Chapter XXVIII: The Little Stone Cupboard (4)

"They're complaining at the post office," he squealed. "You've got to give me your bag. Folks can't get their letters. Give me the bag." He thrust out both hands.

Joel turned on him in a fury,

"You aren't going to have my bag," he screamed.

"I am, too; you're so slow, and don't give out the letters," said Van, delighted to find some chance to get the best of Joel, and quite important to be sent with a message to such an effect.

"You shan't either; I ain't slow," cried Joel, answering both statements at once, and whirling around in an endeavor to keep the bag at his back. But Van flew for it, disdaining to waste more time over arguments.

Candace stretched out a large, black hand. "See here, now, Mas'r Van, leggo dat bag." She seized him by the jacket collar with such a grip that he dismissed all thoughts of the mail bag, his one concern now being to get free from Candace.

"Ow!" he screamed, wriggling violently. "I don't want the mail bag; let me go, Candace, do!"

"See," cried little Dick, half across the lawn, to a merry party of ladies and gentlemen, who turned to follow the pointing of the small finger toward Candace and her capture.

"Oh, let me go," cried Van, very red in the face at this, and trying to duck behind her big figure, "_please,_ Candace."

"Let him go," begged Joel, just as much distressed; "he won't touch the bag, I don't believe, again, Candace."

"Oh, I won't, I won't," promised Van wildly. "I don't want the bag; do let me go, Candace."

"Yer see, Mas'r Joel was a-helpin' me," said Candace, slowly releasing Van's jacket collar, "an' 'twarn't none 'o his fault dat he stopped kerryin' de letters." But Van was off from under her open fingers and shot across the green in the opposite direction from little Dick and his party.

"Now I'll take my dolls to de ladies," observed Candace, bundling them up in her clean, checked apron. She sent a satisfied glance after Joel, making quick time toward the post office, then waddled off.

"Boy!" called a fine, imperious voice, as Joel dashed by a group of ladies and gentlemen. As there wasn't any other boy in sight, he might be supposed to be the one wanted; but Joel by this time was frantic to get to the post office, and with his mind filled with mortification and distress at his delay from his duty, he paid no heed to the call, now repeated more insistently.

"It's a lady," then said Joel to himself, "so I must go back. Oh, dear me!" He wheeled abruptly, and, hot and red-faced, plunged up to the group.

"What is it, ma'am?" Then he saw to his disgust that it was Mrs. Chatterton. She was surrounded by friends whom she had met abroad.

"Why didn't you come when I bade you?" she exclaimed arrogantly. "Don't you know it's your place to serve me?"

"No, ma'am," said Joel bluntly, his black eyes fixed on her face. One or two of the gentlemen turned aside with a laugh.

"What, you little beggar!" Mrs. Chatterton said it between her teeth, furious at the amusement of her friends, but Joel heard.

"I'm not a beggar," he declared hotly, and squaring his shoulders. By this time he forgot all about the mail bag. "And you haven't any right to say so"--with flashing eyes.

Mrs. Chatterton, now seeing him worked up, recovered herself and smiled sweetly. She leaned back in her garden chair and swung her parasol daintily back and forth.

"Oh, yes, you are," she declared; "we all know it, so there is no use in your denying it. Well, you get us some ices and be quick about it." She dismissed him with a wave of her beautiful arm, in its flowing, lace drapery.

But Joel did not budge.

"You don't know it." He swept the whole group with his black eyes. "It isn't as she says, is it?"

"No," said one of the gentlemen who had laughed, whirling around to bring a very sharp pair of eyes on Joel's face, "it isn't, my boy."

"Well, I must say," protested Mrs. Chatterton, an angry light coming into her cold eyes, and turning around on him sharply, "that this isn't very friendly in you, Mr. Vandeusen, to pit that upstart boy against me. Now there will be no managing him hereafter."

"Well, but, Mrs. Chatterton," broke in one of the other gentlemen, in a propitiatory voice, and leaning over her chair, Mr. Vandeusen turning calmly on his heel to survey the distant lawns through his monocle, "a beggar, don't you know--well, it isn't the pleasantest thing in the world to be called that, don't you know?"

"Particularly when one isn't a beggar," said a young lady hotly. Then she turned to Joel and laid a hand on his arm. "Don't you mind it," she said.

"And as for you, Miss Tresor, I should consider it wiser for you to be silent." Mrs. Chatterton turned on her with venom. "What do you know about these miserable Peppers that infest my cousin's house, pray tell?"

"I like them," declared Miss Tresor decidedly, not turning her head. "Don't mind it, my lad."

"I don't, now," said Joel. Then the gentlemen laughed again.

"Oh, I must go." All his long neglect of his letter-carrier duties, made so much worse by this delay, now surged over him. He raised his chubby face, over which a smile ran, and bounded off.

"Isn't he a dear!" exclaimed Miss Tresor impulsively.

"Come away, Emily," begged another young lady, seizing Miss Tresor's arm, "the old cat is quite furious; just look at her face."

"We'll leave her to mamma's tender mercies," said Emily carelessly, "she knows how to handle her. Do you remember that scene, Elinor, at Geneva?"

"Don't I!" laughed Elinor, as they sauntered off.

Well, by the time that six o'clock came, there wasn't so much as a scrap of a letter left in Jasper's post office, but, instead, a box crammed full of silver pieces and banknotes. And Miss Mary Taylor and Mr. Hamilton Dyce, and some other young ladies and gentlemen whom they drilled into the service, shut themselves up in the library and wrote as fast as ever they could make their pens fly over the paper, till little white piles appeared on the table. And Percy and Joel and Van and the other boys would rush in for these same piles to put them in the post office, to earn more money, to go into the big box. So back and forth ran these letter carriers, until even Miss Mary threw down her pen.

"I can't write another word," she cried. "I've exhausted everything I can think of. I don't want to see another letter!"

And then a card was put up outside the Wistaria arbor, "Post Office Closed." And everybody who still had money, was anxious to spend it before going home; so it was just lavished on the flower-bowers, the fancy-work table, and the candy shop.

And then, when there wasn't anything more to be bought or sold, the bands moved down nearer to the center of the big lawn, making the gay little groups all move back, leaving a broad, smooth surface, for the affair was to end in dancing on the green.

Meanwhile Grandpapa was gallantly offering his arm to Madam Dyce, and leading her up to an esplanade on the upper terrace, and, word being spread about that all the guests were expected to follow, there they found seats and little tables and a bevy of waiters to serve a delicious supper. And here the dancing on the green below by the young people could be seen in all its gayety, the setting sun casting bright gleams upon the merry scene.

"Dear me! shouldn't you think those young people would be tired enough after all they have worked," observed the old gentleman, leaning back in his comfortable chair, "to sit still and take it easy with us here?"

"No, indeed!" exclaimed Madam Dyce, "my old feet are actually twitching under my gown to dance too."

"In that case," observed old Mr. King most gallantly, "let me lead you down, and will you give me the honor?" He bent his white hair to the level of her hand.

"No, indeed," laughed Madam Dyce; "I will leave the field for the young people. But it carries me back to my youth, when you and I did dance many a time together, Horatio."

"Did we not?" laughed Grandpapa, too. And then up came some merry groups, tired of dancing, after some supper, when down they would go again, fortified and refreshed, to begin it all over once more. At last, even the lingering ones were obliged to say good-bye. The evening had shut in and the brilliant garden party was a thing of the past. The King household was resting and talking it all over on the spacious veranda, luxurious in its cushions and rugs, its easy-chairs and hammocks.

"Oh, it has been so perfectly beatific!" exclaimed Polly, in a rapture. She was curled up on the top step, her head in Grandpapa's lap, who was ensconced in a big chair with Phronsie's tired little face snuggled up on his breast. "Hasn't it, Alexia?" For Alexia was going to stay over night.

"Oh, my!" Alexia gave a sigh and squeezed Polly's hand. "I never had such a good time in all my life, Polly Pepper," she declared. "The poor children won't begin to get the fun out of it that we've had."

"Oh, those dear poor children!" exclaimed Polly, stretching out her toes, which now began to ache dreadfully; "just think how perfectly lovely it's going to be for them all summer, Alexia."

Joel caught the last words. He poked up his head from one of the hammocks.

"Well, I guess Mr. Cabot has helped a poor child to go into the country," he cried, in a pleased tone.

"I guess everybody has helped," observed Ben, "the way your letters went, Jasper! Who would think so many could have been sold!"

Jasper stopped pulling Prince's ears.

"Didn't they go!" he cried, in huge satisfaction.

"I guess you were glad to get that big bill, Jasper," shouted Joel. "My, wasn't he good to send it!"

"Eh?" asked Jasper. Everybody was chatting and laughing, so it wasn't strange that things couldn't be heard the first time. So Joel shouted it again, glad to be allowed to scream such a splendid contribution over and over. "The big bill, wasn't it prime, Jasper!"

"What are you talking about, Joe?" cried Jasper, stopping his play with Prince, as he saw Joel was terribly in earnest over something.

"Why, the big bill I gave you, that Mr. Cabot sent. Hurrah! Wasn't it fine!" Joel kicked up his heels and emitted a whistle that made Polly clap her hands over her ears.

"What big bill?" exclaimed Jasper. "What on earth are you talking about, Joe?"

Joel tumbled out of the hammock and took long leaps across the piazza floor, which landed him in front of Jasper.

"Why, that ten-dollar bill I gave you that Mr. Cabot sent to the post office," he said, in a breath.

"You didn't give me any ten-dollar bill," said Jasper, all in a puzzle; "you've been dreaming, Joe."

"I--I laid it down right by you." Joe could only gasp the words now.

"I didn't see it," said Jasper.

X

TROUBLE FOR JOEL

There was an awful pause, for everybody caught the last words. Joel slid to the floor in a little heap. Mrs. Chatterton spoke up quickly.

"It's easy enough to see where it went," and she gave a little laugh.

"Come on, Joe." Jasper sprang up and shook Joel's arm. "We'll go and hunt for it."

"I'll go, too." Van and Percy screamed it together. Now that any trouble had come to Joel, each vied with the other to see which could work the faster to help matters.

"I laid it--right down. Oh, dear me!" Joel was pretty far gone in distress by this time, and blubbered miserably, as they all raced across the greensward, Polly and Alexia following swiftly. "Hold on there, James," ordered Jasper, to one of the three men busy dismantling the post office of its improvised trimmings of pine branches.

"Eh--eh, sor? Stop, boys," said James to the workmen within the arbor.

"We have lost something," panted Jasper, as the whole group precipitated themselves up to the spot.

"Is that so, sor?" said James, in great concern. "Well, if I'd 'a' known it, I'd 'a' kept a sharp eye out for it, sor." Polly and Alexia were already in the arbor in the thickest of the green branches scattered over the floor, and the boys were picking and pulling wildly, everywhere a banknote could be supposed to hide. "What was it, sor?"

"A banknote," said Jasper, down on his knees, prowling over the floor with both hands, while Joel, who could scarcely see for the tears that streamed down his chubby cheeks, searched desperately on all sides.

"Is that so, sor?" said James, in great distress. "Well now, that's too bad. We've taken off two loads already, sor."

"Where have you put them?" demanded Jasper, springing to his feet.

"Down in the dump, sor."

"We must look that over," said Jasper decidedly. "Send your men with lanterns; don't touch a single thing here, James, I'll come back," and he sprang off.

"No, no, sor," said James, touching his cap. "Now, boys," to the workmen, "you can leave this here; get your lanterns and help the master."

"All right," said the men.

"Polly, you and Alexia keep on hunting, won't you?" called Jasper over his shoulder, as the boys flew off.

"Yes, we will," called back Polly, who would very much have preferred the pleasures of "the dump," a big dell in process of filling up with just such debris as had now been added.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Alexia discontentedly, "now we're mewed up here when we might be in that dear old sweet dump, Polly Pepper; and all because we're girls."

"Well, we can't help it," said Polly, with a sigh, who wished very much sometimes that she might be a boy, "so we'd much better keep at work hunting for that ten-dollar bill, Alexia."

"And Joel is so dreadfully careless," said Alexia, determined to grumble at something, and poking aimlessly at the green branches scattered on the floor. "I don't suppose we'll ever find it in all this world, in such a mess."

"We must," said Polly, a little white line coming around her mouth.

"Well, we can't, so what's the use of saying that?" and Alexia gave a restful stretch to her long arms. "Oh, me! oh, my! I'm so tired, Polly Pepper!"

"You know we must find that ten-dollar bill, Alexia," repeated Polly hoarsely, working busily away for dear life.

"Well, we can't; it's perfectly hopeless--so do keep still. Just look at all this." Alexia waved her arms at the green draperies. "I'm going to pull the rest down anyway, though; that'll be fun," and she made a dash at it.

"No, no," said Polly, on her knees on the floor, "we must leave all that till Jasper comes back. Come, Alexia, help me look over these."

"Oh, bother!" cried Alexia, in great disdain, "I don't want to poke over those old things. You know yourself it's no earthly use; we'll never find it in all this world, Polly Pepper."

There was a queer little sound, and Alexia, whirling around, saw Polly Pepper in a little heap down in the middle of the green branches.

"Oh, misery! what have I done?"--rushing over to her and shaking her arms. "Oh, Polly, do get up, we _will_ find it, I'm positively sure; do get up, Polly." But Polly didn't stir.

"Oh, dear me!" wailed Alexia. "Polly, _please_ get up." She ran all around her, wringing her hands. "Oh, what did I say it for! Polly, Polly Pepper, we'll find it, as sure as anything. We can't help but find it. Polly, do get up."

She flung herself down on her knees and began to pat the white face. Polly opened her eyes and looked at her.

"What did you say such dreadful things for, Alexia?" she said reproachfully.

"Oh, I couldn't help it," exclaimed Alexia remorsefully. "There! Oh, dear me! you've scared me 'most to death, Polly Pepper. Do get up." So Polly sat straight, and Alexia fussed over her, all the while repeating, "We will find it, Polly."

"Dear me!" said Polly, "this isn't hunting for that ten-dollar bill."

"Well, what's the use?" began Alexia. "Oh, yes, of course we'll find it," she brought herself up quickly. "Now, Polly, I tell you." She sprang to her feet. "Let's clear a place in this corner"--and she rushed over to it--"and then pick up every branch and shake it, and put it over here. Then we'll know surely whether that horrid thing is on the floor or not."

"So we shall," cried Polly, getting up on her feet; "that's fine, Alexia!" And they set to work so busily they didn't hear when the boys came back from their search. But the first moment she saw Jasper's face, Polly knew that the hunt was unsuccessful, and the next minute Joel threw himself into her arms and hugged her closely.

"Oh, Polly," he sobbed, "it's gone, and it's my fault."

"Cheer up, old fellow," said Jasper, clapping him on the back; "we'll find it yet."

Van and Percy stood dismally by, knocking their heels against the arbor side, and feeling quite sure they should burst out crying in another minute, if Joel didn't stop.

Polly patted his poor head and cuddled it in her neck. "Oh, Joey, we'll find it," she said, swallowing a big lump in her throat; "don't cry, dear," while Alexia sniffed and wrung her hands, fiercely turning her back on them all.

"Now, boys," said Jasper, in his cheeriest fashion, "we'll all set to work on these vines that are left. Come on, now, and let's see who will work the fastest."

"I will," announced Van, rushing over to twitch down the green drapery that had been such a piece of work for the gardeners to put up. Percy said nothing, but set to work quietly, lifting each branch to peer under it.

"Take care," warned Jasper, pausing a minute in his own work to look over at Van's reckless fingers; "you must shake each one as you pull it down, before you throw it out on the grass, else we'll have all our work to do over again. Oh, Alexia, are you coming to help?"

"Of course I am," declared Alexia. "Oh, Van, what a piece of work you are making!"

Polly was whispering to Joel, "We ought to help," when Van gave a shout, "I've found it! I've found it!"

"Hurrah!" Jasper leapt down from the railing and plunged up in great excitement to Polly and Joel. "There, old fellow, what did I tell you?" he cried with glowing face, and clapping Joel on the back again.

"Phoh!" exclaimed Percy, in great contempt, "he hasn't, either; it's only a bit of green paper."

"I thought I had," said Van, quite crestfallen, and flinging down the dingy bit; "it looked just like it."

It was too much; and Joel, who had hopped out of Polly's lap, flung himself on the floor and cried as if his heart would break. They couldn't get him out of it, so Jasper just picked him up and marched off to the house with him to give him to Mother Fisher.

And the next morning, search as hard as they could--and everybody was hunting by that time--not a trace of the ten-dollar bill could be discovered. And Mrs. Chatterton took pains to waylay Joel in the hall or on the stairs at all possible opportunities, and ask him, with a smile at his swollen nose and eyes (for he had cried so he could hardly see), if he had found it yet. But these chances became very few, for it was Jasper's and Polly's very especial business to keep guard over Joel, and try to divert him in every way. Meantime the hunt went on. And the third day, when it became perfectly apparent to the entire household that the banknote was in such a clever hiding-place that no one could find it, Joel, his tears all gone, marched into Mr. King's writing-room and up to his big table, and without a bit of warning burst out:

"I want to sell tin!"

"Eh, what?" exclaimed the old gentleman, looking over his glasses. "What is that you are saying, Joey, my boy?"

"I want to sell tin," said Joel bluntly.

_"Want to sell tin!"_ ejaculated old Mr. King, in amazement.

"Yes, sir, just like Mr. Biggs; he got lots of money. May I, Grandpapa? Please say I may." Joel ran around the writing-table to plant himself by the old gentleman's chair.

"Oh, my goodness!" exclaimed Mr. King, leaning back in dismay, "whatever can you mean, my boy?"

"Grandpapa"--Joel laid a brown hand on the velvet morning-jacket, and brought his black eyes very close to the gentleman's face--"I've got to earn that ten dollars; I've got to, Grandpapa, 'cause I lost it." Joel's voice broke here, but he recovered it and dashed on, "And I can't do it unless you will let me sell tin. _Please,_ Grandpapa dear. Mr. Biggs used to, in Badgertown, you know, and he took me with him sometimes on his cart, so I know how; and I can sell a lot. I can wheel it in my express wagon, and--" Joel by this time was running on so glibly, under the impression that if he didn't stop, Mr. King would be induced to say yes, that the old gentleman was forced to put up his hand peremptorily.

"There, there, Joey, my boy," he said, settling his glasses that had slipped to the end of his nose, and taking Joel's hand. "Now, then, let's hear all about the matter."

And in a minute or two Joel was perched on the old gentleman's knee, and they were having the most sociable time possible. And before long Joel forgot he hadn't laughed for oh, such a long while, and lo and behold! Grandpapa said something so very funny that they both burst out into a merry peal, that rang out into the wide hall beyond.

"Joel is actually laughing," exclaimed Polly, coming soberly down the stairs; and she was so overcome by the joyful sound that she sat right down on the step. "Oh, dear me, how perfectly lovely!" she breathed, folding her hands in delight.

"Isn't it!" Jasper slipped into a seat on the step by her side. "Now everything is going to be fine when Joe can laugh!"

"Just hear him," cried Polly, pricking up her ears to catch the blissful sound, "and Grandpapa, too. Oh, Jasper!"

"I know it," said Jasper, in great satisfaction. "Father has been so pulled down because Joe took it so hard."

"Well, you see, Joel couldn't help it," cried Polly, "because it was careless, just as Mamsie said, to leave anything without handing it to the person."

"Of course," assented Jasper quickly. "Mrs. Fisher is right; but I'm sure any one is likely to do it, and Joel was in such a hurry that day, everybody pulling at him this way and that to get letters."

"I know it," said Polly, delighted to hear Joel's part taken, "and just think how he worked before, Jasper. He helped such a perfect lot getting the flower-table ready."

"He helped everywhere," declared Jasper, bringing down his hand with emphasis on his knee. "I never saw anybody work as Joe did."

"And now to think that he has lost that money!" mourned Polly, her head drooping sorrowfully over her closed hands. "Oh, dear me, Jasper!"

"But just hear him laugh," cried Jasper, springing up; "it's going to be all right now, Polly, I do believe. Come, let's go and hunt some more for the banknote."

So they both flew off from the stairs to begin the search for the money again. For no one stopped--dear me, not a bit of it!--the hunt for the hidden ten-dollar bill. Everybody but Phronsie and little Dick searched and prowled in every nook and corner where there was the least possible chance that the ten-dollar bill could be in hiding. They had both been so sleepy on the evening of the garden party when the loss had been announced, that it fell unheeded on their ears. And afterward all the household was careful to keep the bad news from them. So the two children went on in blissful unconsciousness of Joel's trouble, while the grand hunt proceeded all around them.

When Joel emerged from Grandpapa King's writing-room, he was hanging to the old gentleman's hand and looking up into his face and chattering away.

"You know it means work," said old Mr. King, looking down at him.

"I know, Grandpapa," said Joel, bobbing his stubby, black head.

"And you must keep at it," said the old gentleman decidedly, "else no pay. There's to be no dropping the job, once you take it up. If you do, you'll get no money. That's the bargain, Joe?"--with a keen glance into the chubby face.

"Oh, I will, Grandpapa, I will," declared Joel eagerly, and hopping up and down; "I'll do every single speck of the work. Now do let us hurry and get the book."

"Yes, we'll hurry, seeing our business arrangement is all settled," laughed the old gentleman. "Now, then, Joel, my boy, we'll go down-town and buy the blank book, so that I can set you to work at once," and he grasped the brown hand tightly, and away they went.

And in ten minutes everybody knew that Joel was going to make a list of all the books in a certain case in old Mr. King's writing-room, and that Grandpapa and he were already off down-town to buy a new blank book for the work. And at the end of it--oh, joy!--Joel was to have a crisp ten-dollar bill to replace the one he had lost.

XI

RACHEL

"Here she comes!" roared Mr. Tisbett. The townspeople, hurrying to Badgertown depot to see the train bearing the new little girl sent on by Mrs. Fisher to their parson's care, crowded up, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson smilingly in the center of the biggest group.

"Oh, husband, I do pity her so!" breathed the parson's wife. "Poor thing, she will be so shy and distressed!" The parson's heart gave a responsive thrill, as he craned his neck to peer here and there for their new charge. "She hasn't come. Oh, dear me!"--as a voice broke in at his elbow.

"I'm here." The words weren't much, to be sure, but the tone was wholly self-possessed, and when the parson whirled around, and Mrs. Henderson, who had been looking the other way, brought her gaze back, they saw a little girl in a dark brown suit, a brown hat under which fell smooth braids of black hair, who was regarding them with a pair of the keenest eyes they had either of them ever seen.

"Oh--oh--my child--" stammered Mr. Henderson, putting out a kind hand. "So you have come, Rachel?"

"Yes, I am Rachel," said the child, looking up into his face and laying her hand in the parson's big one; then she turned her full regard upon the minister's wife.

Mrs. Henderson was divided in her mind, for an instant, whether to kiss this self-possessed child, as she had fully arranged in her mind beforehand to do, or to let such a ceremony go by. But in a breathing space she had her arms about her, and was drawing her to her breast.

"Rachel, dear, I am so glad you have come to us."

Rachel glanced up sharply, heaved a big sigh, and when she lifted her head from Mrs. Henderson's neck, there was something bright that glistened in either eye; she brushed it off before any one could spy it, as the parson was saying:

"And now, where is your bag, child--er--Rachel, I mean?"

Rachel pointed to the end of the platform. "I'll go an' tell 'em to bring it here."

"No, no, child." The parson started briskly.

"Let us all go," said Mrs. Henderson kindly, gathering Rachel's hand up in one of hers. "Come, dear." So off they hurried, the platform's length, the farmers and their wives looking after them with the greatest interest.

"My, but ain't Mrs. Henderson glad to get a girl, though!"

"Yes, she sets by her a'ready."

"Sakes alive! I thought she was a poor child," exclaimed one woman, who was dreadfully disappointed to lose the anticipated object of charity.

"So she is," cried another--"as poor as Job's turkey, but Mr. King has dressed her up, you know, an' he's goin' to edicate her, too."

"Well, she'll pay for it, I reckon. My! she looks smart, even the back of her!"

And before very long, Rachel had been inducted into her room, a pretty little one under the eaves, neat as a pin in blue-and-white chintz covering, around which she had given a swift glance of approval. And now she was down in the parsonage kitchen, in a calico gown and checked apron; her own new brown ribbons having been taken off from her braids, rolled up carefully, and laid in the top drawer, the common, every-day ones taking their places.

Peletiah and Ezekiel were each in a corner of the kitchen, with their pale blue eyes riveted on her.

"Well, dear," Mrs. Henderson greeted her kindly, "you have changed your gown very quickly."

A tall, square-shouldered woman stalked in from the little entry.

"Oh, Jerusha," exclaimed Mrs. Henderson pleasantly, "this is the little girl that Mrs. Fisher sent us. Rachel, go up and speak to Miss Jerusha."

Rachel went over obediently and put out her hand, which the parson's sister didn't seem to see. Instead, she drew herself up stiffer than ever, and stared at the child.

"Ah, well, I hope she won't forget that she's very poor, and that you've taken her out of pity," said Miss Jerusha.

Rachel started back as if shot, and her black eyes flashed. "I ain't poor," she screamed. "I ain't goin' to be pitied."

"Yes, you are, too," declared Miss Jerusha, quite pleased at the effect of her words, and telling off each syllable by bringing one set of bony fingers down on the other emphatically; "in fact, you're a beggar, and my brother----"

"I ain't, ain't, ain't!" screamed Rachel shrilly, and, flinging herself on her face on the floor, she flapped her feet up and down and writhed in distress. "I want to go home!" she sobbed.

The boys, for once in their lives, actually started, and presently they were across the kitchen, to their mother, kneeling by Rachel's side.

"Don't let her go," they said together.

"She isn't going," said Mrs. Henderson, smoothing the shaking shoulders, but Rachel screamed on.

"Dear me!" The parson hurried in at the uproar, his glasses set up on his forehead where his nervous fingers had pushed them. "What is the matter?"

"That poor child," answered Miss Jerusha, pointing a long finger over at the group in the middle of the kitchen, "is acting like Satan. I guess you'll repent, brother, ever bringing her here."

"'Twas Aunt Jerusha," declared Peletiah bluntly, "and I wish she'd go home."

"Hush, hush, dear," said his mother, looking up into his face.

There was an awful pause, the parson drew a long breath, then he turned to his sister.

"Jerusha," he said, "I wish you would go into the sitting-room, if you please."

"An' let you pet that beggar child," she exclaimed, in shrill scorn, but she stalked off.

Mr. Henderson went swiftly across the kitchen and knelt down by his wife.

"Rachel"--he put his hand on the little girl's head--"get directly up, my child!"

Rachel lifted her eyes, and peered about. "Has she gone--that dreadful, bad, old woman?"

"There is no one here but those who love you," said the minister. "Now, child, get directly up and sit in that chair." He indicated the one, and in a minute Rachel was perched on it, with streaming eyes. Peletiah, having started to get a towel, and in his trepidation presenting the dish-rag, the parson dried her tears on his own handkerchief.

"Now, then, that is better," he said, in satisfaction, as they all grouped around her chair.

"Rachel, there mustn't be anything of this sort--tears, I mean--again. That lady is my sister, and----"

_"Your sister!"_ screamed Rachel, precipitating herself forward on her chair in imminent danger of falling on her nose, to gaze at him in amazement.

"Yes"--a dull red flush crept over the minister's face--"and--and whatever she says, Rachel, why, you are not to mind, child."

"She ain't a-goin' to sass me," declared Rachel stoutly.

"Well, I don't believe she will again; let us hope not," said Mr. Henderson, in a worried way. "However, you are not to cry; remember that, Rachel, whatever happens," he added firmly: "you are to be happy here; this is your home, and we all love you."

"You do?" said Rachel, much amazed, looking at them all. "Oh, well, then, I'll stay." And slipping down from her chair, she seized Mrs. Henderson's apron. "What'll I do? Mrs. Fisher told me how to wash dishes. May I do 'em?"

"Yes, and the boys shall wipe them," said Mrs. Henderson, and pretty soon there was a gay little bustle in the old kitchen, the parson staying away from the writing of the sermon to see it.

But Peletiah and Ezekiel were much too slow to suit Rachel, who got far ahead of them, so she flew to the drawer in the big table where she had seen them get the dish-towels, and, helping herself, she fell to work drying some of the big pile in the drainer in the sink.

"I don't see how you can go so fast," observed Peletiah, laboriously polishing up his plate.

"Well, I don't see how you can go so slow," retorted Rachel, with deft passes of the towel over the cup. "My! I sh'd think your elbows had gone to sleep."

"They haven't gone to sleep," said Peletiah, who was always literal; and setting down his plate, half-dried, on the table, he turned over one arm to investigate.

"Of course not, you little ninny," said Rachel lightly. "I didn't----"

"Rachel, Rachel!" said the parson's wife, over by the table. She was getting her material together for baking pies, and she now added gently, "We don't call each other names, you must remember that, child."

"Oh!" said Rachel. She stopped her busy towel a minute to think, then it flapped harder and faster, to make up for lost time.

"Well, go ahead," she said to Peletiah, "and wipe your plate."

So Peletiah, letting his elbows take care of themselves, picked up his plate and set to work on its surface again; and pretty soon the dishes were all declared done, the pan and mop washed out, and hung up.

"What'll I do next?" Rachel smoothed down her apron and stood before the baking-table, a boy on either side.

"Now, boys," said Mrs. Henderson, pausing in her work of rolling out the pie crust, "I think you had better take Rachel down to see Grandma Bascom. I've told her she's coming to-day, and she's quite impatient to see her. And, Rachel, you can tell her about Mrs. Fisher and Polly and the boys. And oh, Rachel, be sure to tell her about Phronsie; she does just love that child so!"

The parson's wife leaned on the rolling-pin, and a bright color came into her face.

"I'll tell her," said Rachel, a soft gleam in her eyes, and smoothing her apron.

"And, Peletiah, go into the buttery, and get that little pat of butter done up in a cloth, and give it to Grandma. I do wish my pies were baked"--and she fell to work again--"so I could send her one."

So Peletiah went into the buttery and got the pat of butter, and the three started off. The parson stepped away from the doorway into the entry, where he had been silently watching proceedings, and went over to the window.

"Come here, Almira." He held out his hand.

She dropped her rolling-pin and ran over to his side. He drew her to him.

"See, dear," he said.

Rachel and the two boys were proceeding over the greensward leading down the road. She had one on either side; and, wonder of wonders, they were all hand in hand.

"We're going to see your Gran," said Rachel, a very sober expression settling over her thin little face.

"What?" said Peletiah.

"Your Gran; that's what your mother said."

"Oh, no, she didn't," contradicted Peletiah; "we are going to Grandma Bascom's."

"Well, that's the same thing," said Rachel; "she's your Gran, isn't she?"

"She's Grandma Bascom," repeated Peletiah stolidly.

"Oh, dear me! of course! But she's _your_ Gran, isn't she?"--her tongue fairly aching to call him "ninny" again.

"No, she isn't; she isn't any one's Gran--she's just Grandma Bascom."

"Oh!" said Rachel. Perhaps it wasn't so very bad as she feared. She would wait and see.

"She's dreadfully deaf," remarked Peletiah.

"What's that?"

"She can't hear unless you scream."

Rachel burst into a loud laugh, but it was very musical; and before they knew it, although they were very much astonished, the two boys were laughing, too, though they hadn't the least idea at what.

"I'm glad of it," announced Rachel, when she had gotten through. "I love to scream. Sometimes it seems as if I'd die if I couldn't. Don't you?"

"No, I don't," said Peletiah, "ever feel so."

"Don't _you?"_ Rachel leaned over to peer into Ezekiel's face.

"No, I don't, either," he said.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Rachel, catching her breath. "Well, let's run." And before either boy knew what was going to happen, she was hauling them along at such a mad pace as they had never before in all their lives indulged in.

The butter-pat slipped out of Peletiah's hand, gone on the wind, and landed on the roadside grass.

"Wasn't that a good one!" cried Rachel, her eyes shining, as she brought up suddenly. "Oh, my! ain't things sweet, though!"--wrinkling up her nose in delight.

"I lost the butter-pat," observed Peletiah, when he could get his breath.

"I never see anything so beautiful," Rachel was saying, over and over. Then she flung herself flat on the grass, and buried her nose in it, smelling it hungrily. "Oh, my!"

"I lost the butter-pat," observed Peletiah again, and standing over her.

"And I'm a-goin' to live here," declared Rachel, in a transport, and wriggling in the sweet clover, "if I'm good. I'm goin' to be good all the time. Yes, sir!"

"I lost the butter-pat," repeated Peletiah.

"Butter-pat?" Rachel caught the last words and sprang to her feet.

"Oh, yes, I forgot; we must hurry with the butter-pat. Come on!" and she whirled around on Peletiah. "Why, where--?" as she saw his empty hands.

"I lost the butter-pat," said Peletiah. "I've been telling you so."

"No, you haven't," contradicted Rachel flatly.

"Yes, I have," said Peletiah stolidly.

"No such thing." Rachel squared up to him, her black eyes flashing. "You haven't said a single word, you bad, wicked boy."

"Yes, I have," repeated Peletiah, ready to say it over for all time; "I've told you so a great many times."

Rachel looked at him, and put up both hands. The only thing proper to do under such circumstances was to shake him smartly, but it seemed so like attacking a granite post, and besides, he was the minister's son, and she was going to be good, else they must send her away (so Mrs. Fisher had said), so her arms flopped down to her side, and hung there dismally. And she burst out:

"Where did you lose it, you nin--? I mean--oh, dear me!--where, I say?"--frowning impatiently.

"Back there," said Peletiah, pointing down the road. "You pulled me along so, it flew out of my hand."

Rachel set her teeth together hard.

"Come on!"

She seized a hand of each boy, Ezekiel being a silent spectator all the time; and if they went fast before, this time, in retracing their steps, it might be called flying, till a little spot on the roadside grass showed the object of their search. Peletiah's breath was gone entirely by this time, and he sank down by its side without a word, his brother following suit.

"I shall carry it now," announced Rachel, gathering up the little pat, safe in its white cloth. "My! 'tain't hurt a bit" She brushed off a few marauding ants. "Come on, now!"

Peletiah struggled to his feet and gasped, "I shall carry it," and put out his hands.

"No such thing." Rachel held the butter-pat firmly in her slender, brown hand. "My! you ain't fit to carry no butter-pats--let 'em drop out of your hands. Come on!"

"I shall carry it," declared Peletiah doggedly, and bringing his pale eyes to bear on her face, while he stood still in his tracks.

"I hope you may get it," cried Rachel triumphantly. "I never see such a boy. Come on, I say." She held out her hand with authority.

"My mother said I was to carry the butter-pat, and I shall carry it," said Peletiah, putting out one hand for it, and the other behind his back.

Rachel wrinkled her brows and thought a minute.

"So she did," she said. Then she set the butter-pat in Peletiah's hand, and pinched his thumb down over it. "There, hold on to it," she said, "or you'll lose it again. Now, come on!"

The way back was conducted on slower lines, as Rachel had an anxious oversight lest the butter-pat should again be taken off on the wind, so that Peletiah and Ezekiel had a chance to recover their breath, with some degree of composure, by the time they turned down the lane to Grandma Bascom's. There she was, sitting in her big chintz-covered chair, resting after the morning's work, as they found on entering the little old kitchen.

Rachel's eyes had been getting bigger and bigger, though she had said nothing tip to this time; but when they rested on the old lady's face, under the big, frilled cap, she burst out sharply:

"Is that your Gran?"

"She isn't my Gran," replied Peletiah.

"No, she isn't," echoed Ezekiel.

"Well, is she Gran?" demanded Rachel impatiently--"anybody's Gran--just Gran? Say, is she?"

"No, she isn't Gran," said Peletiah, shaking his head of stiff, light hair.

"Oh, dear me! you said so," cried Rachel, in a high, disappointed key. "Oh, dear, dear, dear! I wish she was." And, terribly afraid she was going to cry, she marched off to the little-paned window, and twisted her fingers into knots.

"She's Grandma," said Ezekiel, walking over to her and peering around her side.

"Oh, then she is," cried Rachel, springing around. "Say"--she seized his jacket--"she's my Gran, an'----"

"Grandma, I said," repeated Ezekiel.

"Yes, yes, Grandma; well, she's mine."

"She's all our Grandma," said Ezekiel decidedly.

"Yes, yes, but she's mine, too," declared Rachel, bobbing her head decidedly. "She shall be my Gran--Grandma. I shall just take her, so there!"

"You musn't take her away," said Ezekiel, in alarm.

"I ain't goin' to; I don't want to. I'm goin' to live here always an' forever," declared Rachel firmly.

Ezekiel smiled at that in great satisfaction, and the matter being settled, Rachel skipped over to the old lady's chair, and looked steadily down into the wrinkled face.

"Go out and put the butter-pat somewhere," she said to Peletiah, who still held it in his hand, waiting to present it.

"I must give it to Grandma," he said; "my mother told me to."

"Well, you can't while she's asleep," said Rachel quickly, "so you put it somewhere--anywhere--and when she wakes up, why, you can give it to her. Do hurry--and you go and help him."

So the two boys walked off to find a place in the buttery, and quick as lightning Rachel leaned over and set a kiss on the wrinkled old cheek. If Grandma couldn't hear, she was very quick at feeling.

"Why!" She stirred uneasily in her chair, and opened her eyes.

"Who is this?" she asked, staring at the strange little girl, for although the parson's wife had told her all about the new member of the family to come that day, Grandma was so bewildered by being suddenly aroused from her sleep, she had forgotten all about it. "Hey, who is it?"

Peletiah, not having had time to put down the butter-pat, now came up and presented it with all due formality.

"But who is this little gal?" asked Grandma, as he set the butter-pat in the middle of the checked apron over her lap.

"She's Rachel," said Peletiah.

"Eh? What?" Grandma held a shaking hand behind her ear. "Speak a little louder, Peletiah; you know I'm a-growin' hard o' hearin', just a grain."

"Rachel," shouted Peletiah, as he stood still in his tracks in front of her.

"Ain't well! Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Grandma, in a tone of great concern. "What a pity!" and she turned and regarded the stranger with anxiety.

"Oh, dear me! You get away, Peletiah," commanded Rachel, brushing him aside. So Peletiah, very glad to be released, moved off, and Rachel, putting her mouth to the nodding cap-border, said very distinctly:

"Mrs. Fisher sent me to live at the minister's; I'm Rachel."

"Oh, my land o' Goshen!" exclaimed Grandma Bascom, lifting both hands in delight. "Why, I can hear you splendid. You see, I'm only a grain deaf. An' so you're that little gal. Well, I'm glad you've come, you pretty creeter, you!"

XII

DOINGS AT THE PARSONAGE

And in another minute Rachel was telling all about Mrs. Fisher and Polly and Phronsie--oh, and Joel and David--for Grandma kept interrupting and asking all sorts of questions, so that the news and messages were all tangled up together.

"Did Joel say he wanted pep'mints?" asked Grandma, in a lull.

"Oh, yes, he said yours were awful good, and he wished he had some of 'em," Rachel answered. She didn't dare take her mouth away from the cap-frill, and her feet ached dreadfully from standing still so long. But Grandma was as bright as a button, and hungry for every scrap of information.

"Land o' Goshen!" mourned Grandma, "how I wish he was comin' in now! an' I'd give him plenty." She sat still for a minute, lost in thought. Peletiah and Ezekiel had wandered off outside, where they sat under the lilac bushes, to rest after their unwonted exercise, so the hens, undisturbed, stepped over the sill of the kitchen door, and scratched and picked about to their hearts' content.

"I'll drive 'em out," said Rachel, delighted at the chance of action this would give her, and springing off.

"Take the broom," screamed Grandma after her, "and then hurry and come back and tell me some more."

So Rachel, wishing the duty could be an hour long, shooed and waved her broom wildly, and ran and raced, and the fat old hens tumbled over each other to get away. And then she came slowly back to Grandma's side, to go over again every bit she had told before. Until, looking up at the old clock on the shelf, she saw that it was one minute of twelve o'clock.

"Oh, my! I've got to go," she screamed in Grandma's ear, and without another word she dashed off and up to the lilac bushes. "Boys, come this minute." She held out both hands. "It's awful late."

"I know it," said Peletiah, with a very grieved face; "we've been waiting for you ever so long, and dinner's ready at home."

"Well, come now." She stuck her long arms out straight, and shook her fingers impatiently. "Oh, dear me--do hurry!"

"I ain't goin' to take hold of hands," declared Peletiah, edging off.

"Nor I, either," echoed Ezekiel.

"Oh, yes, you must." And without waiting for more words on the matter, Rachel seized a hand of each, and bore off the boys.

If they ran before, they flew now. But all the same they were late to dinner, and the parson and his wife and Miss Jerusha were all helped around, and had begun to eat.

"There, see what that new girl has done already," said Miss Jerusha sternly, laying down her knife and fork. "Peletiah and Ezekiel ain't ever late. Well, you'll see trouble enough with her, or I'll miss my guess."

Peletiah sank down on the upper step of the piazza, but Ezekiel crept into the kitchen, while Rachel pushed boldly up to Mrs. Henderson's chair.

"Oh, I'm awful sorry," she said. Her face was very flushed and her eyes glowed with the run.

"Ben gallivantin' off an' temptin' the boys to play," declared Miss Jerusha, with a shrewd nod of her brown front. "Oh, I know."

"We won't say any more about it now, dear," said Mrs. Henderson gently, at sight of the hot little face. "There, get into your chair, this one next to me. Where's Peletiah?"--looking about.

"Oh, I'm awful tired," wailed Ezekiel, slipping into his seat next to the parson, and he drew the back of his hand across his red face.

"Ben playing so hard," said Miss Jerusha disagreeably, "an' now you're all het up."

"I haven't played a single bit," declared Ezekiel stoutly, and with a very injured expression of countenance. "Oh, dear me, I AM so tired!" stretching his legs under the table.

"Eat your dinner, my son," said the parson, putting a liberal portion on his plate.

"Oh, dear me!" Ezekiel essayed to, but laid down his spoon. "I don't want anything, I'm so tired."

Mrs. Henderson cast an anxious glance over at him.

"No need to worry," her husband telegraphed back, going quietly on with his own dinner. Rachel had begun on hers with hungry zest, but stopped suddenly, hopped out of her chair, and raced to the door.

"Rachel!" It wasn't a loud voice, but she found herself back again and looking into Mrs. Henderson's face.

"Sit down, dear; we do not leave the table in that way."

So Rachel slipped into her seat, feeling as if all the blood in her body were in her hot cheeks.

"Now, what is it?" The parson's wife took one of the brown hands working nervously under the tablecloth. "Tell me; don't be afraid," she said softly. But Miss Jerusha heard.

"Stuff and nonsense!" she exclaimed, with a sneer. "When I was a child, there was no such coddlin' goin' on, I can tell you."

"It's Peletiah," said Rachel. "Oh, dear me! he's out on the piazza, and he must be awfully hungry. Can't I make him come in?"

"No, sit still. Husband"--the parson's wife looked down the table--"excuse me a minute." She slipped out, and in another moment in she came, and Peletiah with her.

And then Mr. Henderson told such a funny story about a monkey he had read about only just that very morning, that Ezekiel forgot there ever was such a thing as tired legs, and even Peletiah had no thoughts for that dreadful run home from Grandma Bascom's.

As for Rachel, all idea of dinner flew at once out of her head. She laid down her knife and fork and leaned forward with sparkling eyes, to catch every word. Seeing which, Mrs. Henderson burst out laughing.

"I'm afraid you are making things worse, husband," she said, "for they won't eat any dinner at all now."

"I surely am," said the parson, with another laugh, "and I thought I was going to help so much," he added ruefully.

"How you can laugh," exclaimed Miss Jerusha sourly, at the good time in progress, and sitting quite stiffly, "I don't for my part see."

"Oh, well, if you'd laugh more, it would be better for all of us, Jerusha," said her brother good-naturedly.

"I ain't a-goin' to laugh," declared Miss Jerusha, "and it's a wicked, sinful shame to set such an example before those boys, like coddlin' up that girl for keepin' them off playin'. I never see such goin's on!"

"We haven't been playing," said Peletiah stoutly.

"I told her so," said Ezekiel fretfully, seeing that his father had no more monkey stories to offer, "but she keeps saying it just the same. I wish she'd go off and play," he added vindictively.

The idea of Miss Jerusha ever having played, made Rachel turn in her chair and regard her fixedly. Then she broke out into a laugh; it was such a merry peal that presently the boys joined in, and even the parson and his wife had hard work to keep their faces straight.

"Well, if I _ever_ see such goin's on!" Miss Jerusha shoved back her chair and stalked out of the room.

"Did she ever play?" asked Rachel, when the door into the keeping-room had slammed.

"Why, yes, of course, child," said Mrs. Henderson, with a smile, "when she was a little girl."

"And was she ever a little girl?" persisted Rachel.

"Why, certainly. Now eat your dinner, Rachel."

Rachel picked up her knife and fork. When the two boys saw that she was ready to really begin on her meal, they set to on theirs.