Chapter XIV: In Doctor Fisher’s Gig 397 (3)

“_Dinner!_” screamed Joel, hopping up to his feet, and making nails fly in every direction. Little Davie sat quite still, clasping his hands silently, “Oh, are we to stay to dinner, Mrs. Blodgett?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Blodgett, her long face, with its high cheek bones, taking on a smile. “I’m going to keep you to dinner. Come, Betsey is peeling the potatoes, so you must hurry.”

“Did Mamsie say we’re to stay?” asked David, trembling with delight, so that he could hardly get to his feet.

“No,” said Mrs. Blodgett, “but I expected you to stay, only the Deacon forgot to say so, when he told Ben to bring you along to look over those nails.”

“If Mamsie didn’t say we were to stay, we can’t,” said little David, feeling the expected bliss dropping away from him at each step. Joel, cantering over the crooked stairs, hadn’t heard, and he was singing at the top of his joy, and telling everybody within hearing that they were going to stay to dinner at Mrs. Blodgett’s, as he raced into the house.

Deacon Blodgett, wiping his face on the crash towel that hung by the sink-room door, heard him as he came rushing in.

“So you be, Joel, so you be,” he cried, almost as much pleased. “Well, now, Joe, come and wash up.” He set the tin basin he had hung up on its nail, down again in the sink and pumped up some fresh water into it, as Mrs. Blodgett, with little Davie, came in.

“Where’s Ben, Pa?” asked Mrs. Blodgett. “He wasn’t in the barn.”

“I sent him up to the wood-lot,” said the Deacon; “he’ll be along at the right time. Dinner ready, Ma?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Blodgett hurried into the kitchen, where Betsey was making a terrible clatter dishing up the hot things. At the good smells, Joel plunged his face down to the tin basin, and splashed the water all over his hot cheeks and into his eyes, then put out a hand blindly for the crash towel on its nail. “Hurry up, Dave!” he cried.

“We ought not to stay,” said little Davie, huddling up to his side, the Deacon having followed Mrs. Blodgett into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Blodgett said we must,” said Joel, mopping away like everything. “Oh, what do you s’pose they’re going to have for dinner?” wrinkling up his short nose in an effort to distinguish between the delightful smells.

Little Davie tried not to smell at all, even burying his nose in one hand, while he held to Joel’s jacket with the other. “Mamsie won’t like it,” he said, when the door opened, and there was Ben, his ruddy face now quite red. “Oh, boys! I ought to have told you to go home before,” he cried, catching his breath, for he had run from the wood-lot every step of the way.

“We are going to stay to dinner,” announced Joel, boldly; “Mrs. Blodgett said so.”

“Well, you can’t,” said Ben, shortly “for Mamsie expects you home.”

Joel didn’t stop to think, but dashed wildly into the kitchen and up against Mrs. Blodgett’s big blue-checked apron. “He’s going to send us home, Ben is,” he gasped.

“What’s that?” Deacon Blodgett, catching the words, broke in. “Hey, Ben?”

“Yes, sir,” said Ben, in the doorway, with little Davie hanging to his hand, “the boys ought to go home, for Mamsie expects them.”

“Oh, let ’em sit down and eat,” said the deacon, sociably, “There, Joel, stop feeling bad, you h’ain’t got to go home. Come, Ben, set down, and here’s your chair, Davie.” He was dropping into his own, while he talked.

“No, sir,” said Ben, firmly.

It seemed as if he could never get the words out, when he saw the Deacon’s face. Maybe he wouldn’t give him any more work if he didn’t mind him; for there was a little black cloud coming on the high forehead. And Ben shivered from head to foot as he stood there.

“Set down, set down,” Deacon Blodgett, pointing with his fork, kept repeating.

But Ben shook his head, while Joel sobbed in the depths of Mrs. Blodgett’s big apron, and Davie hung helplessly to Ben’s hand.

“There, Pa, I guess I wouldn’t urge no more,” said Mrs. Blodgett, at last. “Yes, you must go,” to Joel, loosening his hold on her apron, “and some other time, maybe, I’ll ask your Ma beforehand to let you stay.”

The Deacon jabbed a potato with his fork from the big dish of smoking hot ones, and carried it to his plate without another word.

“And you can stay and eat dinner, Ben,” said Mrs. Blodgett.

“No,” said Ben, “thank you, Mrs. Blodgett, I’ve got my dinner same’s ever; Polly put it up for me. It’s in the barn.” He kept talking, hoping the Deacon would say something, but he didn’t even look up, and Ben stifled a sigh, and went out after the two boys.

And after they had started for the “Little Brown House,” Mother Pepper, not wishing them to work but half a day at a time helping Ben, he sat down on a log of wood and ate his dinner. But he didn’t enjoy it very much, for thinking of them with every mouthful.

“Well, dear me, what did make you so late?” cried Polly, as the two boys walked into the kitchen. Then she hopped out of her chair, where she sat over in the west window, pulling out basting-threads from one of the coats Mrs. Pepper had finished that morning before she went down to the parsonage to help the minister’s wife, and hurried to take out the potatoes she was keeping hot in the oven. In that way she didn’t see the two dismal little faces.

“Now, then, says I, haven’t they got hot little jackets, though!” sang Polly, running over with the two baked potatoes wrapped in an old towel; “hurry, and get into your chairs, boys, and I’ll cut you some bread.”

And she flew into the pantry. “That’s fine,” she sang, rushing out with it, when, catching sight of Joel’s face, “What _is_ the matter?” And she set the plate of bread down hard on the table, and stared at them.

“We couldn’t stay to dinner,” said Davie, as Joel, contrary to his usual custom, didn’t answer.

“_Couldn’t stay to dinner!_” echoed Polly.

“Oh, Polly!” Little Davie, finding it hard to keep up this one-sided conversation any longer, and not willing to show Joel’s part in the matter, now rushed to her, wailing, “Mamsie wouldn’t have wanted us to,” and throwing his arms about her, he burst out crying as hard as he could.

Now, all this time, Phronsie, who had come in tired from play, had eaten her dinner very early, and Polly had tucked her into the trundle bed for a long nap. So all was quite free in the old kitchen for the good talk that Polly now set up with the two boys. And she soon had one each side of her, and leaning over her lap, when, the whole story once out, she comforted and coddled them quite as much as Mother Pepper herself could have done, which is really saying a good deal. And so, although the baked potatoes, waiting on the table got very cold, the three little Peppers were bubbling over with happiness, and Joel really forgot he was hungry, until Polly sprang up, nearly upsetting the two small figures.

“Oh, my goodness me!” running over to the table and beginning to pinch the brown jackets of the potatoes, “they’re as cold as two stones.”

“I like ’em cold,” declared Joel, rushing after her, and seizing one of the potatoes. “Oh, ain’t they good!” tearing off the skin to scoop out a mouthful.

“Put in some salt, Joe, do,” said Polly. But Joel couldn’t wait for such small matters as salt, and he dug his spoon violently back and forth in the potato jacket. “I’m going to eat it, every scrap,” suiting the action to the word.

“No, no, Joe, you mustn’t,” commanded Polly, just in time, as the whole of the potato skin showed signs of rapidly disappearing.

“I’m so hungry,” cried Joel.

“Well, if you are very hungry, you can eat some bread,” said Polly, wisely, and wishing she had something nice for them after their terrible disappointment about the beautiful dinner Mrs. Blodgett had wanted to give them. But what was there? O dear me! Polly knew quite well, without looking into the cupboard, just exactly how bare she should find it.

“Now, I tell you, Joel and Davie, what I’ll do. There isn’t anything else to eat, you know, but bread. You may have as much as you want of that. I’ll tell you a story, if you’ll be good boys and eat it.--Mamsie would let me, I know,” said Polly to herself, thinking of the basting-threads not yet pulled out.

“Why, it’s the middle of the day, Polly,” said little Davie, in astonishment, for Polly never was able to leave the work that always seemed clamoring to be done, to tell stories to the children. That enjoyment had to be put off till the twilight hour, when it was too dark to see to do anything else.

“Yes, I know,” said Polly, recklessly, “but I’ll tell you one now, Mamsie would say I could, if she were here.”

“Then I want it,” said little David, happily, and reaching out his hand for a big piece of bread. And Joel began to cram down his slice as quickly as possible to get the sooner to the story which he felt quite sure would not be forthcoming until Polly saw the bread disappear, when the door opened so suddenly that they all three jumped.

Deacon Blodgett’s round face appeared. “How d’ye do, Polly?” and without further ado, he marched in, and laid a bundle on the table wrapped in old newspaper, in between the potato skins and the plate of bread. “Somethin’ Mrs. Blodgett sent, and I’ve got to go down to John Hines’s, and if you’ll let Joel and David go with me, I’ll take ’em along. They can tend to what’s in that bundle on th’ way.”

Joel had already torn off the old newspaper, little Davie quite willing to sit still and watch the proceeding.

There was disclosed a much-worn clean napkin with a red border all around it, and Joel’s frantic hands soon got this open, and there were some of the slices of beef he had smelt just before dinner in the Blodgett kitchen, and thick pieces of bread with,--really and truly there was, and plenty of it,--butter spread all over them! And at last--and didn’t Joel’s eyes stick out then, and even Davie held his breath!--two little apple turnovers tucked in at the bottom!

“They can eat those in th’ wagon,” said Deacon Blodgett, when he could be heard for the shouts sent out by Joel, and Davie’s crows of delight, “if you’ll say, ‘Yes, they can go,’ Polly.”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” cried Polly, saying it so fast, over and over, it seemed as if she were never going to stop. “Dear Mr. Blodgett, they can go, and oh, you are so good to ask them!” and it didn’t seem a minute before they were all off and she was picking up the potato skins and clearing the table neatly, as the rattle of Deacon Blodgett’s wagon wheels died away in the road.

V

BAKING DAY

“Dear me!” said Jasper, standing on tiptoe and running his head well within the old cupboard, “how perfectly fine! I wish we had one just like this at our house,” he added enviously.

“Isn’t it!” cried Polly, with sparkling eyes, quite delighted that he should so approve. “And we keep our very best dishes here.” She pointed up to a blue willow plate, and one or two cracked cups and saucers on the upper shelf.

“Good?” exclaimed Jasper, heartily; “I should say it was! I just love it all, Polly.”

“Phoo!” cried Joel, crowding in between, “that’s nothing. We’re going to have ever so many more; the shelves’ll be all rammed, crammed full.”

Little Davie who couldn’t possibly get nearer than the outside edge of the group, stared with all his might.

“What do you mean, Joel?” gasped Polly, hanging to the door of the old cupboard.

“We are,” declared Joel, delighted to see the impression he had made, and pushing his way out to the middle of the kitchen to thrust his hands in his little trousers’ pockets and strut up and down the old floor, “and they won’t be such old things neither. They’ll be spick-span new, every single one of ’em; plates and plates _and_ plates--yes, sir!”

“Joel Pepper!” exclaimed Polly, deserting Jasper and the old cupboard to rush over and seize his jacket sleeve, “what are you talking about? We aren’t ever going to have anything new.”

“We are, too,” declared Joel, and facing her.

“O dear me!” cried Polly, “what _do_ you mean?”

“We’re going to have everything new,” declared Joel, confidently.

Then he took his little brown hands out of his trousers’ pockets and waved them triumphantly around the old kitchen. “We’re going to have a sofa like the minister’s for Mamsie, and Dave and me’s going to have a table and a gimlet and some jack-knives, and--and a piano. Oh, Polly, you’re going to have a piano,” and Joel pranced about joyfully, “and our ship’s going to bring ’em!”

“_Our ship!_” echoed Polly, faintly, while Jasper ran over to this exciting centre of things, joined by little Davie. Phronsie alone remained gazing up into the old cupboard.

“Um!” nodded Joel, “and they’re coming here, and going to bring ’em. And Mirandy Peters is going to have some ships coming, too; I heard her mother tell her to wait for ’em. I did, truly, Polly, just the other day, when I went to work there, and they gave me some dinner, ’cause the dog eat mine up. And then Mrs. Peters told me to wait for it. So there, now!”

“O dear me!” cried Polly. Then she sat right down on the old floor and little Davie sank by her side. “Oh, Jappy, do tell him that folks don’t really have ships.”

“See here, Joel,” called Jasper.

But Joel, delighted that now he had explained everything to the complete satisfaction of Polly and the others, had dashed off and was now spinning around the old kitchen, whooping and shouting as if driving a pair of the most unmanageable steeds. “And I’m going to have a horse just like Mr. Beggs’s. No, it’s going to be like Mr. Tisbett’s, and,--”

“Oh, Joey,” cried little Davie, getting up from the floor to run after him, “do have it like dear Mr. Beebe’s horse; do, Joey,” he begged.

“Phoo! Mr. Beebe’s horse can’t go any,” said Joel, scornfully, slackening his speed a bit.

“But he’s so nice,” pleaded David, with tears in his eyes; “please, Joel, I’d rather have one like dear Mr. Beebe’s.”

“Well, then, I’ll give you one,” said Joel, magnificently, “but I’m going to have mine like,--no, I’ll have two,--like Mr. Tisbett’s, and I’ll have a stage and go, flapperty jickerty, down the hill, just like this,--g’lang, there, git up!”--brandishing an imaginary whip. And away Joel pranced, raising a dreadful make-believe dust, and making so much noise there was no chance for any one else to be heard. And Davie, well pleased since he was to have a horse exactly like dear Mr. Beebe’s, raced and pranced after him.

“You can’t hear yourself think,” said Jasper, laughing to see them go; “there’s no use, Polly, in trying to talk to him.”

“But just as soon as they stop a bit, oh, please, Jasper, tell him that we aren’t going to have any ships coming in,” begged Polly, clasping her hands; “it’s so very dreadful for him to be expecting them.”

“I’ll try,” nodded Jasper at her. “Don’t you be afraid, Polly, and perhaps you will sometime have new things,” and he sat down on the floor by her side.

“No,” said Polly, shaking her brown head, “we’re ever and always going to live in this Little Brown House, Jasper King, and we don’t want new things, only--” and her face fell.

“Well, you’ve got a new stove,” nodding over at it, said Jasper, cheerfully; “that’s good, Polly.”

“Isn’t it?” cried Polly, radiantly, and her cheeks grew rosy again; “dear Doctor Fisher gave us that, you know, Jasper.”

“Yes, I know,” said Jasper, who had heard the story many times, the Pepper children never tiring of telling it over. “Well, and perhaps some more things will come, Polly.”

“Oh, no,” said Polly, heaving a sigh, “they won’t, Jasper, and we don’t want them, only--” she paused again.

“Only what, Polly?” begged Jasper, quickly; “tell me, Polly, do.”

He looked so very unhappy that she hurried to say, “Mamsie ought to have a new chair to sew in.”

“I thought you were going to say, a piano,” said Jasper, abruptly.

“A piano!” cried Polly, springing to her feet. “Why, Jasper Elyot King, I’m never going to have a piano in all this world!” and her brown eyes opened their widest.

It was just at this moment that Joel paused to take breath and to let his pair of horses exactly like Mr. Tisbett’s, go up hill comfortably, and the words, “a piano” striking his ear, he threw down his reins, and plunged over to Polly.

“Oh, play for us now,” he begged, for nothing beside Polly’s stories ever gave so much joy as to hear Polly drum on the old kitchen table, running her fingers swiftly up and down along its entire length, while she hummed and sang the tune. “Play, Polly, do!” he teased.

“Oh, I can’t,” said Polly, with flushed cheeks.

“Please, Polly.” Little Davie, tired by driving a horse even exactly like dear Mr. Beebe’s, jumped off from his wagon, and added his entreaties, so Polly allowed herself to be pulled and pushed over to the old table. “Well, what shall I play?” she said. “Oh, wait, I must put the dishes away first.”

“Yes, clear off the piano,” said Joel, sticking out two ready little arms to help; “that’s Polly’s piano,” he announced, just as if stating an entirely new fact.

“No, no, Joe,” cried Polly, warningly, “I’ll do it,” and “I’ll help; oh, let me,” begged Jasper.

So the two older ones put away the pile of clean breakfast dishes left standing until the cupboard shelf--which Polly had just washed down, should be dry,--was ready for them, which now being the case, they were all neatly set in place.

“There, now, that’s all done,” said Jasper, rubbing his hands in great satisfaction. “Come, Phronsie,” and Polly started to shut the cupboard door.

“But I want to look at them,” said Phronsie, in gentle remonstrance and putting up her hand to stop Polly.

“Oh, no, Pet,” said Polly, “you’ve seen them enough; come away, child.”

“But, I haven’t seen them enough, Polly,” contradicted Phronsie, “my dear Mamsie’s dishes, and I want to look at them some more, I do.”

“Don’t you want to hear Polly play on the piano?” asked Jasper. “Come, Phronsie, she’s going to.”

“Is Polly going to play on the piano?” asked Phronsie, her hand dropping down and taking off her gaze from the old cupboard shelves.

“Yes, she is, Phronsie,” said Jasper.

“Then, I want to hear her play very much indeed,” said Phronsie, turning away from the old cupboard, “and I can look at my Mamsie’s dishes to-morrow.”

Joel, who had been clamoring for Polly to hurry and come, now set up a dreadful racket on the old table as he drummed his impatience, “I’m a soldier!” he cried. “Come on, Dave, I’m captain!”

“Oh, hurry, Polly,” cried Jasper, bursting into a laugh, “he won’t stop until you play. Hold up, there, Joe,” he shouted, “Polly’s coming.”

“So I must,” laughed Polly, “or the house will come down.”

“Will the house come down, Polly?” asked little Phronsie, anxiously, as she hurried over clinging to Jasper’s hand.

“Oh, no, Phronsie,” said Polly, quickly. “I shouldn’t have said so,” she added reproachfully.

“Dear me, it couldn’t ever come down,” declared Jasper. “Why, it’s as strong as anything. It’s going to last just forever.”

“And I’m going to live here, I am, just forever, too,” declared Phronsie, hopping over the uneven floor.

“Well, now, what shall I play?” asked Polly, with quite an air, and pushing the sleeves of her brown calico gown up further over her wrists.

“Oh, play that jiggy, wiggly piece,” said Joel, who never could remember the names of Polly’s wonderful flights of melody.

“Oh, Joel, I don’t want that to-day,” said Polly, wrinkling up her cheeks in disdain.

“That was splendid,” retorted Joel, “and I liked it when the organ man played it.”

“Did another organ man come by here?” asked Jasper, in a whisper to Polly.

“No,” said Polly, in a low voice, and her cheek turned pale at the remembrance of the dreadful time when Phronsie followed one to see the monkey.

Jasper drew a long breath of relief.

“He stopped at Mr. Beebe’s, one day when we were there, and dear Mrs. Beebe gave him five cents to play for us,” finished Polly.

“Oh!” said Jasper, quite relieved.

“And I like that best of all,” Joel was saying in a loud injured voice, “and Polly won’t play it.”

“Oh, I will, I will,” cried Polly, quite overcome with remorse, and then Jasper ran over to bring a chair and place it in front of the old table, and Polly sat down, and began with quite a flourish. And before she got through, she forgot all about how she hadn’t wanted to play that piece, and there she was singing away for dear life, and presently she ended by gay little trills and a “bang,--bang!”

“Hooray!” cried Joel, capering about. “Now play another one, and we’re going to dance. Come on, Phron!” trying to seize her hand.

“Hold on,” cried Jasper; “you’ve had your choice, now let Davie say what he’d like, Joe.”

“Yes, that’s the way to do,” said Polly, approvingly, and trying to whirl around on her piano stool, which she couldn’t do very well as it was a stiff wooden chair. “Each one just take turns and choose. But then, O dear me, we ought to have let you choose first, Jasper, ’cause you’ve come over from Hingham to spend the day with us; O dear me!” Poor Polly, who dearly loved to be hospitable, was now so mortified not to do Mamsie credit by having good manners, that the color went clear up to her brown hair, and she sat quite still in distress.

“See here,” said Jasper, quickly, “I didn’t want to choose first, for I’m not company, Polly; I’m just living in the Little Brown House to-day, and I’m your big brother.”

“Oh, oh!” screamed Joel, forgetting all about his desire to dance, and deserting Phronsie to rush over to Jasper, “are you our big brother, Jappy? are you really?”

“Yes,” said Jasper, eagerly, “I am; that is, if you’ll all have me,” and his gray eyes shone.

“Oh, we will, we will,” screamed Joel. “Oh, Dave, Jappy’s our big brother. Now we’ve got two.”

And presently, the three younger little Peppers were clinging to him, for Phronsie was soon acquainted with the blissful news by Davie screaming it rapturously into her ear. And Polly hopped off from her piano stool to seize Jasper’s hand, declaring, “Oh, how fine! Jappy’s really to be our big brother. Ben’ll be so glad,” and so the compact was signed at once.

“Well, now, we must begin and choose what Polly is to play,” said Jasper at last, when this was all settled, and feeling very fine and big to be considered one of the Little-Brown-House family; “who’s next,--Davie?”

“Yes,” said David, “I am,” and he came over to the old table, where Polly was seating herself again before her piano. “Please play that little brook piece, Polly,” he said softly.

“Oh, how nice,” said Jasper, approvingly; “what’s the name, Polly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, with rosy cheeks, and beginning to play.

“She just makes it,” said little Davie, and coming around back of Polly, to gaze up into Jasper’s face, “and then she plays it, and the water runs all over the stones; you’ll see,” and having communicated this piece of information, he hurried back to slip up close to Polly on her other side again.

“Did you make it up in your head, Polly?” cried Jasper, admiringly. “O dear me, I wish I could ever do that. All I can do is to play stupid old pieces that I learn.”

“Oh, this isn’t much, Jasper, only Davie likes it,” said Polly, all in a tremor at having Jasper find out that she made it up.

“Well, I don’t like it,” said Joel, hanging back discontentedly from the group; “it’s dreadful soft and squashing; I’d rather have something nice.”

“Look here, sir,” Jasper turned on him, “you’ve had your piece, Joe. Now I just know that I shall like this best.”

To have Jasper like the new choice best invested it at once in Joel’s mind with new interest, and he drew nearer, not taking his black eyes off once from the new big brother’s face.

And Polly, since she must play her own piece, made up in her head, remembered what Mother Pepper always said, “Do everything just the best you know how, Polly.” And so she sat quite straight, and sang away, and made her fingers run up here and there, all along the old table front, and she even put in a great many more tumbles of the water over the stones, than little Davie had ever dreamed of. And then she sat back in the old wooden chair and drew a long breath.

“O dear me!” exclaimed Jasper, excitedly, “I’d give anything, Polly Pepper, to play like that; and to think you made it up out of your own head. It’s too splendid for anything!” and his eyes shone.

“Isn’t it?” Little David ran out of his place by Polly’s side over again to Jasper. “Isn’t it, Jappy?” he cried, his blue eyes very big, and hopping up and down in front of him.

“I should say it was!” cried Jasper, taking Davie’s hands for a good spin in the middle of the floor; “it’s just too splendid for anything, Davie Pepper,” he repeated, enthusiastically.

“I like it,” said Joel, veering around. Then he ran over to the two whirling about. “He’s my big brother’s much as yours, Dave Pepper,” and he crowded in to get hold of Jasper’s hand, and spin too.

“So you shall,” declared Jasper, well pleased to be adopted into all the comradeship of the Little Brown House. “Now, then, Joe; I’ll give you a spin that is one!”

And Polly flew off from her piano stool and ran over with Phronsie for the fun, and there they all were, capering about, until, flushed and out of breath, the whole bunch of children stopped short.

“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, pushing back the little rings of brown hair from her forehead, “that was just splendid, only I’m afraid we’ve tired Phronsie to death,” throwing her arms about her.

“I’m not tired, Polly,” panted Phronsie, her cheeks very pink; “please do so some more.”

“Come, now!” cried Polly, “you mustn’t dance any more. You’re all tired out. Mamsie wouldn’t want you to.”

That Mamsie wouldn’t want her to was sufficient reason why Phronsie shouldn’t dance any more at present, so she dropped her little pink calico skirt that she had gathered up, and stood still obediently.

“I’ll tell you,” said Jasper, seeing her face, “what you might do, when you’re rested; when it’s my turn to choose a piece for Polly to play, then you can dance to it.”

Everybody shouted at that, they were so pleased to find that Phronsie was not really to be disappointed, and Phronsie, dreadfully excited, began to hop up and down, “Polly’s going to play, and I’m going to dance, I am.”

And then she chose her piece, for of course it was her turn next. And it was just what Polly and the two boys knew it would be, the goodnight song Mrs. Pepper used to croon to her baby, “Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber.”

“Oh, yes, Phronsie, I’ll play, ‘Hush, my dear,’” said Polly, who saw the words coming long before Phronsie opened her red lips. And Phronsie very gravely stood close to her side, while Polly sang it through and through; each time that she tried to stop, Phronsie would say “again” and pull Polly’s brown calico gown.

At last, Joel was worn out waiting for Polly to get through, and Davie was in a condition that was not much better, so Jasper broke in, “Now it’s my turn to choose” and the one he begged for was “Old Kentucky Home.”

“I think that’s beautiful,” said Polly, pushing back her sleeves, to begin afresh, while Phronsie, seeing that she was not to get any more “Hush, my dear,” went off to sit down on her little stool and think it all over. She was only roused by Jasper singing out, “Now, then, for your dance, Phronsie!” and there he was holding out his hand.

So Phronsie hurried off to her dance, and Polly began on the liveliest of jigs, every now and then looking over her shoulder, to be sure to keep good time; for Phronsie, who always wanted to make cheeses when very happy, would puff out, without a bit of warning, the skirt of her little pink calico gown in the very midst of the measure, and down she would sink to the old floor, to bob up and dance again.

“It’s perfectly awful to keep time to her,” said Polly, who dearly loved to be exact about things, especially with a tune.

“I know it,” said Jasper, sympathetically, “but oh, she’s so sweet!”

“Isn’t she?” cried Polly, with shining eyes, and beginning to play away with new vigor.

But at last Phronsie must be stopped, for Mamsie would surely say so if she were home. And then Polly had to hold her, as with flushed cheeks she begged to be taken up into her lap, and then the music-stool was taken away and the grand piano became an old kitchen table once more.

“And now,” said Polly, “if Ben would only come, we could have our baking, Jasper. O dear, I wish he would!”

“I’m going to watch outside,” said Joel, prancing off to the door.

“That won’t make him come any quicker,” said Jasper. “Can’t we help about something, Polly?” He wrinkled his brows and gazed around the old kitchen.

“No,” said Polly, following his gaze, “there isn’t anything to do, but--” then she stopped.

“Oh, what?” cried Jasper, eagerly, and hanging over her chair where she sat with Phronsie.

“Oh, you can’t do it,” said Polly, wishing she had bitten the end of her tongue before she had spoken.

“But we can, Polly,” insisted Jasper, “I know we can. Do tell what it is,” he begged.

“Why, Mamsie is going to ask Ben to fill the tub in the ‘Provision Room’ with water to wash to-morrow, and I’m going to help her.”

“Oh, Polly, do you wash things?” asked Jasper, looking admiringly at her fingers, now smoothing Phronsie’s yellow hair.

“Yes, indeed!” answered Polly, proudly. “I can do them real nicely, Mamsie says.” Then she blushed at her own praise and hung her head.

“Oh!” exclaimed Jasper, “how I wish I could help! Does Ben wash things, too?”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” said Polly. “You ought to see him. He ties on one of Mamsie’s aprons. Ben washes all the sheets; they’re the biggest things, you know. And he wrings them out, and then we all go outdoors and have great fun pinning them to the line. And Phronsie has a little string; haven’t you seen the hook out on the side of the woodshed? And we fasten it up for her, and she washes all her doll’s clothes. Oh, it’s such fun!” Polly clasped her hands around her knees and drew a long breath.

“You do have such good times,” said Jasper, enviously. “O dear me, and I’ve never had a sister or brother.”

Down dropped Polly’s hands, “Oh, I forgot,” she said.

“I mean a little sister, or near my own age,” corrected Jasper. “Sister Marion is just as nice as she can be,” and his gray eyes glowed. “You ought to see her, Polly; you’d love her dearly, but she’s ever so much older than I am.”

Polly regarded him sorrowfully. Then she brightened up. “Well, Mamsie will let you come here all the time you can,” she cried, meaning from this minute on to do everything she could to make a boy happy who hadn’t any sisters near his own age, nor any brothers at all. To do this nothing was so good as to let him join them in a baking frolic. “Oh, I do wish Ben would come,” she said again, for about the fifth time, just as Joel, out on the path, screamed out, “Oh, here he is!” and dashed off, Davie, as usual, at his heels to meet Ben.

Jasper was just springing over the rickety steps leading down into the “Provision Room.” “Polly,” he called, “where’s the pail to fill the tub with?” And Polly, racing after to get it for him, where it hung behind the door, of course, they didn’t either of them hear Joel’s cry nor see him run down the road with Davie. So the first thing the two knew, Ben’s face appeared. “Halloa!” he cried. “Oh, are you filling that old tub?”

“Yes,” said Polly, “we are; and now you won’t have to break your arms over it, Bensie.”

“Well, I guess I’m not going to let you fill that tub, Jasper,” said Ben, decidedly. “No, sir--ee!” and he made a lunge at the pail now in Jasper’s hand.

“And I guess I’m not going to let you have this pail,” cried Jasper, merrily, and squaring off, “No, sir--_ee_!”

And there they were going round and round in the middle of the “Provision Room,” the pail swinging wildly out from Jasper’s arm. At last, in one unlucky moment, down he tripped, and Ben rolled over him, and the pail flew off and ran away by itself.

“Hooray!” Joel and David, who had both run after Ben, now seized it together. “Let me have it,” screamed Joel. “I’m going to fill Mamsie’s tub.”

“We didn’t either of us get it, you see,” said Jasper, bursting into a laugh, and sitting still on the earthen floor. “Oh, Ben, to see your face,” and he laughed harder than ever.

“’Tisn’t worse than yours,” said Ben; “it can’t be, Jasper. Yours is dirty from top to bottom.”

“Well, that’s because you rolled me in the dirt,” said Jasper, coolly, and rubbing his face. “Well, I think we’ll need to get into the tub, instead of the clothes,” he added.

“Oh, I’ll get you a towel and the basin,” said Polly; “then you can wash your faces. Misery me! how you both look!” she exclaimed, as she ran out to get it all ready for them.

“Joe,” called Ben, as Joel and David hurried off dragging the big pail, which banged over the rickety steps, “don’t you get that water; Jasper and I are coming out for it.”

And in a minute or two, there the two boys were, all washed up, fresh and clean, out by the big barrel into which a rain-spout ran to collect the water so that Mrs. Pepper could wash the clothes, with Polly and Ben helping her.

And between them they made very quick work over filling the big tub. And then--after the hands were all washed up spick and span,--“Oh, now for the baking!” exclaimed Ben, with great satisfaction, and hanging up the towel by the sink.

“Yes, now for the baking!” they all exclaimed. And soon the old kitchen was the scene of a great excitement, till it thrilled with life in every corner. And the fire burned with clear little winks of light that seemed to say, “Go right ahead, and be as jolly as you want to, I’m with you in everything!”

And the flour bag was brought out from the old cupboard. It took two of the boys to get it, although it wasn’t a big bag by any means, nor was it anywhere near being full. It was brown flour, to be sure, but Jasper declared that was ever so much nicer than if it were white. And the little tins--they were just as clean and shining as they could be, for Polly always kept them so. Besides, she had given them an extra rubbing over that very morning to have them ready. But now, of course, they must have the dish-towel whisked over them again, to be actually sure that they were all right. Oh, the old kitchen was a very busy place, any one could see, with something for all the fingers to do. Even Phronsie was provided for in that respect, for she was polishing up the little tin biscuit cutter most carefully.

“But, dear me!” Polly stopped in the midst of all this merry bustle. “Oh, how could I forget!” Then she dashed into the bedroom and threw open the middle drawer of the old bureau, just above the one where Phronsie’s red-topped shoes were always kept. And she pulled out one of Mrs. Pepper’s clean blue-checked aprons. “Here,” as she ran back to Jasper, “I must tie it around your neck--Mamsie said so--before you began to bake.”

“That’s fine,” exclaimed Jasper, as the big apron fell down in folds almost to his feet, and Polly tied the strings around his neck. “Now, says I, you’ll see what biscuits I’m going to make!” and he brandished the rolling pin.

And then Phronsie must sit up to the table and have a small piece of dough to make little biscuits all alone by herself. And she patted the lump into shape, turning it over and over to push it here and there before she cut one out with the top of the small tin salt-shaker that Polly took off for her, and singing softly to herself all the while. This she did so many times that at last Joel looked up from his end of the table. “Look at Phron,” he cried, “she hasn’t cut one single one out yet!”

“Hush, Joe.” Polly, with a tin plate covered with small lumps of dough that were going to be the most beautiful biscuits in good time, in her hand, turned quickly as she was just going to slip them into the hot oven, and ran up against Ben. “O dear me!” as he put up his hand, but away went the tin plate, falling bottom upward, and all the little lumps hitting the floor.

“O dear, that’s my fault,” cried Ben, in great distress. “Polly, I’m dreadfully sorry--” and getting down to pick them up.

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” cried Polly; “never mind, Ben,” as she saw his face. Jasper and the others immediately left the baking table to hurry to the scene.

“We can scrape them off,” said Ben, ruefully, and getting a knife to begin operations.

“But they’ve been on the floor,” said Polly, “and they’ll never be so nice,” and she sighed.

“Well, let’s make some more,” said Jasper, “and throw these away, Polly. That’s easy enough.”

“But we can’t throw them away,” said Polly, in horror, “and we haven’t very much flour in the bag,” and she leaned over to look into it. “Mamsie said that was all we could take.”

“Then we must cut off the tops of the biscuits, Polly,” said Ben; “there’s no other way.”

“And Dave and I’ll eat ’em,” said Joel, briskly.

“Well, you must have a sharp knife then, Ben,” said Polly. “Wait, I’ll get it.” So she ran and got Mamsie’s special one in the little drawer under the sink that Mrs. Pepper always used when there was any meat (which wasn’t often) to cut up, and all the bunch of children watching, the tops of the little biscuits were slowly cut off by Ben.

“They’re dreadfully small,” grumbled Joel, who thought it a great waste. “You might have given them to Dave and me.”

“For shame, Joel!” said Polly; “you couldn’t ever have eaten them unless Ben had pared them. O dear me, they are small,” her face falling, “but I guess they’ll be good.”

“I’m sure they will,” said Jasper, “and, Polly, they’ll be so cunning on the plate. Do put them on the blue one that is up in the cupboard there.” He nodded his head over to the corner where the few best dishes were kept.

“Oh, we couldn’t take that down, Jasper,” said Polly, quickly, “not unless Mamsie says we may.”

“And if you don’t hurry and get those biscuits in the oven, you can’t put them on any plate,” broke in Ben, wisely.

“That’s so,” laughed Jasper. So Polly started again with her tin plate of little lumps of dough. And the oven door was flung wide, and in they slipped, and then the door banged, good and hard, and all they had to do was to bake as nicely as possible till they were a lovely brown.

“Oh, I hope they’ll be good,” said Polly, anxiously coming back to the table to oversee operations.

“Oh, I guess they will,” said Ben, comfortingly.

“I can’t do anything with mine, Polly,” said Jasper, patting and punching the lumps of dough in his hand at a great rate. “It sticks dreadfully,--see there! It’s in no end of a mess.”

“That’s because you want some more flour on your fingers,” said Polly, holding out the little bowl in which was a sprinkling of flour for just that very purpose; “there, Jasper, stick them in.”

“Is that so?” cried Jasper, freeing one set of fingers to get the others in a worse plight. “Ow; it’s all sticking to my other hand. I’ve just spoiled it, Polly.” He held out the little wad hanging to his thumb and finger and gazed at Polly in dismay.

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” said Polly, picking it off to set it on the bread-board; “it’ll come as good as can be after you get some more flour on your fingers, and--”

“Your biscuits’s burning!” screamed Joel, sniffing. “They are--burning--Polly!”

But she didn’t need this second shout to make her run and fling the oven door open, Jasper hurrying after, his fingers all over dough, and all the others following.

“O dear, dear!” he mourned. “Now I made you stop. Oh, Polly, I _am_ so sorry!” kneeling down beside her. “Here, let me pull them out.”

“Oh, Jasper, you’ll burn your hands,” she cried. But he already had the tin plate out; “whew!” dropping it just in time on the old table.

“Oh, did you burn you?” cried Polly. “Oh, what would Mamsie say to have such a thing happen to any one spending the day at the Little Brown House! O dear me!” She was quite gone in distress.

“Only just the veriest bit,” said Jasper, blowing on his thumb. “There; that’s all right now. Don’t worry, Polly.”

And Ben was as much distressed to have anything happen to Jasper. “Come over and stick it under the pump,” he said, leading the way.

“Don’t want to,” said Jasper; “it’s all right now, I tell you, Ben.”

Meantime, Joel had been hanging over the tin plate with the little lumps of dough and loudly protesting that they were all burned up, and that now nobody could eat them. Finally, Polly and Ben satisfying themselves that Jasper’s thumb was really as he said, “all right,” turned off to investigate for themselves the state of the biscuits.

“Indeed, they’re not burned at all,” declared Jasper. “They’re just a lovely brown, and they’ll taste awfully good, I know they will.”

“So do I,” said Ben.

“Give me one,--just one,” begged Joel.

“Get away,” said Ben, as Joel lunged at the tin plate. “You just said they were all burned, Joe.”

“Well, they aren’t,” said Joel. “Do give me just one, Ben,” he whined.

“No,” said Ben, firmly, “you can’t have one till we all have some; and we aren’t near through our baking. Why, just look at Phronsie! She hasn’t finished hers yet.”

“Phronsie never’ll get hers done,” grumbled Joel. “She turns it over and over all the time.”

“Well, you’ve got to wait,” said Ben, and that ended the matter. And then they all set to work busier than ever, around the table, and the little brown biscuits that were baked, were slipped off from the tin plate, and another batch slipped on it; Jasper’s being given the place of honor in the middle. And Ben brought out a pan that Mamsie and Polly always baked their bread in. “There, Polly, let’s put some in there,” as he set it on the table.

“That’s good!” exclaimed Jasper, beaming in approval. “Oh, Polly, my apron’s coming off--”

“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, “I’ll tie it up again, Jasper,” and she dropped the dough she was patting deftly, on to the bread-board.

“You keep still, Polly,” said Ben; “I’ll tie him up,” suiting the action to the word. “There, I guess you won’t get that out in a hurry, Jasper.”

“You’ll have to untie me, old chap,” said Jasper, “when the baking’s over. Oh, Polly, this plate is all full now. Let me put it in the oven.”

“And I’ll open the door,” said Ben, hurrying over. “That’s just fine,” he said, regarding the biscuits admiringly.

“Let me see--let me see before you put them in!” cried Joel, getting from his chair to run over to the stove. “I want to see them, Ben.”

“Come on, then,” said Ben, as Jasper paused, resting the tin plate on the sill of the oven.

“Oh, aren’t they splendid!” exclaimed Joel, his fingers itching to get hold of one of them, “and those others are little bits of squinchy ones--”

“You be still, and not abuse those other biscuits,” said Jasper, slipping the tin plate carefully into the centre of the oven; “they’re just splendid, too--” and Ben shut the oven door with a clang.

“They’re dreadfully little,” said Joel, clambering up into his chair.

“Well, now they’re all done but Phronsie’s,” said Polly, as the tin bread-pan was ready to slip into the oven on its last journey. “I’ve saved a place for hers, right here in the middle.”

“Come, Pet, aren’t you ready?” said Ben, going over to her high-chair.

“I will be, Bensie,” said Phronsie, “in a minute,” and turning over her pat of dough again.

“That’s just the way she’s been doing all the while,” said Joel.

“Never mind,” said Ben. “Well, now, Pet, I guess that’s done.”

“In just a minute--please wait, Bensie,” she begged, pushing up the little lump of dough softly; “see, it isn’t nice like Polly’s,” and she turned it again.

“O dear!” groaned Joel, impatiently.

“Phronsie,” said Jasper, running around to the other side of the high-chair, “see what a cunning little place Polly has saved for you, in the pan--to put your biscuits in.”

“Has Polly saved a place for me?” asked Phronsie, in gentle surprise, and pausing as she was turning her little dough-pat again.

“Yes, indeed,” cried Polly, running over to show her the bread-pan, “right there, Phronsie,--see, in the very middle; and your biscuits will be next to Jasper’s and Ben’s.”

“And mine’ll be there, too!” screamed Joel, interrupting; “tell her, Polly; mine’ll be there, too.”

“Yes,” said Polly, “Joel’s will be there, too, and Davie’s. I declare, almost every single one of us are in that pan; our biscuits, I mean. So put yours in, Phronsie.”

“Are yours there, Polly?” asked Phronsie, stopping with her hand holding the small pat of dough almost over the pan.

“Er--no,” said Polly; “I didn’t have any in this pan, Phronsie.”

“Then I don’t want to put my biscuits in,” said Phronsie, pulling back her hand. “I want them to go in next to yours, Polly, I do.”

“O dear me!” said Polly, “now whatever shall we do, Ben?” over Phronsie’s yellow head.

“I don’t know,” said Ben, at his wit’s end. Still, something must be done, for Polly was dreadfully worried, and to have Polly troubled was about the worst thing that could possibly happen, in Ben’s estimation.

“Now, Phronsie,” he said, “if you don’t put your biscuits in the pan, there, just where Polly has said, you’ll make her feel very bad.”

“Will it make her sick?” asked Phronsie, slowly, a worried look coming over her face.

“I don’t know,” said Ben, honestly, “but she’ll feel very bad, I do know that, unless you put your biscuits just in that very spot.” He pointed to the little place in the centre of the pan left for them.

Phronsie gave a long sigh. She wanted dreadfully to put her little biscuit in next to Polly’s and have it bake alongside of hers. Still, it never would do to have Polly feel very bad, as Ben said she would, so she reached out her hand and laid the little dough-pat just where she was told to.

“Now that’s a good child,” said Ben, with an approving pat on her pink apron.

“And when they are done,” said Polly, waving the bread-pan on her way to the oven, “we’ll--”

“Take care, Polly,” warned Ben, “or you’ll spill them--”

“Why, we’ll spread them all out and have our party, and eat them all up,” sang Polly, gayly; “but first we must clean all our baking things away.”

VI

THE LITTLE WHITE CAT

Phronsie was crying bitterly. Everything had gone wrong in the Little Brown House that morning. In the first place, it was snowing,--not a cheery, white fluffy shower, but a sour, comfortless downpour just on the edge of becoming a drizzling rain, that sent the chill in between the clapboards and under the old door-sill, and made Polly run every few minutes to put more wood in the stove. And as luck would have it, this was the very morning when the stock in the wood-box ran low. Ben, just before he hurried off to work, told Joel to be sure and fill it up, but Joel, frantic with delight at the approach of what he persisted in calling a snow-storm, had rushed off with little Davie, dragging their home-made sled of rough boards merrily after them, and forgot all about it.

“Dear me!” exclaimed Polly, in vexation, as she poked the fire up and put on a fresh stick; “there are only two more left,” with an anxious glance into the big box back of the stove.

“I’m so cold,” said Phronsie, laying Seraphina down on the floor and coming up to Polly, and she held up her fat little hands.

“Goodness me, so you are, Pet,” said Polly, feeling of them in great concern; “well, you must have on Mamsie’s shawl.”

So Polly ran into the bedroom, Phronsie following quickly, and humming: “I must have on Mamsie’s shawl. Yes, I am, Polly, so cold”--in great glee at the mere mention of Mamsie’s shawl.

“Now pin it,” she said, standing on tiptoe as Polly got it out of the bureau drawer. It was a little brown and black plaid woollen one that the parson’s wife had given Mrs. Pepper to lay over her shoulders when she sat by the west window to sew on cold winter days. So Polly took one of the biggest pins sticking up in the red-flannel cushion on the top of the bureau and drew the little shawl together, making it fast around Phronsie’s neck.

“There, now, Pet,” she said, giving her a kiss, “Mr. Jack Frost will have to go away, for you’ve got on Mamsie’s shawl.”

“Mr. Jack Frost will have to go away, for I’ve got on Mamsie’s shawl,” echoed Phronsie, and folding her arms closely together so she could hug the little shawl the tighter, she ran out into the kitchen after Polly, who was now busy over the stove again.

“Misery me--now there’s only one stick left.” Polly was cramming in some wood, and she set the cover back in a great hurry. “Now I’ve got to go out to the woodpile and get some more. You keep away from the door, Phronsie; I’ll be back in a minute.” And she threw on her sack and hood and dashed out of doors.

But she didn’t come back, and it seemed to Phronsie it was too long to expect any one to wait. She couldn’t see the woodpile from the window, although she plastered her little face against it and tried as hard as she could to find out what Polly was doing.

“I must get Polly,” at last she decided, so she went over to the door and opened it, huddling up into Mamsie’s little shawl as the wet, clinging snow struck against her.

But Polly was nowhere to be seen, and Phronsie, stumbling over to the woodpile and peeping behind it, couldn’t find her anywhere.

“Polly--Polly,” she called in a grieved little voice, but there wasn’t a sound except the soft dropping of the wet snow that was almost like rain. And presently Phronsie’s tears were falling fast and she could hardly see because of them.