far; and every single bit
of it was full and running over with pumpkins.”

“How many?” cried Van thoughtlessly.

“Sh!” Jasper held up his hand, and made a great show of springing in
Van’s direction, which made that individual duck suddenly behind
Percy’s back.

“You see, he had to have a great many pumpkins to take to market,
because there were such lots of children at his house, and that was all
they had to live on.”

“Did they _eat_ pumpkins?” cried Percy in a tone of disgust.

“They didn’t exactly eat them,” said Polly, “at least not all the
while; but they ate the things their father bought with the money he
sold them for at the market.”

“Oh!--well, go on.”

“And every day all those children would climb up to all the windows in
Farmer Stebbins’s house, and watch to see the pumpkins growing bigger.
And the first thing they did in the morning was to run out and count
them to see if anybody had run off with any in the night.”

“How many were there?” asked Van, bobbing up from his retirement.

“_Sh!_” cried Jasper.

“Oh! I don’t know; about a million, I suppose,” said Polly recklessly.

“O Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Percy in astonishment; “why, that can’t
possibly be true.”

“Of course it isn’t,” said Polly coolly; “this is a make-believe story,
you know.”

“And if you two chaps don’t keep still, you’ll get no story,” declared
Jasper again. “Here’s Dick, now, is as quiet as a mouse. You might
learn manners from him.”

“I want to hear Polly Pepper tell the story,” said little Dick, folding
his hands tightly together.

“Of course you do,--so we all do; and that’s the only way we can hear
it by keeping quiet. Well, go on, Polly, please.”

So Polly began again: “Well, the pumpkins grew and grew. First they
were green, you know, and funny little things, and the vines quite
covered them. And then they grew bigger, and swelled all up fat and
round, and ran their heads through the green leaves; and the frost came
one night, and bit the grass and all the tender things everywhere, and
the next morning when all the Stebbinses ran out, it didn’t seem as if
there was anything in the world but big yellow pumpkins. All the vines
were just puckered and shrivelled up. But the pumpkins were just as
proud as could be; and they said, ‘Now we’ve got the whole world to
ourselves.’

“And Farmer Stebbins went up and down among them all, rubbing his hands
just like this;” and Polly looked so like him that everybody burst out
laughing; “and he said, ‘Now, says I, my fine pumpkins, we’ll put you
in a pile very soon, and when your coats get yellow, away you go to
market.’”

“What did he mean?” demanded Percy.

“Be still, and she’ll tell you,” said Jasper.

“And sure enough, what do you think. Every single one of those million
pumpkins soon found himself in a great big pile against the barn, and
there they were to stay until the farmer said they were yellow enough.
Then away they would drive to the market!

“Well, one cold night everybody had gone to bed in the farmhouse, and
even Snap the great brindled dog was asleep, and all was as still as it
could be, when one yellow pumpkin up top of the very tip of the pile
whispered, ‘_Hist!_’ and every other pumpkin listened with all his
might to hear what he was going to say.

“‘We are all very foolish,’ said the Tip Top Pumpkin, ‘if we stay here
to be carted off to that old market, where somebody comes along to buy
us to carry us home to eat up.’

“‘What can we do?’ cried all the others straight through the big pile.

“‘Hush--don’t make such a dreadful noise,’ warned the Tip--Top--Pumpkin,
‘or we shall have the whole house after us. I’m not going to be made up
into a Thanksgiving pie, I can tell you.’

“At the word ‘pie,’ all the other pumpkins shivered so that down came
the pile rolling and clattering to the ground; and some of them were
going so fast they couldn’t stop, but kept right on and were never seen
more.

“‘Let’s all run,’ said the Tip Top Pumpkin suddenly. ‘Come on.’ With
that he tumbled himself down with a will, and set off down the road
towards the village. But the other pumpkins didn’t dare to follow, but
they huddled together just where they fell. And so Tip Top, I’m going
to call him, went on alone. But he didn’t care, and he sang to himself
as he rolled along just as jolly and gay; and the first thing he knew,
an awful thing came thwacking on his back, and a big hand said, ‘Here,
stop there! you’re coming with me.’ And he looked up and saw a giant.”

“Oh! oh!” screamed the three boys.

“‘Oh! no, I’m not going with you,’ gasped poor Mr. Tip Top; ‘I’m going
by myself, thank you.’ And he wished a thousand times he was back again
on the snug pile with the other pumpkins.

“The great big giant only laughed; and he slipped the pumpkin into his
pocket, where he rattled round no bigger than a hickory nut.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Percy, while Van struck his hands together in
delight. “And then the giant stamped on the ground, and poor Mr. Tip
Top thought it thundered, and he began to beg with all his might to
be let out. And in a minute some boys, three or four times as big as
Farmer Simpson in size, came running up. ‘What do you want, master?’
they cried.

“‘Catch me a young elephant,’ roared the giant at them. ‘A juicy,
tender one, and half a dozen young lions for sauce. And then run home
and heat the pot boiling hot; for I’ve got a juicy pumpkin in my
pocket for a nice little morsel to go with them.’

“Oh, how poor Mr. Tip Top trembled down deep in that giant’s dreadful
pocket! It was as black as a well; and however much he struggled, he
knew he never could get up.

“‘Please, Mr. Giant,’ he said in a very weak voice, he was so afraid,
‘do let me out. You are so big I could only make you a mouthful, and I
want to go home.’

“‘Be quiet!’ roared the giant at him, ‘or I’ll chew your head right off
in one bite now.’

“So poor, miserable Mr. Tip Top had nothing to do but to roll into the
farthest corner of the pocket, and shiver and shake, and hope for some
means of escape. And away sped the giant across the fields; and then
the poor pumpkin knew he was being carried to the castle under ground
where the giant lived, and that he would never come out alive--oh,
dear, how he shivered and shook!

“And pretty soon, down went the giant over a long pair of steps, two at
a time, then down some more, till the poor pumpkin’s head became quite
dizzy. And at last he stopped, and stamped on the ground; and Mr. Tip
Top was very sure this time that it thundered.

“‘What ho!’ screamed the giant, ‘is everybody asleep that you do not
come when I call?’ And there was a great scampering; and all the little
giants and Mrs. Giant, and all the servants came running as fast as
could be. And the ground shook like everything, till poor Mr. Tip Top
thought he should die of fright.

“‘See what I’ve brought,’ cried the giant in a dreadful voice; and he
tipped up his pocket, and out rolled the yellow pumpkin. All the giants
and giantesses and Mrs. Giant raced after him with dreadful big steps;
but he rolled under a big stone chair, cut out of the side of the rock
that the cave was made of. ‘Oh, save me--save me!’ he cried; and he
began to cry as hard as he could.

“‘I’ll catch him,’ cried every one of those dreadful creatures hunting
for him. And at last one great big giant boy seized him, and carried
him off in triumph; but the others ran after him, trying to get the
pumpkin away; and there was such a dreadful time as they tossed poor
Mr. Tip Top back and forth like a big yellow ball, that his head spun
round and round on his shoulders, until old Father Giant roared out,
‘Stop playing with him; for the pot is boiling hot now, and I’m going
to have him for my supper. I won’t wait for the elephant and the little
lions, for I’m very, very hungry.’ And the pumpkin was so scared at
that, that he gave a great jump, and rolled away into a crack in the
floor; and although every one of those giants and giantesses got down
on their knees and flattened their faces to see him, they couldn’t
get him out. And old Father Giant, in great anger, said he would have
to stay there till the next day, when he would send for the carpenter
to take up the floor. Then he should be boiled in the pot for a sweet
morsel with his dinner. Oh, how poor Mr. Tip Top shivered and shook!

“And about the middle of the night, when not a single person was awake,
and every thing was as still as a mouse, there came a little call just
beside the crack, ‘Pumpkin! say, Pumpkin, don’t you hear me?’

[Illustration: “Pumpkin! say, Pumpkin, don’t you hear me?”]

“‘Oh, I guess I do!’ said poor yellow Mr. Tip Top; ‘it’s Johnny
Stebbins.’

“‘Yes ’tis,’ said the voice, ‘it’s Johnny Stebbins, and I’ve come to
save you.’

“‘If you will only get me out of here,’ said the yellow pumpkin, ‘I’ll
go home and be just as good. I never’ll run away in all this world
again, never. You can take me to market, and I’ll go along as nice as
can be.’

“‘Yes,’ said Johnny; ‘you must go along good; for you see all the
pumpkins have to be carried to market, for we shouldn’t have anything
to live on if they didn’t.’

“‘I know it,’ said Mr. Tip Top quite humbly; ‘oh, do get me out!’

“‘Well, I will,’ said Johnny; ‘but you must do just as I say.’ So the
yellow pumpkin promised he would; and Johnny ran around the outside of
the cave, and pretty soon Mr. Tip Top heard him say ‘Roll over here.’
So the yellow pumpkin rolled in the direction of the voice; and there
was a hole big enough for him to get out of, and oh! in a minute there
he was out in the fresh air. And then Johnny said, ‘Roll home now as
fast as you can; I’m going to stay and scare the big giant and Mrs.
Giant and all the little giants, and cut their heads off.’

“‘Oh, dear, Johnny!’ cried Mr. Tip Top, and he burst out crying, ‘do
come home. He’ll kill you, and chew your head off.’

“‘Pshaw! no, he won’t!’ said Johnny; ‘and I’ve got to kill that old
giant and Mrs. Giant and all those dreadful giantesses, else they’ll
steal all our pumpkins. See what I’ve got;’ and he ran behind a big
tree, and came out again with a perfectly horrible head of a wild beast
with flaming eyes and a big mouth and--”

“Oh, a jack-o-lantern!” screamed Percy and Van and Dick together.

Polly nodded gayly and dashed on. “Mr. Tip Top took one look at it, and
he said very bravely, ‘I’m going to stay too, and help you. Make me
look like that.’ So in two minutes Mr. Tip Top had flaming eyes in him,
and a horrible big mouth, out of which he kept saying, ‘Now we’ll scare
them twice as soon. Come on, Johnny!’ And in they crept into the cave.

“Oh, dear! you never heard such screams and roars! The giant called
for his sword, and his servants; and then he huddled under the
bed-clothes, and pulled them up over his ears. So Johnny cut off his
head easy enough; and Mrs. Giant ran screaming out of the cave, and
she was going so fast she couldn’t stop herself running down the hill,
and so she rolled into the pond at the bottom; and all the little
Giant boys and girls ran this way and that and climbed into the trees,
so they were all caught, and the servants too. And then Johnny took
a great piece of sealing-wax he had brought along in his pocket, and
stuck the stone door fast so it couldn’t be opened. And then away he
and Mr. Tip Top went home.

“And Farmer Stebbins was so pleased with Mr. Tip Top that he said he
should sit up on top of the big old clock in the kitchen. And there he
is now, I suppose!” finished Polly with a flourish.




XV.

THE ROBBERS AND THEIR BAGS.


“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Polly, “what shall I tell about?” She had just
run into the library after her music lesson was over, and Monsieur had
tripped off on the tips of his toes, his waxed mustache-ends trembling
with delight in his enthusiasm over Mademoiselle Peppaire and her
progress. “I can’t think of an earthly thing to make a story of;” and
she wrinkled her brows in dismay.

“Let her off, Van,” cried Jasper.

“No, no, no!” cried Van, in alarm; “she said she’d tell a story as soon
as she got through her music lesson.”

“Yes, she did,” said Percy; “and it rains, and we can’t go out, you
know, Jasper,” and he gazed dismally from the long window.

“Oh, I’ll tell it!” Polly made haste to say. “I did promise it,
boys, and you shall have it, so come over here;” and she ran to the
corner with the cushioned seats under the windows. “Now, then, let
me see,--oh, I’ll tell you about the Robbers and their Bags,” she
announced, saying the first thing that came into her head.

“Oh! oh! oh!” screamed the boys in the greatest glee, while little
Dick, quite overcome with the idea, rushed out in the hall to proclaim
the fact to the first person he might meet, who chanced to be his
grandfather.

“Polly’s going to tell us a story about robbers, and she’s got bags,
and just everything,” he screamed excitedly.

“Hoity-toity, Dick,” exclaimed old Mr. King, whose plans for the day
had all been set aside by the rain. “You must look where you are going,
child, and not run into people so,” as little Dick stumbled up against
him.

“But she is, Grandpapa; she really and truly is,” cried Dick positively.

“Who is? And going to do what?” demanded Mr. King.

“Polly; and she’s going to tell us a perfectly splendid story.” And
then away Dick dashed back to the library again.

“In that case,” observed the old gentleman to himself, “I might as
well add myself to the youngsters; and Phronsie will probably be
there.” So as he had been waiting till Polly should be through with
her music lesson, for Phronsie always sat patiently with one of her
numerous dolls, in the long drawing-room, on these occasions, he
marched to the scene of the hilarity over the story, which was now
fairly launched.

“And so you see,” Polly was saying, as he opened the door. “Oh, boys,
here comes dear Grandpapa!”

All the boys were on their feet in an instant to get old Mr. King the
best chair in the room, an attention which pleased him immensely; and
he was soon seated in their circle, Joel planting himself down on the
floor at his feet. Phronsie looked over from Polly’s lap, where she was
snuggling. “Does your head ache, Grandpapa?” she asked gently.

“It feels as if it were going to, all the while, Phronsie,” said the
old gentleman artfully.

Phronsie put up one little hand and patted Polly’s cheek. “I must go
and sit with Grandpapa, Polly,” she whispered, “and keep him from being
sick.” And she got down, and hurried over to climb in his lap. “Now I
guess it won’t ache, Grandpapa, dear,” she said, smoothing his white
hair gently.

“It won’t now you are here, Phronsie,” said old Mr. King, holding her
close. “Now, then, Polly, my girl, let us hear that wonderful story.”

So Polly began again. “Well, you see, it’s all about some robbers,
and”--

“Make ’em be big, and ever so many of them,” cried Joel.

“Oh, Joe, be quiet!” warned Jasper. “Polly can’t get on at all if you
are going to interrupt every minute.”

“Joel’s always breaking in,” cried Percy wrathfully. “Do stop him,
Grandpapa.”

“I’ll stick a pin in him,” said Van pleasantly, who sat next.

“O Van!” exclaimed Polly.

“Here, you two boys,” cried the old gentleman, “you mind what you’re
about, both of you. Joe, don’t you let me hear of your stopping Polly;
and do you, master Van, keep your pins to yourself. Now, then, Polly,
begin again.”

So Polly, with a nod and a reassuring smile for him, rushed on. “Well,
you see, these robbers lived in a cave dark and big; it was against a
mountain, around which ran a lonely road. Nobody ever went that way who
could help it, because for years and years robbers had been there, and
scared all the travellers away. So, you see, the robbers had it pretty
much to themselves. Well, at the end of the long and lonely road was a
little village. It was about as big as Badgertown, but not nearly so
pretty,” said Polly, with a light in her brown eyes.

“Bad--ger”--began Joel.

“Ugh!” exclaimed Van at him, while Grandpapa held up a warning finger.

“Yes, it was just about as big,” said Polly. “Well, there were some men
who were pretty rich lived there in fine smart houses, about six--no,
I guess a dozen of them, and the robbers had waited a good while to
see if they would come down their long and lonely road. But they never
had; for you see, whenever they had to get to the next place, they went
clear away the other side of the mountain, and so kept off from the
dreadful robbers and their cave. Well, so one night, all the robbers
sat and made up a plan, and”--

“How many?” began Joel abruptly. But one look at old Mr. King stopped
him.

“Well, there were just about a hundred robbers,” said Polly, seeing it
was expected of her to have a good number.

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Percy.

“And they all decided that as the splendid rich men, who lived in the
big houses, wouldn’t come to them, they would go after them.”

“Oh, dear!” said little Dick.

“Yes, and so the head robber,--oh, he was too perfectly splendid to
look at,”--cried Polly, waxing enthusiastic, as she looked at her
absorbed audience, “he was all dressed up in red velvet, and a white
plume in his hat that trailed off in the air, and he had a long sword
in his belt, and it clanked every step he took, and two or three knives
and pistols--oh! and other things stuck in round his waist, so he was
perfectly dreadful too. Well, he told twelve of his robbers to go and
catch the splendid rich men, and get all their money, and”--

“How did they get it, Polly?” cried Percy.

“Ho! Ho! who’s interrupting now?” cried Van, bursting into a laugh.

“Hush!” said Jasper, over at Percy, who ducked immediately.

“You’ll see,” said Polly gayly. “Well, so one dark night,--oh! you
couldn’t see your hand before your face hardly,--don’t you think, all
the twelve splendid rich men got twelve letters--I mean each man got
one--saying he was to go off, just as quick as he could go, over to
the big house where the minister lived, ’cause he wanted to see him on
very important business indeed, and he couldn’t wait a minute. So every
single one of those twelve splendid rich men started from his home,
and ran as hard as he could. And before he had gone very far, he met a
man,--he didn’t see him, it was so dark, but he ran up against him, and
they nearly knocked each other over.

“‘Stop, there!’ roared the man, that the man who was running knocked up
against. ‘What are you doing, tumbling me down in this fashion?’

“‘Oh! I didn’t mean to,’ said the poor man very humbly; and he couldn’t
breathe very well, because, you see, he’d been running so fast, and
he’d bumped into the other one so suddenly. ‘I won’t do it again; but
the minister, I expect, is sick, so excuse me;’ and he tried to go by.

“‘No, you don’t go any farther,’ roared the other man at him, in a
dreadful voice; and he pulled out from under his arm a big bag, and
popped it over the head of the poor man who had been running, and then
he tumbled him upside down, and shook him around in the bag down into
the bottom of it, and then he tied up the neck.”

“O Polly! tied up the man’s neck?” asked Ben.

“No, I mean the neck of the bag,” said Polly. “Then he set the bag,
with the man in it, on a big stone by the roadside. ‘Now, there you
must stay, till I come for you,’ he said; and he laughed as hard as he
could, and hopped off in the darkness.”

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried all the group, with smothered exclamations.

“Yes, and away he went to find the other eleven robbers; they each had
a bag, you know, just like his. Well, every time one of them met one of
the splendid rich men running to the minister’s house, why, the robber
pulled out his big bag from under his arm, and popped it over the
other man’s head, and turned him upside down, and shook him into the
bottom of the bag, and then tied up the neck,--the neck of the bag, I
mean,--and then put him on a big stone by the roadside, and told him to
stay there until he came back for him. And then those twelve robbers
just looked at each other, and said they wanted to sit down and rest.”

“I should think they’d want to,” said Ben, under his breath.

“Well, and then one of them said suddenly, ‘Come, now, let’s go to the
first house belonging to those men in the bags; we’ll find bushels of
gold I expect in the cellar, and”--

“And did they?” screamed Van, forgetting himself.

“Ho! ho! who’s talking now?” cried Percy, with a disagreeable little
laugh.

“Hush!” said old Mr. King, holding up a warning finger at both of them.

“And so they ran softly off on the tips of their toes,” said Polly,
hurrying on; “and before any one could breathe, hardly, there they were
in the house of one of the perfectly splendid rich men. Now, there was
a wise old cat there, living in that very house. She was all black
but two green eyes--no, I guess this cat had yellow eyes, yellow with
long black stripes in them that grew big when she was angry. Now, she
knew everything almost, and she was as good as she was clever. Well,
she just softly tripped along to her mistress’s bed, and hopped up,
and whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t you be afraid, mistress dear, but lie
perfectly still, and I’ll take care of those robber men, and won’t let
them hurt you;’ so the mistress turned over, and went to sleep again.”

“She was a nice cat,” said Phronsie, pausing in her work of patting old
Mr. King’s white hair to turn and look at Polly; “and I like her, I
do,” as Polly sent a smile over to her, and then raced on.

“Well, the cat ran off on the tips of her toes, and hopped up to the
kitchen shelf, and took down in her mouth a long, sharp knife; and then
she flew out of the back door, I tell you, oh! so fast, and away off.
And pretty soon she came up to a big bag with a man inside it, sitting
on a stone by the roadside. ‘Master, dear,’ she cried, hopping up to
put her mouth close to the bag, ‘is that you?’

“‘Oh, dear me, yes!’ said the poor man in the bag, in a muffled voice,
‘and I should like very much to get out.’

“‘Well,’ said the wise old cat, ‘I’ll let you out in a minute.’ So she
took the sharp knife in her paw, and she just slashed it good through
the string that tied up the neck of the bag, and in a minute out popped
the man, and stood up on his feet. And then they heard a cry, ‘Oh,
dear me, I’d like to get out!’ and, don’t you think, right around the
corner was another big bag with a man inside it, all tied up around the
neck, and sitting on a stone by the roadside. And so the man that had
just got out and his wise old cat, who slipped the sharp knife into
her mouth again, rushed around the corner; and the cat took the knife
in her paw before her master had a chance to, and she just slashed it
through the string that tied up the bag, and in a minute that man, too,
was out, and standing on his feet on the ground.”

Phronsie laughed in delight, and clapped her hands. “Polly, I like that
cat, and she’s good,” she cried again, dreadfully excited.

“So she is, Pet,” cried Polly, nodding away to her. Then she raced on.

“Well, those two men stared into each other’s faces; and one said,
‘Well, I declare, how do you do, Mr. Brown?’ and the other man said,
‘Well, I declare, how do you do, Mr. Smith?’ And just then they all
heard a little cry; and around another corner was another bag all
tied up just as the other two had been, and sitting on a stone by the
roadside. And then the wise old cat did just as she had done before;
and pretty soon there were three men standing up quite straight on the
ground, and they all said, ‘This is perfectly dreadful, isn’t it?’

“‘Now, I tell you, sirs,’ said the wise old cat, sitting down before
them, and staring at them very hard, ‘I’ve got a plan in my head, and
you must do as I say.’

“‘Indeed you must,’ whispered her master to the others, ‘because
when she looks like that, she knows how to do things. And she’s got
something on her mind.’

“‘Just as soon as we find all the men in this town who are tied up in
bags, and set on stones by the roadside, and get them out,’ said the
wise old cat, ‘we must hurry right home. But we’ve got to have twelve
men,’ and she bobbed her head to herself; but she didn’t tell her
master that there were twelve robbers in his house, for, you see, she
had counted them.

“And all this while those twelve robbers were eating up the mince-pies
that belonged to that cat’s mistress, and there she was going to have
all the cousins over to dinner the very next day. And those dreadful
robbers sat on the kitchen table, and ate, and ate, and ate. And then
they drank up all the milk.”

Phronsie stirred uneasily, and looked very sad over this; so Polly
hastened to say, before she could ask the question, “except some in the
pitcher up on the top shelf, that was put there for the littlest little
girl.”

But still Phronsie’s face was very grave. “Won’t there be any left for
that nice old cat when she gets home, Polly?” she asked.

“You must make some be reserved for that cat, Polly,” said Grandpapa,
nodding furiously over at Polly.

“Dear me, yes. We wouldn’t let that wise old cat go without hers!”
exclaimed Polly, quickly. “Such a dear as she is! Oh, there was a whole
bowl full, Phronsie, on another shelf, clear way back, that the robbers
didn’t see!”

Phronsie leaned back and put her head on old Mr. King’s breast, while
she drew a long sigh of relief. “Please tell some more, Polly,” she
begged.

“Well, so the wise old cat gave three nods over to the three men
waiting there for her to tell them things, and she said to each of
them, ‘Now put your bag under your arm, you’ll want it before long,
and follow me;’ and away she trotted on the tips of her toes, till she
had found and untied nine other men inside of big bags, and sitting on
stones on the roadside.

“‘Um--’ said the cat, her paw on her mouth, ‘I guess this is all;
anyway, we’ve got twelve. Now we must run, for master has a dozen
robbers in his house. Now, says I, see who gets there first.’”

“And which did?” cried Percy, and Van, and Joel, and David, all
together; Jasper and Ben laughing to hear the babel.

“Oh, the wise old cat, of course!” said Polly, laughing too. “You
didn’t think I’d let anybody beat her, did you? Well, she was waiting
there on the front door-step, as they all came puffing and panting up.
‘Now, do just as I say,’ she whispered into their ears, ‘and each of
you pick out the robber you see first, as you go in, and rush up and
pop your bag over his head, and tie it down fast with your string,
before he can scream. They’re just getting through eating mince-pie;’
for, you see, while she was waiting for these men to come, she had
taken the time to creep along the window-sill and peep within the
kitchen.

“‘Oh! oh!’ cried her master; ‘eating up my wife’s mince-pies, the
villains!’

“‘Now follow me!’ the cat commanded. ‘Have all your bags ready!’ and
in they rushed. And every man caught a robber by flopping his big bag
over his head before he saw him coming, and then they every one tied
the neck of the bag up just as it had been done before, and while the
robbers wriggled and screamed, and beat and kicked, as the bags were
shaken up and down, they couldn’t get out. And the wise old cat went
around to each bag. ‘Yes,’ she said, quite satisfied; ‘the knots are
all fast.’”

“Oh, wasn’t that perfectly splendid!” shouted Joel. And everybody
was so delighted with the capture of the robbers that they forgot to
reprove him. And Phronsie clapped her little hands, and crowed and
laughed with the rest; and Mrs. Whitney heard the noise and ran in to
see what the fun was. “Well, I declare,” she exclaimed, hurrying over
to their corner, “to think I’ve missed this splendid time!”

[Illustration: Mrs. Whitney heard the noise, and ran in to see what the
fun was.]

“Oh, Mamma!” cried little Dick, hopping out of the centre of the circle
closing around Polly; “she’s been telling us beautiful things about
robbers and--cats--and”--

“No, she hasn’t,” contradicted Van, “it’s only one cat. Dick’s so
little; he doesn’t know anything”--

“O Vanny!” reproved his mother.

“And I’m not little,” cried little Dick wrathfully, and standing very
tall. “And she did tell about robbers--Polly Pepper did.”

“Well, you said _cats_,” said Percy; “and ’twasn’t but one.”

“Never mind,” said Jasper; “this one was wise enough for a dozen cats.
Do stay, Sister Marian; it’s a fine story,” turning his kindling face
toward her.

“Indeed I will,” she cried; so he jumped up, and pulled forward an
easy-chair, and Polly waited till she was seated in its comfortable
depths.

“Now, Polly,” said Mrs. Whitney, with her sweetest smile, “I am as
anxious as any of these young creatures for this enchanting story.” So
Polly hurried on.

“Where was I? Let me see”--

“The robbers were tied up in the bags,” they all shouted at her.

“Don’t you know?” added Joel, not very politely. “Why, Polly Pepper,
have you forgotten?”

“Hush!” said Jasper warningly.

“Oh, yes, indeed!” exclaimed Polly. “Well, and then the cat cried in a
very loud voice, ‘Now I must go and wake mistress.’ So she ran up into
the bedroom, and she skipped upon the bed, and she called close to her
ear, ‘Wake up, mistress dear, the robbers are all caught, and waiting
for you.’ And so her mistress turned over, and opened her eyes; and
she looked at the cat, and said, ‘Is that so?’ And then she sat up
straight; and then she hopped off from the bed, and ran down the stairs
after the wise old cat.

“‘Shoulder your bags, every one of you!’ commanded the cat, running
into the kitchen; and she jumped up to the table to see that they
obeyed. And every man picked up the bag that had the robber inside it,
that he had caught, and he swung it off up on his shoulder.

“‘Now away to jail!’ shouted the cat.”

“Hooray!” screamed Joel, beating his hands together in great excitement.

“At the word ‘jail,’ every robber inside of a bag began to scream, and
beg to be let out, and”--

“Oh, do let them out!” begged Phronsie. “Please do, Polly.”

“Oh, Phronsie, I can’t!” said Polly. “They are bad, naughty, wicked
robbers, you know; and they’d kill that nice, dear old cat, maybe, if
they got out.”

“Would they?” asked Phronsie anxiously.

“Yes, indeed,” cried all the little circle together.

“I really think, Phronsie,” added Grandpapa decidedly, “that it is not
safe for Polly to let those bad robbers out.”

“Don’t tie the bags up very tight, then, please, Polly,” begged
Phronsie.

“Polly will fix it all right, Phronsie,” said Jasper, with a smile.
Polly thanked him with a little nod, and hurried on. “Well, so you see,
off they all went to jail. It was a great big stone house, oh! as big
as three or four houses that folks live in, and there was a row of pens
that”--

“Pig-pens?” asked Joel abruptly.

“Dear me, no,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “They were prisoners’
pens; and the wise old cat just raced along as hard as she could, all
the twelve men, with their bags on their backs, coming after. And she
spoke up, as bold as you please, to the man at the gate, who had a big
iron key in his hand, oh! as big as could be, ‘I’ve got a dozen robbers
for you to shut up and keep fast.’

“At that the man at the gate put his big key in the lock--open flew the
gate, and in went all the dozen robbers in their bags on the twelve
men’s backs, with the wise old cat at the head of the procession; and
in a minute they were each in one of the little pens, and”--

[Illustration: The robbers and their bags.]

“Couldn’t they take off the bags then, Polly?” cried Phronsie. “Please
let them for a very little bit of a while.”

“Yes,” said Polly, “they did. The wise old cat asked the gateman, who
locked them all in, to undo the bags.

“‘But you can have only your heads out,’ said the gateman to the
robbers, clanking his big key against the wall, ‘so you can see
things.’ And he tied the bags all up around their necks; each head
stuck out, you know, and the bag was drawn up in a ruffle, and tied
fast.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Phronsie.

“But that was much better,” said Jasper cheerfully. “Just think,
Phronsie, to get their heads out.”

“Yes,” said Phronsie slowly.

“And the next day the judge, the man who sat on a platform at the end
of the big hall, told one of the servants to bring a big bell, and call
everybody in, and to scream as loud as he could, ‘Twelve robbers in
bags to be sentenced.’ And the people kept coming in, and coming in,
and coming in, until there was only a little path in the centre for
them to bring the robbers in; and pretty soon the man with the bell
went up and down, and roared out, ‘Bring the robbers in!’ And twelve
other servants went out and got them, and set them up in a row right in
front of the judge on the platform”--

“And were their heads out?” asked Phronsie.

“Yes, their heads were all out, the bags were tied in ruffles, you
know, around their necks; and they tried to get on their knees to beg
the judge not to kill them; but instead, they flopped over, and the
servants had to go around among them and set them up straight again.
Well, oh! I forgot to tell you that the wise old cat sat up on the
platform,--the judge invited her, you know. And the judge whispered
something to the man with the big bell, and he ran out, and came racing
back with a long knife; and after him came another man, wheeling and
trundling a big grindstone”--

“Oh!” screamed Joel, in the greatest glee; “they’re going to chop off
all the robbers’ heads, I know.”

“O Polly!” began Phronsie, just ready to cry.

“Wait, and you’ll see, Pet,” said Polly reassuringly. Old Mr. King put
his hand over Phronsie’s small ones, and whispered something in her
ear, so she snuggled up against his breast once more.

“Well, oh, let me see! where was I--oh”--

“You are going to chop off all those robbers’ heads,” howled Joel and
Van together.

“‘Now,’ said the judge, in a perfectly awful voice, and looking at all
those dozen robbers, ‘you’ve got to promise to show the way to your
cave, or off go your heads!’ and he pointed to the man sharpening up
the long knife on the grindstone.

“The robbers shook so in their bags they all flopped over again, and
rolled on the floor. So somebody had to go and set them all straight
in a row once more. ‘Hurry up,’ cried the judge, ‘and say “Yes,” for
the knife is ready.’

“The man sharpening up the long knife began to brandish it in the air
over the head stuck out of the bag of the robber first in the line.

“‘Ow!’ screamed the robber, trying to draw his head under the ruffle.
‘I say, “Yes.”’

“‘And I say, “Yes,”’ screamed every one of the rest of the robbers,
huddling as best they could under their ruffles.

“‘Very well, then,’ said the judge. So the man with the knife laid it
down by the grindstone, and the judge gave his hand to the cat. ‘You
must go to the cave,’ he said, ‘and capture the rest of the robbers.’”

Joel and Van, who were horribly disappointed when the man put up his
knife, now brightened up at prospect of livelier work, and more to
their taste, at the cave. “Do hurry, Polly!” they clamored.

“Well, then the judge told the man who had rung the bell to jingle it
again, and scream out ‘Eighty-eight men wanted at once’ because, you
see, he knew there were just one hundred robbers in all. And when they
came in, he told them to go out and get a bag apiece, just like the
ones the twelve robbers were in. And pretty soon they were all ready;
and off they started, with the wise old cat at the head; and after her
came the twelve men with the robbers in the bags, all but their heads,
because, you see, those would have to be out, for them to see the way.
And the robbers said, ‘Left, right,’ as they had to turn, all along the
way to the cave, down the long and lonely road. Well, and finally they
reached the place, and they stopped and listened. ‘They are boiling
their hasty-pudding for supper,’ said one of the robbers, because, you
see, all the men made them tell things.

“‘This is the time, then,’ said the wise old cat to the first robber.
‘Now do you call out big and loud to let you in.’ So the robber did
it; he had to, you know; and a voice inside said, ‘Oh! that you, Jim,
back again?’ and the great stone door flew open; and, just as quick as
you could think, there they were all inside; and every man pulled out
a bag from under his arms, and flopped it over the head of a robber,
all except the robber who was stirring the hasty-pudding over a big
iron kettle,--he fell into the kettle instead, because he ducked his
head when he saw the bag coming. Well, and oh! they were all hauled
off to jail; but first the nice old cat took some sealing-wax she had
been wise enough to bring with her from the jail; and she stuck the big
stone door all up tight, so that no more robbers could use that cave.

“And the judge sentenced all the hundred robbers, in a bunch, to a
desert island, where there wasn’t any cave, nor anybody else,--not a
single person besides themselves. So they were all taken off in boats
the next day, and”--

“And could they get out of their bags then?” asked Phronsie, with a
long breath.

“Yes, after they got to the island,” said Polly, “but not a single
minute before. And as soon as they rolled them out of the boats, the
men who brought them untied the bags, and said ‘Scat!’ And away ran the
robbers, and were never seen again.”




XVI.

POLLY PEPPER’S CHICKEN-PIE.


“Yes, indeed, Jasper,” cried Polly; “I’ll tell about the chicken-pie
I made; only ’twasn’t a chicken-pie at all,” and she broke off into a
merry laugh.

“Hold on,” cried Ben, “you’ll spoil it all, Polly. Tell the story
first, that’s best.”

“So I will,” said Polly. “Well, in the first place, none of us in The
Little Brown House ever knew where it came from, to begin with. Ben
found it one day in a swamp down by the meadow, as he was digging
sweet-flag to sell, to get some money to buy a pair of boots for the
winter. It wasn’t hurt in the least, only it was so small it couldn’t
get out. The wonder is, how it ever got there at all; however, Ben
didn’t care for that, so long as he could get Master Chick in his
possession. So he took an old fence-rail; and by dint of poking and
urging the chicken, which didn’t want to come, and by floundering and
tumbling round in the bog till he was pretty wet himself, at last he
caught it.

“Oh! you must know it was a fine black chicken,--a Shanghai; and Ben
grasped it, oh, so tightly! under one arm, and he flew home, and
bursting into the door, he scared us, and he most upset me,--I was
helping Mamsie to pull out the basting-threads of the coat she had just
finished. And, goodness me, how that chicken did scream!”

[Illustration: Ben grasped it tightly under one arm and flew home.]

“Yes, and so did you, most as bad,” said Ben, bursting into a laugh. “I
never will forget; you said I’d scared you most to death.”

“Well, and so you did,” declared Polly; “we didn’t see that dreadful
chicken till you flapped it in our faces. It was lucky that the
children weren’t there, or I don’t know but what the roof of The Little
Brown House would have flown off with the noise.”

“Where were the children?” demanded Percy.

Joel twisted uneasily. It had always been a great trial to think of his
absence on such a momentous occasion.

Polly answered briskly, “Why, the two boys were down in Farmer Brown’s
cow-yard; there was a little hole full of water, something like a pond,
you know; and they were sailing boats, and”--

“Oh, dear me, I wish we hadn’t been!” grunted Joel. “I’d rather have
seen the black chicken come in.”

“And Phronsie had been put to bed early. It was almost dark, you know,
and she was tired out; so Mamsie and I were all alone.”

“And Mamsie thought it was a crow,” said Ben to Mother Pepper, who
still was at work over her mending-basket the same as ever. “Didn’t
you, Mamsie?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a smile at the remembrance. “He was more
like a crow, children, I’m sure, than anything else, he was so black.”

“Oh, how I wish we could have seen it!” exclaimed Percy and Van
together.

“And Ben said he’d give me half of the chicken,” ran on Polly; “and
then we could have him for Thanksgiving, and I could make my pie”--

“Oh, you ought to have seen Polly dance when I told her that!” said
Ben, laughing again.

“Oh, dear, you did have such good times in The Little Brown House!”
cried Percy enviously. “Why couldn’t we have been there!”

“And then we began to count up how long it would be to Thanksgiving.
We’d never had one, you know,” said Polly.

“Never had a Thanksgiving!” cried all the Whitney children together.

“Hush!” exclaimed Jasper, with a warning pull at the jacket nearest to
him.

“I remember,” said Mrs. Pepper, laying down her work. “It was July
then, and there were four months to wait; but if we could find out
where the chicken belonged, I told you, we must give it back.”

“And did you give it back?--did you?--did you?” clamored the Whitney
boys.

“No,” said Polly, “because we couldn’t find anybody who had ever seen
him; so we put him in the shed where the old gray goose was, and”--

“Oh! did you have an old gray goose, Polly Pepper?” cried Van. “Tell
about him, do.”

So Polly dilated at great length on the old gray goose,--how it was the
only living thing they had, because they were too poor to buy a cow or
a pig, or even a chicken, and how the old goose had lived there ever
since they could remember, and how cross it was, so they couldn’t play
with it, and how it bit Sally Brown one day, when she came over with an
errand from her mother, and--

“Tell about how it bit Sally Brown,” interrupted Van eagerly.

“If you stop for everything, Polly never’ll get that chicken-pie
baked,” said Ben.

“Yes,” said Jasper; “now don’t interrupt again. It’s a shame to have to
tell stories and be stopped every minute.”

“Oh, I don’t mind it!” said Polly brightly; “only if you have all about
Sally Brown and everything else, why I sha’n’t get through with the
chicken-pie.”

“Go on about the chicken-pie, then, do, Polly,” said Van reluctantly,
mentally determining to have the whole of Sally Brown and the old gray
goose some time. And so Polly ran on again,--how they always fed the
old gray goose every day most carefully, and Phronsie saved something
from her dinner for it most especially, and--

“It used to eat awfully,” grumbled Joel.

“Hush!” said Ben.

“And so you see,” cried Polly gayly, “how perfectly fine it was to
have such a splendid chicken come to us. Seems as if it was just on
purpose for Thanksgiving; for you must know that Mamsie had promised
us a chicken-pie as soon as she could manage it, and it was to be all
wings, and drumsticks, and wish-bones and”--

“O Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Percy, with a little laugh. “Chickens don’t
have but one wish-bone apiece.”

“I can’t help it,” retorted Polly recklessly; “seems as if this
chicken-pie was going to be better than any other that was ever baked
in all this world. Oh! and the crust was to be thick, and the gravy was
to be just lovely, and Phronsie was to have the wish-bone.”

“Yes, I was,” said Phronsie, with a small sigh, and folding her hands.

“And so, you see, when Mister Shanghai dropped down from the clouds in
the way he did, why, we were just as happy as we could be. Well, every
day when the work was done up we talked over just how that pie was to
be baked; and when it was too dark to see, for we didn’t light the
candle any earlier than we could help, and”--

“Why didn’t you light the candle early?” asked little Dick, pushing
forward into the middle of the group.

“Why, because we were poor,” said Polly, “and we had to save the
candles as long as we could. Well, and we used to play it really was
Thanksgiving, and the table was set, and”--

“And Polly always played that she had a bunch of flowers to trim the
chicken with,” said Ben.

“Well, and now something very dreadful happened,” said Polly; “very
dreadful indeed. I won’t tell you what it was, but”--

“Oh, tell, tell, Polly Pepper, do!” cried all the Whitney boys in a
clamor.

“No, not just yet,” said Polly, shaking her brown head decidedly;
“because that would spoil the story. But I’m going to pretend that the
old gray goose and the black chicken could talk together, and tell you
what they said.”

[Illustration: The old gray goose holds a conversation with the black
chicken.]

“And then will you tell us the perfectly dreadful thing that happened?”
asked Van anxiously; while the others cried delightedly, “Oh, that will
be fine!”

“Yes,” said Polly, with a reassuring nod over at him, “I will Vanny,
tell it all. Well, so here is what they said. The old gray goose began
it:

“‘Humph!’ she said, with a very knowing look; ‘you don’t know as much
as you will in a short time--say in November.’

“Now, what November was, the chicken, of course, couldn’t tell, for
he had never seen a November; so he asked the cross old goose very
plainly, but very politely, one day, to tell him exactly what she did
mean. This was the week before Thanksgiving; and it rained, and it was
cold and dreary, and the two were perched on a rail, shivering with
the cold. But what the old gray goose was saying made Shanghai shake
and shiver worse than anything else, only he pretended that he wasn’t
frightened a bit.

“Now, you must know that the old gray goose was very angry at the
Shanghai chicken for coming there at all; and when she saw us all feed
it, she got angrier and angrier, till she tried to say very bad things
indeed to that poor little black chicken.”

“That was naughty,” little Dick burst out vehemently.

“Yes, she was very naughty indeed,” said Phronsie, shaking her head
gravely.

“So she was,” declared Polly; “wait, and you’ll see what happened.
Well, she went on, and on, and talked, and talked, about how the
chicken was to be baked in pieces in a pie, and all that.

“‘I’ve seen ’em!’ she said with the air of one who knew everything.
‘Year after year, hens and chickens, yes, and geese, stepping around
in the morning, oh! so happy and smart; and then at evening they would
go past here to market, all stiff and stark, with their heads off and
Mr. Brown’s boy holding them by their legs! All for pies, and so that
people may eat themselves sick; and they call it a Thanksgiving!’

“Oh, how the chicken shook! It seemed as if it would fall off from
its perch; but it was very dark, so the old goose didn’t notice it.
Shanghai wouldn’t for all the world have had her; so he controlled
himself, and, being a brave little fellow, he stopped the beating of
his heart, and he spoke up loud:--

“‘Well, why weren’t you baked in a pie, then, along with the others?’

“‘What!--why--well--’ stammered the goose, ‘they were going to kill me
time and again,--but--well, the fact is, they thought so much of me
they couldn’t bear to.’ In spite of its fright, the chicken couldn’t
help laughing softly to itself.

“‘Well, come, you’d better go to bed!’ crossly snapped the goose;
‘they’ll come for you bright and early in the morning. I heard ’em
saying so.’

“‘Well! then I say,’ declared the chicken, drawing himself up on his
long legs till he looked, oh, so tall! ‘they won’t find _me_ here;
that’s all I’ve got to say!’

“‘Why, where will you go?’ demanded the goose, seeing that she had
gone too far in the desire to make the poor little chicken as unhappy
as possible.

“‘Oh, I’m going to set out for my own fortune!’ gayly replied the
chicken. ‘At any rate, it can’t be any worse than to be baked in a pie.
I think I see myself staying here for _that_! No; good-night, Mrs.
Goose. Thank you for all your kindness; I’m off!’

“‘Yes! and be stuck in a bog for your pains!’ scornfully hissed the
old goose, seeing it was useless to advise or to urge further; but the
chicken’s long legs were going at a pretty smart pace down the hill,
and it was soon out of sight, and it was never seen by any of us in The
Little Brown House again.”

“Oh, dear me!” screamed Percy and Van together; “then, you didn’t have
any chicken-pie. Why, Polly Pepper-- And you said you had one!” While
little Dick roared steadily, only the words, “chicken,” and “pie,” and
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” could be heard.

When the noise was quelled as best it could be, by Jasper and Ben,
Polly was saying, “Well that was the very dreadful thing that happened,
you know I told you about, and”--

“And didn’t you have anything?”--

“Any pie--any pie at all,” screamed and wailed the Whitney children,
beside themselves with distress. So Polly hastened to reassure them.
“There, there, don’t feel so, boys; you’ll see it all turned out
beautifully, after all.”

“How could it,” exclaimed Van, horribly disappointed, “if you didn’t
have any chicken-pie, after all?”

“You’ll see,” was all that Polly would tell him by way of comfort, as
she hurried on.

“Well, ’twas a beautiful morning, wasn’t it, Ben,” cried Polly, “when
you went out to kill the chicken?”

“Yes,” said Ben; “but what I remember most of all was, how you all
screamed and cried, and said you’d rather go without the pie than to
have the chicken killed.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the little bunch of Whitneys.

“I know it,” said Polly. “And so, after all, it was better that that
black Shanghai ran away.”

“O Polly Pepper!” cried all the children but Phronsie.

“Yes,” said Polly stoutly; “I really think it was. Well, never mind,
let us go on and hear the rest of it. Joel was the first one to tell us
the chicken had gone. He rushed screaming in, ‘O Mamsie! Mamsie! the
chicken isn’t there!’”

“Oh, dear me!” interrupted Joel; “I remember.”

“And after him came Davie flying in, and then I can’t tell you how we
all acted in that kitchen.”

“You didn’t, Polly,” said Ben hastily; “all the rest of us did.”

“I know I was just as bad as any of us,” said Polly. “Well, anyway,
then we all went out and hunted for the chicken, and”--

“And didn’t you ever find him?” demanded Percy.

“No, she said so before,” said Van; “she said they never saw him again,
don’t you know?”

“No, we couldn’t find him,” said Polly to Percy, “though we hunted high
and low,--in the woodshed, and the Provision Room, and all about the
house, and down in the pine wood, oh! and over by Cherry Brook. Well,
you can’t think how we searched for that long black chicken. Yes, and
Ben ran down to the swamp where he had found it, when he was digging
sweet-flag, to see if perhaps Mister Shanghai had run back there, and
got stuck in the bog; but no, he wasn’t there, not a bit of him, so
finally we all had to come home and tell Mamsie that we couldn’t find
him. And it rained dreadfully all that afternoon; and there was the
flour-bag standing up all ready in the pantry, oh, dear! and so we had
to tell stories to keep the children from being too sorry and forlorn,
and”--

“You did, Polly,” corrected Ben. “I couldn’t; but you told some
splendid stories.”

“Oh! will you tell us some of those splendid stories, Polly Pepper?”
cried Percy radiantly. “Will you? that you told that rainy afternoon,
when the black chicken ran away?”

“She’s going to tell us how the old gray goose bit Sally Brown, too,”
declared Van positively, not losing sight of this future bliss.

“And so I will, Van,” promised Polly; “and I’ll tell you one of the
stories I told the children on that dreadful afternoon when it rained,
and the black chicken ran away. But not now; I must finish about the
chicken-pie.”

“Tell more than one, Polly,” begged the children; “_please_ tell us all
the stories you told then.”

“We’ll see,” said Polly brightly; “I’ll tell you some, but I don’t know
as I could tell you all the stories I told that dreadful afternoon. I
had to tell a good many, you know; it was so very hard to get over.
Well, now we must hurry. Where was I? Oh”--

“You said you were telling stories,” shouted Van, first of all.

“Yes, I know. Well, it was Ben who first proposed the best thing
you could think of in all this world. All of a sudden he jumped up,
and waved his hand like this.” Polly sprang to her feet. “See here,
children, why not let’s have the old gray goose?” she shouted.

“And you all screamed at me ‘The goose,’ in great scorn,” said Ben.

“I know we did,” said Polly humbly, her hand falling to her side; “but
that was because we weren’t as smart as you were, to see what a wise
thing it was to have the old gray goose. I remember you said, if we
can’t have chicken-pie, why we must take the next best, and that’s
goose.”

“Well, you all came around finely in a little while, though,” said
Ben, smiling at her. “And Mamsie said: ‘I think Ben is right; and the
old gray goose is really too cross to be allowed to live, for it isn’t
safe to have her around any longer; so she really ought to be killed,
anyway, and we can boil her a good while to make her as tender as
possible; so you can have your pie, Polly!’”

“Oh, dear me!” said the Whitney children.

“And Polly said: ‘but why couldn’t the old gray goose have run away, I
wonder?’ and that made us all laugh,” said Ben, “instead of crying any
more.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” screamed Van; and he rolled over and over on the
floor in a ball. “Now the old gray goose, the bad, naughty, hateful old
thing, is going to be killed, instead of the chicken she scared so.”

“So am I,” cried Percy; but he sat quite straight and dignified in his
chair, only clapping his hands by way of approval. “Oh, do tell on,
Polly!” he begged.

“And so the old gray goose, huddling in from the rain, and chuckling to
herself at the state of affairs, didn’t dream what was coming; and on
the next morning, chop--off went her head--and we had our pie.”

“And Polly had some flowers on it, after all,” said Ben; “for, at the
last minute, a neighbor ran in with a bunch of posies; and she said:
‘I’m real sorry you had such a time about your pie, children.’ So, you
see, the old gray goose was decked up fine after all; for Polly stuck
them in her bony, tough old breast.”

“And Mamsie baked us such a beautiful pudding,” cried Polly, looking
over at Mrs. Pepper with a bright smile.

“Most all plums,” said Joel, smacking his lips at the remembrance. “My!
wasn’t it good, though!”

“And did Phronsie get her wish-bone?” asked little Dick anxiously.

“Why, how could she, when the black chicken ran away with it?” cried
Polly.




XVII.

PHRONSIE PEPPER’S NEW SHOES.


“It was such hard work to make the fire burn that morning,” said Polly.
“Something was the matter with the old stove worse than usual. The big
cracks seemed bigger than ever, although Ben had stuffed them up with
putty the week before, and”--

“What had he stuffed them up for?” demanded little Dick, plunging into
the centre of the group.

“Hush!” said Van, laying a violent hand on his jacket, “do be still;
you crowd so, and ask questions.”

“I don’t ‘crowd so and ask questions,’” said little Dick tartly; and he
turned a very red face to Polly. “What did he do so for, Polly?”

“Why, we were very poor, you know,” said Polly; “and the old stove was
all tired out, it had been baking so long--oh! for years and years;
and it had big holes and cracks come in it that let the air through,
and then that put the fire out.”

“Oh!” said little Dick.

“We weren’t so very poor,” said Joel uneasily, who never could bear to
be pitied.

“No, not when our ships came in,” said Ben soberly; but his eyes
twinkled, at which Polly laughed merrily.

“Oh, dear me!” she cried, wiping her eyes; “Joel’s ships were always
coming in.”

“What do you mean, Polly Pepper?” cried Van quickly. “You say so many
funny things. What were Joel’s ships? and when did they come in?”

“Now, see here,” said Jasper, “if you ask so many questions, Polly
never can get to the story how Phronsie got her new shoes. And to think
how you three chaps have been teasing her to tell it! If I were Polly,
I wouldn’t give you a single scrap of it.”

But Polly tossed him a bright smile over her shoulder, and dashed off
again as fast as she could.

“You see, boys, when the putty that Ben had stuffed into the old stove
tumbled out that morning, I was just going to put my pans of bread
into the oven. Think of that!”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the Whitney boys.

“Well, there wasn’t any more putty. Oh! I forgot to tell you that Ben
was away at his work, so he couldn’t fix it, and besides, there wasn’t
any.”

“Why didn’t you take some cotton wool?” cried Van.

“Dear me!” exclaimed Polly with a little laugh, “we never had cotton
wool. That would have been splendid--most as good as having a new
stove. But sometimes Davie used to give us a boot-top, and”--

“A boot-top!” cried both of the Whitney boys together.

“Yes, when anybody gave him an old boot-top, he’d save it for the
stove; the bits of leather stuffed it up just finely, and”--

“I’d have given a boot-top too, if I’d had it,” said Joel grimly; and
his chubby face lengthened.

“Oh! Joel was splendid too,” said Polly, turning a radiant face on him;
“he gave things too, and helped to do the stuffing. I don’t know what I
should ever have done in all this world without those two boys;” and
she beamed at them. “Well, I must hurry, or you never will hear about
Phronsie’s new shoes. Oh! where was I?”

“Why, you were stuffing up the old stove to make it burn,” said all the
Whitney boys together. “Don’t you know, Polly Pepper?”

“Oh, yes! Well, and I was in the midst of it, when Phronsie came out of
the bedroom and said, ‘Oh! I am so hungry, Polly.’ Dear me, and there I
was; my hands were just as black as could be, and Joel and David were
away, you know, and so Phronsie begged to go to the Provision Room
herself to the bread-pail that always hung under the steps, and I told
her she might.

[Illustration: “Oh! I am so hungry, Polly.”]

“Well, when she went along,” said Polly, hurrying over this part of
it, as she thought she saw Phronsie’s head droop a bit, “she took the
big bread-knife out of the cupboard; she thought, you know, it would
help me; and the first thing anybody knew, down she rolled over those
dreadful old rickety steps!”

Every one in the group sat perfectly still, as if not daring to
breathe; and little Dick threw his arms around Phronsie, while his
mouth worked dreadfully as he tried not to cry.

“And I cut my thumb,” said Phronsie, holding it up.

“Yes,” said Polly, hurrying on; “it was only her thumb she cut, but how
it did scare me! I don’t know how I ever got down over those stairs;
and there she was in a little heap at the bottom, and that dreadful old
bread-knife lying down on the floor a little way off. Oh, dear me! I
can’t bear to think of it even now; and there were little dabs of blood
on her pink apron, and all over her face. But she said it was only her
thumb.”

“Yes,” said Phronsie gravely; “it was only my thumb.”

“And so it was surely, as I soon found out,” said Polly, drawing a
long breath. “Well, we soon got Phronsie up-stairs, all right.”

“Yes,” said Joel; “and the first thing Polly did, she said to the old
stove, ‘Oh! you old naughty thing, now think what you’ve done this
morning’--that’s what she told us.”

“And then I had to get some court-plaster to stick the cut together
with,” said Polly; “so Phronsie sat in Mamsie’s old rocking-chair,
while I ran over to Grandma Bascom’s for it; for you know, of course,
that if any of us got into any trouble, why, the first thing we did was
to get into Mamsie’s chair, if she wasn’t home.”

Phronsie put one soft little hand on Mother Pepper’s lap, and patted it.

“And she had cake,” said Joel; “Mamsie’s chair, and a piece of cake
too.”

“Yes, there was a piece that had been given Mamsie, and we were saving
it up for a treat that we were to have had that very night; but when
Phronsie got hurt, why, of course she must have it. Well, I thought
Grandma Bascom never would find that court-plaster. She wanted so to
hear all about how Phronsie got hurt in the first place, and then she
didn’t know where she had put the court-plaster; and, oh, dear me! I
thought I should fly, to think of poor Phronsie curled up in the big
chair waiting for me; but at last Grandma found it in the cupboard
drawer; and she cut off a piece, and then it wasn’t but a minute or two
and the cut was stuck together and tied up in an old handkerchief, and
Phronsie’s pink apron was taken off, and she had a clean one on, and I
brushed her curls, and everything was getting all right again; and then
in popped Ben!”

“And Ben whistled ‘Whew!’” said little Davie, “just as loud as he
could. Polly told us he did.”

“And they both kissed Phronsie all around again, and Ben kissed her the
most, because he hadn’t been there at the first,” said Joel; “Polly
told us--oh! and then Polly said”--

“Oh! let me tell,” begged David in great excitement.

“No, I began first,” said Joel; “I want to myself, Dave.”

“Yes, he did begin first, Davie,” said Polly, smiling into his little
eager face. “Joel ought to tell.” So Joel began again triumphantly, in
a loud voice, “Well, Polly said--oh! I’d rather Dave told--you may,” he
broke off suddenly, and looking over at David.

“No,” said Davie. “You began first; you tell”--

“But Joel wants you to, Davie,” said Polly, smiling over at Joel in a
way to make the color fly up on his round cheeks in his delight, “so I
would.”

“Let Phronsie tell,” said Joel, “that’s best. Go on, Phron; tell what
Polly said.”

“She said,” began Phronsie, “right in Bensie’s ear, she told me so,
that I ought to have my new shoes. Yes, she did”--

“Just think of that!” exclaimed old Mr. King, who hadn’t spoken a word,
but had sat quite still, holding Phronsie cuddled up in his arms. “I
should say so too; it was just the time for those new shoes to be
bought.”

“But Polly didn’t tell me then,” said Phronsie, twisting around to look
into his face; “she whispered to Bensie, and he whispered in her ear,
and they told me to wait.”

“Just think of that,” said Grandpapa, patting her small hand, as it lay
confidingly in his big palm.

“Yes,” said Phronsie, “they did; and Polly said, ‘Sh, sh! if Mamsie
will only say yes.’”

“Well, and at dinner-time in flew Joel and Davie hungry as bears--they
were always hungry,” said Polly, laughing, “and the bread was not done,
and”--

“And we had to eat the old crusts in the pail; we always had to,”
grumbled Joel.

“And Joel said he could have rolled down the stairs without getting
hurt,” said David; “and he was going to take the bread-knife, and try
it.”

“But I got that away from you, sir,” said Ben; “we’d had enough cuts
for that day.”

“And I showed them my thumb,” said Phronsie with an important air.

“Yes, and Polly took off the handkerchief; but she wouldn’t let us peek
under the court-plaster,” said David.

“Well, I guess not,” said Polly.

“And then she told us lots and lots of stories,” said Joel.

“Oh! will you tell them to us, Polly Pepper, when you get through about
Phronsie’s new shoes?” begged the Whitney boys all together.

“Oh! not to-day,” said Polly. “I will some other time, maybe.”

“They’ve got to be lots and lots of them,” declared all three together.

“Well, do let Polly finish this one first,” cried Jasper. “Father,
can’t you stop these chaps from interrupting her every minute,”
appealing to old Mr. King.

Instead of this, the old gentleman leaned back in his chair, and
laughed so long and so heartily that every one in the room joined; and
when they sobered down, Polly was saying, “And then Mamsie came home,
and everything was all right.”

“And Mamsie said I could have my new shoes, all-to-myself shoes,”
declared Phronsie, very much excited, and sitting very straight in old
Mr. King’s lap; “she did, Grandpapa.”

“So she did,” assented the old gentleman, bowing his stately head
gravely.

“That’s nothing,” said Percy Whitney in a dissatisfied way, “to have a
pair of shoes given you. Why didn’t they give you something better than
that?”

Phronsie opened her eyes very wide. “I never had a pair whole mine
before,” she said simply.

“Never had a pair of shoes before,” screamed Percy and Van together,
while little Dick made a big O of his mouth in utter astonishment.

Jasper leaned forward and tried to pull all three jackets together.

“Gently, boys,” said Mrs. Whitney, laying a soft hand on the shoulder
nearest to her.

“Don’t you understand,” said Polly, “that we were very poor, very poor
indeed; and Phronsie had never had a pair of shoes all to herself
before.”

The Whitney boys had no words to offer at that, but sat quite
speechless.

“And Mamsie had promised them just as soon as she could get the money.”

“And I never had any new shoes,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow
head. “No, I never did.”

“And one day I heard her asking Seraphina her doll, ‘Do you suppose
I’ll ever get my new shoes? Not till I get to be a big woman, I guess.’”

“And did you say ‘Yes’, Mrs. Pepper--did you--did you?” cried Van,
jumping out from the centre of the group to precipitate himself at
Mother Pepper’s elbow.

“Yes, I did,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling at him; “I thought, seeing
Phronsie had got hurt, it was just the right time for those new shoes
to be bought.”

“She did--she did say ‘Yes,’” proclaimed Van, flying back again, as if
bearing a wholly new fact.

“And I should say so too,” declared old Mr. King positively, and
gathering Phronsie up closely in his arms again.

“Well, and so it was all ‘really and truly,’ as Phronsie said,
settled,” ran on Polly once more; “and now, just think, Phronsie was to
have her new shoes, and all to herself!”

It was impossible to describe the effect of this announcement upon her
auditors as Polly made this statement most impressively, and she rushed
on, “and Ben was to run over and ask Deacon Brown if we couldn’t have
his green wagon, and”--

“And we were to sit in behind,” shouted Joel--“Dave and me. Oh, g’lang!
didn’t we have fun, though!” cracking an imaginary whip.

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Van discontentedly, and rolling over on the
library rug; “why couldn’t we ever have lived in a little brown house
and sat in behind in a green wagon.”

“Mamma,” screamed little Dick, with cheeks all aflame, and plunging up
to Mrs. Whitney’s side, “can’t we? can’t we?”

“What, dear?” asked Mrs. Whitney.

“Sit in behind in a green wagon? Can’t we, mamma, just like Polly and
Phronsie, and”--

“Ha, ha! Polly and Phronsie didn’t sit in behind,” shouted Joel, “they
sat on the seat with Ben; Dave and me sat”--

“I sat with Polly and Bensie,” announced Phronsie, clasping her hands
in delight, and drawing a long sigh of satisfaction; “and I could see
the horse, and we were going to get red-topped shoes.”

“Yes, she wanted them,” said Ben, nodding to the others. “Oh! it just
scared me, for I was afraid we couldn’t get them.”

“But we did,” declared Phronsie, shaking her yellow head
positively--“oh! beautiful red-topped ones, Grandpapa;” and she turned
to him confidingly.

“Bless your heart!” exclaimed old Mr. King suddenly, and patting her
little hands, “so you did; dear me, yes, to be sure.”

“Well, it was _such_ a time to get Phronsie ready the next day,” said
Polly with a long sigh; “dear me, I thought I never should get through.
And then she had to sit in her little chair and wait for the rest of
us, and for Ben to bring the horse and the green wagon from Deacon
Brown’s. Oh! and we were so afraid it would rain--just suppose it had!”
and she brought up suddenly at the direful prospect.

“And did it? did it rain?” cried Percy anxiously, pulling her sleeve.

“No; it was clear as a bell,” said Polly. “Oh, you can’t think how
beautiful that day was! Seems to me I never saw the sun shine any
brighter; ’twas just as if it were made for us. And Mamsie stood on
the door-step to see us go; and the last thing she said was, ‘Be sure
not to get them rights and lefts, they’ll wear longer,’ and ‘Get them
plenty broad;’ and I had her purse with the money in it.”

“And Joe and David were just dreadful,” said Ben, as Polly stopped a
minute to take breath; “they dangled their legs out the back of the
wagon, and they screamed and made an awful racket--we couldn’t keep
them still. They scared the old horse most to death.”

“Well, he wouldn’t go unless he was scared,” said Joel, “would he,
Dave?”

“No,” laughed Davie; “and then Ben said he’d turn around and drive home
again if we didn’t stop, so that scared us; and then Polly thought
she’d lost Mamsie’s purse with all the money in it, and that was worse
than ever.”

“Yes,” said Polly with a long breath; “how frightened we all were. That
was perfectly dreadful.”

“But she didn’t lose it--Polly didn’t,” cried Phronsie, shaking her
yellow head positively at them all. “No, she truly didn’t; and I had my
new shoes, and they were red-topped ones,” she brought up triumphantly.

“Yes,” said Ben, “that was the hardest part of it all. Phronsie wanted
red-topped ones, and that scared Polly and me dreadfully; for there was
only a little bit of a chance that Mr. Beebe would have any, you know,
and”--

“But he did,” interrupted Phronsie eagerly, and leaning forward to look
into old Mr. King’s face. “My dear Mr. Beebe did have red-topped shoes;
he did, Grandpapa.”

The only answer the old gentleman gave was to clasp her closer to his
breast, while Polly hurried on.

“Well, _such_ a time as we had getting into old Mr. Beebe’s shop,” she
cried, holding up both hands; “dear me! I thought we never should begin
to try on those shoes, and then”--

“And there were, oh, so many shoes!” cried Phronsie, clasping her
hands, “hanging up in the window, and”--

“Yes, and rubber boots,” broke in Joel; “I always wanted them, Dave and
I did. But we never got them,” he added under his breath.

“Yes, just lots and lots of shoes,” Polly was saying; “but that wasn’t
anything to the ones inside. Why, they hung up all around the shop,
just every place a shoe could hang. Oh! and there were ever so many in
boxes too; and old Mr. Beebe keep pulling out one after another, and he
had them tucked under the shelves and everywhere else. And it did smell
so nice and lovely of beautiful leather;” she sighed in delight at the
remembrance.

[Illustration]

“Tell about the pink-and-white sticks, Polly,” begged Davie, pulling
gently at her sleeve.

“And the doughnuts,” said Joel; “I liked them best.”

“Well, I didn’t,” said David decidedly; “I liked the pink-and-white
sticks best.”

“So did I,” said Joel, “when I was eating them; but the doughnuts
lasted longer, so I liked those best.”

“And of course we couldn’t get rights and lefts,” said Polly, “because,
you know, Mamsie told us they wouldn’t wear as good; so it seemed as if
we never could get Phronsie fitted in all this world.”

“And I couldn’t see any red-topped shoes in all that shop,” declared
Ben to the group hanging on every word, “although I walked around and
around, and stared at everything with all my eyes.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed all the auditors in great distress.

“No, I couldn’t; and I was just going to give it up, and make up my
mind to go home without getting Phronsie any, when don’t you think old
Mr. Beebe said--you tell them, Polly, what he said;” and Ben stopped
quite tired out.

“No, you tell,” said Polly, delighted to get Ben to talking; and she
leaned back and folded her hands restfully.

“Well, he said,” began Ben, seeing that Polly was not really to tell
it, “‘I made a pair once for the squire’s little daughter down to the
Point; but her ma didn’t take them, ’cause they were too small.’ Well,
you can just think how we didn’t dare breathe, for fear they wouldn’t
fit.”

“But they did,” cried Phronsie greatly excited; “my dear Mr. Beebe made
them fit me, he did.”

“Yes,” said Ben, drawing a long breath, “on the shoe went just as nice,
and he buttoned it up as snug as could be; and he said, ‘But perhaps
you’ll object to ’em, ’cause they’re red-topped.’ Just think of that!”

The Whitney boys screamed right out at this stage of affairs, and even
Jasper shared in the general excitement, until Phronsie’s red-topped
shoes seemed to be the same little specks of color before their eyes as
when she danced around the old kitchen to show them to Mrs. Pepper.

“Well, now,” said old Mr. King at last, in a lull, “we must let Polly
tell the rest of it. Go on, Polly my girl, what next?”

“Well, then Phronsie had to get off from the little wooden chair old
Mr. Beebe made her sit down in, and stamp in the red-topped shoes real
hard, to see if they really were a good fit; and then I paid him out
of the money in Mamsie’s purse, and he rolled up the old ones in a
newspaper; and then he gave her--don’t you think--the most _beautiful_
button-hook--oh! you can’t think, it shone just like silver, and--”

“And was it silver?” demanded Van, who, seeing the story on the wane,
was jealous of every bit of statistic by which to spin it out; “was it
really silver, Polly Pepper?”

“Sh--be still, Van,” said Jasper with a little nudge; “Polly cannot
possibly get on if you interrupt her all the time.”

“No, it wasn’t really and truly silver,” said Polly, with a bright
smile for Jasper; “but it was just as good. Oh! and then dear old Mrs.
Beebe gave us another doughnut apiece out of the big stone pot; and
then we came out of the shop, and climbed into the old green wagon and
drove home.”

“And I had my new shoes on, Grandpapa,” announced Phronsie, turning to
the old gentleman as if a wholly new fact were to be stated; “and they
were red-topped, they were!”

“Yes, she kept sticking her feet out from under the shawl Mamsie had
told me to tuck her up in every minute, to be sure the shoes were
really there,” laughed Polly. “Oh, dear! such a time as I had to get
her home, and it was most night too.”

“She stuck them out just like this,” declared Joel, running out his
feet spasmodically, regardless of his neighbors.

“Look out, Joe,” said Ben, “and keep your feet to yourself. Goodness
me! there’s some difference between them and Phronsie’s.”

“I think she put them out like this,” said little Davie, making gentle
thrusts with his shoes; “and she didn’t knock folks over.”

“Well, I don’t care,” declared Joel, pulling in his feet as suddenly as
he had sent them out, “the doughnuts were good, anyway,” veering off to
safe ground.

“So they were,” said Ben, smacking his lips.

“And it was nice to get home to mother,” said Polly with dancing
eyes--“and she had two candles lighted in the kitchen. I don’t know
when we’d had more than one at a time before; and she said she couldn’t
have done better about Phronsie’s shoes if she had gone herself--I
always remembered that;” and Polly turned a beaming face over at Mother
Pepper, busy darning the Whitney boys’ stockings.

Mrs. Pepper looked up and sent her a bright smile in return--“and
Phronsie said she was going to take her shoes to bed with her.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Whitney boys.

Jasper tried to pull all the three jackets, but only succeeded in
reaching Van, who was nearest. “Be still, can’t you?” he said under
his breath, with a glance at Phronsie sitting dewy-eyed and radiant in
Grandpapa’s lap.

“Yes,” said Polly, dashing on quickly; “and what do you think I saw
when I went to bed with Mamsie?”

“What--what?” cried the boys.

“Why Phronsie in the trundle-bed; one shoe was held tightly in her well
hand, but the other, she couldn’t hold it very well, you know, because
of the cut thumb, and there it was, tumbled right down over her nose.”

[Illustration: And there was the shoe tumbled right over her nose.]




XVIII.

THE OLD GRAY GOOSE.


“You promised,” cried Van in a loud, vindictive voice. “Now, Polly
Pepper, you did, just as true as anything.”

“Well, she didn’t promise she’d tell it now,” said Jasper. “You two
boys would tire her to death, if you had your way. Polly, I wouldn’t
oblige them; they’re perfect tyrants.”

“Well, she did promise,” repeated Van positively, and shaking his brown
head; “and when she says she’ll do anything, Polly Pepper always does
it,” he brought up triumphantly.

“Yes, I did promise them, Jasper,” said Polly, stifling a sigh, as she
thought of the hole in her time that the story would cut. “So I’ll do
it, boys.”

“Oh, goody!” exclaimed Percy, who had kept still through fear of not
standing well in Jasper’s eyes. Van turned a somersault in the middle
of the library floor, and came up bright and smiling, but speechless.

“Let her off, boys,” begged Jasper, seeing Polly’s face; “she’ll tell
you just as good a one some other time.”

“No, no,” howled Van in alarm; “it’s got to be now. You said so, Polly,
this very morning at breakfast,--that you’d tell it just as soon as you
got through with your music-lesson, so there!”

“And so I will, Vanny,” said Polly brightly. “I’m going to begin it
this very minute; that is, as soon as you’ve called Joel and David
and Phronsie and Ben. We couldn’t ever in all this world have a story
without them.”

“We might without Joel,” said Van, making lively progress toward the
door, having certain reasons of his own for a cooling off toward that
individual since the contest in strength with the fists of the little
country lad.

“For shame!” cried Jasper after him; “we all want Joel.”

“Van doesn’t like Joel since Joe beat him,” said Percy pleasantly, who
dearly loved to take Van down.

“Well, I could have beat him as easy as not,” shouted back Van,
rushing out into the hall with a very red face to execute his errand;
“but he was company, and I didn’t want to hit hard.”

“Ha,--ha!” laughed Percy in derision, and doubling up in amusement.

Polly stood quite still, and looked at him long and intently. As far
back as she could remember no one had ever talked so in The Little
Brown House! and over her came at this moment an intense longing to
be back in the dear old kitchen, where all was bright and cheery and
sunny. Percy, being unable to get away from her gaze, grew very red
and uncomfortable. At last he said, “Van is such a nuisance,” as he
fidgeted from one foot to the other. Still Polly didn’t say anything.

“And he’s always boasting of what he can do.” Percy now was in such
distress that he had no more words at his command, and he looked ready
to cry, as he stood helplessly before her. But there was no chance
for Polly to say anything; for in burst Joel and David, with Phronsie
flying along in the rear, Van having gone to look up Ben, both of them
presently making their appearance.

“Now, that’s good of you, Polly,” said Ben, beaming at her; “for it’s
raining so dismally it’s just the thing to have a story.” So that Polly
felt quite cheered, and glad already that she was to tell the story.

“Isn’t it?” cried Van quite importantly. “Well, I made her.”

Percy made a movement involuntarily, as if he were about to speak; but
thinking better of it, he went to the outside of the group, and sat
down quietly on the corner of the sofa, the others drawing up chairs
and crickets to a circle around Polly.

“Well,” said Polly with a flourish--then she looked over and saw Percy.
“Oh, come over here!” she cried to him. “Here, Jasper, let Percy sit
next;” so Jasper moved away from Polly’s side; and pretty soon Percy,
dragging up a chair, was sitting close to Polly, and she was smiling
down at him as if nothing had happened.

“Now, I thought I would tell you about the old gray goose,” she began,
but a shout interrupted her. “Oh, that’s fine!” cried Van, when the
noise died away.

“Because it rains just about as badly as it did on that November day
when the black chicken ran away and spoiled our Thanksgiving pie,” said
Polly, with warm little thrills at her heart to see the happy faces
before her; “so you see it’s just the time to have the story.”

“Do begin,” urged Percy, unable to keep still longer.

“Well, the old gray goose had lived with us, you know, ever since I
could remember,” ran on Polly; “so she was awfully tough--why, we never
thought of killing her to eat”--

“But you did,” cried little Dick with big eyes; “you said so, Polly
Pepper.”

[Illustration: “You said so, Polly Pepper,” cried little Dick with big
eyes.]

“Dear me, yes!” said Polly, bobbing her brown head; “but that was
afterward, when we had to. But before the black chicken ran away, why,
no one ever in all this world thought of killing that old gray goose to
eat. Well, she was so old and tough, and she had grown cross, and one
day she bit Sally Brown.”

“Tell about it, Polly, do!” begged Van, Percy so far forgetting all
unpleasantness that he begged eagerly too.

“Yes,” said Polly; “I am going to. Well, you know Sally Brown was
Deacon Brown’s daughter, and she lived in”--

“Did her father let you take the big green wagon when Phronsie had her
new shoes?” asked Van abruptly.

“Yes, he did.”

“Oh! I do so wish we had a Deacon Brown, who would let us have a big
green wagon and go off to places,” said Percy enviously.

“Well, ’twouldn’t be Badgertown, I can tell you that,” said Joel,
swelling up importantly, delighted to see Percy’s face.

“No, you needn’t expect to have such good times as the Peppers had in
their Little Brown House,” said Jasper decidedly; “because you can’t,
no matter where you are. I know, for I’ve been there.”

“Jappy always feels so big,” said Van irritably, “because he’s seen The
Little Brown House. Well, do go on, Polly,” he added quickly.

“So I will,” said Polly with a merry laugh, “if you boys will let me;
but you interrupt me so all the while that sometimes I don’t know where
I am.”

“I should think so too,” said Jasper. “Polly, I wouldn’t tell them
another thing unless they’d promise to keep still.”

Thereupon such an alarm lest Polly should stop altogether seized the
group, that everybody kept still as Polly ran on,--

“Well, you see, Sally Brown lived in a big red house; her father was
awfully rich, and he had two barns--oh! and a big henhouse, and a great
pen, where the pigs were kept.”

At this there was every appearance of an outbreak, but a glance at
Jasper made them clap their hands over their mouths.

“Yes; oh! and there were cows, and sometimes cunning little calves, and
everything just nice and splendid at Deacon Brown’s, till you couldn’t
think of anything he didn’t have. Why, they had milk every single day
to drink--the Brown children had. Well, one day Sally Brown’s mother
sent her to our house to ask Mamsie to come over to help Mrs. Brown to
make soft soap.”

“_What!_” exclaimed both Whitney boys together. But Jasper shot
them such a keen glance from his dark eyes that they both ducked
simultaneously without another word.

“Yes,” said Polly, hurrying on. “You see, Mamsie was always so very
glad whenever anybody wanted help about anything, because we were very
poor, you know, and the money got us some Indian meal and molasses.”

“Oh!” said the boys.

“Well, Sally Brown says she ran across the meadows--you see, Deacon
Brown’s house was off on the road to Cherry Brook, and so whenever
we went to the Brown’s, or they came over to see us,--that is, we
children,--why, we would run ’cross lots, and”--

“What’s ’cross lots?” broke in Van.

“Ha, ha! don’t know what ’cross lots is,” laughed Joel heartily.

“For shame, Joe!” said Ben, and--“Why, Joey, how could they know what
’tis to run ’cross lots, when they’ve never lived in the country,” said
Polly.

“Well, ’cross lots is just prime!” exclaimed Joel lustily; “it’s
to jump and race and tear and holler over the grass and the corn,
and through folks’ orchards, and over the stone walls, lickety
split--whoop-la!”

He jumped up, and began prancing through an imaginary race; down the
long apartment, steering clear of the oaken furniture and damask
furnishings, with a keen eye for the distance.

“Come on, Dave,” he shouted over his shoulder, “let’s show them what
it’s like;” while the Whitney boys sat transfixed with longing at every
step.

“No, you don’t, Joe,” commanded Ben sharply, “in the house. Stop this
minute;” and little Davie said quietly, “We ought to wait till we get
out-of-doors.”

“Well, come on out now, then,” cried Joel, whirling around in his
tracks, and looking like a race-horse held up against his will.

“Why, Polly’s telling about how our old gray goose bit Sally Brown,”
said David, getting closer to Polly; “we can’t now, Joey.”

“I don’t want to hear about Sally Brown,” grumbled Joel, very much out
of sorts; “and I wish the old gray goose had bit her worse, I do.”

“O Joey!” reproved Polly; “think how good Deacon Brown was to us, and
Mrs. Brown too.”

“Well, Sally wasn’t,” said Joel shamefacedly, digging his toes into the
soft carpet. “She bit me once, and scratched my face.”

“Well, then, I suppose you were bad to her,” said Ben coolly. “So come
back, Joe, and don’t interrupt this story again. Besides, it’s raining
like everything.”

“Well, we can go on the veranda,” said Joel; but he came reluctantly
back and sat down again.

“Well, so Sally ran ’cross lots,” said Polly, picking up the narrative
again; “she told us all about it, you know; and she says she never
saw the old gray goose till just as she ran into the lane, down by
Grandma Bascom’s. And the first thing she heard was a ‘_Hiss--hiss!_’”
exclaimed Polly, suddenly stretching up her neck as much like a goose
as possible, so that every one of her auditors jumped; and the Whitney
boys looked at the door involuntarily, as if expecting to see an old
gray goose walking in, at which they all laughed right merrily, so that
old Mr. King popped his head in the door to see what it all meant.

“Sally Brown is biting the old gray goose,” piped out Phronsie, flying
to him, at which they all laughed worse than ever; so that it really
seemed as if Polly never would finish that story in the world.

[Illustration: Sally Brown and the old gray goose.]

At last everything quieted down, and Polly was under way again in the
midst of the narration. “So just as she turned into the lane down by
Grandma Bascom’s, ‘_Hiss--hiss!_’ came something after her; and looking
over her shoulder, she saw our old gray goose running on its sticks
of legs as fast as it could, with its long neck stuck out straight at
her, and screaming and hissing like everything. Oh, dear me! and Sally
was so frightened she couldn’t run another step; and so she just sat
down on the grass, and covered up her eyes with her two hands.”

“She always was a silly,” declared Joel in scorn; “why didn’t she just
turn and stare at that old goose? That’s the way I’d done, and then,
says I, I’d taken a stick and run after her, and whacked her over the
head.”

“And what did the old gray goose do then?” demanded Van Whitney, with
one ear out for what Joel would have done.

“Why, that dreadful old bird just climbed up into Sally Brown’s lap,
and nipped a little bit of her arm into her bill, and bit it. And Sally
squealed perfectly awfully; and Grandma Bascom heard her, and she came
out of her door, and shook her broom at the old gray goose, so then she
went away”--

“Who did--Sally?” asked Percy with a puzzled air.

“No, the old gray goose did,” said Polly; “she took her sticks of legs
out of Sally’s lap, and she pulled her long neck in, and went off; and
Sally came crying over to us, and”--

“And she _always_ was a silly,” said Joel again with a snort of
disdain, “and a cry-baby too.”

“And Mamsie tied up Sally’s arm with opodeldoc,” said Polly, glad she
could do so well with the long word.

“What’s opodel, and the rest of it, Polly?” asked Percy, who was always
uncomfortable if he couldn’t get the smallest detail of a story.

“Oh! I don’t know,” said Polly, wishing very much that she had learned
all about it so as to be able to tell now; “it’s green stuff, like
herbs, you know; and Mamsie always soaked some, and tied it on us when
we got hurt.”

“I thought you said Phronsie had her toe tied up in worm something,”
said Percy in a literal way, “when it was pounded.”

“Wormwood? Oh, yes, so she did,” said Polly. “Well, Grandma Bascom gave
us that; I suppose we didn’t have any opodeldoc in the house that day.
But sometimes Mamsie would have wormwood too, because we used to get
hurt, some of us, pretty often, of course, and we had to be tied up,
you know, till we got well.”

“What were you tied up to?” broke in little Dick with big eyes.

“Oh! we weren’t tied up,” said Polly with a little laugh; “I mean our
fingers and toes were tied up when they got cut and pounded.”

“Oh!” said Van.

“Why, it’s cleared off!” screamed Joel, springing up and pointing to
the window; “see the rainbow! Come on Dave, now let’s run ’cross lots
out-doors!”




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 a look in her black eyes that
made Polly’s brown ones droop, “you needn’t tell any story just now.”

[Illustration: “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, who was 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. You come
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 perfectly
funny 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.’”

[Illustration: “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 tell you 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 Polly hesitate; “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 the birds 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.”

[Illustration: “Look within!” screamed the old woman.]

“What was it?” shouted Joel; and the others 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 so she 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 carrying the
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 woman _ever_ come down, Polly?” asked Phronsie, a
troubled look beginning to settle over her face.

“No, dear,” said Polly; “there she had to stay.”

“Not _ever_ come 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.”




XX.

THE GREEN UMBRELLA AND THE QUEER LITTLE MAN.


“Come on,” shouted Van at the bottom of the stairs, “Polly Pepper is
going to tell the story of ‘The Green Umbrella and the Queer Little
Man.’ Come on!” and in two minutes the bunch of the youngest Peppers,
with Percy and little Dick, precipitated themselves over the stairs,
and raced along at his heels until they all brought up in Jasper’s den.

“Now, that’s fine!” exclaimed Jasper, jumping out of his chair behind
the writing-table, as they all plunged in, Van having made the
appointment in advance; “but where’s Polly?”

“Oh, she’s coming!” cried Van, rushing around and tumbling over
everybody else in his eagerness to draw up the seats; “she’s up in
Ben’s room, and they’re both coming in a minute or two. Here, you
fellows,” to Percy and Dick, “help along with these chairs, will you?”

Percy, who didn’t like to move quickly at anything that was like work,
slowly managed to draw up one chair, into which he planted himself
drawing a long sigh as he sat down.

“That’s nice,” growled Van, quite red in the face from his exertions;
“you feel smart, don’t you, to leave us to do all the work as usual.”

Percy pretended not to hear, which so enraged Van that he ran up and
planted a smart rap on Percy’s back as he leaned back composedly in his
chair.

“Do that again, will you?” he cried, whirling around to glare at Van;
“I’ll knock your head off, if you do.”

“Here, here!” exclaimed Jasper, looking up quickly from the corner
where he was piling away his school-books till it was time to fly to
work on them again. “You’ll march out of this room if you carry on like
that, I can tell you. Up and apologize to each other, now, both of you
chaps.”

“He’s always pitching into me,” cried Percy, his face getting a lively
red, for he hated above all things to miss Jasper’s approval; “and I’m
tired of it.”

“Apologize, I say,” commanded Jasper, with a bob of his head that Percy
knew meant business, “or out you go. While as for you, Van, I don’t
know but what I much better pitch you out neck and heels, as it seems
you begun it.”

“Oh! I’ll apologize; I’ll say anything you want, Jappy,” cried Van in
alarm; for invitations to Jasper’s den didn’t come often enough to be
lightly regarded; and not waiting for a reply, he ran around Percy’s
chair, and stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry; but I wish somebody else
would pitch into you, for you’re so mean and lazy.”

“Hold on!” roared Jasper at him; “that’s no apology.”

“I don’t mind it,” said Percy carelessly; and he extended his hand with
a patronizing air that made Van furious, and sent him back to his work
over the seats in anything but a sweet frame of mind.

“How Polly Pepper ever gets along with you, I don’t see,” said Jasper
in despair, as he retreated to his corner.

“Oh! we don’t act so before her,” observed Van pleasantly, pulling and
pushing some refractory chairs into place.

“Well, I should be ashamed to act worse when she is not by,” retorted
Jasper scornfully; “think how dreadfully she would feel to see you
chaps going on so.”

Percy hung his head; and Van cried out in alarm, “Oh, don’t tell her,
Jappy, don’t tell her!”

“As if I’d want to tell her,” exclaimed Jasper in greater scorn than
ever.

Meantime Polly, who had taken her recreation hour the day before to
plan out this story of “The Green Umbrella and the Queer Little Man,”
was sitting down on the floor, her head in Mother Pepper’s lap, while
Mamsie’s hands softly smoothed the brown hair.

“I don’t see how I came to say it,” she mourned for about the fortieth
time; “the words seemed to slip out, Mamsie, without my saying them;
and then I couldn’t stop.”

“No, that is generally the way,” observed Mother Pepper; “when any one
lets ill temper say the first word, good-by to all peace of mind. So
watch the first word, Polly.”

Down went Polly’s head lower than ever in Mother Pepper’s lap.

“I know you were tired of telling stories to the children,” went on
Mrs. Pepper, “but that’s no excuse; and besides, you had promised.”

“I know it,” mumbled poor Polly into Mother Pepper’s stuff gown.

“And if a body is going to do a kindness for another, it’s best to do
it cheerfully, remember that, Polly.”

Polly didn’t say anything, and the kind hands kept up their stroking of
the brown hair, and the clock on the shelf ticked away busily as much
as to say, “Remember that, Polly.”

“And now,” said Mrs. Pepper at last, quite cheerily, “I wouldn’t ever
say anything more about this. We’ve talked it over, you and I, a good
many times, and you’ve told Mr. King, so it’s no good to keep it alive.
Just do the best you can now, Polly. Only remember never to let it
happen again.”

“Mamsie!” exclaimed Polly, lifting her head from Mrs. Pepper’s lap
suddenly, and sitting quite straight on the floor, her brown eyes
shining through her tears, “I just hope there’ll be, oh! lots and lots
to do for those boys. I love to tell them stories, and I’m going to do
everything else I can think of for them too.”

“There’ll be enough you can do for them, I guess, Polly,” observed her
mother wisely; “and that’s the better way to show you’re sorry than
talking about it. There, here comes one of them now for you,” as Van
bounded in, holding out both hands, much as if Polly Pepper were a
parcel, and he was to bear her down to the waiting group below.

“O Polly! we’re ready,” he began; but she sprang to her feet and
interrupted him. “Oh! for the story, Van? All right, I’ll go;” and she
ran to the door, but she came flying back. “Good-by, Mamsie;” and she
tried to set a kiss on the smoothly banded black hair, but Mrs. Pepper
lifted her head quickly, so the soft little kiss dropped on the end of
her nose, which made them all laugh merrily.

“Here she is!” cried Van, throwing open the door of Jasper’s den, and
handing Polly Pepper in with a flourish; “and Polly wasn’t in Ben’s
room after all; I had the greatest time to find her.”

[Illustration: “Here she is!” cried Van, throwing open the door of
Jasper’s den.]

“No,” said Polly, her cheeks as red as a rose, “I was in Mamsie’s room.”

“Well, where is Ben?” cried Percy from the depths of his comfortable
chair.

“Go and find him for yourself,” Van was on the point of saying, but a
glance at Jasper made him send the words back.

“Sit here, Polly,” Jasper was saying, conducting Polly to the big chair
back of the table.

“O Jasper! that looks as if I was going to give a lecture,” laughed
Polly; “dear me, how pompous!”

“Well, you must sit there,” declared Jasper, clearing a better space on
the table. “Dear me, I make no end of a mess with my papers.”

“Never mind,” said Polly brightly, “I’ll help you, Jasper.” So together
they piled the papers up neatly, and Jasper crammed the whole budget
into the table-drawer; then he rapped with the paper-weight.

“The meeting will come to order. Does anybody know anything about Ben?”
when the door opened, and in stalked that individual.

“Had to go down town to carry my boots to be mended,” he said. “Whew,
didn’t I run home, though! Nearly knocked over an old woman with a
basket coming around the corner.”

“Did you knock her over, Bensie?” asked Phronsie, leaving the chair she
was tugging at to draw it closer to Polly, and coming up to look at
him gravely.

“No, I didn’t,” said Ben, getting into the nearest chair. “I put out
both arms, and I screamed, ‘Hi, there!’ and the old woman and basket
and all walked right into them.”

“That was nice,” observed Phronsie in great satisfaction, “then she
didn’t tumble;” and she went back to her chair, and mounted it to fold
her hands in her lap.

“Polly Pepper is to tell a special story by request,” announced Jasper
with a grandiloquent air as if addressing a large assembly, “and if
the audience will be so good as to come to order, she will begin it at
once. If you don’t stop talking and be quiet, I’ll pitch you all out of
the window,” he added in his natural voice.

“That’s a great way to address an audience, I should think,” said Ben
in pretended indignation.

“I can’t help it,” said Jasper recklessly. “Now then, Polly, they’re
still for just a minute, so you would better begin.”

“I promised to tell you the story,” began Polly brightly, “of the Green
Umbrella and the Queer Little Man, and how it danced away with him.”

“Yes, yes!” cried all the roomful. Phronsie smoothed down her white
apron in great satisfaction.

“Well, so here it is. Now, you know Araminta Sophia got the green
umbrella all safely back again when the man with the big gun”--

“Scared the old woman in the”--began Joel, but Ben plucked him by the
jacket collar. “Go on, Polly,” he said coolly; “I’ll hold this chap
still through this story.”

“Well, she hung it up on the big golden key when she got home,” ran on
Polly; “you know she had to buy the fish for her father’s breakfast
before she could go home, and”--

“What was in the basket, Polly?” asked Phronsie suddenly, stopping the
smoothing process to look at Polly.

“Why, the fish,” said Polly, “of course. I just told you that, child.”

“No, no,” said Phronsie, shaking her head, “I don’t mean the fish. I
mean the other thing, Polly.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Phronsie,” said Polly, looking around on
the group in a puzzled way.

“The other thing,” persisted Phronsie, clambering down from her chair
to come to Polly’s side. “What the old woman said she put in, Polly.”

“Oh!” said Polly; then she burst into a merry laugh. “None of you boys
remembered to ask me that, and I forgot it myself. Oh! ’twas just her
fingers, Phronsie; that was all.”

“Whose fingers?” asked Phronsie very much mystified.

“Why, the long skinny ones that belonged to the old woman,” said Polly.
“She put them in the basket, and just pulled them out again.”

“But she said she put in a gift for Ara--what did you call her, Polly?”
said Phronsie.

“Araminta Sophia,” said Polly; “well, she said that because she was a
naughty old woman, Phronsie. There wasn’t any gift at all. Now go and
sit in your chair again, that’s a good girl, then I’ll go on with the
story.”

So Phronsie clambered into her chair, and laid her hands in her lap.
But her mind was busy over the naughty old woman, and the absence of
the gift in the little basket that was to bring home the fish.

“Well, where was I?” began Polly again. “Oh! I know. Araminta Sophia
was hanging up the green umbrella on the golden hook, when suddenly the
door of the shed opened wide, and in came her father, the queer little
man. ‘What a time you have been away, daughter,’ he squeaked out.

“‘I couldn’t help it, father,’ said Araminta Sophia; and then she told
him the reason why and all about it; but the queer little man only
said, ‘What a tiresome story; tell me some other time.’”

“I don’t think that was very polite,” began Joel, but Ben took another
hold of his jacket collar.

“He was more polite than you are,” whispered Ben.

“‘And you needn’t take the trouble to hang up that green umbrella,
daughter,’ said the queer little old man; ‘for I am going out to walk
with it myself.’

“‘Father!’ exclaimed Araminta Sophia, turning pale with fright, ‘why,
you’ve never done such a thing in all your life;’ and she clasped her
hands tightly together around the green umbrella.

“‘Silly chit!’ cried the queer little old man in a terrible passion,
‘do you think you are going to tell me what to do? Give me that
umbrella this very second.’

“Araminta Sophia tumbled down to her knees, holding on to the green
umbrella, and besought him that he wouldn’t take it from her, but would
let her hang it in its place on the golden hook.

“‘The man out there with his gun will shoot you,’ at last she said.
‘He’s most dreadfully big too,’ which was the very worst thing she
could have said; for the queer little man always fancied that he was as
strong as a lion, and it made him very angry to hear of anybody bigger
than he was. So now he squeaked out in what he fancied was a terrible
voice, ‘Give me that umbrella this instant, or I’ll put you up in the
corner with your face to the wall.’

“After this terrible threat, Araminta Sophia handed him the green
umbrella without a word; and then she tumbled over on the floor in a
dead faint, and the old white cat, who caught all the spiders and mice
in the perfectly funny little house, crept in and licked her face,
until she came to and sat up straight.”

“That was nice of the old white cat,” said Phronsie to herself,
smoothing down her apron again in satisfaction.

[Illustration: Phronsie smoothed down her white apron in satisfaction.]

“But by that time the queer little old man was gone, and the green
umbrella with him. At first he walked along quite fiercely, taking
what he thought were very big steps, but they were little bits of
mincing steps like”--

“Show us, Polly, do,” begged Van. So Polly hopped out from her seat
behind the table, and amid peals of laughter she minced up and down
like a tiny, queer little man, until she nearly tumbled over on her
nose.

“Dear me!” she exclaimed, as she hopped into her seat again, “it’s
perfectly dreadful to be so little. Well, where was I? Oh, well! off
he stepped, holding up the green umbrella as proudly as possible, and
wishing there was somebody to see how nice he looked; but there wasn’t,
only a pig behind a fence looking out through the holes, and he didn’t
care in the least, for he was grunting for something to eat, so you see
the queer little old man had to go mincing and nipping on quite alone.

“Well, and before he knew it, he was stepping off very briskly. ‘Dear
me, how young I feel!’ he exclaimed to himself. ‘It all comes of
carrying this green umbrella; now I mean to take it out to walk every
day.’ And as he finished the last word, he found himself running.

“‘This is perfectly splendid!’ he cried joyfully; ‘I don’t know when
I’ve had such a good run. Now I’ll enjoy it till I get to that tree
yonder; then I must stop, for I shall be quite tired.’

“And in a minute he was close to the big tree; but just as swiftly,
before he could draw another breath, he was whisked by. He stuck out
his arm, the one that wasn’t carrying the green umbrella, you know, and
he tried to catch hold of the tree; but alas! he was running by at the
top of his speed, and now the big tree was clear way behind, and”--

“And couldn’t he stop?” cried Phronsie with wide eyes. “Do make him
stop, Polly.”

“I can’t,” said Polly, “because this is the story, you know, of how the
green umbrella ran away with the queer little old man.”

[Illustration: The umbrella runs away with the queer little man.]

“This queer little old man has got to run, Phronsie,” said Jasper, “so
we shall have to let him.”

But Phronsie sighed as she folded her hands.

“And the queer little old man knew, too, by this time that he had got
to run,” Polly was saying; “and he began to sigh and to groan, ‘Oh, I
wish I hadn’t taken this green umbrella;’ and all the while he was
going faster and faster, till his head began to spin, and he thought he
should drop down in the road; but he couldn’t, you see, for his little
bits of feet kept hopping and skipping along, so of course there was
no time for him to tumble flat. And in a minute he came to a great big
pond and”--

“Like what you said Cherry Brook was?” cried Van, breaking in.

“Dear me, no,” said Polly with a little laugh; “this was ever and ever
so many times bigger, like”--

“Oh! I know,” declared Joel in an important way, quite delighted to
show Van his superior knowledge; “it was like Spot Pond, Polly, over by
Badgertown woods.”

“Yes,” said Polly with shining eyes, “it was, Joel, just like dear old
Spot Pond by Badgertown woods;” and she leaned her cheeks on her two
hands and her elbows on the table, lost in delightful reminiscence over
Joel’s words.

Van got out of his chair, and slipping away from the reach of Jasper’s
fingers, he plucked Polly’s sleeve. “You said the queer little old man
and the green umbrella came to a big place just like Spot Pond,” he
whispered in her ear.

“What--oh!” said Polly, lifting her head up suddenly. “Yes, so I did.
‘Well now,’ said the poor little queer old man to himself, ‘I shall
surely stop; I am so glad to see this water, for I am really almost run
to death.’ But the green umbrella made him hop clear across the pond;
and there he was on the other side, running for dear life through a
brambly wood, and up the side of a mountain.”

Van ran back to his seat, hugging himself joyfully at this entrancing
stage of the story. “Now, there were some people living on the top of
that mountain,” said Polly quite impressively, “who were very funny
people indeed. They were thin and tall--oh! just as thin as bean-poles,
and as high; and when they went out they always pulled on seven-league
boots, and”--

“What are those boots, Polly?” asked Phronsie quickly.

“Oh! let me tell her,” cried Van eagerly, delighted to think there was
something he could show off in to advantage. “I know; my fairy book
tells all about it.”

“Well, I shall tell,” declared Percy for the same reason. “You see,
Phronsie”--

“No, indeed you shall not,” exclaimed Van in a dudgeon; and forgetting
all about Polly Pepper being there, “I began first;” and deserting his
chair again, he ran over to Phronsie’s side, and tried to take her
hand; but she kept it folded over the other one in her lap, and looked
gravely at him.

“And I say I shall,” cried Percy in a passion and forgetting the same
thing; “and as for your beginning first, you are always crowding in, so
that’s nothing.”

Polly leaned back in her big chair, and looked at them in dismay.

“And I think you would both better go out of my den,” said Jasper
coldly.

“O Jasper!” exclaimed Polly quickly. At the sound of her voice both
boys turned and looked at her. “I didn’t mean to!” exclaimed Van,
wilting miserably. “And I didn’t either,” cried Percy, wishing he
wasn’t so big, and could creep into a corner.

“And please don’t,” cried Polly at them; and she clasped her hands, and
her cheeks got rosy red again.

“We won’t! we won’t!” they both promised; and Van slipped back to his
seat, and Percy said, “You may tell Phronsie, Van, if you want to.”

“No, I don’t,” said Van, getting down as small in his chair as he
could, feeling Polly’s brown eyes looking him through.

“I would rather have Polly tell me,” said Phronsie with grave eyes for
both of the boys.

“Yes, you tell her, Polly, do,” said Jasper; “that is best.”

So Polly told Phronsie all about what seven-league boots were, and
how the people who wore them could take great big steps, longer than
anybody else in all the world, and how they could jump from the top of
a mountain to another one just as easily as anything, and nothing could
catch them. “And so you see,” said Polly, winding up her description,
“when these tall, thin people heard the little queer man with the green
umbrella coming up, they all burst out laughing. ‘We’ll show him what
running is. Get on your boots,’ said every one to each other.

“And every single one of them hurried and pulled on his seven-league
boots.”

“Oh, goody!” howled Joel, slipping away from Ben’s hand.

“Now, the queer little old man tried to stop when he got up to them;
but instead of that he whisked along by them, and there he was way
ahead, and going at a perfectly dreadful rate.

“‘Ho, ho!’ cried the seven-league boot-men, ‘you little upstart, you,
what do you mean by going by us without a word;’ for you see they
didn’t like it to see such a very little person treat them so coolly,
and there he was way off ahead of them. ‘We’ll teach you better
manners;’ and off after him they raced.”

“And did they catch him?” cried Van. “And what did they do to him?”
asked Percy. Little Dick, who hadn’t spoken, but had been lost in
thought, now got out of his chair, and stumbled into the centre of the
group.

“Ha, ha, ha!” he screamed suddenly, as loud as he could.

“Goodness me, Dicky, how you scared me!” exclaimed Polly with a jump.

“He scared us all, I guess,” said Ben.

“And you would better get back into that chair of yours,” said Jasper,
“if you don’t want the house to come down on our heads after that
noise.”

Little Dick, thus adjured, plunged back as suddenly as he had come, and
climbed into his chair.

“But step as long and as high as they could, the seven-league boot-men
couldn’t come up to the queer little man with the green umbrella; for
just as soon as he flew out of one city over the church-spires, and the
big houses, they would just be coming in, and so all they could see of
him would be the green umbrella, flying along, and a little twinkling
thing, with tiny sticks of legs and arms, under it. And at last,
besides being very angry, they were very much puzzled. ‘We’ve never had
anything beat us before,’ they called to each other as they stepped
along.

“And all the while, don’t you think, the queer little old man was
calling and screaming back at them, ‘Oh! you dear big boot-men,’ for
he didn’t know anything about seven-league boots, ‘do stop me, for I’m
running away, and I can’t stop myself.’

“And at last the seven-league boot-men stopped in surprise, unable to
take another step, they were so much astonished.

“‘Let’s talk it over,’ they said, ‘and then when we’ve come to a
conclusion what the matter is, why we’ll start again after him.’

“So they all stopped on the tip of the nearest mountain, and sat down
and put their chins in their hands.

“‘It’s something about that umbrella,’ at last said one boot-man,
suddenly lifting his head.

“‘Sure enough,’ cried another, slapping him on the back; ‘that’s the
brightest thing that has been said yet. Think some more.’

“‘I believe it’s because it’s green,’ said another, who wanted to be
just as bright too.

“‘Sure enough,’ said the boot-man who had said so before. ‘Now we must
get him to throw away that dreadful green umbrella, for we can’t be
beaten you know.’

“‘We must get him to throw away that dreadful green umbrella,’ repeated
every one of the boot-men. Then they all got up, and”--

“And did they get the queer little man to throw away the green
umbrella?” cried little Davie impulsively. “Oh! I didn’t mean to
interrupt, Polly,” he cried as soon as he thought.

“I know, Davie, you’ve been real good,” said Polly, smiling approvingly
at him. “Well, now you’ll see; so off they all stepped, with their
dreadfully long steps, after the queer little old man with the green
umbrella, and pretty soon one of the boot-men, who was a little ahead,
called out, ‘I spy him; he isn’t more than seven miles off.’”

“Oh, my!” screamed Joel.

“And sure enough; there he was--running along--the green umbrella just
flying through the air, and the little sticks of arms and legs under
it twinkling in and out.

“‘Hurry! hurry! hurry now for your lives!’ roared all the boot-men at
each other; and they raced as they had never in all their lives raced
before. And at last when they were nearly ready to drop, they came so
near to the queer little man that they could hear him faintly squeal
out, ‘Oh, do stop me! I’m running away, and I can’t stop.’

“‘Throw down that dreadful green umbrella,’ roared all the boot-men at
him together.

“‘I can’t,’ squealed the queer little man, running on faster than ever.
‘It won’t let go of my neck;’ for you must know, I forgot to tell you,
that the crooked handle that used to hang on the golden peg in the
woodshed, where Araminta Sophia hung it up, had hooked itself, after he
got to running fast, around the neck of the queer little old man, and
there he was fast and tight.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed ever so many voices.

“Did it hurt him?” asked Phronsie piteously.

“Oh, no! I guess not, Pet,” answered Polly; “he was running so fast I
don’t believe he felt it much. Anyway, he couldn’t get it off, try as
hard as he would. And so on he ran, worse than ever.”

“Can’t he _ever_ stop?” asked little Dick suddenly, in great excitement.

“You’ll see, Dicky,” said Polly with a smile, while the others begged
her not to stop but to hurry on. “‘Shut up that dreadful green
umbrella, then,’ screamed out one of the boot-men with the first thing
that came in his head; and in a minute, before they could take another
step, _flap!_ went the green umbrella; _snap!_ went the green umbrella;
and _stop!_ the poor little legs and arms of the queer little man came
to a standstill.

“‘How very queer!’ he gasped. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before?’ he
snapped out as the boot-men all came up, for he was very cross by this
time. ‘Why didn’t you think of it yourself instead of making us chase
you all over the world?’ they snapped back; for you see they were very
cross too.”

“O Polly! had they been all over the world?” cried Percy in
astonishment.

“Pretty much,” said Polly; “and you see they were very tired; and
besides they didn’t like it, for they never had been obliged to take
such a chase before.”

“I should like to ask,” said Ben, “what this queer little man happened
to be standing on when the green umbrella got shut up? You stopped him
in the air, you know, Polly.”

“Oh! I forgot to say,” Polly answered briskly, with a little laugh,
“that they happened to be just running over a very high mountain. So
when the green umbrella got shut up, why, of course, all he had to do
was to stand still on the top of it.”

“Oh!” said Ben.




XXI.

THE LITTLE SNOW-HOUSE.


“Dear me, how we have all run!” exclaimed Polly, sitting down and
wiping her hot face.

“And I beat, I beat!” whooped Joel excitedly. “I got to the big gate
first of all.”

“That’s because I didn’t hear Ben say ‘three’ in time to begin with
you,” said Percy, his face growing unpleasantly red, and wishing he
hadn’t run at all.

“Ho, ho!” screamed Van, “that’s a good one; just hear Percy. Well, I
stubbed my toe, so I didn’t beat.”

“You’ve won the prize, Joe,” said Jasper, coming up and drawing a long
breath. “Well, that was a race, to be sure.”

“You said you’d let the one who beat have a wish, and you’d do it if
it was a possible thing,” cried Joel with a crow of delight. “Well, I
choose for Polly to tell us a story now;” and he flung himself down on
the grassy terrace by her side.

“O Joel Pepper!” exclaimed Jasper in dismay, “we none of us thought
you’d choose that, because we knew you wanted so many things.”

“Well, I do choose that,” declared Joel obstinately, and shaking his
stubby black hair; “and I don’t want anything else. So begin, Polly,
do;” and he drummed impatiently against the green bank with his heels.

“Ben,” said Jasper in despair, rushing up to that individual, “isn’t
there anything we can do to bring Joe to his senses? Polly’s tired to
death. Oh! why did we promise?”

“No,” said Ben with a long face, “not when Joe makes up his mind. And
we did promise. But I’ll tell the story.” And he drew a long breath,
and his face dropped longer yet.

“Ben’s going to tell the story,” announced Jasper, rushing back
cheerily. “Now all sit down,” as Phronsie pattered back along the
winding road through the shrubbery, having run a race with herself
quite contentedly. “Here, child;” and he sat down on the grass, and
drew her into his lap.

“But I don’t want Ben to tell the story,” cried Joel coolly. “I want
Polly; and you promised you’d give me my wish if ’twas a possible
thing,” he asserted in a loud and positive tone.

“Well, ’tisn’t a possible thing; Polly’s tired to death,” said Jasper
shortly. “Here, Ben, come along, and dash a story at this persistent
chap.”

“Polly isn’t tired,” contradicted Joel, looking in surprise at Polly’s
blooming cheeks. “She’s never tired; and you’ve promised,” he repeated
in an injured tone.

“And I’m quite rested now,” exclaimed Polly, tossing back the damp
rings of hair away from her brow, “so I can tell it just as well. But
what in the world shall it be about?” and she broke into a merry laugh.

“Don’t try to think,” said Ben, who threw himself on the grass by her
side. “Joe’s a mean little beggar to ask it, Polly,” he whispered in
her ear.

But Polly tossed him a scrap of a whisper back again, and then she
began. “Now, it’s so hot to-day, and the middle of summer, it doesn’t
seem as if it ever had been winter with the snow on the ground; and
it will make us cool, with nice little creeps all down our backs, if I
tell you about our little snow-house, and”--

Joel jumped to his feet with howls of delight. “O Polly!” he screamed,
“do tell about it. That’s the most splendid story of all!” Then he
suddenly became very grave, and stood quite still.

“Come along and sit down, then, Joel,” said Polly, “and I’ll begin.”
But Joel didn’t move.

“Come along,” cried Ben, quite out of sorts, “and get into your seat,
and don’t stand there like a stick.” But still Joel stood very still.
“I don’t want any story,” he blurted out suddenly.

“Don’t want any story,” repeated Percy and Van in surprise; while
little Dick began to cry piteously, and laid his head in Polly’s lap.

“Polly doesn’t want to tell it,” began Joel in a gasp, and wishing very
much that he had stayed at the big gate where he won the race.

“Oh, yes I do!” cried Polly brightly. “I want to tell it, Joey, I do
truly; so sit down like a good boy, and I’ll begin right off.”

“Do you really?” asked Joel, edging up, with both black eyes fixed on
her face.

“Yes, indeed; I’m all rested now,” declared Polly; “and if I don’t tell
that story I shall feel very badly indeed, Joey Pepper.”

So Joel, feeling that it was quite right to be glad that the story
was to be told, since Polly had said that she should feel badly if
she didn’t tell it, gave another whoop of delight, and scuttled back
to crowd in next to Polly, while the others settled down in great
satisfaction, and Polly began in her cheeriest fashion.

“Well, you must know, boys, that we used to have just the best times in
The Little Brown House the minute it began to be winter, and the snow
commenced to fall, and we could look out and see it all, and plan what
we could do.”

“And you could get your sleds out,” burst in Van--“And go sleighing
too,” said Percy.

“Oh, we didn’t have sleds!” said Polly quickly; “at least, only one
that Ben made us.”

“Didn’t have sleds!” exclaimed the Whitney boys.

“I helped,” said Joel sturdily; “and so did Dave.”

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t have been much of a sled unless Ben had made
it,” said Polly, looking up at Ben affectionately. “But you two boys
did help, though,” she made haste to add, as she saw their faces.

“And we couldn’t go coasting only when we had all our work done,” Polly
went on, “because, you see, we were poor, and that was play.”

There was silence for the space of a moment, it being quite beyond the
power of the Whitney boys to say anything. “But when Mamsie did let us
go, oh, it was perfectly splendid!” and Polly’s cheeks grew rosy red,
and her eyes kindled in delight at the remembrance.

“Tell us, tell us,” begged Percy and Van, coming out of their deep
reflection.

“Well, maybe, some time,” said Polly; “but now I’m going to tell you
about our little snow-house. You see, it had been awfully cold one
winter,” here Polly hurried on with all her speed, after a glance at
Ben’s face, “and we hadn’t had much snow, because it was ’most too cold
to snow, and we children had been hoping that we might have some; and
every day Joel would come shouting in that he guessed it would snow
before night, and”--

“And we had to fill the wood-box and chop kindlings all the time, I
remember,” grumbled Joel; “and our fingers most froze, didn’t they,
Dave.”

“Maybe,” said David, with a glance at Polly’s face, and very much
wishing that the question had not been asked.

“Never mind,” said Ben; “don’t bother to tell any more about the cold,
Polly, but get along to the story.”

“And so I will,” she said briskly, with another look at his face.
“Well, and one day--oh! I remember it as well as could be, for Joel had
said the same thing about the snow coming, over and over, and”--

“And it did come,” interrupted Joel triumphantly, “so, there”--

“You mustn’t tell before I get to it,” said Polly.

“That’s a fact,” said Ben. “If Polly tells this story, she must be let
alone. Now, Joe, don’t you say another word.”

Joel, at this, subsided, and folded his chubby hands tightly together,
and Polly went on. “Well, and pretty soon, do you know, down came the
white flakes of snow, so soft and pretty and white; and Mamsie said we
might stop our work for five minutes, and watch it from the window.
We’d wanted it so, you know, for days and days.

“And then David and Joel began to scream how they were going to take
the sled Ben had made, out that afternoon, as soon as the ground was
covered, and have a fine time coasting; and then Mamsie told us to look
around at the clock; and we did, and then our time was up, and we had
to fly at our work again.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the Whitney boys with one voice.

“Well, in the middle of the afternoon the snow was pretty deep; it had
been falling just as thick and fast as could be, and Joel came stamping
in from the woodshed, where he had been cutting kindlings, and he
pulled on his mittens, and said, ‘Now, Mamsie, may we?’ and ‘Come on,
David’ all at the same time.”

“Just as he says two thing together now,” said Ben, bursting into a
laugh, in which all joined at Joel’s expense, until he laughed too.

“But Mamsie shook her head. ‘Not until I’ve gone into the Provision
Room and seen how many potatoes, and how much Indian meal we have left,
Joey,’ she said. And then off she went, and Joel pounded his heels
on the kitchen floor, and slapped his hands in the mittens together,
and kept calling on David to hurry and be ready when Mamsie came back.
Oh! I remember just as well as can be,--just everything about that
afternoon;” and Polly came to a sudden stop, lost in thought.

“Polly Pepper! Polly Pepper!” cried Van, shaking her elbow, “do tell us
the story.”

“And did she let Joel and David go coasting?” begged Percy, trying to
conceal the eagerness he felt in the recital.

“You’ll see,” said Polly, waking out of her revery. “Well, at last
Mamsie came back from the Provision Room, and the very first look that
we had of her face we knew that Joel and David couldn’t go.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the Whitney children, horribly disappointed.

“‘Boys,’ said Mamsie, ‘there isn’t very much Indian meal ahead, and
the stock of potatoes is getting low; now I could let you off this
afternoon, but it’s wiser not to live from hand to mouth, so we must
lay in another supply now.’ And that’s all she said, but she just
looked.”

“And I didn’t want to go to the store after that old meal and those old
potatoes,” blurted out Joel suddenly, not looking at any one.

“But you did go, Joel,” cried Polly immediately. “Oh, yes he did,
boys!” she repeated emphatically; “he went real good, and Mamsie was
pleased.”

Joel brightened up at that, and brought down his gaze from the tip of
one of the tallest trees on the opposite terrace, as he drew a sigh of
relief.

“‘Yes,’ said Mamsie, and I remember just exactly how she looked as she
said it; ‘it is always the right thing to get what will be needed,
before it is needed.’ And then the boys ran off, and dragged the sled
out of the woodshed, and away they ran off down the road pulling it
after them.”

“And couldn’t they go coasting as soon as they got the potatoes?”
demanded Percy.

“And the meal?” begged Van anxiously.

“Why, you see, Mr. Atkins, the man who kept the store, you know, had a
great deal to do that afternoon; and it took so long to wait on all his
customers that it was dark before the boys got home, and they had to
fill the wood-box for the next morning, and so Mamsie said they must
wait until to-morrow.”

[Illustration: The boys bringing home the meal and potatoes.]

“Oh!” exclaimed the two Whitneys.

“Well, we all went to bed early that night. Joel and David meant to
get up as soon as it was light and go out and coast, they said. It
was snowing beautifully when Mamsie looked out the last thing, and
it was dreadfully deep, and Ben said he’d be sure to find time to
give Phronsie a ride on the sled. And the first thing we knew it was
morning, only we didn’t know it was morning,” said Polly, with a funny
little laugh.

“What do you mean,--that you didn’t know it was morning?” asked Van.

“Oh! I mean--never mind, you’ll see when I get to it,” said Polly, who
never liked to be pushed ahead of her story. “Well, the first thing
I knew Mamsie was calling me, ‘Polly,’ in such a funny voice, that I
hopped right up into the middle of the big bed.

“‘Get on your clothes as quickly as possible and come out here,’ said
Mamsie. And I flew out of bed. Oh! how I wanted to just peep into the
kitchen and see what was the matter, but I knew Mamsie wouldn’t like
it; so I got dressed as fast as ever I could, and ran out. There was
Mamsie in the middle of the floor. ‘Polly, child,’ she said, ‘we’re
snowed in!’”

There was a breathless silence for a minute, that nobody seemed able to
break. “Yes,” said Polly; “and don’t you think, there we were buried up
in our Little Brown House.”

“O Polly!” cried Van in a horrified tone; “didn’t you ever get out?”

“Why, yes,” said Polly; “of course, or else we wouldn’t be here. Don’t
feel so, Van,” as she saw his face; “it didn’t hurt us any, you know,
because we all got out in good time. And we had some fun while being
shut up in our little snow-house.”

“Is that what you mean by the little snow-house the story is about?”
asked Percy, who was so bound up in the story he had lost sight of the
opportunity to laugh at Van.

“Yes,” said Polly gayly, “it was, and our Little Brown House was made
into a little snow-house; and now I’m going to tell you about it. Well,
when Mamsie said that, I just put my arms around her, and she held me
close for a minute, for, you see, we didn’t know what to do. And then I
said ‘I’m going to call Ben.’”

[Illustration: The little snow-house.]

“But Polly didn’t call us then,” said Joel in an injured tone; “and
Dave and I slept over till ever so late.”

“And so did Phronsie,” said Ben. “And I wish we could have kept you all
in bed the rest of that day.”

“But you couldn’t,” said Joel, bobbing his head; “and just as soon as
we did wake up, we found out all about it.”

“Well keep still now, Joe,” said Ben, “and let Polly finish the story.”

“It was just as dark,” Polly was saying, “oh! you can’t think how
dreadfully dark it was, till Mamsie lighted her candle; for when we
tried to look out of the window, why we couldn’t, because, you see,
there was the white snow piled up against it tight; and we couldn’t
open the door.”

“Why not?” asked little Dick.

“Because we’d go right into a big snowbank if we did, oh! ever and ever
so much higher than our heads; and, besides, the snow would tumble in
the house, and then we couldn’t shut the door again; so Mamsie told us
not to touch it. Oh, dear, dear, it was perfectly dreadful!”

A shiver passed over the group that made the “nice little creeps” run
down each back, as Polly began again, “Well, and there we were, shut up
in our Little Brown House, and we didn’t know when any one would come
to dig us out.”

“Why didn’t you run up-stairs, and look out?” cried Van, thrusting
himself forward excitedly.

“Dear me, we did that the first thing,” said Polly; “I mean, Ben did.
He tried to look out of the window in the loft, because, you know, we
didn’t have any up-stairs, but a little place in the loft where the
boys slept; and all he could see was the top of the snow where it had
blown all up everywhere, and then he ran down and told Mamsie and me in
the kitchen. Oh! you can’t think how perfectly dreadful it was those
first few minutes; we were so glad the children were fast asleep in
their beds.”

“Well, we weren’t,” grumbled Joel, who always felt defrauded out of
every one of those dreadful minutes. “Dave and I wanted to be down in
the kitchen with Mamsie and you.”

“Why, you didn’t know anything of it,” said Ben with a little laugh.

“Well, we wanted to be there if we didn’t,” said Joel, not minding the
laugh in which the others joined.

“And Mamsie said we were not to worry, for God would take care of us,”
said Polly gravely. “And then she asked Him to do it, and to send
some one to dig us out; and then she said,--and I’ll never forget
it,--‘Now, children, we must set ourselves to think what we ought to
do, and go to work, because God doesn’t help people who do not help
themselves.’ And then we all sat down to think up the best thing to do.
And Ben said he thought we ought to tie something to a long stick, and
run it out the window, and maybe”--

“No, that was Polly’s idea,” said Ben quickly; “she thought of it
first.”

“O Ben! you surely said so,” cried Polly, with rosy cheeks.

“Well, you spoke of it first, and so I said I’d do it,” declared Ben
positively. “It was Polly who thought it all out.”

“Well, you got the red blanket, and tied it on the broom,” said Polly;
“so you did it, anyway.”

“That’s nothing,” said Ben; “we all thought of the blanket because it
was red, and would show against the snow. And after that there was
nothing we could do; so we all three sat down in the kitchen, and
looked at each other.”

“Yes,” said Polly, shaking her head very mournfully, “that was the
hardest part of it all; there wasn’t anything to do. Oh, dear me! it
was perfectly dreadful; you can’t think how dreadful it all was.”

“And pretty soon Mamsie said, ‘Now, children, we’ll get breakfast the
same as usual. Thank God that we have got a large supply of meal and
potatoes in the Provision Room, so we sha’n’t starve. Look at the
clock, Polly, child.’

“And there, don’t you think,” said Polly, “the old clock in the corner
was ticking away the minutes as fast as it could; and it was half-past
eight, and we always used to get up at six o’clock--in winter, I mean.”

“Six o’clock in winter!” cried Percy in amazement, who dearly loved his
bed of a morning. “Oh, dear me! that’s the middle of the night.”

“Well, if you think that’s early, what do you think of five o’clock,”
said Ben under his breath.

“And just think of Ben,” Polly was saying, with a little pat on Ben’s
back; “he used to have all his chores done by six o’clock, because he
had to go and help other people, and earn money.”

Percy tumbled right over on the green bank, quite overcome by this, and
lay there lost in thought.

“Yes, it was half-past eight,” said Polly impressively. “And when I
looked at the clock, I jumped up, glad of something to do; for I’d been
twisting my hands together, trying not to cry,” she confessed, drooping
her brown head in a shamedfaced way.

“But you didn’t cry,” declared Ben stoutly. “Polly didn’t let a single
tear come out of her eyes; she was just splendid all the time.”

“No, I wasn’t splendid,” said Polly; but the color ran over her cheek
again, and up to the little waves of hair on her brow, as she smiled at
Ben. “And when Mamsie told us to get breakfast, why, Ben and I were
glad enough to hop up and set to work. So he ran and kindled the fire;
and pretty soon there it was blazing away, right merrily, because, you
see, we had our new stove then. What we should have done with our old
one, I’m sure I don’t know,” said Polly, holding up both hands.

“And I said, it was lucky we had such a splendid lot of wood all cut
in the woodshed,” said Ben, “when I came back to fill up the wood-box
again, after I had made the fire. And Mamsie said ‘Never say “lucky”
again, Ben, but say “faithful work provides for the future.”’ I’ve
thought of it ever since.”

“‘And that’s the reason you’ve got plenty of wood now,’ said Mamsie.”
Polly took up the story quickly. “And she said that Ben had been
plucky, instead of lucky, to stick to it when he wanted to rest. Well,
then we heard an awful noise up in the loft.”

“What was it?” cried Van, getting involuntarily nearer to Polly and
Ben. “Was it bears?”

“Worse than bears,” said Ben decidedly.

“Worse than bears?” Van was quite delighted; but he drew still farther
within the centre of the group, and cast a glance over his shoulder as
if he expected something to jump from behind the trees.

“Yes,” said Ben, nodding his head.

“Was it a snake?” asked little Dick, huddling up close to Polly to lay
his head in her lap again.

“Worse than a snake,” said Ben.

“Oh, dear, dear! what was it?” cried Van and Dick together, while Percy
got up quickly, and pushed in between the others. “What was it?” he
asked too.

“Those two boys,” said Ben, pointing to Joel and Davie; “they made more
noise than a dozen bears, as soon as they woke up and found out how
things were. I tell you, it was pretty lively then down in the kitchen.”

“And we hadn’t seen Ben run out the stick with the red blanket on,”
said Joel in a dudgeon, flinging himself flat on the grass, to drum his
heels on the green sward. “It was mean not to wake us up.”

“Well, you saw it afterward,” said Ben coolly. “And if you’d had your
way, Joe, the old broom would have rattled down a dozen times, you
wanted to shake it so hard.”

“That was to make folks see it, and come and dig us out,” said Joel,
squinting up at the sky.

“Well, let Polly tell the story,” said Jasper, who had been quiet all
this time. “And then just think what Mamsie said to those two boys.”
Here Polly jumped up to her feet. “Oh, it was so splendid!” and her
eyes kindled, and the color came and went in her cheeks; “she said,
and these are just her words, ‘Boys, you’ve maybe saved all our lives,
by giving up your play yesterday, and getting that meal and those
potatoes.’ Just think of that,” cried Polly again, clasping her hands;
“Mamsie said that to _our_ two boys. Oh, I’m so proud of them!” With
that Polly ran back to the green bank, and in a minute she had her two
arms around Joel and David. And Jasper proposed three cheers; and Van
led them off, Percy coming in in time for the end, as Phronsie gave a
delighted little gurgle.

“’Twasn’t anything,” said Joel, red and shining in his efforts to
escape all praise. “Dave and I didn’t do anything.”

“’Twas meal and potatoes,” cried little Dick, stumbling up and down the
path, and getting in everybody’s way. And then they all laughed, and
settled down for the end of the story.

“Well,” said Polly with a long breath, and beginning again, “you can’t
think how glad we were to have work to do on that dreadful day. We
washed every dish in the house, over and over, and cleaned and tidied
up; and then, when we hadn’t any more work, we sat round and told
stories.”

“Oh! will you tell us some of those stories you told in the little
snow-house, Polly Pepper?” cried Van in a shout.

“Some time,” said Polly.

“Go on, Polly,” said Ben, “and tell about sitting around the stove.”

“Oh, yes!” said Polly briskly; “you see, children, we couldn’t burn
our candles all day because Mamsie hadn’t such a very great many. And
so after Phronsie woke up, and our work was done up, we sat around the
stove, and told stories in the dark.”

“Oh! oh!” exclaimed the Whitney boys.

“Yes; and then,” said Ben, “Polly asked Mamsie if we might play
Blindman’s-Buff; she said yes--and so we did.”

“Yes; and we played Puss-in-the-Corner, and all sorts of things we
never had the time to play on other days; we played in our little
snow-house. Oh, we had a lovely time, after all!”

“And didn’t anybody come to dig you out?” asked Percy, feeling as if
the delights of such a frolic wouldn’t pay him for being shut up in a
little snow-house; and he shivered as he spoke.

“No,” said Polly; “at least not till the next day. And then all of a
sudden some one screamed, ‘Hallo, there!’ and don’t you think we heard
Deacon Brown’s voice through the snow; they’d dug quite a piece towards
us, and they were shouting to let us know they were coming.”

“And didn’t you scream back, Polly Pepper, didn’t you? didn’t you?”
cried all the Whitneys together in intense excitement.

“I rather guess we did,” said Ben, with shining eyes; “it’s a wonder
the roof of The Little Brown House didn’t fly off with the noise we
Peppers made.”




XXII.

LUCY ANN’S GARDEN.


“It was about the middle of the afternoon,” said Polly, as the little
group settled down in one corner of Mother Pepper’s room, “when I
told the others the story of Lucy Ann’s Garden. I remember the time,
because we were all feeling pretty badly to be shut up in the little
snow-house; for we always ran out-doors every now and then, you know,
even when we were working, and it seemed just like a prison, and then
we didn’t know when we would be dug out, and”--

“But you were dug out some time, weren’t you, Polly Pepper?”
interrupted Van anxiously.

A shout greeted this question.

When they came out of the laugh, Polly said, “Yes, but it was two whole
days; and every single hour seemed--oh, as long--you can’t think! You
see, everybody else was snowed in too; and great high drifts were
piled along the roads, so they couldn’t get to us, and so all we could
do was to wait. But, oh, dear me!” Polly had no further words at her
command, and her hands fell idly to her lap.

“Well, go on.” This time it was Percy who pulled her sleeve.

“So, I know all about the time when I began to tell about Lucy Ann’s
Garden,” said Polly, beginning again. “I thought I’d make up a story
about summer and flowers, and all the things we have when it is warm
and sunny, so we could look forward to it all; and that’s the reason I
told them that.”

“Tell us now,” said Jasper; “do, Polly.”

So Polly began the story in earnest. “Lucy Ann’s Garden wasn’t a bit
like any other garden in all the world; it was up on the tops of ever
so many trees”--

“Oh, oh!” exclaimed the bunch of Whitneys in delight, Jasper adding his
approval to the rest.

“This is a splendid story,” declared Joel to Van, who was next, “you
better believe.”

“Hush!” said Van, edging away; “I can’t hear Polly when you talk.”

“You see, Lucy Ann’s father had ever so many apple-trees he was going
to cut down, because they didn’t have anything on them but shrivelled
up miserable little apples; and he got his big axe, and went out one
day, and Lucy Ann saw him, and she ran after him. ‘Father, father,’ she
cried, ‘what are you going to do?’ And then he told her.

“‘Oh, dear me!’ said Lucy Ann; and then she just sat down on the grass
and cried; for she couldn’t bear to have a tree cut down around her
home, nor a chicken killed, nor anything changed.”

“How could they ever have chicken-pies, then?” asked Percy abruptly.

“Why, they had to send Lucy Ann over to spend the day with her
grandmother,” said Polly; “and then they killed all the chickens they
wanted to eat for a week. But Lucy Ann always cried quarts of tears
when she came home, and found out about it.”

“O Polly!” exclaimed Van, “Lucy Ann couldn’t cry quarts of tears--no
one could.”

“Lucy Ann isn’t like anybody else in the world,” said Polly stoutly;
“and I’m making up a girl who could cry quarts of tears, so she cried
them every time she came home and found one of those chickens killed.”

“Now, it’s hard enough to have to tell stories by the dozen as Polly
Pepper does, and be called to account for every word,” said Jasper.
“Polly has a right to say anything in her stories she has a mind to.”

“And do make it quarts,” begged Joel, glowering at Van. “Make it
gallons, Polly.”

“No,” said Polly decidedly. “Lucy Ann cried quarts of tears. Well,
so when she sat down on the grass and cried, her father fell into a
tremble, and he shook so the big axe in his hand went every way, for
he couldn’t hold it straight; and he looked at Lucy Ann, and he said,
‘Daughter, I wish you would stop crying.’

“‘I can’t,’ said Lucy Ann, crying worse than ever, till her tears ran
into the grass and off, a little stream trickling away like a tiny, wee
river.

“‘Oh, dear me!’ exclaimed her father in despair, ‘this is something
very dreadful.’ Then he set his axe carefully up against the first
tree he was going to cut off, and he went to Lucy Ann. ‘Daughter,’ he
said, ‘if you’ll stop crying this very minute by my watch, I’ll give
you this first tree I was going to cut down.’ So Lucy Ann took her
face up,--for she was bending over to sob,--and she wiped the tears
that were coming out of her eyes away with her hand; and her father
ran cheerfully back, and picked up his axe again. ‘Now, that is good,
my daughter,’ he said in a gleeful voice; and he hurried to the next
tree, and raised the axe just like this.” Here Polly swung an imaginary
axe over her shoulder, “‘Now, then’--but he didn’t bring it down, for
Lucy Ann squealed right out, ‘O father, don’t! Now I’ve got to cry some
more;’ and away she went to sobbing, just as much worse than at first
as you could think; and the tears got bigger and rounder, and they
raced through the grass so fast that they wet her feet till she began
to sneeze like everything.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed little Dick in dismay.

“Well, Lucy Ann’s father, when he saw that, set down the axe again, and
he pulled his hair in distress. I forgot to tell you that he always
pulled his hair when he felt troubled about anything”--

“That was much better than to pull any one else’s hair,” observed Ben
under his breath to Jasper.

“And he said, ‘O my daughter Lucy Ann, if you only won’t cry any more,
I’ll give you all those trees this very minute; and you may do what you
want to with them.’ So Lucy Ann stopped sobbing, and wiped her eyes
again, and got up from the grass, and went around and around those
trees; she went around twenty-seven times before she could decide what
she would do with them. And at last she said, ‘Father, I’ll have a
garden up on top of them.’”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Van.

“The minute Lucy Ann said she would have a garden up on top of the
trees, her father put his fingers in his mouth, and made a perfectly
awful whistle, and”--

“Oh, I know how he did it!” exclaimed Joel, springing to his feet.
“Dave and I used to do it--this way;” and he clapped his fingers to his
mouth, but Ben pounced on him.

“No, you don’t, Joel Pepper,” he cried.

“Oh, no, no, Joey!” exclaimed Polly too, in alarm; “now be quiet,
that’s a good boy, for I’m going on with the story. Well, as soon as
the whistle echoed all over the place, there came running from every
direction ever so many men, and every one had an axe on his shoulder;
and as soon as they reached Lucy Ann’s father and Lucy Ann, they
stopped and leaned on the handles of their axes, and said, ‘Did you
call us, Master?’

“‘Stop talking,’ roared Lucy Ann’s father at them; for he wanted to be
cross with somebody, and he didn’t want to scold his daughter. ‘Do just
as she tells you to;’ and then he picked up his own axe, and ran off as
fast as his feet would carry him into the house, and shut the door and
locked it.

“‘Cut off all the tops of those trees,’ commanded Lucy Ann, pointing to
them, ‘every single snip of a leaf.’”

“I thought she didn’t want the trees cut down,” cried Percy abruptly.

“Hush!” cried Van, delighted to catch Percy interrupting, while Polly
made haste to say, “Oh! this is different. It’s only the tops she
wanted cut off;” and Ben said, “Wait, and hear the rest of the story.”

“And so the men with the axes did exactly as Lucy Ann told them; and
pretty soon all the trees were snipped off even, and just alike.

“‘Now go and bring a board big enough to set on the tops of all those
trees,’ she commanded, ‘and lay it on them, for I’m going to have a
garden up there.’”

“Oh, oh, oh!” screamed the Whitneys delightedly.

“And in just ten minutes by Lucy Ann’s little diamond watch in her
belt, it”--

“O Polly! did Lucy Ann have a watch all made of diamonds?” asked Percy.
“Ladies have them, but girls don’t.”

“Lucy Ann had one, anyway,” said Polly in her most decisive fashion;
“and hers was just one big diamond, with the minute hand and the hour
hand set in the middle”--

“Oh!” gasped Ben, tumbling back in his seat.

“And in just ten minutes,” repeated Polly, “by that little diamond
watch stuck in her belt, the board was up on top of all those trees;
and then she commanded the men to cover it all over with dirt, ever
so deep; and after that she made them build some cunning little steps
leading up to it,--two pairs of steps, ‘because I never mean to go
down the same pair I come up,’ she said to herself; and in just half an
hour from the time she began to think about it, there was her garden
all done. And her father peeped out of the window all the time, and he
called her mother, and all the people in the house; and every one took
a window, and watched to see how the work went on.”

“I should think they’d want to,” said Ben with another gasp.

“And then Lucy Ann said, ‘Now run away, just as fast as you can, every
single one of you;’ and she stamped her foot to make them run faster;
so they picked up their axes and scampered off, and she was left alone.
And then she walked around her garden twenty-seven times more, trying
to think what she would plant in it.”

“And what did she, Polly Pepper?” demanded Van eagerly. “What did she
plant in it?”

“Wait and see,” said Polly gayly. “Well, when she had got around the
twenty-seventh time, she sat down quite tired out; and then she clapped
her hands, and over the grass came running a little girl not much
bigger than she was. ‘Go and bring the flower-basket,’ commanded Lucy
Ann, ‘and be quick, Betserilda.’”

“What did she tell her to bring the flower-basket for?” asked little
Dick, crowding into the centre of the group.

“Why, because she wanted to use it,” said Polly.

“And who was Betserilda?” asked Percy.

“Why, the girl she told to bring it,” said Jasper; “don’t you
understand?”

“Oh!” said Percy.

“You see, Betsy’s name was really Betsy Amarilda,” said Polly; “but
that was too long, for sometimes Lucy Ann was in quite a hurry, and so
she always called her Betserilda.”

“Oh!” said Percy again.

“So Betserilda ran with all her might, and came back dragging the
flower-basket after her; and then the two girls took hold of the
handle, and went off into the woods after flowers.”

“Polly,” cried Phronsie suddenly, “I very much wish we might go into
the woods after flowers;” she gave a long sigh, and every one turned to
look at her.

“We can’t,” said Polly; “there aren’t any woods in this big city;” and
she sighed too.

“But think what splendid grounds these are, and what monstrous trees,”
cried Ben hastily, and pointing to them, as Joel began to kick his
heels and loudly wish he could run into the woods too. “Polly, what are
you going to say next?” asked Ben, catching her eye.

“What? oh, let me see!” cried Polly, bringing herself back from the
delightful vision of a day in the woods; “well, off they trudged, Lucy
Ann and Betserilda, and they began to dig and”--

“What did they dig, Polly?” asked Phronsie, very much interested, and
laying her little face on Polly’s arm, “the little violets under the
moss?”

“Yes,” said Polly, “lots and lots of them, Phronsie.”

“And the red berries?” Phronsie kept on, “and the long green stems, and
the cunning little cups in the moss.”

“Yes,” said Polly, “they did; all those, Phronsie.”

“Every single one, Polly?” asked Phronsie, a little flush stealing over
her cheek.

“Every single one,” declared Polly positively. “Lucy Ann dug them all
up, and Betserilda put them in the flower-basket, and then they covered
them with moss, and then they both took hold of the handle again; but
they didn’t start to go back until Lucy Ann had most politely invited
all the birds and squirrels to come and visit her garden.”

[Illustration: Lucy Ann’s garden.]

“And would they come, Polly?” cried Phronsie greatly excited.

“To be sure; yes, indeed,” said Polly. “Every one of them said ‘Thank
you;’ and every one of them said they would, and they’d bring all their
friends.”

“Oh, how nice!” cried Phronsie; and she sank back in great satisfaction
in the corner of her seat.

“Well, when everything was at last ready in Lucy Ann’s Garden, and
Betserilda had brought the big water-pot, and watered it all over, and
every little leaf was pulled and patted out, and nothing more was left
to be done, Lucy Ann sat down a minute to think, and she put her head
in her hands, like this;” down went Polly’s brown head, and everything
was still a minute.

[Illustration: She put her head in her hands, like this.]

“Go on, Polly Pepper,” begged Van, pulling her sleeve; “don’t think any
more, but tell the rest of the story.”

“Lucy Ann screamed out,” said Polly, lifting her head so suddenly they
all started, “‘I’ve got an idea!’

“Betserilda set down the watering-pot, and dropped a courtesy; for she
wasn’t allowed to speak, you know, unless told to.”

“Why not, Polly?” asked Van, who wanted the last bit of information
possible.

“Because she was kept to wait on Lucy Ann,” said Polly; “and unless
Lucy Ann told her to, she couldn’t speak.”

“Oh!” said Van.

“‘I’m going to give a party,’ screamed Lucy Ann, jumping up and down,
‘in my garden. Now speak, Betserilda, and say that is a most beautiful
idea.’

“‘That is a most beautiful idea,’ said Betserilda.

“‘I thought so,’ said Lucy Ann. ‘Now, do you run all through the wood,
and give my invitation to every bird and squirrel you see, and every
snake and hop-toad, and every chipmunk and woodchuck, and tell them to
come to-night as soon as the moon gets up. Hang up the watering-pot on
the first crotch of the tree you find going down, and run as fast as
you can.’”

“Oh! oh!” screamed the Whitney boys in glee.

“Didn’t I tell you ’twas a prime story?” cried Joel, punching Van, who
never could get so far away as to be beyond his fingers.

“Ow! Be still!” said Van, edging off again.

“So Betserilda did as she was bid, and hung up the watering-pot on the
first crotch of the tree she could find underneath Lucy Ann’s Garden,
and then away she ran on the tips of her toes into the wood again. And
pretty soon every squirrel and bird and hop-toad and snake and chipmunk
had his invitation, and”--

“You left out the woodchuck,” said Ben; “poor thing, do let him come to
that wonderful party, Polly.”

“Of course he came,” cried Polly gayly; “we wouldn’t let him be
forgotten, and so”--

“Couldn’t the poor dear sweet little brown worms come, Polly?” asked
Phronsie, leaning anxiously forward.

“Dear me, yes,” cried Polly, catching sight of Phronsie’s face; “of
course those nice angle-worms came. We wouldn’t leave them out for all
the world. Well, and in a minute or two every one of the people, I mean
the wood-creatures, were dressing up and combing their hair, and”--

“O Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Percy in distress, “now I know this story
can’t be true; because squirrels don’t comb their hair, and birds,
and”--

“How do you know?” cried Polly at him.

“Well, hop-toads don’t, anyway,” declared Percy obstinately.

“Well, my hop-toads do,” said Polly. “I shall make every one of them
comb their hair, and clean their clothes, and prink up to go to that
party, so there, Percy Whitney!”

“And this is Polly Pepper’s story,” said Jasper. “Do keep still, Percy,
or out you go from Mother Pepper’s room.”

“Oh! she can have them do it if she wants to,” said Percy, shrinking
back in alarm, with one eye on Jasper and another on Ben, and trying to
keep himself as small as possible.

“And they couldn’t hardly wait for the moon to come up, they were all
so anxious to go,” Polly ran on. “You see, none of them had ever been
to a party before in all their lives.”

“I just hate parties!” exploded Joel, having experienced several trials
in that line since coming to live at Mr. King’s; “and they were very
silly to want to go.”

“Now, what do you think Lucy Ann had thought out while Betserilda was
away?” asked Polly suddenly.

No one of the children could possibly guess, so Polly dashed on. “Well,
she had it come in a flash into her head; and off she ran and did it,
and got back all out of breath, running up one pair of steps to her
garden, just as Betserilda came up the other pair.

“‘Betserilda,’ she said, ‘what do you suppose I’ve done? Speak.’

“‘I don’t know,’ said Betserilda.

“‘That’s a good girl, because if you’d said you did know, you’d be a
naughty girl, because it all came out of my head. I’ve engaged the
band, and we’re going to dance.’”

The Whitney boys clapped their hands and shouted approval.

“Betserilda said nothing, because, you know, she couldn’t speak unless
Lucy Ann told her she might. ‘You may talk now,’ said Lucy Ann, ‘and
say, “What a good idea.”’ So Betserilda said at once, ‘What a good
idea.’

“‘Isn’t it?’ cried Lucy Ann, quite delighted.”

“Was Lucy Ann really to have a band play? And where did she get it?”
cried Percy and Van together.

“Yes, indeed,” said Polly; “she was--a real true cricket-band. She’d
engaged every one of the black crickets; and she commanded them to
stop chirping, so as to save their music till evening. And every one
said he would; and one of them said he’d bring some cousins that were
visiting him, called fiddlers, and”--

“Oh! there isn’t any cricket called a fiddler,” cried Van.

“There is a black bug down by the seaside with a fiddle up over his
shoulder,” said Polly. “I saw a picture of him in Parson Henderson’s
book before I told this story in the little snow-house, so there, Van!”

“And don’t you interrupt again,” said Ben at him, “or out you must go.
Now then, Polly, let’s have the rest of that story.”

“Where was I? oh, yes; ‘We’re surely going to dance,’ cried Lucy Ann,
hopping on all her toes. ‘Now run into the house, and get my pink gauze
gown all ready, and my little silver shoes, and lay them on the bed;
and then tell the cook to make five hundred little ice-creams and cakes
and put each on a big green leaf when it’s ready to bring up to the
garden. Run for your life, Betserilda.’

“So Betserilda ran for her life down one pair of stairs, and Lucy Ann
hopped down the other pair, and the birds and the squirrels and the
hop-toads and the snakes and all the rest of them kept combing their
hair and prinking up, and peeking out of the wood, and saying to each
other, ‘Hasn’t the sun gone down yet?’ and ‘Isn’t the moon ever coming
up?’ until at last it was time to go to the party.

“And everybody in Lucy Ann’s house kept peeking out of all the windows.
They didn’t even stop for dinner, but had the servants bring it to
them, and they ate it sitting in the windows, so they needn’t miss
anything; so when the moonlight really did come, they were all ready
to see every bit of the party too. Well, Lucy Ann in her pink gauze
gown tripped away across the grass in her little silver slippers, and
went up the stairs to her garden with Betserilda coming after. And when
all the wood-creatures saw her going up, and knew that the party was
actually to begin, they all started in fine shape; but they had to wait
a bit, which was quite a pity, for the biggest squirrel and the long
brown snake fell into a quarrel which should go first in the procession.

“‘Lucy Ann invited me first,’ said the big squirrel, chattering so fast
they could hardly hear the words.

“‘She likes me best,’ said the long brown snake, lashing the
pine-needles on the ground with his tail.

“This made the big squirrel very angry; and he cried in a sharp voice,
‘I’ll bite you;’ and he was just going to do it, when somebody, way
back in the procession, cried out, ‘You’re mussing your hair, flying in
such a rage.’

“‘To be sure,’ said the big squirrel, putting up one paw to smooth his
head carefully; ‘let us not quarrel and bite till after the party. We
will both go in together, that’s the best way.’

“‘As you like,’ said the long brown snake, who didn’t want to fight;
‘there is room enough for us both, as I am quite thin.’ So they both
led off; and soon they were all up in the garden, and making splendid
bows and courtesies to Lucy Ann. And as fast as each one made his
bow or courtesy, she would say, if it pleased her, ‘That’s a good
one,--check it off, Betserilda;’ and Betserilda would make a little
mark in a big black book she had in her hand. And if it was very bad,
Lucy Ann would say it must be done over again. But at last they were
ready to dance.”

“Who danced with Lucy Ann?” asked Van, breaking in; but Jasper pulled
him back, and Polly went on.

“And the cricket band struck up; and then Lucy Ann stood upon a
mushroom she had had brought up in the garden for a stool, so she
looked very tall and big, and she said, ‘Look at me,’ and everybody
looked at her with all his eyes; ‘I am going to say something.’

“‘I’m not going to dance with any of you,’ she said; ‘for, you see, I
cannot dance with all; I should be quite tired out, there are so many
of you. But I must dance; so I am going to wait for my prince, for of
course some one will come;’ and she smoothed down her pink gauze gown
in great contentment, and fluttered her pink feather fan. ‘Now begin; I
shall wait for my prince;’ and she hopped off from her mushroom stool,
and the cricket band struck up their liveliest tune; and while Lucy Ann
sat down by a little clump of violets at the very end of her garden,
every single one of the party folks began to dance.

“Now, there was in the wood one person who didn’t happen to be invited
to that party. Lucy Ann didn’t know he was there, so she couldn’t send
him an invitation you see. And he had only arrived that day, being
on his way to another place when he succeeded in running away from a
cruel master; and when he saw the nice cool wood, he thought he would
stop awhile and get rested. And then he overheard the chatter about the
party, though nobody saw him; and after that he made up his mind he
would stay and see it all from an overhanging tree.”

“I know what it was,” piped Phronsie in a gleeful voice; “he was a”--

“Hush--hush!” cried Ben, springing forward, and “Don’t tell, Pet,” from
Polly as she rushed on.

“And when he heard Lucy Ann say that about her prince, and waiting for
him to come and dance with her, he said to himself,--

“‘Why shouldn’t I be the prince?’ and the next minute he was combing
his hair, and prinking up, and then he was ready.”

“Oh! oh!” screamed all those who hadn’t heard the story in the little
snow-house; and Joel kept nudging Van and saying, “Didn’t I tell you it
was a prime one?”

“Well, it was getting pretty late now, you know, for the prince was so
anxious to look nice, he took a good deal of time to prink up; and
Lucy Ann began to look sad, and she called Betserilda, who had to stand
perfectly still behind the clump of violets. ‘I am really afraid I
shall have to cry,’ said Lucy Ann; ‘for my prince doesn’t come, and I
don’t know what to do, for my tears will make it so wet in the garden
that they will all get cold;’ and just then up came the prince, his cap
in his hand, along the stairway, and there was the sweetest, dearest
little monkey you ever saw in a red coat, standing before her!” cried
Polly, with a sudden flourish, and jumping to her feet.




XXIII.

THE CHINA MUG.


“Oh, no! I won’t have them on,” declared little Dick, shaking his head
savagely, till it seemed as if every one of the small bits of brown
paper must fly off.

“O Dicky!” exclaimed Polly in dismay, “you’ve bumped your head so
falling down-stairs.”

“Haven’t bumped my head,” cried Dick, whirling around so that none
of the children could investigate the big lumps on his head. “I wish
they’d all tumble off;” and he gave another vigorous shake, that made
the biggest piece of wet brown paper settle over his left eye.

“Very well,” said Polly coolly; “we must go to Mrs. Whitney then, and
tell her that you are shaking off all the brown paper. I was going to
tell you a story, but we can’t have it now.”

Little Dick plucked off the big bit of wet brown paper from his eye,
and looked at her. “I’ll stick them on again,” he said.

[Illustration: Little Dick plucked off the big bit of wet brown paper
from his eye.]

“Very well,” said Polly once more; “I’ll put them back; that’s a good
boy;” and she proceeded to do so, till Dicky was ornamented with the
brown paper bits, all in the right places. “‘Now,’ says I, as Grandma
Bascom used to say, ‘we’ll have the story.’ I’m going to tell you about
‘The China Mug.’”

“I’m glad of that,” said Jasper, “because that was one of the stories
we had on a baking-day in The Little Brown House,--do you remember,
Polly?”

“As if we could ever forget,” cried Polly happily. And thereupon ensued
such a “Do you remember this?” and “Oh! you haven’t forgotten that in
The Little Brown House!” that the Whitney children fell into despair,
and began to implore that the story might begin at once.

“You’re always talking of the good times in The Little Brown House,”
cried Van, who never could forgive Jasper for his good fortune in
having been there.

“Can’t help it,” said Jasper, showing signs of rushing off again in
reminiscence; so Polly hastened to say, “We really ought not to talk
any more about it, but get on with the story. Well, you know, the China
Mug was _our_ China Mug, and it stood on the left corner of the shelf
in the kitchen of The Little Brown House.”

“Is it a true story?” clamored Van.

“Oh, you mustn’t ask me!” cried Polly gayly, who wasn’t going to be
called from the land of Fancy just then by any question.

“Don’t interrupt, any of you,” said Jasper, “or I’ll ask Polly not to
tell about ‘The China Mug;’ you would better keep still, for it’s a
fine story, I can tell you.”

So Van doubled himself up in a ball on the corner of the big sofa, and
subsided into quiet, and Polly began once more.

“Yes, the China Mug was really and truly our China Mug on the left
corner of the shelf in the kitchen of The Little Brown House. It was
a very old mug, oh! I don’t know how many years old, two or three
hundred, I guess; for you see it was our father’s mug when he was a
little boy, and his father had it when he was a little boy, and”--

“Did they all drink their milk from it?” broke in little Dick,
forgetting all about the indignity of having his head plastered up with
bits of wet brown paper; “all those little boys, Polly?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Polly; “for you see they were all called
Samuel, and every Samuel in the family had this mug, so”--

“I wish I could be Samuel, and have a mug that was in The Little Brown
House,” said Dick reflectively.

“Well, it had a funny twisted handle,” said Polly, hurrying on; “and
oh! the loveliest lady with a pink sash, and long, floating hair; and
she had a basket of roses on one arm, and she was picking up her gown
and courtesying just like this.” Polly jumped to her feet, and executed
a most remarkable courtesy.

“Was she standing on the handle?” asked Percy, who had a fancy for all
minute details.

“Oh, dear me, no!” said Polly, laughing merrily; and she nearly fell on
her nose, as she was just finishing the courtesy; “she couldn’t stand
on the handle. She was on the front of the China Mug, to be sure; and
there was a most beautiful little man, and he had a cocked hat under
his arm, and he was bowing to her as she courtesied.”

“Tell how the beautiful little man bowed,” begged the children. So
Polly, who had hopped into her seat, had to jump up again, and show
them just exactly how the beautiful little man, with the cocked hat
under his arm, bowed to the lovely lady with a pink sash on, and a
basket of roses hanging on her arm. Then she hurried back, quite tired
out, to her place.

[Illustration: The beautiful man and the lovely lady on the china mug.]

“He had on a blue coat, and his hair was all white, and”--

“O Polly! was he so very old?” cried Van from his sofa-corner.

“Dear me, no!” said Polly again; “he was young and most beautiful, but
his hair was powdered, just as the man’s is in the big picture in the
drawing-room; and it was tied up in the back with a bow of ribbon just
like that one too; and he had buckles on his knees, and on his shoes,
just the very same. Well, he kept bowing and bowing all the time, and
the lovely lady with the pink sash on, and the basket of roses hanging
on her arm, kept courtesying to him all the time; and they had been
doing that for two or three hundred years.”

“O Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Percy quite shocked; “how could they bow
and courtesy for two hundred years?”

“Well, they did,” said Polly, hurrying on; “and”--

“If you interrupt again, out you go,” from Jasper.

“And at last one night when we were all abed,--Mamsie and Phronsie and
I in the bedroom, and the three boys in the loft,--and all of us fast
asleep, suddenly the beautiful little man exclaimed, ‘I am quite tired
out bowing to you!’ ‘And I am quite, quite exhausted courtesying to you
all the time,’ declared the lovely lady.

“‘And I shall stop bowing, and turn my back on you,’ said the beautiful
little man.

“‘And I shall not courtesy again, but I shall turn my back on you,’
said the lovely lady.

“‘And I shall walk away,’ said the beautiful little man.

“‘And I shall walk away from you,’ declared the lovely lady.

“And so they both whirled around, and walked away as fast as ever they
could from each other; and when they got to the funny twisted handle on
the back of the mug, the lovely lady went under it, but the beautiful
little man hopped over it briskly, and on they both hurried; and the
first thing either of them knew, there they were on the front of the
mug staring into each other’s faces as they went by. And so round
and round the mug they walked, and they never spoke when they went
past each other except to say, ‘I shall not bow to you,’ and ‘I shall
not courtesy to you,’ and then away they went again. Oh, it was too
dreadful to think of!

“And at last they had been going on so, around and around, oh! two
million times, I guess; and the lovely lady’s poor little feet had
become so tired out, that she could hardly step on them, and she sobbed
out to herself,--she had just passed the beautiful little man on the
front of the mug, so he couldn’t see her,--‘I know I shall drop down
and die, if I keep on like this;’ so she gave a great jump, and she
flew clear over the edge of the mug, and hopped down inside.”

“Oh, oh!” screamed little Dick in a transport.

“And when the beautiful little man came stepping around to the front of
the mug the next time, lo, and behold! there was no lovely lady, with a
basket of roses hanging on her arm, to say, ‘I won’t courtesy to you.’

“‘How glad I am that that tiresome creature has gone!’ he exclaimed,
as he skipped off around the mug. And he said it the next time, and”--

“I don’t think he was nice at all,” observed little Dick, bobbing his
head so decidedly that some of the brown paper concluded to fly off at
once.

“And he said it the next time,” ran on Polly, “and the next; but when
he came around again, he rubbed his eyes, and tried to stop, but his
feet wouldn’t let him; so on he had to go.”

“Oh, dear!” said Percy and Van, “couldn’t he really stop, Polly?”

“No,” said Polly, “he couldn’t really, but around the mug he must keep
going. And the time after, when he came to the front once more, it
was all he could do to keep from bursting into tears. And at last he
screamed right out, ‘Oh, dear, lovely lady! where have you gone?’”

“Why, she was in the mug,” said Van, tumbling off from the sofa-corner
in a great state of excitement; “do tell him that, Polly,” coming up to
her chair.

“Keep still,” said Ben, holding up a warning finger.

“But he couldn’t stop, for you see his feet wouldn’t let him,” said
Polly; “and he began to cry dreadfully big tears all over his fine blue
coat and his cocked hat; and every time before he reached the front of
the mug, he watched between his sobs, to see if she had got back; and
when he found that she hadn’t, he screamed worse than ever, ‘Oh, dear,
sweet, lovely lady! where have you gone?’”

“I don’t think she was nice,” said Percy; “she might have said
something.”

“And there she was all huddled up in the bottom of the mug,” said
Polly; “crying so hard she could scarcely breathe; and she tried to
call back to him ‘Oh, dear, beautiful little man! do come and help
me out;’ but her voice didn’t reach anywhere, for it was such a wee,
little squeal; so on he had to go around and around, and she kept on
shaking and trembling down in the very bottom of the mug.”

The excitement among the Whitney boys was intense; the little bunch of
Peppers and Jasper preserving a smiling content, knowing well what was
to become of the lovely lady and the beautiful little man, since Polly
had told it more than once in The Little Brown House.

“Do hurry, and tell them,” whispered Ben in her ear; so Polly laughed
and hastened on.

“‘I’ll help you,’ suddenly said a voice close by on the shelf. The
lovely lady bobbing away in the very bottom of the mug, and the
beautiful little man crying his eyes out as he walked around and around
the China Mug, stopped weeping and screaming to listen with all their
ears.

“‘I am Sir Bow-wow,’ declared the voice, which came out, you must know,
of Phronsie’s crockery dog that a lady in the centre of Badgertown
gave her, when she was a baby, to cut her teeth on. Phronsie used to
put his head in her mouth, and bite hard, and that made her teeth come
through quicker. Well, he was brown and ugly, and one ear was gone,
because she had dropped him a good many times. Oh! and two or three of
his toes were broken off; but he was a great help now in this dreadful
trouble that had overtaken the lovely lady and the beautiful little
man, because he had a good head to think out things.”

“I am so glad Phronsie didn’t bite it off,” said Van with a sigh of
relief.

“Well, go on,” said Percy briefly.

“Sir Bow-wow cleared his throat; then he asked sharply, ‘Are you sure
you won’t ever say such dreadful things as I heard from you, ever
again, in all this world?’

“‘Oh, quite, quite sure!’ said the lovely lady, heaving a long sigh;
‘if you will only get me out of this dismal place, Sir Bow-wow, I will
be just as good as I can be.’

“‘And if you will only bring back that lovely lady I will be just as
good as I can be,’ said the beautiful little man; ‘Sir Bow-wow, I
promise you.’ And they couldn’t hear each other, only what the brown
crockery dog said; and he asked again, ‘Are you sure you won’t turn
your backs on each other, but you will bow and courtesy as prettily as
you always used to?’

“And they both promised him most solemnly that they would do that very
thing, if he would only help them now out of this dreadful, dreadful
trouble. So the brown crockery dog jumped up to the top of the funny,
twisted handle of the China Mug, and sat there and scratched his head
very gravely, and thought and thought, while the beautiful little man
walked twice around the China Mug. ‘The very thing!’ at last exclaimed
Sir Bow-wow. ‘Now, then, hurry, lovely lady,’ and he put one of his
paws over the top of the mug, and then peeped over. ‘Can’t you reach
up?’ he asked.

“But the lovely lady down in the bottom of the China Mug, although she
stood on all her tip toes couldn’t so much as touch the end of his paw.
‘I shall die here,’ she said, in a faint voice, huddling down in a
miserable, little heap, and beginning to weep again.

“‘Nonsense!’ cried Sir Bow-wow, although he was terribly afraid that
she would. ‘I’ll think again.’ So he scratched his head once more, and
thought, while the beautiful little man walked twice around the China
Mug. ‘This time I have it!’ declared the brown crockery dog, and he put
his paw over the edge of the mug. ‘Twine the roses in the basket on
your arm into a vine, and throw up one end over my paw, and I will pull
you up.’

“And the lovely lady stopped crying, and began to laugh, all the while
she set to work busily making a vine out of the roses in the basket
hanging on her arm; and she twisted the thorns and leaves all in and
out so nicely, that before long she had a streaming garland; and she
threw up one end of it over the paw of Sir Bow-wow, just as he had
told her to do, and, in a minute, there she was standing on the edge of
the China Mug, up by the funny twisted handle.

“‘That’s fine!’ cried Sir Bow-wow, so greatly pleased that he wanted to
bark; but he didn’t dare for fear of scaring the beautiful little man
who was now approaching the funny twisted handle. ‘Hurry and hop down,
O lovely lady, and run to your place, for here he comes!’

“So the lovely lady hopped down, and hurried with all her might to her
old place on the front of the China Mug, crowding her rose garland into
the basket hanging on her arm as she went along. And she had just got
there, and was picking up her gown to make a little courtesy, when the
beautiful little man came up and stood quite still.

“‘I will make you a bow all the rest of my life,’ he said, bowing away
as fast as he could.

“‘And I will courtesy to you as long as I live,’ she said, dropping him
a most beautiful one. And so as there was nothing else for him to do,
Sir Bow-wow ran to his end of the shelf, and stood up as stiff as ever.
And that’s the way we found them all the next morning when we got up
and went into the kitchen,” said Polly.




XXIV.

BROWN BETTY.


Mrs. Whitney sat in her room, her soft hair floating over her
dressing-gown, with little Dick in her arms, just as he had run wailing
with his story of distress.

“My throat isn’t sore,” he screamed between his tears; “and I want to
go out with the other boys.”

Polly, running along the hall, with a new book that Jasper had loaned
her tucked under her arm, a happy half-hour dancing before her eyes,
heard him, and stopped suddenly, then she turned back, and put her
brown head in the doorway.

“Oh, dear!” and she came close to Mrs. Whitney’s chair.

“I’m not sick,--and I want to go out with the boys,” roared Dick, worse
than ever. “I want to go out--I want to go out.”

“I suppose that’s just what Brown Betty cried,” said Polly, saying the
first thing that popped into her head of all the stories she used to
tell in The Little Brown House.

“Eh?” Little Dick lifted his head from the nest where he had burrowed
under his mother’s soft hair, and regarded her closely through his
tears.

Polly knelt down by Mrs. Whitney’s side, and turned her back on
Jasper’s new book, where she laid it on the floor. “You don’t know how
Brown Betty wanted to get out,” she said; “but she couldn’t do it, not
a bit of it.”

“Why not?” demanded Dick suddenly, and edging along on his mother’s lap
to look into Polly’s eyes. “Why couldn’t she get out, Polly?”

“Why, because she fell in,” said Polly, shaking her brown head sadly,
“and there was no one to help her out, no matter how much she cried; so
she made up her mind not to cry at all.”

“Didn’t she cry a teenty, wee bit?” asked little Dick, trying to wipe
away the drops on his cheeks with his chubby hand.

“Not a single bit of a tear,” said Polly decidedly; “what was the use?
it wouldn’t help her to get out. You see, it was just this way. She was
hurrying down the garden path, just as fast as her feet would carry
her, and she had a big bundle in her mouth”--

“In her mouth?” repeated little Dick in astonishment; and, slipping
from his mother’s lap, he cuddled on the floor beside Polly, and folded
his small hands.

“Yes, in her mouth,” said Polly merrily. “Oh! didn’t I tell you? Brown
Betty was a dear little bug, just as brown as could be; and the bundle
in her mouth was a piece of a dead fly she was taking home for her
children’s dinner.”

“Oh!” said Dick; “tell me, Polly.”

Mrs. Whitney slipped out of her chair to finish her dressing, first
pausing to pat Polly’s brown hair.

“So you see poor Brown Betty couldn’t look very well where she was
going; for the piece of a dead fly stuck out in front of her eyes
so far, that the first thing she knew, down she went--down, down,
down,--and she never stopped till she stood in the midst of hundreds
and hundreds of black creatures.”

“O Polly!” exclaimed little Dick in dismay.

“Yes,” said Polly; “and there she was, and she couldn’t speak for a
minute, for she had come so far and so fast, that it was impossible for
her to catch her breath, so the black creatures ran around and around
her in great glee, and every one of them said: ‘How very nice and fat
you are; now we’ll eat you up.’”

“O Polly!” cried little Dick again, and snuggling up closer; “didn’t
she cry then.”

“No,” said Polly, “she didn’t, because you see it wouldn’t have done
any good,--she’d got to think up things, how to get out, and all that,
you know, so there wasn’t any time to cry. And she spoke up just as
soon as she could catch her breath, ‘Oh, what a wonderful place is
this!’ and she rolled her little bits of eyes all around; and the ants
said”--

“Oh! were the hundreds of black creatures ants?” asked little Dick.

“Yes, indeed; oh! didn’t I tell you?” cried Polly, all in one breath;
“they were dear little black ants, and the deep, deep place that Brown
Betty tumbled into when she was carrying home the piece of a dead fly,
was their house. And when she said ‘Oh, what a wonderful place is
this!’ they were all very much pleased, and they ran around and around
her faster than ever, all talking together, and they said, ‘She seems
to be very wise,--it’s a pity to eat her just now. We will wait and let
her tell us things first.’

“And Brown Betty heard them say that as they were all running around
and around her; for you see when she made up her mind not to cry, she
thought she would better keep her ears open as well as her eyes, and
find out some way to escape.”

“What’s escape?” interrupted little Dick.

“Oh! to get out, so they wouldn’t eat her up!” said Polly; “well, and
so when she heard them say that, why, Brown Betty thought of something
else that would give her more time to think up things, how to get away.
And she said, ‘Oh! if I might only see some of the splendid places
you’ve got in your house, I should be so happy;’ for you see she had
heard how the ants build great, long halls and rooms, and ever so many
nooks and crannies. And the big ant that made them all mind everything
she said, heard her say it, because Brown Betty called it as out loud
as she could; and so the big ant spoke up, and ordered a company of a
hundred ants to get into line.”

“O Polly, a hundred ants!” cried little Dick with an absorbed face.

[Illustration: “O Polly, a hundred ants!” cried little Dick with an
absorbed face.]

“Yes, indeed, that’s nothing,” said Polly; “sometimes they had a
thousand march off somewhere, wherever the big Queen Ant would tell
them to go. Well, these hundred ran right around Brown Betty, and got
her in the middle.

“‘Now, go and show her the long corridor,’ said the big Mother Ant.”

“You said she was the Queen Ant,” corrected Dick.

“Yes, so she was, and the Mother Ant too,” said Polly; “but I like that
best, so I’m going to call her so. Well”--

“Polly,” said little Dick hastily, “I very much wish you’d call her
Captain Ant.”

“Well, I will,” said Polly, bursting into a merry laugh, that made Mrs.
Whitney smile too, a smile that went right down into Polly’s heart, and
made her forget all about Jasper’s new book lying there on the floor.
“Now she’s Captain Ant; we mustn’t forget that, Dicky.”

“We mustn’t forget that,” repeated Dick, in great satisfaction. “Now go
on, Polly, do.”

“So the company of a hundred ants went off just as Captain Ant had told
them, to show Brown Betty the long corridor.”

“What’s a long cor--what is that word, Polly?”

“Corridor; oh! that’s a great long hall, ever and ever so long,” said
Polly; “and it was broad and splendid, and the walls were as smooth
as a board, and the top was just as smooth too, and out of it ran
different rooms, and nooks, and crannies, and funny little places.
So, when Brown Betty heard Captain Ant command them to show her the
long corridor, she began to set her busy little head to thinking that
perhaps she might steal away from them, and hide somewhere in one of
these queer little spots.”

“And did she?” cried little Dick eagerly.

“Oh, I can’t tell you now!” said Polly; “wait and see. Well, off they
went down the long corridor with the smooth dirt walls, and”--

“You said it was board,” corrected little Dick.

“Oh, no, Dicky!” said Polly, “I said it was as smooth as a board,
but they were all made of dirt,--dirt walls; and everything was all
polished off by the ants till it was straight, and high, and splendid.
Well, off they went.

“‘What a perfectly remarkable place,’ cried Brown Betty, rolling up
her little bits of eyes at everything as they marched her along in the
middle, which pleased them very much; so they let her drop behind the
procession once in a while to admire something or other.”

“Oh! now she is going to run away, I know,” said Dick in great
excitement.

“Oh, she can’t get away yet!” said Polly. “You wait and see,
Dicky. Just then, while she was hanging back from the rest of the
company,--for they were all talking together, as they ran around and
around, and saying how extremely wise she was, and what a pity it
was that they had got to eat her up, after they had shown her all
about,--she heard a little noise. You see, she was peering into a
little cranny.”

“What’s a cranny?” asked Dick abruptly.

“Oh! a little hide-away place in the wall,” said Polly. “Well, she was
peering in there, and wondering if she could slip in when the hundred
ants weren’t looking, when she heard this little noise.”

“What was it?” asked Dick, getting as close to Polly as he could.

“You’ll see. And then as she peered in, she saw another brown bug, just
like herself, only bigger, chained to the side of the wall, so she
couldn’t get away.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Dick; “how big was the chain?”

“Oh! it wasn’t big at all,” said Polly; “how could it be, to fasten up
that wee brown bug? It was all made of the hairs of the black spiders
dropped in the garden, where the ant house was; and the ants had
twisted them together, and made chains to tie up their prisoners with.”

“Oh!” said Dicky, drawing a long breath. “And was she tied up tight?”

“Oh! just as tight,” said Polly; “the chain went all around her leg,
and over her neck, and there she was sobbing away as if her heart would
break.”

“What made her cry?” asked Dick. “Why didn’t she think up things, how
to get away, just like your brown bug, Polly?” and he drew himself up
with the determination to be like Brown Betty.

“Well, you see she didn’t,” said Polly, “that’s just the difference; so
there she was chained to the wall of that cranny.

“‘They’re waiting till I get fat enough,’ said this poor creature to
Brown Betty, ‘then they’ll eat me; I heard them say so.’

“Now, Brown Betty couldn’t act as if she heard anything you know, for
all those hundred ants would pounce on them both, and cut their heads
off, maybe; so she said, ‘Hush, and I’ll try to save you;’ then she
hurried off to the company. ‘Now show me something more wonderful
yet,’ she said.

“‘We’ll show her the Hall of Justice,’ said the ants one to another.”

“What is that, Polly?” asked little Dick.

“Oh, you’ll see! the ants are going to tell Brown Betty all about it;
then you’ll know. Well, so off they went; and by this time they thought
so much of Brown Betty’s wisdom, for they were all talking of it
together, that they got very careless about keeping her in the middle,
but they let her wander at the end of the procession, and stop when she
wanted to admire anything very much.”

[Illustration: Brown Betty and the ants.]

“Oh, now I know that she is going to run away!” exclaimed little Dick,
striking his hands together in great delight.

“And at last there they stood in the middle of the great Hall of
Justice. Brown Betty just blinked her eyes, she was so afraid she
should cry, when the ants all screamed out together, ‘We try our
prisoners here before we eat them up.’ But she pretended she didn’t
care; and she said, ‘What’s that big chair up there?’ pointing to the
end of the long room.

“‘That is not a chair,’ said the ants all together, ‘that is the
throne.’

“‘What’s a throne?’ asked Brown Betty, to gain time to think out
things by keeping them talking. Besides, she was trembling so with
fright, that her poor little knees knocked together, and she had to say
something or she would have dropped in a dead faint.

“‘Oh,--oh,--so wise a creature not to know what a throne is!’ exclaimed
all the ants together in astonishment; and they ran around and around
worse than ever, till poor Brown Betty’s head spun to see them go, they
made her so giddy.

“‘It’s where the Queen Ant sits to’”--

“You said you’d call her Captain Ant,” broke in Dick.

“Oh, yes, so I did!--well, Captain Ant,” corrected Polly. “‘Well, it’s
where the Captain sits,’ said the ants all together, still running
around and around, ‘to try the prisoners.’

“‘Oh!’ said Brown Betty, her poor knees knocking together worse than
ever. Then she managed to pick up courage to ask the first thing that
came into her head. ‘How does she try them?’

“One of the hundred ants ran out from the company, and close up to
Brown Betty. ‘She is so wise,’ he said to himself, ‘I want to show her
that I am wise too.’ So he hurried up to her side. ‘Do you see that
sword hanging up there?’ he whispered; and the other ninety-nine ants
were all talking together and running about so they didn’t hear him.

“‘Where?’ asked Brown Betty, peering up above the throne. ‘I see
nothing.’

“‘Of course,’ said the ant who wanted to show how wise he was; and he
laughed softly, he was so pleased that he could tell her something new.
‘You can’t see it till I tell you where it is, so I am wiser than you.
Well, when the Queen has that in her hand, she can do anything she
pleases,--it all comes to pass. It hangs just back of the throne, at
the top. Now, don’t you think I am wise?’

“Brown Betty’s heart gave a great jump. ‘Oh, sir!’ she cried, ‘what a
wonderful creature you are!’ which so delighted the ant, that he ran
round and round her sixty times without stopping, talking to himself
all the while; ‘She says I’m a wonderful creature.’

“All this time Brown Betty was thinking how she could get up into that
throne; and presently she said as loud as she could, ‘One of the most
wonderful places that ever I was in is this very spot. But I must sit
on that throne before I can say it is _the_ most wonderful place,’ she
added boldly, while her poor knees shook and knocked so together she
thought she should die.

“‘She must say it is _the_ most wonderful place she was ever in,’
declared the company of ants in consternation, ‘else Captain Ant will
have our heads off when we carry her back;’ and they ran round and
round her worse than ever, saying this over all the time.

“At last they all stopped and swarmed around her, keeping her in the
middle. ‘Will you say “This is _the_ most wonderful place I was ever
in,” if we let you get up in the throne?’ they cried at her.

“‘I will,’ promised Brown Betty as quick as a flash. So they opened
their ranks; and before she could think twice, there she was up in the
throne, and looking down into their faces. But how to get hold of the
sword, she didn’t know.”

“O Polly, do let her get that sword!” cried little Dick in great
distress. “Please show her how. Please hurry, Polly, and show her how
quick.”

“And there she was, looking down into their faces, and she knew she
must hurry and say the words she had promised, and then get down; and
she was at her wits’ end to know what to do.”

“Please hurry, and show her how quick,” begged little Dick, his knees
knocking together.

“‘What a wonderful top to that throne!’ cried Brown Betty; ‘I must see
that first;’ and as quickly as she said the words, up she ran with all
speed to the very tip of the throne spread over her head. The wise ant
who had told her of the sword, just then screamed out, ‘Hold her back!’
but it was too late; Brown Betty’s little bits of eyes were keen and
sharp; there was the sword, hanging before her; and in a second it was
in her mouth, and she was waving it over the hundred ants.

“‘Stop where you are!’ she screamed at them, ‘or I’ll cut your heads
off!’ and not a single ant moved.”

“She killed them all, she killed them!” piped Dicky in the most joyful
tone; and springing to his feet he danced all over the dressing-room,
singing, “Brown Betty killed them all!”

“Oh, no, she didn’t!” said Polly, as soon as she could make herself
heard.

“She didn’t kill them!” exclaimed little Dick, coming to a dead stop in
amazement.

“Oh, no! of course not,” said Polly; “Brown Betty wouldn’t do such a
cruel thing, if she could get away and help the other brown bug off
without hurting them. She just slipped down from the throne, waving her
sword at them, and telling them she would cut their heads off if they
stirred; but they couldn’t, you know; then she slammed the door of the
Hall of Justice tight to, and locked them all in.”

“That was worse,” said Dicky, coming up quite close to her.

“Oh! some of the other ants would come by and by, to look for them,”
said Polly comfortingly, “and let them out. So down the long corridor
she ran with the Captain’s sword in her mouth, till she reached the
cranny where the other brown bug was tied.

“‘Stop crying!’ she commanded; and with one flash of the sword, she
snipped the chain everywhere it was fastened. ‘Now come on;’ and she
dragged the prisoner out. And away they went, Brown Betty waving the
sword high; for she didn’t know when she would meet any ants, and she
must be ready to keep them off.

“‘You’ve been here longer than I,’ she cried to the other brown bug;
‘don’t you know some way out?’

“‘Let me stop and think,’ begged the other brown bug; ‘you hurry me so
I can’t think of anything.’ So Brown Betty pulled her into a little
cubby-hole, they were racing by, in the corridor, while she stood on
guard, still waving the Captain’s sword.

“‘I will give you till I can count ten,’ she said.
‘One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight’”--

“Oh, dear!” groaned little Dick.

“‘Nine--ten’--

“‘Straight ahead! turn to your right!’ screamed the other brown bug;
and out into the long corridor they stepped once more, and ran like
lightning; and then, after awhile, ‘Turn!’ she said; ‘I heard them say
that they had built a secret way;’ and there was a little narrow slit
of a way, down which they turned; and they turned, and they turned,
till finally after they had got through turning, all of a sudden out it
came into the green grass; and, don’t you think, right around the door,
only they didn’t see it, it was so covered with a clump of leaves, were
six little, wee, tiny brown bugs, all crying and screaming and rubbing
their eyes for their mammy, and there she was right in their midst.”

“O Polly! was it Brown Betty’s home she got to?” screamed little Dick,
throwing his arms around her, his cheeks aflame.

“Yes,” said Polly, “it truly was; and Brown Betty would never have
found it at all if she hadn’t gone back to save the other brown bug.”

“And what did she do with the Captain’s sword?” at last asked Dicky,
coming out of his entrancement.

“I don’t know,” said Polly; “but here come the boys, Dicky.”




XXV.

THE SILLY LITTLE BROOK.


“Please, Polly,” entreated Phronsie, pulling Polly’s gown gently.

“O Pet! there isn’t time,” said Polly hastily, “to tell you a story
now. Why, Mamsie will call us in a quarter of an hour.”

“Just the ‘Silly Little Brook,’” pleaded Phronsie, folding her hands.

“Why, you’ve heard that fifty thousand times,” said Polly; “oh,--oh!
don’t ask for that.” She gave a long yawn, and flew back to the table.
“Where is that pink embroidery silk Auntie gave me? Now I’ll try that
new stitch.”

“Here ’tis,” said Phronsie, getting down on the floor, and spying it
where it had trailed off on the table-cloth; and she quickly brought it
up in her hand.

“Oh, that’s good!” exclaimed Polly in great satisfaction, with one eye
on the French mantel clock. “Now, if I had to hunt for that tiresome
pink silk, the whole quarter of an hour would be gone; and I must try
this rosebud to show to Auntie Whitney.” She seized her embroidery
work, huddling up silks and thimble, and all, and ran to ensconce
herself in a cosey corner of the library sofa, humming softly to
herself the last piece of music Monsieur had given to her.

“I might have a _piece_ of the ‘Silly Little Brook,’” said Phronsie,
standing quite still by the table.

“What is it?” cried Polly, coming out from the trills and runs, to
stare at her. “Oh, that story! I forgot all about it, Phronsie. Yes,
indeed, you shall have it.” And a remorseful wave made her cheek rosy
red. “I’m a selfish little pig, Phronsie. Come over, and I’ll tell it
right away.”

“You’re not a little pig,” said Phronsie, hurrying over to the sofa to
tuck herself away in a blissful frame of mind close to Polly; “and I am
so glad you are going to tell it, and please begin right off, Polly,”
all in one breath.

“Yes, indeed, I will,” said Polly with a sorry little twinge for the
minutes lost. “Well, you know the Silly Little Brook was not our
Cherry Brook,” she began, well knowing that fact must usher in the
story.

“It was not our Cherry Brook,” repeated Phronsie distinctly, and
smoothing down her white apron, “because our Cherry Brook was a nice
brook, and didn’t do silly things.”

“That’s so,” assented Polly, wondering if she was making her rosebud
pink enough; “well, one day, quite early in the morning, when the sun
was peeping over the top of a high mountain”--

“Tell how he peeped over, please, Polly,” begged Phronsie, who dearly
loved to have Polly act out her stories.

So Polly laid down her rosebud, thimble, and all, in Phronsie’s lap,
and got up and told it over again, to Phronsie’s intense satisfaction;
then she hopped back to her embroidery work.

“And at the same time the Silly Little Brook awoke, and opened its eyes
to the sun and the world. ‘Oh! how do you do?’ said the Sun, laughing
as the Silly Little Brook blinked its eyes at him.

“‘Who are you?’ asked the Silly Little Brook; ‘I never saw you before.’

“‘Of course not,’ said the Sun, laughing worse than ever, ‘because you
have never been awake before. Come, now, it is time for you to get to
work; you’ve been a long time asleep. Look back of you.’

“The Silly Little Brook did just as the Sun told her, and looked back
of her. ‘I don’t see anything,’ she said, ‘except a black hole in the
ground.’

“‘Of course you don’t,’ said the Sun, ‘because that’s all there is to
see. You’ve just come out of that hole, where you’ve been asleep all
your life. Now look ahead!’

“The Sun said this so loud, and stared at her face so long, that the
Silly Little Brook began to feel quite uncomfortable; so she winked and
blinked and said nothing.

“‘Look ahead,’ commanded the Sun sharply. ‘Oh, you silly, stupid,
little thing!’ And this time she obeyed; and there was a tiny, wee,
little stream of clear, white water trickling away like a thread down
the mountain.”

“It was the Silly Little Brook,” cried Phronsie, clapping her hands in
glee, just as if she hadn’t heard the story time and again.

“Yes,” said Polly, bobbing her head, and setting in quick stitches,
“so it was. ‘Now hurry up!’ said the Sun; by this time he was very
fierce, for his face had been getting rounder and bigger every minute,
‘and set to work, for you have a great deal to do. Be a useful little
brook, and don’t stop on your way, and I shall be glad that you woke
up. Good-day!’ And the Silly Little Brook felt her feet give way before
her, and in a minute she was slipping and sliding down, down, the
mountain side.

“‘I’m not going to be sent down in this fashion,’ she grumbled as soon
as she could catch her breath, while she rested a bit in a hollow. ‘I
shall choose my way, and what I’ll do; and I’m not going to work all
the time either, and that cross old Sun needn’t think he can command me
to do it. I’m going to play as much as I want to.’ With that she rested
in the hollow all that day, and the next, and the next.”

Phronsie shook her yellow head mournfully, as one who knows a sorrowful
tale too well.

[Illustration: Phronsie shook her yellow head mournfully.]

“The first day,” said Polly, hurrying on, “the birds came to see the
Silly Little Brook; and they sang sweet songs over her head, and they
told her pretty stories, and they dipped their beaks in her clear
little pool of water in the hollow; and the Silly Little Brook said to
herself, ‘Oh, what a lovely time this is! How good it was for me that
I didn’t mind what the cross old Sun said to me when he told me not to
stop. Forsooth! I shall stop here as long as I want to.’”

“What does for--what is it, Polly,--mean?” asked Phronsie who always
asked this question at this particular stage of the story.

“Oh, it doesn’t mean anything!” said Polly carelessly.

“Then, why did she say it?” persisted Phronsie.

“Oh, because it sounded nice!” said Polly, twitching her pink silk
thread out to replace it with a green one to begin on the calyx;
“people have to say things sometimes that don’t mean anything--in a
story.”

“Do they?” said Phronsie with wondering eyes.

“Well, she did any way,” said Polly; “so she said ‘Forsooth!’ and
tossed her head, and immediately she felt very big and grand. And the
next day the birds came, and everything was lovely, and the Silly
Little Brook went to sleep at night, and dreamed of all sorts of
beautiful things. But the day after, she looked up, and saw to her
astonishment a flock of birds, that was whirring along over the tip
of the mountain-side, pause when they got to her, and look down; then
they whispered together, and presently off they flew, chattering, ‘Oh,
no--no; we’ll not stop there!’

“What to make of it the Silly Little Brook did not know; she only
tossed her head, and grew angrier and angrier, and said she didn’t
care. But she went to sleep sobbing as hard as she could that night;
and her pillow, a clump of moss, was wet with tears.”

Phronsie moved uneasily, but said not a word.

“At last, as morning broke, the Silly Little Brook heard a voice close
to her ear say, ‘O dear Brook, wake up! I have something to say to
you;’ and there was Robin Redbreast.”

“I am so glad he has come, Polly,” ejaculated Phronsie in relief.

“The Silly Little Brook at that opened her eyes. ‘What is it?’ she
asked sadly.

“‘Don’t you know why the birds are flying over your head, to seek other
streams, without so much as giving you a gentle word,--and no one
remains to tell you the truth but me?’ asked Robin.

“‘No, I don’t!’ said the Silly Little Brook; ‘tell me, Robin.’

“‘Look for yourself,’ said Robin Redbreast.

“So the Silly Little Brook turned her eyes to look at herself in the
little hollow where she had rested, and lo and behold, instead of the
clear, white water with the shade just like the violets in our woods
at Badgertown, you know, Phronsie,” and Polly’s hands with their work
dropped to her lap, “why”--

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Phronsie with a small sigh, hearing which,
Polly picked up her work again and hurried on.

“Why, there was a dark, dirty pool of water with a little green scum
coming all over the top of it.

“‘Oh, Horrors!’ screamed the Silly Little Brook, ‘why, where have I
gone? That isn’t my little Brook.’

“‘Yes it is,’ said Robin, shaking his head sadly; ‘you’re turned into
this hateful thing because you staid still. O dear Brook! why didn’t
you obey the good Sun, and go on?’

“‘I will now,’ said the Silly Little Brook, bursting into a torrent
of tears; and she tried to start. But her feet were all tangled up in
a mess of leaves and green things that weren’t nice, and she couldn’t
stir a step.”

Phronsie here moved uneasily again, but waited for Polly to go on.

“‘I’ll help you,’ said Robin Redbreast quickly; and, jumping down, he
picked patiently all the sticks and leaves he could in his bill, and
carried them out of the way of the Silly Little Brook when she should
once more start to run down the mountain-side.”

“He was a nice Robin Redbreast, Polly, and I like him,” Phronsie
exclaimed joyfully.

“So he was, Pet,” Polly made haste to answer. “Well, but as fast as he
picked off the leaves and sticks out of the way of the Silly Little
Brook, ever so many others would come blowing down on her from the
trees, and choke up the path again. So at last poor Robin Redbreast had
to sit down quite tired out, and declare he could do no more.”

“Please hurry and tell it, Polly,” begged Phronsie, pulling her sleeve,
for Polly dearly loved to stop a bit in the most impressive spots.

“Well, and then the Silly Little Brook began to sob and to scream
louder than ever; and the sticks and leaves flew around her thick and
fast, for it was a very windy day; and the birds flew over her head,
never so much as giving her a glance; and it was very dreadful indeed,”
said Polly, holding up her embroidery at arm’s length to see if the
calyx was beginning to look exactly as if the rosebud were just picked
from the garden.

“Please hurry,” begged Phronsie, pulling her sleeve again.

“So I will,” said Polly; “I think that is just as near right as I can
get it, although it doesn’t look like a real rose,” she sighed; “but
you must let me stop once in a while, child, for the story sounds
better.”

“But I want the Silly Little Brook to stop crying and get out,” said
Phronsie in gentle haste.

“Well, so I will let her out, you’ll see,” promised Polly, hurrying on
to set in more green stitches, determined, since she couldn’t make it
like a real rose from Grandpapa’s garden, she would have it as good a
one as possible.

“‘I shall die here,’ mourned the Silly Little Brook; and the wind in
the trees sobbed over her, ‘She will die there,’ until Robin Redbreast
let his head droop on his pretty red bosom.”

“Please hurry, Polly,” said Phronsie pleadingly, and there were tears
in the brown eyes.

“But suddenly up jumped Robin,” cried Polly, casting aside her
embroidery on the sofa; and suiting the action to the word, she sprang
to her feet and waved her arms. “And he trilled out loud and clear,
while he flapped his wings, ‘Stop your crying, dear Brook, I will go
and bring some help;’ for he had heard what the Silly Little Brook had
not been able to hear, as she was weeping so hard, the notes way up in
the sky of some little birds that he knew.”

“Polly!” exclaimed Phronsie, in great excitement, and slipping from
the sofa to plant herself in front of Polly,--still waving her arms,
and crying, “Stop your crying, dear Brook, I will go and bring some
help,”--“I love that Robin Redbreast, I do.”

“Well, we must get back to the sofa, and finish this story, or
Mamsie’ll call us before we’re ready,” laughed Polly, her arms tumbling
to her sides; and she picked up Phronsie, and in a minute there they
were in the cosey corner once more.

“So off he flew post-haste,” hurried on Polly, picking up her needle
once more to set quick stitches; “and oh! as soon as you could think,
back he came, and a whole troop of Robin Redbreasts who were on a
journey together, and there were so many of them that they picked out
every stick and leaf before the new ones had a chance to choke up the
way: and pretty soon, ‘Start now!’ they said; and the Silly Little
Brook put out her feet, and away she went slipping and sliding and
trickling and running like a mad little thing down the mountain-side.”

[Illustration: The birds and the silly little brook.]

Phronsie clapped her hands and shouted in glee.

“‘Don’t stop again,’ screamed every one of those Robin Redbreasts after
her, ‘but go on--and on--and on.’”

“Pol--_ly_!” called Mamsie over the stairs--and “Phron--_sie_! it’s
time to go down town to buy your shoes.”




XXVI.

DOWN IN THE ORCHARD.


“It was such a comfort to have an orchard,” said Polly, clasping her
hands in delight at the remembrance. “You can’t think; and we used to
have such fun out there when the work was done up”--

“How many trees were there?” asked Percy, with an eye for details.

“Oh, there weren’t any _trees_!” said Polly quickly; “there was just
one; but we played there were ever and ever so many, so we called it an
Orchard.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Percy and Van together.

“It was an apple-tree,” said Joel; “and there weren’t any apples on it
either, only we used to play there were.”

“O Joel!” exclaimed Polly, “have you forgotten? Don’t you remember one
year that we got some?”

“Mean old things!” declared Joel; “and so hard, they’d almost break
your teeth.”

“Well, you and Dave managed to eat them,” said Ben, laughing.

“Because we couldn’t get any others,” said Joel; “and they were only
about a dozen of them, I guess.”

“That was better than nothing,” said Polly. “Well, you see we did have
apples on the tree sometimes, so we could call it an orchard; and when
we had our work done, we could go out there and play. And Phronsie
could always take Seraphina and stay there ever so long, because it was
just a little way back of the kitchen-door; so you see we thought a
great deal indeed of our Orchard.”

“Tell us what you used to do out in your Orchard?” begged Van abruptly;
“every single thing.”

“Oh, dear me!” said Polly, drawing a long breath at the delightful
remembrances. “I can’t tell you all the things we used to do there,
any more than I can about all the good times we had in the dear old
kitchen.”

“There’s no use in asking the Peppers to tell all the good times they
had in The Little Brown House,” declared Jasper, with kindling eyes,
“because, you see, they just can’t do it. I know, because I’ve been
there.”

“Jappy always feels so smart because he’s been at The Little Brown
House,” exclaimed Van enviously.

“Well, why shouldn’t I?” retorted Jasper gayly. “It’s something to feel
smart over, I can tell you, to go to The Little Brown House.”

“I wish we could ever go there,” said Percy wishfully.

“Well, if you want to hear Polly tell of what we did down in our
Orchard, you would better stop talking, and let her begin,” advised Ben.

“I think so too,” laughed Jasper. “I’m as bad as the rest; but when it
comes to talking about The Little Brown House, why, I just forget and
pitch in. Now do go on, Polly; we beg your pardon;” and he shook his
head at the other boys.

“Yes, we do beg your pardon,” Percy and Van made haste to say, seeing
that Jasper had said it first.

“All right,” said Polly; “then, I’ll begin straight off, to tell you of
one nice time we had down in our Orchard. You see, Mamsie was off at
the minister’s house, helping to make over the parlor carpet, and we
really hadn’t any work to do. And, for a wonder, Ben was home, because
there was no wood for him to chop anywhere; and it was a long, hot
summer afternoon. First, we thought we’d go off to the woods, and”--

“And why didn’t you?” broke in Van, with wide eyes for the indifference
to the charms of the woods.

“Hush!” said Jasper, holding up his hand.

Percy was just going to say, “I should think you’d have gone to the
woods, and dug up moss and flowers and cunning little roots.” But
hearing Jasper’s “Hush!” he ducked involuntarily, very glad he hadn’t
spoken.

“Oh! Phronsie wasn’t very well,” said Polly; “that is, she hadn’t been,
and we knew Mamsie wouldn’t want her to walk so far. And besides, it
was just as much fun to play in our Orchard. So we all decided to go
there. Well, off we started”--

“Why, I thought you said it was just a little way back of the
kitchen-door,” said Percy surprised out of himself.

“So it was,” answered Polly; “but we played it was ever so far off; and
we walked around and around The Little Brown House, all but Phronsie,
she sat on the back-steps till we were ready to go into the Orchard;
then she got down, and we all went in together,” said Polly, with a
grand flourish as if escorting her auditors into enchanted space, big
beyond description. “Well, and don’t you think there was the greatest
surprise when we got there!”

“Oh, tell us!” begged all the Whitney boys impatiently.

“Why, Ben had run off,--after we had talked over whether we would go to
the woods or not, and we didn’t think we ought to, for Mamsie wouldn’t
like to have Phronsie walk so far,--and he had brought back some
flowers and some moss, and ever so many things.”

“That’s nice,” said Percy in a satisfied way.

“And there they were on the little stone table,” said Polly.

“Oh! did you have a stone table in your Orchard?” asked Van.

“Yes; I’ve seen it ever so many times,” said Jasper. Then he pulled
himself up laughing, “Beg pardon, Polly.”

“Ho! ho! You’re talking,” cried Van at him.

“Can’t help it,” said Jasper recklessly, “when you begin to ask about
the good times in The Little Brown House, I must talk.”

“You see,” said Polly to the Whitney boys, “we had to have a table for
our tea-parties and ever so many other things, and so Ben chose a big
stone in a field; it was Deacon Brown’s meadow, and he”--

“You said it was a field, Polly Pepper,” interrupted Percy in his most
literal way.

“Well, it was just about the same thing,” said Polly, laughing.

“Never mind him, Polly,” said Jasper; and “You never will get this
story if you keep stopping her all the time,” from Ben. So Polly
hurried on. “And Deacon Brown was just as glad as he could be, of
course, to have that big stone carried off from his meadow.”

“Why?” asked Van. “I should think all the Brown children would have
wanted it to play on.”

“Oh! there are such oceans of stones in Badgertown,” cried Polly,
lifting her hands.

“O Polly!” exclaimed Ben; “_oceans_ of stones?”

“Well, I mean such a very, very, great many,” said Polly, with the
color flooding her face, “you can’t think, boys; and they bother the
farmers dreadfully when they want to cut their grass; the poor cows
have such hard work to get their noses in between them--the stones, I
mean--in order to get anything to eat.”

“The farmers almost have to whittle off the cows’ noses for them to get
a bite,” said Ben.

“And Joel and David would pick rocks for the farmers sometimes,” said
Polly; “but that was nice, because”--

“Mean old work,” said Joel, stretching himself, “picking rocks. Didn’t
our backs ache, Dave?”

Little David twisted uneasily in his chair, unwilling to say how very
unpleasant he had found the task of picking rocks, and wishing that the
question had not been asked.

“Well,” said Polly brightly, “it was nice when the boys brought home
the fresh vegetables that the farmers would give them for picking those
rocks. You ought to have seen Mamsie’s face then!”

Joel straightened up at that, and forgot all about his aching back, and
little David was very glad he hadn’t been obliged to say anything. “So
now you see,” ran on Polly, “how very glad Deacon Brown was to give Ben
the big stone for our orchard table; so Ben tugged and tugged and”--

“And we helped; Dave and I did,” shouted Joel. “Didn’t we, Ben?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Ben heartily, “you did, both of you. I don’t
believe I could ever have brought the great thing down to the orchard
without you.” Thereupon Joel felt very big and tall, and little David
sat up as high in his chair as possible.

“Oh, it was a perfectly splendid table!” exclaimed Polly; “you can’t
think how fine it was when it was all set up under our apple-tree. It
was most flat on top; and it was as high as this, and as big as this;”
and she put out her hands, and began to measure it all off briskly.

“Ho,--that isn’t near big enough!” cried Joel, springing to her side;
“’twas as big as this;” and he executed the most remarkable series of
curves, spreading his arms to the infinite discomfort of every one in
his neighborhood.

[Illustration: “’Twas as big as this!”]

“See here!” called Ben at him, amidst the general laugh at Joel’s
table, “if you go on knocking off all our heads in this fashion, we’ll
put you out this second,--yes, sir! The idea of such a stone as that.
Why, it would have taken a pair of horses and a cart to bring it, let
alone our digging it up. O Joe!”

“I don’t care,” said Joel sturdily; “it was as big as that, anyway,”
bringing his arms in with a sudden swoop.

“Well, now, Joe,” said Jasper, “if you don’t keep quiet, we sha’n’t get
any further in this story than that table;” which had the effect of
sending Joel into his seat as quickly as he had jumped off. And Polly
began again before he had a chance to speak. “And there on the top of
the table was a big bunch of flowers; we had a tea-cup that Mamsie
had given us, because it was cracked and the handle was gone, and Ben
had put some of the flowers he brought from the woods into it; but
the rest he made up into little bunches, and laid one on every little
stone seat; for I forgot to tell you, the boys had brought five little
stones, one for each of us, so we could always have our chairs ready
for us, you know.”

“Oh, dear me!” sighed little Dick, quite overcome with longing; “how I
do wish we could have little stone seats!”

“And a stone table,” added Van enviously.

“And a whole Orchard,” finished Percy, “just like the Peppers.”

Meantime Polly was hurrying on. “Well, when we saw all those lovely
things that Ben had done,--Phronsie spied them first,--we just danced
around him, and we held our hands together tight, so he couldn’t get
out of the ring, and we all courtesied and bowed, and thanked him as
much as we could.”

“I should think you did,” said Ben, laughing.

“Then we made him take the best seat in honor of it all,” went on Polly.

“And Polly made a speech of thanks,” said Joel; “it was prime. And Ben
said ‘Much obliged for the speech.’”

“And then we set about giving our play,” said Polly quickly.

“Our what?” asked the Whitneys.

“Why, our play,” said Polly; “didn’t you know that was what we were
going to do that hot afternoon, when we decided to go out in the
Orchard? Well, I must tell you; we were going to act a little play.”

“Oh,--oh,--how fine!” exclaimed Percy and Van, while Ben cried, “It was
Polly’s play; she thought it all out.”

“Well, they helped to act it,” said Polly; “and that was best”--

“Do go on,” begged the Whitney boys; and this time Jasper said, too,
“Do go on, Polly.”

“Well, the play was ‘The Little White Rabbit and Mister Fox.’”

“Oh! oh!” exclaimed the Whitneys, while Jasper smiled approval. “Yes,
Phronsie was to be the White Rabbit, you see; we’d got an old white
bedspread Mamsie let us take for our plays; and we tied up two ends, so
they stuck up high, and those made the ears; and when she was in it,
and the paws all puckered up, she looked very nice, and”--

“And I was the White Rabbit, Jasper,” said Phronsie gravely, turning to
him.

“I know, Pet,” he said, smiling at her; “so you were, to be sure,” as
Polly hurried on.

“Well, Ben was Mister Fox, and he did look so funny,” cried Polly,
bursting into a laugh, in which Joel and David joined in the
remembrance. “You see, he had a big piece of an old fur rug that the
minister’s wife gave him one day, to carry away, because the moths had
got into it, and she didn’t want it any longer. And it made just a
splendid bear, or a wolf, or a lion, only this time it was a fox”--

“Oh, that old fur rug was fine!” exploded Joel with sparkling eyes,
breaking in. “And one time we”--but Ben pulling him down, Polly was
allowed to go on.

“Well, the first thing in the play,” said Polly briskly, “the Little
White Rabbit is fast asleep under the tree, and old Mister Fox comes
stealing up behind her, and says very softly, ‘My dear Miss Rabbit;’
and she opens her eyes and wakes up.

“‘Oh!’ she says, ‘is that you, Mister Fox?’ and he says, ‘Yes; and
won’t you come home with me and see my little teenty wee foxes?’”

“Oh! were there little foxes, Polly Pepper?” cried the Whitney boys
delightedly.

“Yes, indeed, there were,” said Polly quickly; “there were two little
foxes in a hole a little way off; they were Joel and David, you know;
they were spectators with me while Little White Rabbit was asleep, and
Mister Fox was waking her up. Then when he invited her to go and see
his little foxes, why, the boys scampered off and got into their hole.”

“Where was the hole, Polly?” asked Percy.

“Oh! we had scooped a place under the bank where the grass grew high,”
said Polly, “and it made a splendid cave whenever we wanted wild
beasts. Only to-day it was the house of the teenty wee little foxes.
Well, so then, Little White Rabbit said she would go with Mister Fox
and see his little foxes; and he gave her his hand and off he led her.”

[Illustration: The Little White Rabbit and Mister Fox.]

“O Polly! the Little White Rabbit didn’t really go with Mister Fox, did
she?” exclaimed little Dick in horror.

“Oh, yes she did, Dicky!” said Polly. Then seeing his face, she made
haste to add, “But it was Ben, you know, so she wasn’t afraid.”

“Oh! yes, it was Ben,” repeated little Dick, hugging himself in relief.

“Well, and so off they went to the hole where the teenty wee little
foxes were,” said Polly; “and the Little White Rabbit put her paw in
Mister Fox’s paw; and when they got there, Mister Fox says, ‘Now just
step down into my hole where the teenty wee little foxes are, because
you can see them so very much better.’”

“And did she, Polly? did she?” interrupted little Dick anxiously.

“Yes,” said Polly; “but the teenty little wee foxes were Joel and
David, you know; so they couldn’t hurt the Little White Rabbit.”

“Oh, yes! they were Joel and David,” said little Dick, drawing a
relieved sigh.

“Well, when Phronsie--I mean the Little White Rabbit--had stepped down
into the hole, up jumps the two teenty little foxes, and they ran; and
they ran past her, and past Mister Fox as quickly as they could, so as
to be audience, you know, because I was the man with the big gun to go
out and shoot Mister Fox, and it was time for him to do it; so Joel and
David, I mean the two teenty little wee foxes, sat down on their stone
seats, and the man with the big gun picked it up and he ran, and he ran
to the hole; and just as Mister Fox was going to eat up the Little
White Rabbit, he put his gun up to his shoulder, and _Bang!_ it went,
and over tumbled Mister Fox, and Little White Rabbit was safe!”

It was impossible to describe the excitement that now possessed the
entire group, and it was some minutes before anybody could be heard.
Then Joel cried, “Polly, tell the rest--tell the rest!”

“Oh, yes!” cried Polly with shining eyes, “the best was what came
after. What do you think we found when we all raced back--you know
I had hold of the Little White Rabbit’s paw, and Mister Fox was
scampering after?”

“Why, I thought you said when the man’s big gun went _Bang!_ Mister Fox
tumbled over dead,” cried Percy.

“Oh, yes! so he did,” said Polly coolly; “but he had to jump up, you
know, and come and be audience, because then the little foxes were
going to try to get the Little White Rabbit; and you see he had to take
their place and look on, or there wouldn’t be any spectators.”

“Oh!” said the Whitney boys.

“Yes; well, we were all three running along, Mister Fox just behind,
when Joel and David, I mean the little teenty wee foxes, came racing
over the grass. ‘O Polly Pepper!’ they screamed; ‘Come--come!’ and then
they turned and flew back. I can tell you we all ran then!”

“What was it? oh, what was it?” screamed Percy and Van and Little Dick
together.

“Why, there on the stone lay--what do you think?--a big orange, and a
bag of peanuts!”

“Oh, dear me!” cried all the Whitney boys, tumbling backward in
dreadful disappointment. “Is that all?” gasped Percy.

“All?” repeated Polly. “Why, you can’t think how perfectly splendid it
was to see that big orange, as yellow as gold, and that magnificent bag
of peanuts, standing there on that stone table. Why it seemed as if
they must have dropped right down from the little puffy white clouds
sailing above our heads, for we couldn’t imagine where they came from.
And we never thought of finishing up our play; but the Little White
Rabbit hopped out of her white skin, and Mister Fox tumbled out of
his old fur rug; and it took us all the rest of the afternoon to cut
and divide that splendid, big, yellow orange, and to count out those
magnificent peanuts, and to give them all around, except the time it
took to eat them.”

“That was best!” exclaimed Joel, smacking his lips.

“And we saved some for Mamsie,” said little Davie; “didn’t we, Polly?”

“Why, of course,” said Polly; “we all saved the best for her.”

“And Polly kept saying ‘I do wish we knew where they came from,’ every
minute or so,” said Ben.

“But we didn’t tell, did we, Dave?” said Joel, chuckling at the
remembrance.

“No,” said little David; “but I wanted to, when Polly kept trying to
find out.”

“And did you know?” cried Van, turning on him.

“Of course we did,” said Joel, puffing with importance; “we knew every
single bit of it all, because we were sitting on our stone chairs, and
we saw it all. Only Polly thought because we didn’t tell, that they’d
been put there before--while we were all at Mister Fox’s hole. But we
could keep a secret, couldn’t we, Dave?”

“Yes,” said little Davie slowly.

“It never entered our heads that you could keep still if you knew it,
Joe,” said Ben.

“Well, who did put them there?” demanded Van, bursting with impatience.

“Why, our good, dearest, and loveliest Dr. Fisher,” said Polly with
glowing cheeks; “Papa Fisher--only he wasn’t Papa Fisher, then; he was
just Dr. Fisher. Why, here he comes now!”




THE

FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS

By MARGARET SIDNEY

IN ORDER OF PUBLICATION

  Cloth   12mo   Illustrated   $1.50 each


Five Little Peppers and How they Grew.

This was an instantaneous success; it has become a genuine child
classic.


Five Little Peppers Midway.

“A perfect Cheeryble of a book.”--_Boston Herald._


Five Little Peppers Grown Up.

This shows the Five Little Peppers as “grown up,” with all the struggles
and successes of young manhood and womanhood.


Phronsie Pepper.

It is the story of Phronsie, the youngest and dearest of all the
Peppers.


The Stories Polly Pepper Told.

Wherever there exists a child or a “grown-up,” there will be a welcome
for these charming and delightful “Stories Polly Pepper told.”


The Adventures of Joel Pepper.

As bright and just as certain to be a child’s favorite as the others in
the famous series. Harum-scarum “Joey” is lovable.


Five Little Peppers Abroad.

The “Peppers Abroad” adds another most delightful book to this famous
series.


Five Little Peppers at School.

Of all the fascinating adventures and experiences of the “Peppers,”
none will surpass those contained in this volume.


Five Little Peppers and Their Friends.

The friends of the Peppers are legion and the number will be further
increased by this book.


Ben Pepper.

This story centres about Ben, “the quiet, steady-as-a-rock boy,” while
the rest of the Peppers help to make it as bright and pleasing as its
predecessors.


Five Little Peppers in the Little Brown House.

Here they all are, Ben, Polly, Joel, Phronsie, and David, in the loved
“Little Brown House,” with such happenings crowding one upon the other
as all children delightedly follow, and their elders find no less
interesting.


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON




A Little Maid of Boston Town

By MARGARET SIDNEY

  =12mo   Cloth   Illustrated by FRANK T. MERRILL   $1.50=


[Illustration]

The opening chapters introduce us to old Boston in England. Margaret
Sidney went there in 1907 and absorbed the atmosphere of Cotton
Mather’s “St. Botolph’s Town,” gathering for herself facts and
traditions. Then “St. Botolph’s Town” yields its scenic effects, and
the setting of the story is changed to Boston Town of New England.

The story is absorbing, graphic, and truly delightful, carrying one
along till it seems as if actual participation in the events had been
the lot of the reader. The same naturalness that is so conspicuous in
her famous “Pepper Books” marks this latest story of Margaret Sidney’s.
She makes characters live and speak for themselves.

    It is an inspiring, patriotic story for the young, and contains
    striking and realistic pictures of the times with which it
    deals.--_Sunday School Magazine, Nashville._

    The author presents a story, but she gives a veracious picture
    of conditions in the town of Boston during the Revolution.
    Parents who are seeking wholesome books can place this in the
    front rank with entire safety.--_Boston Globe._

    Surely Margaret Sidney deserves the gratitude of many a child,
    and grown-ups, too, for that matter, in telling in so charming,
    yet, withal, so simple a manner, of these early days in this
    country.--_Utica Observer._

    A really thrilling tale of the American Revolution. Interesting
    for both old and young.--_Minneapolis Journal._

_For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers_


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., Boston




 Transcriber’s Notes:

 --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in bold
   by “equal” signs (=bold=).

 --Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to
   follow the text that they illustrate, so the page number of the
   illustration may not match the page number in the List of
   Illustrations.

 --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

 --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

 --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

 --The Author’s em-dash style has been retained.






End of Project Gutenberg's The Stories Polly Pepper Told, by Margaret Sidney

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 49471 ***