Chapter XIV: In Doctor Fisher’s Gig 397 (5)

“And that’s Phronsie,” added David, afraid she would be forgotten and left out in the enumeration, and laying down his strings long enough to point to her over with the old gentleman.

“Is that so?” said the customer, regarding him with great interest. “An’ how is your Ma?” turning off from the small girl on the little wooden chair, who was following Phronsie and the little shopkeeper with her intent eyes. And without waiting for a reply, her gaze roved over to Joel and at last switched off to Phronsie and the little shopkeeper.

“I’m in a great hurry, Mr. Beebe,” she said importantly; “an’ if you hain’t got any shoes for Marianna, why, I must go somewhere’s else. We are to meet her Pa at Simmons’s; he’s come to sell his grain, and he’ll be all put out ef we ain’t on time. I’ve sold my eggs and butter,” she volunteered, shaking the black crocheted bag on her arm, so that an old pocket-book could be seen dancing about within the meshes.

“We’ll get Marianna’s shoes es quick ’s we can,” said old Mr. Beebe, composedly, “but ef you’d rather go somewhere’s else, Mis’ Phipps, why, I’d advise you to.”

“Oh, I didn’t say as I was goin’,” replied Mrs. Phipps, hastily. “You mustn’t get mad, Mr. Beebe,” she added in an injured tone.

“’N’ I’m glad you’ve had good luck,” said the old gentleman, beginning to feel that perhaps he had used unkindly speech.

“Oh, I hain’t had such very good luck,” cried Mrs. Phipps, in great alarm lest the price of shoes should go up. “’Tain’t no easy matter when all is counted up, to make much out o’ a few hens that do nothin’ all day but eat fit to burst.”

“Well, here’s a pair, now.” Mr. Beebe took the two little shoes out from the box, turned them over several times in his big hands, felt of the leather of each upper, then finally placed them in Phronsie’s hands. “You run over and show ’em to that lady,” he said, nodding over to the settee.

Mrs. Phipps eyed Phronsie curiously, dividing her interest between her and the shoes, Marianna doing the same, so that when the little shopkeeper advanced to them, there wasn’t much progress made toward a trade, and old Mrs. Beebe, smothering a sigh, waddled out to see if by chance the stewed beef set back on the stove could have caught.

“It’s good leather,” said Mr. Beebe. “You needn’t pinch it so hard, Mis’ Phipps; that shoe’ll wear like iron.”

“It can stand a few pinches now, then,” said Mrs. Phipps, grimly, and nipping up another portion between her hard nails.

“Now let’s slip on that shoe,” cried Mr. Beebe, quickly, “an’ see how it fits. Maybe it won’t do at all.”

“I want it,” said Marianna, suddenly, the first word she had spoken, and leaning over her mother’s arm, her mouth watering for the possession of the coveted treasure.

“Stick out your foot then,” said old Mr. Beebe, cheerily. “Now, Phronsie, you sit down on the floor. Then, says I, that shoe’ll fly on. Tee--hee--hee!”

“That child ain’t a-goin’ to try on shoes!” gasped Mrs. Phipps, in amazement. “Why, what are you thinkin’ of, Mr. Beebe?” She hitched her black crocheted bag up farther on her arm, throwing aside her shawl-ends nervously.

“Ef I fit shoes,” observed old Mr. Beebe, “I fit ’em as I please in my shop. As long as they _fit_, I dunno’s folks can complain.”

But Phronsie took her gaze off from the customer’s face, and got up from the floor where she had obediently seated herself. “The lady doesn’t want me to, dear Mr. Beebe,” she said gravely, and her mouth quivered.

“Oh, yes, she does,” said old Mr. Beebe, confidently, “or else, you see, Phronsie, there ain’t goin’ to be _any_ shoes fitted in this shop.”

“I want them shoes,” screamed Marianna, in a loud cry, and pointing a red little finger at the one now dangling from Mr. Beebe’s hand. It was so piercing, that Joel dropped a green box and sprang across the little shop to see what was the matter. David had long ago laid down his snarl of shoe-strings to give absorbing attention to his neighbors on the settee, and the little wooden chair.

“Stop your noise,” commanded her mother, angrily. “I hain’t any objection to her, I’m sure,” turning to old Mr. Beebe, “so long’s you’re there.”

“There, you see, Phronsie, th’ lady’s willin’,” said the old gentleman.

“Is she, dear Mr. Beebe?” asked Phronsie, clinging to his hand and wishing very much that Mamsie was there.

“Yes, indeed; so sit down, child, and pull on th’ shoe.”

So Phronsie got down on the old shop floor again, and Marianna in a perfect tremor of bliss tore off her old shoe, and stuck out her very much darned brown cotton stocking. And Phronsie, with both hands trembling in delight and with a great deal of fear lest the terrible lady staring at her from above might not like it after all, pulled on the new shoe, old Mr. Beebe only having to give a helping hand once when it stuck on the heel.

“It fits--it fits!” screamed Marianna, her black eyes protruding. Joel joined her in a crow, but that was at Phronsie’s success in helping dear Mr. Beebe so well.

“Keep still; you can’t tell nothin’ till it’s tied on,” said Marianna’s mother. So Phronsie began on the long strings. This was greater enjoyment even than to fit the shoes.

“Here, let me help you,” Joel dropped to the floor by her side.

“No--no,” protested Phronsie, “I must do ’em all myself, Joey.”

“You let her be,” said the old gentleman, “an’ get me a chair, Joel.”

“She’s doing ’em all in the wrong holes,” said Joel, running for the chair which he dragged up to the scene of operations.

“Never mind; there, Phronsie,” old Mr. Beebe seated himself in the chair, and leaning over Marianna’s foot, somehow or other each little hole soon had the right string in it, and a bow was neatly tied, and Phronsie, with very pink cheeks, was regarding her work. “I did do it,” she cried in a joyful little voice.

“’Taint done yet,” announced Mrs. Phipps--“not till she stamps in it.” So Marianna stamped up and down in front of them all till even her mother had to be satisfied, and then the other shoe was put on and tied up, and everything was done but paying for them. At last the old pocket-book was drawn out of the black crocheted bag. “I suppose you’ll mend these up for nothin’, seein’ I’ve bought a new pair,” said Mrs. Phipps, suddenly, pausing before opening the pocket-book flap, and pointing to the old shoes on the floor.

Old Mr. Beebe picked up one of Marianna’s old shoes. “I couldn’t do that,” he said; “an’ besides, Mis’ Phipps, there ain’t nothin’ to mend. She’s run ’em all out.”

“Humph--that’s all nonsense,” ejaculated Marianna’s mother. But seeing that she couldn’t get anything out of the little shopkeeper but that one statement, she had the old shoes done up in a newspaper, and counting out the price of the new ones in quarters and ten-cent pieces, she took her departure, saying, “I shouldn’t let her wear those home ef I warn’t goin’ to make a call on th’ way this aft’noon.” Then she peered into the room back of the shop, “I must say good-by to Mis’ Beebe.”

This took some minutes, as the smell of the dinner and the table all set made it impossible for Mrs. Phipps to leave it without a strong effort to include herself and her daughter in the family for that one meal, but old Mrs. Beebe, not looking at it in just that way, Mrs. Phipps twitched Marianna’s hat straight and hauled her off without any good-by after all.

But oh! what a good dinner the little shopkeeper had sitting at the head of his table, with old Mrs. Beebe, her pink cap ribbons flying, at the other end, and the three little Peppers, their plates filled with splendid pieces of stewed beef and dumplings. How the spoons and forks flew! till even Joel couldn’t eat any more, and Davie was obliged to give up the effort to see the bottom of his plate cleared. And after dinner--well then, why, Phronsie must have her nap. “For we can’t have Polly come running in, and not have this blessed little creeter’s eyes as bright as buttons,” said the little old lady.

“Oh, I’m not tired,” protested Phronsie, vigorously.

“No, that would never do,” declared old Mrs. Beebe, just as decidedly. “Now then, Phronsie child, you shall curl up on Pa’s sofa, an’ I’ll cover you with my plaid shawl; then, says I, you’ll be asleep in forty winks.”

To curl up on Pa’s sofa, and, best of all, to have spread over her dear Mrs. Beebe’s plaid shawl, was after all something well worth thinking about. So Phronsie allowed herself to be patted into place, and Mrs. Beebe pulled down the old green paper shade and waddled softly out. In five minutes she thrust her cap in around the half-opened door. There lay Phronsie, one little hand grasping tightly the old frayed fringe, fast asleep as anything.

Meantime old Mr. Beebe had a hard time enough with the two boys! Joel’s task of carrying the green boxes from under the chintz valance to the shelf was soon finished, but as he wouldn’t do anything till Davie could join in it, and the snarl of strings was apparently (no matter how diligently worked over) not much nearer unravelling than when begun, and little David could not be persuaded to leave it, the old gentleman was in despair.

“Come, Davie,” he said for the third time. But David shook his head and kept picking away. He didn’t mean to be disobedient, but all his mind intent on helping dear good Mr. Beebe, it never entered his head to leave his task until completed.

At last Joel flung himself flat on the floor, and waving both feet in the air, gave a loud cry of disapproval. “He’s a naughty boy,” he said, “and I shall tell Mamsie he wouldn’t mind you.”

Down fell Davie’s snarl of shoe-strings to his lap. “Oh, Joel,” he cried, slipping from the old settee to the floor beside him, “don’t, don’t tell Mamsie.”

“I will,” said Joel, seeing his advantage with great delight and cocking one black eye at him. “I’ll tell her Mr. Beebe told you one--two--ten--’leven times to stop those old strings, and you wouldn’t mind him--so there!”

“Joel,” cried little David, in the greatest distress and clasping both hands; “I’ll stop this very minute. I will, Joel, truly I will.”

“Won’t you go at ’em again?” demanded Joel, thinking it just as well to have it settled definitely.

“No, I won’t,” said Davie, swallowing hard, “not till dear Mr. Beebe lets me, if you only won’t tell Mamsie.”

“Then, I won’t tell Mamsie,” promised Joel, springing to his feet. “Come on, Dave. Now, what’ll we do, Mr. Beebe?” he cried.

“Well now, I tell you,” said the old gentleman, wrinkling up his forehead in thought; “you’ve got to stretch your legs outdoors else you’ll be sick. S’posin’ you run down to th’ butcher’s shop an’ tell Mr. Hanks I may want, in th’ mornin’, a slice o’ ham. Don’t say as I will, remember, but I may. An’ then come right back, an’ you can set in th’ window, an’ see th’ passin’, an’ watch fer Polly an’ Ben.”

“All right,” shouted Joel, and seizing Davie’s hand, he bore him off, and the two little figures clattered off over the cobblestones. Presently there they were back again, and crowded up in among the dangling shoes and slippers, their faces pressed against the small-paned window.

But it seemed as if Polly would never come, although they knew she would get through her work first; it always took Ben a good while when he was tackling any work at Deacon Blodgett’s, and they were nearly turning away in despair when, “Hooray!”--Joel spied her first, and he jumped so quickly he knocked down one of the strings and away flew a whole lot of rubbers into the middle of the floor.

“’Tain’t hurt ’em a mite,” said old Mr. Beebe, as Joel paused in his mad career. So off the two boys dashed to meet Polly, flying up over the cobblestones, her cheeks as rosy as anything and her brown eyes dancing.

“Oh, I’m so glad to get here!” she exclaimed, seizing them both. “O dear me, I thought I should never get through my work. Where’s Phronsie?”

“She’s asleep,” said Joel, “and you’ve been awful slow;” all the while he clung to her hand tightly.

“I know it,” laughed Polly, “but I’m so glad dear Mrs. Beebe made her take her nap. Well, Mamsie sent you her love, and she knew you’d been good children.”

Little David hung his head. That affair about the shoe-strings still troubled him, and he meant to tell Mamsie as soon as he got home, but Joel saved him all words at present.

“We’ve been as good as pie,” he declared. That made him think of that delightful dinner. “We had some, Polly,” he cried, “little ones,” and he smacked his lips.

“And they were all juice,” said little Davie, reflectively, from the other side.

“Yes, and Mrs. Beebe has saved one for you and one for Ben ’cause you couldn’t come to dinner,” said Joel.

“Has she?” cried Polly, radiantly. “Oh, isn’t that too good of her! And Ben does so love little pies.”

“I wish she’d saved me one,” said Joel. “So do I love ’em.”

“Why, you ate yours up, Joey,” said little Davie, craning his neck around Polly to regard him with surprise.

“I know it,” said Joel, bursting into a laugh, “but I wish I had another.”

“Well, if you’ve had one of dear Mrs. Beebe’s little pies, Joe,” said Polly, laughing too, “that’s quite enough,” as they scrambled up to the green door.

And Phronsie opened her eyes the minute they all swarmed into the room back of the little shop, old Mr. and Mrs. Beebe joining the ranks, and sat up quite straight on Pa’s old sofa, and put out her arms with a little crow--“Oh, Polly, take me!” tangled up as she was in the old plaid shawl. And then after they had all sobered down after the delight over Polly’s coming, the old lady exclaimed suddenly, “Dear me, I must set th’ table for supper, so’s to be all ready for Ben.”

“Oh, let me help,” cried Polly, putting Phronsie down and flying after her.

“Let me too,” piped Phronsie, stumbling after.

“And me--and me!” echoed Joel and David.

And old Mrs. Beebe laughing and saying “Yes, come along all of you,” the whole bunch of Peppers rushed here and there quite overcome with delight, all getting hold of the table-cloth at once, so that nobody could pull it straight.

“See here,” said Polly, when she had whirled around and around the table, first pulling one corner and then another straight, to have it immediately whisked away; “we can’t ever do it this way. Now, only one of you must help me, and the others stand still. Take care, Joe, you’ll tear it!”

“It’s all hanging on the floor,” declared Joel.

“Well, that’s because you twitched it so,” said Polly, in vexation, and running around the table again to examine it for herself. “O dear me, so it is. Well now, Joel, you let it alone, and Davie and I will straighten it.”

“I don’t want to fix it,” said Joel, quite well pleased to have nothing to do with it, and only longing for the time to come when the dishes should be placed on the table. So Polly and little David patted and pulled it quite straight and smoothed out all the crinkles. “Now,” said Polly with a long breath, stepping back to review the work, “doesn’t that look just fine though!”

Then Joel made a rush for the pantry door. “I’m going to get the dishes,” he shouted.

“Oh, no, you mustn’t, Joe,” cried Polly, in alarm. “I’m going to take them down; you might break them.”

“I ain’t goin’ to have those dishes for supper to-day,” said old Mrs. Beebe. “I’m goin’ to set out my best chiney.”

“You’re going to set out your best china!” gasped Polly, and looking over at the corner cupboard, not believing that she could have heard straight.

“Yes,” said old Mrs. Beebe, nodding till her pink cap ribbons trembled violently, “I am, for I hain’t used ’em since th’ minister took tea here when he first come to Badgertown, an’ that’s ten years ago; an’ I was thinkin’ th’ other day I wish’t I had a chance to set ’em out.”

“But s’posing we should break them.” Polly came over to say this in an awe-struck voice, while the boys, quite impressed with all this, crowded up to hear the whole of it, Phronsie was spinning around the room making a merry little cheese and humming softly to herself. It was quite enough for her to be at supper at her dear sweet Mrs. Beebe’s and to have Polly safely there.

“Oh, you won’t break any of ’em,” said the little old lady, confidently, and going over to the corner cupboard; “I shall give th’ childern some mugs, but you and Ben shall have a nice cup an’ saucer, an’ we’ll have th’ cake-plate and th’ glass pudding-dish,” and her eyes shone.

Polly turned quite pale. It was perfectly splendid, but oh, if anything should happen to those two cups and saucers that Ben and she were to have! But she had no time to worry about it, as old Mrs. Beebe now handed down from one of the shelves a china mug. “There,” she said, “that’s for Phronsie’s place. I used to drink out of it when I wasn’t any bigger’n she is. ‘From a Friend,’” read the old lady, turning the mug around so that they all could get the best view.

“Let me see--I want to see ‘From a Friend,’” screamed Joel, crowding up, while little Davie edged up to gaze at the faded gilt letters.

“Yes, my mother’s uncle give it to me. He said I was a good girl. I warn’t no bigger’n Phronsie, an’ she’s a good girl, so I’m goin’ to let her drink out of it to-day.”

“Phronsie, you’re going to drink out of ‘From a Friend,’” screamed Joel, deserting old Mrs. Beebe and the china mug to run and twitch her pink pinafore.

When Phronsie understood that she was really to have her milk in that splendid china mug that her dear sweet Mrs. Beebe used to drink out of when she was a little girl, her delight knew no bounds. And she went and stood by the table-edge, quite satisfied not to move, so long as she could look at it where Polly had placed it ready for supper.

“I wish I could have a ‘From a Friend’ to drink out of,” grumbled Joel.

“Hush, for shame, Joe!” said Polly. But old Mrs. Beebe had heard. “Well, now I must see what I can get for you, Joel,” she said kindly. “An’ then Davie must have one, too.”

“Yes, you must get Dave one, too,” said Joel, hopping from one set of toes to the other in delight.

“You can take Pa’s cup; he hain’t used that for years,” said Mrs. Beebe. She handed down a great coffee cup. The handle was snipped and the flowers around the edge were much worn.

“The saucer’s broke, but you don’t need one,” said Mrs. Beebe, setting the cup within Joel’s awe-struck hand.

“What’s that?” asked Joel, running one finger over the edge of the cup that covered the top a little way.

“Oh, that was when Pa had a beard. He used to wear his hair all round his mouth,” said old Mrs. Beebe; “but he shaved it all off a good many years ago. An’ the saucer’s got broke, so we set th’ cup up on th’ shelf. But I’m goin’ to let you drink out of it, now, Joel.”

Joel, vastly pleased to have something used by a big man with hair all round his mouth, marched with it to the table. “There, that’s mine,” he announced. “It’s a great deal better than any old ‘From a Friend.’”

Little Davie held his hands closely clasped together. Would the corner cupboard hold any more such splendid things to drink out of as Joel and Phronsie had received. He scarcely breathed when--“There, says I, Davie, now what do you think!” and a little mug was held before him. It had two shining lustre bands running around it and between them was a yellow band, and on it, for all the world, was in big letters of gilt “_For David._”

When David saw those words, he seized the little mug, and screamed right out, “It’s for me to drink out of!” and held it close to his blue eyes big with joy.

“That was my Grandpa’s,” said old Mrs. Beebe, in as great a delight. “An’ his name was David--David Brown. An’ now to think you are goin’ to drink out o’ it to-day, you preety creeter, you!” and she beamed at him.

“Oh, David!” exclaimed Polly, hurrying over to him, “do be careful. Oh, dear Mrs. Beebe, I don’t believe he ought to have it.” But Davie hugged his treasure tightly to his bosom, and went unsteadily over to put it on the table.

“He won’t break it,” said Mrs. Beebe; “an’ besides, I’m goin’ to give it to him ’cause o’ th’ name, when I get through with bein’ able to look up an’ see it up there in that cupboard. An’ now you come an’ help me set out th’ cups and saucers for Ben an’ you.”

“Oh, here he comes!” cried Polly, with a glance through the glass door opening into the little shop. “Oh, Ben!” and with a bound she flew off to meet him.

“Hooray!” Joel deserted his treasure, but little Davie and Phronsie had been so absorbed in theirs that they hadn’t heard a word.

“Well,” cried Ben, his cheeks glowing and his big blue eyes alight, as he came in with Polly and Joel hanging to him, and old Mr. Beebe, rubbing his hands in satisfaction, bringing up the rear. And he had hardly spoken to dear old Mrs. Beebe before Joel dragged him off to the table. “I’ve got a cup all to myself; see, Ben, see--see--and a big man used to drink out of it with hair all round his mouth; and it’s mine. And Phronsie got a ‘From a Friend,’ and I like mine best.”

“Hulloa!” exclaimed Ben, “and so Pet has got one, too,” and he bent to kiss her.

“Yes,” hummed Phronsie, putting a little finger gently on it, “and I like it, Bensie, very much, I do.”

“Well, see Davie’s,” cried Polly, getting hold of Ben’s jacket to pilot him around the table; “only think of this ‘For David,’” and she held the shining little lustre mug up.

“Well! well!” exclaimed Ben, quite overcome; while old Mr. Beebe nodded and smiled over the heads of the Five Little Peppers as pleased as the children themselves.

“And see our cups,” cried Polly, at last, pointing to the corner cupboard where the whole array of ancient flowered china was spread forth. “You and I are each going to have one of those! Dear Mrs. Beebe told me so her own self.”

“An’ now, says I, I must get ’em down, an’ then you an’ me, Polly, will set on th’ supper. We’ll have it early ’cause Ben must be hungry.”

“I am,” said Ben, “awfully hungry. I believe I could eat a bear--every bit of him!”

“Oh, Ben,” screamed Joel, swarming over him excitedly, “not his head, Ben, and his legs, and every single smitch of him.”

“Yes, _sir_!” declared Ben, recklessly. “I’m so hungry, Joe, there wouldn’t be any bear when I got through.”

VIII

AT THE PETERS FARM

“Halloa, Joel!” Mr. Atkins left the bundle of brown sugar he was doing up for the Widow Smollett, and hurried around the counter to the door. “Wait a minute.” But Joel was off on the wind.

“I never see such a boy for getting over the ground,” the storekeeper exclaimed, discomfited, turning back to his customers.

“I’m goin’ by the Little Brown House, an’ I’ll tell Mis’ Pepper anythin’,” volunteered a man, waiting his turn to be served.

“Well, you tell her I’ve got a job for Joel,” said the storekeeper, getting nimbly back of the counter again, to resume work on the brown-sugar bundle.

“Pshaw!--what can that little chap do?” said the man, jamming one hand deep in his trousers pocket and laughing.

“He’s little, but he’s smart as a cricket,” said Mr. Atkins.--“No, I hain’t had any eggs brought in to-day, Miss Bassett.--Good land o’ Goshen, Hiram, all them Pepperses have got git up an’ git to ’em.--No, I said I hadn’t had any brought in to-day. I was just a-tellin’ Miss Bassett so.”

“And I sh’d as soon set a cricket to work,” said Hiram, still laughing, “but I’ll take th’ message all right to Mis’ Pepper.”

“An’ them children’ll do more some day for Badgertown ’n all o’ us folks put together. That’s my Bible belief,” declared Mr. Atkins, snapping the string off short.--“There’s your sugar, Mrs. Smollett, four cents a pound; it orter be four an’ a half, but I hain’t riz on it yet.--I’ll wait upon you,” in reply to an irate question, as to how long he was expected to stand there “doin’ nothin’,” from an impatient applicant for saleratus.--“Yes, well, you tell Mrs. Pepper I’ve got a job for Joel; that’s all you’ve got to do, Hiram.--Now, I’ll ’tend to you first; you’ve ben waitin’ some time.” And he turned off to a customer at the end of the counter.

And Hiram’s several bundles having been done up, and deposited in his wagon, Mr. Atkins felt quite relieved in his mind, and very sure that Joel would be down as soon as ever the message got to him.

Which happened exactly so. There he was, with David at his heels, and pounding on the counter. “What is it, Mr. Atkins?” he cried, his black eyes sparkling in excitement. It was the very first time in his life that a job had ever been waiting for him in this important way.

“There’s a person been in here, Joel,” said Mr. Atkins, “this morning who wants a boy to help him; and I thought of you, ’cause I knew you wanted to be like Ben an’ help your Ma.”

“Yes, I do,” said Joel, standing very tall, “and I’m going to have a job and be like Ben; just exactly like Ben, Mr. Atkins,” and his black eyes shone.

Little David could not conceal his admiration, and beamed on him affectionately.

“So you shall,” declared the storekeeper, with great enthusiasm, “and I got you this job, Joel. I expect you’re goin’ to be master smart at it.”

“I’m going to be. Oh, what is it--what you said?” declared Joel, with energy, and getting up now to his tiptoes.

“Master smart,” repeated Mr. Atkins, with emphasis. “Well, now, Joel, you’ve got to begin your job to-morrow at Old Man Peters’s.”

“What?” Down went Joel to stand flat, and his hands left off pounding the counter to fall to his sides.

“Old Man Peters was a-goin’ to get another boy,” Mr. Atkins was talking in a perfect stream, now; “but I spoke for you, Joel. An’ you’ve got to go an’ take that job, ’cause it’s the only one there is to be had,” and he shot a keen glance into Joel’s black eyes.

“I ain’t going to work for Old Man Peters,” declared Joel, in a great dudgeon, and marching to the door, his hands now thrust into his pockets, and his head quite high. “Come on, Dave.”

“See here, Joel.” The storekeeper leaned over his counter. “You come here a minute.”

“I ain’t going to work for Old Man Peters,” declared Joel, stoutly, standing quite still to regard the storekeeper with anything but pleasure.

Just as decidedly, “Yes, you will,” Mr. Atkins said; “’cause if you don’t, you can’t help your Ma, and be big like Ben.”

“I ain’t going,” began Joel. Then his voice died down, “O dear me, I ain’t,--I ain’t.”

“I don’t blame ye,” broke in two or three voices. “I wouldn’t do a stroke for sech a skin-flint,” added another. The storekeeper cast a reproachful glance in that direction, and said sharply, “I’m a-talkin’ to Joel Pepper just at present.”

Joel was wringing his small hands now, the picture of distress as he stood in the middle of the store, with little Davie quite gone in despair at this dreadful state of affairs, huddling up against him.

“To help Mamsie.” He could do it if he would only take this job that Mr. Atkins had gotten for him, and “be big like Ben.” “O dear me!” Joel didn’t see any of the men, nor the one sympathetic woman who hovered on the edge of the group to see how matters would turn out. He was lost to everything around him. And when at last Mr. Atkins said very coldly, “Oh, well, if you don’t want to help your Ma, Joel, why--” He burst out, “Oh, I do, I do,” and dashed up to seize the storekeeper by the arm, and hang to it screaming, “I’ll go to Old Man Peters’s, Mr. Atkins, I will!”

“That’s a good boy, Joel,” said the storekeeper, quite mollified, who had really been quite put to his wits to find something that one of the brood in the Little Brown House might do to help eke out the store of pennies that kept the wolf from the door. And lately, when Mrs. Pepper brought back the coats she made, he was struck with dismay, to see how white her cheek was, and how tired the bright eyes looked.

“She’s getting all beat out,” he said on one such occasion to his wife, as he locked up for the night and went home, which only consisted in going into the extension of the store built on to accommodate the growing needs of his family.

“Can’t you find her somethin’ for th’ boys to do, ’Biah?” said that good woman, setting the tea-pot down after taking off a cupful for herself. “No halfway stuff for me,” she always said; then it must be filled to the brim for Mr. Atkins, who couldn’t bear it strong.

“Ben’s doin’ all he can,” said the storekeeper, sitting down heavily. “Well, I never have ben on my legs so much as to-day, Jane.”

“I don’t mean Ben,” said Mrs. Atkins, quickly, and taking up the tea-pot to pour the boiling water in. “I’m sure that boy’ll work himself to death if somebody don’t stop him. I’m talkin’ of Joel an’ David.”

“Them little chaps,” cried her husband; “what are you thinkin’ of, Jane? The idea o’ settin’ them to work.”

“Now, there’s lots o’ work small fingers can do,” observed Jane, nowise dashed, and tipping up the tea-kettle deftly, she poured the boiling water in. “That won’t keep you awake, ’Biah,” she said, with a glance of scorn for the cup she set beside his plate.

“An’ if Mrs. Pepper breaks down, why, I can’t tell what would happen to those Little-Brown-House folks.” She suddenly took up one corner of her brown checked apron, and do what she would to prevent it, Mr. Atkins distinctly heard a sniffle, as she abruptly disappeared in the pantry.

“I can’t help it, Jane; I’m sure ’tain’t my fault.” The storekeeper turned uneasily on his chair, put in a spoonful of sugar too much in his tea, then tried to cover up the mistake by getting in a double portion of milk. “You’ll have to get me another cup, Jane,” at last he called to his wife, who on that summons hastily emerged from the pantry, trying to look gay of countenance as if the conversation had been of the cheeriest description.

“Now, ’Biah,” she said, her heart smiting her at a sight of his face, “don’t you worry no more about th’ Pepperses; th’ Lord’ll provide,” and she twitched up his cup, poured off the contents in the sink, and came back with a fresh one steaming hot.

“Th’ Lord ain’t a-goin’ to take care o’ folks in Badgertown, so long as He’s put other people here to look after ’em,” said the storekeeper, this time with a careful hand to deal himself the right seasoning for his cup, “an’ I do b’lieve I better find somethin’ for Joel to do. He’s awful smart, Jane.”

“That’s so,” said Mrs. Atkins, getting into her seat opposite her husband. Then she wiped her eyes again, for Jane had a tender place in her heart. “But don’t let it be too hard,” she begged.

“I’ll have to take what I can get,” said Mr. Atkins, stirring his tea, and beginning to feel a bit relieved at the prospect of lightening the burden settling down on the Little Brown House.

“I’ll ask every one who comes into th’ store to-morrow, Jane, an’ somewhere’s there must be a boy wanted to do chores, I’ll be bound.”

“So do,” nodded his wife, and, delighted to see him more cheerful, she took a long draught from her black-looking tea, and switched off the conversation into more entertaining gossip.

But no matter how much Mr. Atkins pushed his inquiries among his customers to unearth the needs of a small boy to do chores in or around Badgertown, not only to-morrow but several days thereafter passed, and no one seemed ready to acknowledge any such need. At last the storekeeper was reduced to despair, and to cudgel his brains for some other plan to give timely assistance to a person who would not accept money.

At this moment, the rattle of wagon wheels and a sudden plunge as a long-suffering horse was brought to a quick stop by a loud and angry “Whoa!” proclaimed the arrival of a rich but by no means desirable customer.

“Now I suppose ‘Old Man Peters’ will want a pail o’ lard for nothin’,” muttered the storekeeper, his vexation noways alleviated by the sight of a customer who usually brought into his shop more plague than profit.

When the trifling matters of trade that always lengthened out by long dickering were at last brought to a conclusion, and Mr. Eli Peters buttoned up in his waistcoat pocket his wallet that had not suffered greatly in the business transaction, much to the storekeeper’s disgust, he paused, and said in a sharp high key, “You don’t know of a boy, d’ye, Atkins, that I can hire?”

“What kind of a boy?” demanded the storekeeper, irritably.

“Oh, a smart, likely one; he don’t need to be big. Ye don’t know of one, do ye?”

“I know a smart, likely boy as ever stepped,” said Mr. Atkins, determined not to give any names, “but I don’t know as he could do your work, Mr. Peters.”

Old Mr. Peters’s little ferret eyes gleamed. “Hey, well, who is’t?” He tapped on the floor with his stick that he always carried in the wagon to help his progress as soon as he stepped on the ground. “Who is’t? Come, speak up lively, I hain’t no time to lose; time’s money.”

“I guess it is,” said the storekeeper, with a snap to his thin lips, and a lively memory of the half-hour wasted over this unprofitable customer, whom, after all, it never would do to offend.

“Well, this boy I know of is smart enough, my gracious, but he ain’t big enough to work hard. What you want to set him at?”

“Oh, little odd jobs,” said the old man, carelessly; “some of ’em in th’ house to help th’ women folks.”

“Oh, if that’s the case,” said Mr. Atkins, who was friendly to Mrs. Peters and Miss Miranda,--“as different from that old Scrooge,” he had said in the privacy of his home, “as light is from darkness,”--“why, I’ll give you his name; it’s Joel Pepper.”

“Oh, that boy.” Old Man Peters’s eager face fell, and the light in the ferret eyes went out. “I d’no’s I want him,” he said slowly.

“_Not want one o’ them Pepper children!_” exclaimed the storekeeper, in astonishment, as if the greatest blessing the earth could yield had been ignored. “Well, I never!”

“I don’t think I like that Joel,” said Mr. Peters, beginning to work his way to the door.

“Well, I can tell you that Joel Pepper is th’ smartest boy around here for miles and miles,” cried the storekeeper, taking up quick cudgels, “an’ I don’t b’lieve his Ma would let him come to you anyway,” he added with venom. “So, we’ll say no more about it; she’s awful particular where any o’ ’em go,” he added, not caring if his words did lose him, for good and all, the chance of seeing the rich old man darken his door again.

“Hey, what’s that?” squeaked Old Man Peters, this quite deciding him, and suddenly whirling about. “Well, I’m willing to try Joel, only he come to my house once, his Ma sent him on an errant, an’ he was awful sassy.”

“Sassy, was he?” Then Mr. Atkins laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Well, I guess that’s all right; you don’t mind what a shaver as little as him says, I s’pose.”

“I d’no’s I do,” replied the old man, grudgingly; “well, send him along; tell him to come to-morrow.” And he stumped out, untied his old horse, upon whom, as soon as he got into the wagon, he bestowed a stinging blow from the whip, and rattled off at a smart rate down the road.

The storekeeper leaned his hands on the counter. “Sassy, was he?” he ejaculated with delight. “Well, I guess Joel can take care o’ hisself wherever he goes. An’ it’s th’ only place there is. Yes, I’ll advise him to try it.”

And on the morrow, sure enough, Joel, as tidy as possible (for although the material might be well worn down to its bones, Mrs. Pepper always kept the clothes of the children clean and wholesome), set forth on his long walk to old Mr. Peters’s house. The worst of it was, that David was not allowed to go. He had not been asked by the prospective employer, so, of course, he must stay at home, and he now plastered his face against the small-paned window as Joel went out of the old kitchen and off to his work. He felt very big, and he tried to walk just like Ben, pushing up his little shoulders sturdily, holding his head high, and clutching his bundle of dinner, that Polly had put up for him, under his arm.

“Make it a big one, do, Polly,” he had begged, prancing after her as she went to the bread-pantry.

“Yes, I will, Joey,” she cried. “O dear me!” she was just going to say, “you mustn’t go to Old Man Peters’s.” Then she remembered what the mother had said, “We can’t choose our work, Polly, and we’d ought to be thankful that Joel has got the chance,” and she stifled the sigh, and cut off a generous slice, bemoaning all the while to herself that it wasn’t cake.

“If we only had something nice to give him, Mammy,” she mourned, hurrying over to Mrs. Pepper’s chair when Joel had raced off to wash his face for the last time.

“It’s the best we’ve got,” said Mrs. Pepper, bravely. Yet she looked tired, and a little white line was beginning to come around her mouth.

“Sometime, we are going to be rich; oh, awfully rich, Mamsie,” cried Polly, when she saw that. Then she danced off to the old bread-box again, and pretty soon Joel’s dinner was all ready, and he was kissed and pulled into shape by Polly, and then Phronsie had to be hugged, and last of all, Mamsie, because little Davie was not to be counted, as he clung to Joel through the whole time.

“Joel,” Mrs. Pepper laid down her needle and looked into his black eyes, “we’re going to be very glad that you’re working for Mr. Peters.”

Joel squirmed at the name, but he never took his gaze from her face.

“And the Little Brown House is never to be ashamed for anything, Joey.”

“I’m going to be good,” declared Joel, with a smart bob of his black head.

“See that you are,” said Mrs. Pepper, firmly. Then she took up the needle again, because that had to fly in and out, or else the wolf would surely get in at the door; and off Joel sped, to whirl around and wave his hand at the turn of the road.

“Don’t feel bad, Davie,” cried Polly, gazing over his head at the little figure disappearing down the thoroughfare. “O dear me! Davie, don’t,” for little David, quite beside himself with grief at this first separation from Joel, threw himself on the old kitchen floor, and burst into a passion of tears.

“Never mind, Polly.” Mrs. Pepper got out of her chair, “you can take Phronsie out of doors to play--there, there, Davie, Mother’s boy,” and she was down on her knees stroking the soft light hair away from his forehead, as Polly took Phronsie’s hand and led her softly out.

“What is the matter with Davie?” asked Phronsie, in a troubled voice. “Oh, Polly, I don’t want to go out and play.”

“Well, you must,” said Polly, in a thick voice, and a desperate feeling at her heart. Supposing David was going to be sick! Oh, it might kill him to be kept away from Joel! And there was Joel going to work for that dreadful hard, cross old man. Oh, how cruel he was to keep Joel and not pay him on that day when Mamsie had sent him with the coat and told him to wait for the money. She sank down on the grass under the old scraggy apple tree, and buried her face in her hands.

Phronsie tugged at her apron. “Polly,” she said gently, but Polly did not hear.

“Polly!” This time the voice was a very grieved little one, so that Polly flung down her hands, and seized her hungrily, covering her face with kisses. “Oh, I’m a bad, selfish old pig, Phronsie,” she cried remorsefully.

“You are not a bad old pig, Polly,” said Phronsie, “and I love you very much, I do.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” declared Polly. “I’m just as bad as I can be, when Mamsie sent me out here to play with you. O dear me, come on, Pet.” She sprang to her feet so suddenly, she nearly overthrew the little figure, and held out her hands.

“But, I don’t want to play,” said Phronsie, now standing quite still and regarding her gravely. “I want to go into the kitchen, and see what is the matter with Davie; I do, Polly.”

“No,” said Polly, in her most decided fashion. “You can’t do that, Phronsie, and I can’t go in there either, for Mamsie sent us out. O dear me! I’m going to play tag. Come on, Phronsie!” and she dashed around the old apple tree, and in a minute, there was Phronsie, merrily flying after her, little peals of delight sounding all through the dismal old kitchen.

“Now, then.” Mrs. Pepper was wiping off the last tears from Davie’s little cheeks as he sat in her lap. “Mother’s boy is going out to play with Phronsie, and let Polly come in and finish her work.”

David shivered at the word “play” and crouched down lower within her arms. “Must I?” he said.

“Not if you don’t want to,” said Mrs. Pepper, “but you’ll help Polly ever so much, and that will help me.”

David gave a long sigh. “Then I’ll go, Mamsie,” he said, and slid out of her lap.

“Now, that’s Mother’s good boy,” cried Mrs. Pepper, kissing his pale cheek into which a little pink color began to come at her praise. “You can’t think what a comfort you’ll be to me for doing that, Davie.”

“Am I a comfort?” asked little Davie, the pink beginning to get very bright, “am I, truly, Mamsie?”

“Yes, indeed!” declared Mrs. Pepper, in her heartiest fashion, and with another kiss. “You’re just as much help as Joel is. Remember that, Davie.”

“Oh, Mamsie!” Little David was so surprised, he stared at her in wonder. “Joel’s earning money,” at last he said.

“Well, and you’re helping me to earn money,” said Mrs. Pepper, cheerily; “so run along and play prettily with Phronsie, so that Polly can come back to her work,” and she dismissed him with a little pat on his shoulder.

“Dear me, I ought to fly off to mine.” And she burst into a merry little laugh, so like to Polly’s own, that Davie felt his heart grow light at once, and he laughed, too, and ran off as fast as his feet would carry him.

Meantime, Joel, who had trudged on happily, every step of the way feeling big and important, the minute he saw the big, rambling, old red house, known as the Peters farm, felt his feet begin to lag, and when he really reached the gate hanging, by one hinge, why, he almost turned right straight around to fly home to Mamsie! But there sat Old Man Peters on the porch.

“Hey, so you’re here at last, you Pepper boy,” he called out, “a quarter of an hour late.”

“I’m not late,” said Joel, in a loud voice, and trudging in at the gate feeling big at once, and able to defend himself. “Mamsie said I had half an hour, and if I didn’t stop, I could get here in plenty of time. And I didn’t stop a single bit, but I walked on and on.” Joel brought this out wrathfully, and sank down hot and red on the lower step.

“Don’t you contradict me, you Pepper boy,” snarled Old Man Peters, knocking with his cane the well-worn piazza floor, “and I don’t care what your mother says. My time’s what I go by.”

“My mother is always right,” said Joel, proudly, and fixing the wizened face above him with his black eyes.

“Pa, don’t badger the boy when he’s first come,” said Miss Miranda, making her appearance in the doorway. “Look how red his face is; he’s awful tired.”

“You go in an’ ’tend to your work,” commanded her father, shaking his stick at her, “an’ I’ll see to my business. Now then, boy,” he got out of his chair, “I’ll set you to doin’ somethin’. Mebbe that’ll stop your sassy tongue.”

So Joel got off from the lowest step and followed the old man as he stumped off over the patchy grass, and the remains of a once good vegetable garden, where everything straggled off in its own sweet will, trying to hide behind its neighbors as if ashamed to be seen in Old Man Peters’s domain.

At last, behind the big barn, many of whose shingles seemed about to part acquaintance with their fellows, while the big door, and the shed tacked on to the rear partook of the general decay, the old man paused and pointed with his stick. “That’s your work, Joel, or whatever your name is, and the sooner you set at it, the better it will be.”

Joel stared on all sides and burst out, “I don’t see any work.”

Old Man Peters broke into a laugh that was more of a cackle than anything else, and that showed all his gums, for most of his teeth were gone long ago.

“Ha, ha! It’s there all the same. You’re to clean out th’ pig-pen.”

Now, the pig-pen at old Mr. Peters’s place hadn’t been cleaned out for so long that no one could remember the exact time, and it wouldn’t have been done now, only for the reason that the owner had at last made up his mind that if the big barn were not strengthened by some good work being put out on it, it would result in a great loss to him, for it was sagging dreadfully in that corner, and, beside, when the work of putting in new timbers was being accomplished, then was the time, if ever, to put on an ell, and increase its size. But, first of all, the pig-pen must be cleaned out; and, to do this, a small boy, who needn’t be paid very much, was the best sort of a person to set to work on it.

“Get down, Joel, and go at it,” said Old Man Peters, now in a very good humor indeed. “I’ve taken the pigs to t’other shed, so you can set to work at once.”

“I shan’t,” said Joel, wrathfully, and the color flying all over his cheek, “do it ever; not a single thing.”

“You won’t?” cried the old man, in a passion, and he raised his stick. But as Joel looked at him without even so much as a glance from his black eyes at the stick, he thought better of it, and his hand carrying it, dropped to his side. “You engaged to come and do my work,” he snarled.

“I didn’t,” said Joel, stoutly, “say I’d come and do your pig-pen; so there, now.”

“You’re a pretty boy,” said Old Mr. Peters, shaking with wrath and at the prospect of losing him; “what kind of a mother have you got, I’d like to know, to bring you up like that?”

“She didn’t bring us up,” cried Joel, his black eyes blazing, and advancing on him so furiously that the old man stepped involuntarily back against the barn.

“No, I sh’d say not,” he cackled.

“And you aren’t going to say anything about my mother,” declared Joel, doubling up his small brown fists, and throwing back his head.

“Stop--get off,” said Old Man Peters, edging farther away; “well, she didn’t teach you to keep your promises,” he sneered.

“She did--she did,” cried Joel, wildly, “and you’re a bad old man, and I hate you.”

“Well, I sh’d s’pose if you think so much of her, you wouldn’t want to worry her,” said Mr. Peters, seeing his advantage. “How’d she like it to have you go home and say you’d shirked your work, hey?”

Down went Joel’s angry little fists to his sides, and his black head dropped.

“An’, beside, see,” said the old man, now quite elated, “that if you go home, an’ say you wouldn’t do my work, like enough she won’t ever let you take another job. Then, says I, Joel Pepper, where’d you be?”

Where Joel would be in such a dreadful state of affairs was more than he could say. And by this time he was beyond reasoning, so he dropped down to his knees on the edge of the dreadful mess in the pig-pen and began to crawl over under the sill of the barn.

“I’ll throw you a broom an’ a shovel,” said the old man, in great glee. And presently that was done, a worn down broom and an old shovel with a broken handle tumbled in, and then, after minute directions how the work was to be done, Mr. Peters stumped back to the house.

“Well, I’ve set that lazy boy to work,” he said, rubbing his hands in delight as he sat down in the kitchen.

“What’s he doin’?” asked Mrs. Peters, rolling out pie-crust on the baking table. It didn’t in the least look like what Mrs. Deacon Blodgett considered worthy to cover her “apple filling,” Mr. Peters not allowing any such waste of lard and other necessary material. But it was called “pie” and as such had to be made regularly--so many a week.

“Never you mind,” Mr. Peters stopped chuckling to emit the sour reprimand. Then he sank back in his big chair and rubbed his hands again harder than ever.

Mrs. Peters exchanged a glance with her daughter, who caught the last words, as she was coming into the kitchen, her dust-pan in her hand. “Hush, don’t say nothin’,” she said as Miranda passed her to throw the sweepings into the stove, and she shook her head over in the direction of Mr. Peters in the big chair.

“I’ll find out for myself,” determined Miranda, and going out with her dust-pan for another accumulation. “Beats all what makes Pa act so like Kedar; what’s he ben up to, I wonder.”