Chapter XIV: In Doctor Fisher’s Gig 397 (9)

“Take care,” said Polly, “you almost made me break that, Pet. What do you mean, Phronsie?”

“What is it?” still demanded Phronsie, in a puzzled way.

“Whatever does she mean, Mamsie?” cried Polly, wrinkling up her forehead and dropping the coat in her lap, so that the long white basting-thread trailed off to the floor.

“Why, I suppose she’s thinking of all you children, how badly you felt because you couldn’t go to the circus, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a keen glance from her black eyes on Phronsie’s troubled face; “but never mind that now,” she added quickly, seeing Polly’s own. “Come here, Phronsie,” she cleared her sewing out of her lap, and held out her arms.

Phronsie ran into them like a frightened rabbit. “What is it, Mamsie?” she cried, lifting her face.

“See here, Phronsie,” said Mrs. Pepper, holding her very close; “look up at Mother,” which really wasn’t very necessary to say, as Phronsie hadn’t taken her blue eyes from Mamsie’s face. “Everything is all right; I want you to understand that, child. Mother says it’s all right now.”

“Is Polly right?” asked Phronsie, looking off at Polly’s brown head, which was drooping just then.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Pepper, in such a hearty tone that Polly raised her head a little, “Polly is all right, Phronsie.”

Phronsie drew a long breath. “And is Bensie all right, too?” she asked.

“Yes, Ben is all right, too,” Mother Pepper answered.

“And is Joel all right?” Phronsie regarded her mother closely again, but the look of fear had dropped out of her face, and she put up one little hand to her mother’s cheek. “Is he, Mamsie?”

“Joel is all right, Phronsie.” Then Mother Pepper smiled, “And Davie, too. Everybody and everything is all as it should be, child.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” cried Phronsie, with a little crow of delight, and patting her hands together. Then she slipped down from her mother’s lap.

“It is, it is! Every single thing, and I’m glad,” and she began to dance as hard as she could up and down the old kitchen.

“And now, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, picking up her sewing again, and sending a bright smile down to Polly, “you better fly at those basting-threads as quick as ever you can,” which Polly did, and when the boys came running in, with all thoughts of circus driven out of their heads, the old kitchen was as bright as ever, and fairly running over with good cheer.

Meantime, Mrs. Pepper and Polly had been talking, for Mamsie had cast about in her own mind very hard to discover some way to make up as far as possible to the children for their disappointment about the circus. It really seemed that its heralded arrival had driven all Badgertown people almost out of their wits with joy, to think it was coming to their village on the morrow. And all households were busily planning for some, if not all, of their members to attend the performances.

But one after another of the nice plans that presented themselves to Mrs. Pepper took money to carry them out, so, of course, that would have been as bad as to buy circus tickets. What could she do? “There must be some way, and I’ve got to find it,” she said, stitching on, her lips pressed tighter together than ever.

At last she laid down her needle.

“Polly,” she said, “how would you like to have company to-morrow afternoon?”

“_To have company!_” repeated Polly, dropping the coat to stare at her mother.

“I don’t mean real company,” Mrs. Pepper made haste to add, “but to play company. You know you said you’d like to, sometime when Ben would be home.”

“And is Ben going to be home to-morrow?” said Polly. “I thought he was going to Mr. Henderson’s to work.”

“I shall tell Mr. Henderson he can’t go to-morrow afternoon to the parsonage,” said Mrs. Pepper, calmly. “Would you like it?”

“If Ben can stay home, I’d like it, oh, so very much,” exclaimed Polly, joyfully, and deserting her stool, the coat flying off in a heap, she threw her arms around Mrs. Pepper’s neck.

“Oh, Mamsie! You’re just too good for anything!” Then off she ran to Phronsie, still spinning contentedly around by herself.

“Phronsie,” she cried, seizing her and dancing away to keep step with the small feet. “We’re going to have company to-morrow afternoon; we are, Phronsie Pepper!”

Phronsie tried to pull herself away from Polly, seeing which Polly stopped short.

“Oh, Polly,” cried Phronsie, breathlessly, and gazing up at Polly’s face.

“Yes, we really and truly are, Pet, and Ben’s to stay home, and play company, too.” With that, she danced off by herself, while Phronsie hopped up and down and laughed to see Polly go. It was just at this moment that the three boys raced in.

“Halloa!” exclaimed Ben, out of his wits almost with joy to see Polly so happy. For although he had diverted the boys from their distress, the fear of what Polly was suffering, and of Mamsie, too, had made him not sure of himself. He might rush off into the house to see how things were there, and then, of course, Joel and David would be sure to follow. And then--Ben had groaned and said to himself--it would be worse than before.

But now,--why, there was Polly, capering away, her brown hair flying, and her cheeks red, and Mother Pepper over in the corner looking up to greet them with smiles.

“Hooray!” screamed Ben, at his loudest, “well, I guess I’m going to dance, too!” So he sprang over and grasped Polly’s hands.

“Me, too,” cried Joel, going after the others. But little Davie hurried over to Phronsie, hopping up and down and laughing. “Dance with me, Phronsie,” he said, holding out his hands. And Phronsie put hers in them, and there they all were, the Five Little Peppers, skipping and spinning around and around the old kitchen. There wasn’t any tune to go by, to be sure, for Polly was too out of breath to sing, but the laughter and scraps of chatter made a merry din, every bit of which sank down into Mother Pepper’s heart, making it warm with contentment.

“O dear me!” At last even Polly was forced to stop.

“Wasn’t that fine!” cried Ben, his blue eyes shining. Joel had tumbled off to the corner where little Davie and Phronsie had sunk down to rest.

“I should just say ’twas!” declared Polly, “and, oh, Ben!” clasping her hands, “what do you think? We’re going to have company to-morrow.”

“What!” cried Ben, in amazement.

“Our play company, you know,” said Polly, seizing him by the front of his jacket with both hands, a favorite way of hers, when she had something very special to say, “we’re going to have it to-morrow. Mamsie just said so!”

“Did she really, now?” cried Ben, his ruddy cheeks putting on, if possible, a deeper glow than the spin had caused.

Polly nodded her head delightedly, gripping his jacket tighter than ever.

“Oh, now, see!” exclaimed Joel, glancing over at them from his corner, “they’re having secrets, Polly and Ben are,” and he sprang up to his feet and plunged across the kitchen to them. “Tell me, what is it,--tell me,” he clamored.

“That’s prime!” Ben was saying as Joel plunged up to them, and then, of course, little David and Phronsie followed fast.

“Oh, I think that’s mean,” protested Joel, loudly, “not to tell us. You’re always having secrets. What is it?” Then he laid hold of Ben’s jacket, too. “I should think you might tell Dave and me,” he whined.

“And Phronsie,” added little David. But Ben didn’t hear this, as Joel was making such a to-do.

“Well, you make so much noise, Joe,” said Ben, coolly, “that we can’t tell you.”

“Oh, I won’t,--I won’t,” promised Joel, in a great state of excitement and hanging tightly to Ben. “Tell us,--tell us, what is it, Ben?” he screamed as much louder as possible than he had teased before.

But Ben burst into a hearty laugh, Joel revolving about him anxiously and teasing all the while.

“O dear me! Do be still,” cried Polly, seizing Joel’s arm; “don’t you see, Joel, we can’t possibly tell you anything while you’re screaming so, and you couldn’t hear it if we did.” She shook his little arm. “Now, stop, and we’ll tell you.”

Joel’s hands dropped away from Ben. “Will you, really?” he said.

“Yes,” said Polly, “really and truly we will; we were going to tell you, Joel, anyway, and Davie and Phronsie.”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed Ben, wiping his eyes and drawing a long breath, “has this dreadful noise really stopped?” and he pretended to be very much astonished.

“Yes,” said Polly, laughing, “but it will begin again, I’m afraid, if you don’t look out. Oh, children, just think,” she clasped her hands, “we’re going to have our company to-morrow afternoon. Mamsie has just said so!”

“_Our company_,” screamed Joel, while little Davie stared, Phronsie standing quietly by Polly’s side where she had run.

“Yes, our play company,” said Polly; “you know we’ve been waiting till Ben could be home, and Mamsie says he is not to work to-morrow afternoon, and we can have it then; she just said so, while you were out of doors.”

Joel took a good look at her face, then he tore himself away from the group to stand on his head in the middle of the floor. In this way he always gave expression to his deepest joy.

“Polly,” screamed little Davie, shrilly, “can we really have it to-morrow, really, Polly?”

“Yes,” said Polly, happily, her brown eyes dancing, “as true’s you live, Davie Pepper.”

And little David ran, not to join Joel, but to Mother Pepper’s chair. “Oh, I’m so glad, Mamsie,” he cried, throwing himself into her lap on top of the coat she was sewing so busily.

When Phronsie saw him, she started for Mamsie, too, and precipitated herself in Mother Pepper’s lap, the two children making a dreadful mix-up of the work. “Take me, Mamsie, too,” she begged.

“So Mother will,” declared Mrs. Pepper, casting aside the sewing as well as she could and bundling the two children into her lap; “there, now, here you both are,”--little Davie constantly saying, “I am so glad, Mamsie.”

“I am so glad,” murmured Phronsie, though she didn’t know in the least what it was all about, and swinging her feet contentedly.

“And now, Polly,” Ben was saying over in their corner, Joel hanging on each word, “we must begin to get things ready if we’re going to have all that company to-morrow.”

“So we must,” cried Polly, with an important air, “because you see we never know how many are coming.”

“That’s so,” assented Ben.

The Pepper children had long ago decided, on talking over this company afternoon, that whenever they could hold it, four of them should sit in state and receive, while one should knock at the door, and be ushered in as caller, with great ceremony. And after this call was ended, the one who had made it should slip into the seat of another, who should go out and be caller. And so turn about and turn about, till every one had made a call, and again on a second round of visits if they wished. “For we can play it as long as we want to,” Polly had said, smoothing down her calico apron in great delight.

“I guess you’ll be glad to stop,” said Ben, grimly.

“Oh, Ben Pepper!” Polly exclaimed, “indeed, we shan’t. Well, now for the first thing--we must dress up.” She wrinkled up her forehead at that, and the delight dropped out of her face. “O dear, what shall we do for clothes?”

“There’s the feathers, you know,” said Ben, reassuringly.

The box of feathers was out in the woodshed, and carefully guarded as a great treasure, ready for just such a grand dressing-up as this company would require.

There were several beautiful ones that the roosters in neighboring barn-yards had discarded, to be eagerly seized by Joel and David. And one or two whole chicken wings, given by the parson’s wife for the collection. And oh, best of all! two long, soft, flying ones, from Grandma Bascom’s old feather duster that she was throwing away, and that Polly had run home with.

“Aren’t these splendid,” she had cried, waving them triumphantly, as she dashed into the kitchen.

“Whickets!” screamed Joel, “oh, give them to me. I want them, Polly,” making a dash for them.

“No, you won’t, Joe,” declared Polly, holding them high, “they must go into our feather box.” And Ben, who happened to be on hand at that moment, seized them and carried them off to put them in safety. For, once in the “Feather Box,” no marauding fingers ever disturbed them, the three smallest little Peppers being in duty bound never to raise the lid until Polly or Ben said so.

“I know,” said Polly, when Ben said, “There’s the feathers,” “but we can’t dress up much in them.” And her face, by this time, looked gloomy enough.

“Polly,” said Ben, who couldn’t bear to see her look so, “see here, don’t you know how you pinched up a hat for Joel to play soldier with? Why can’t you do some more?”

“But we don’t want to be soldiers for company,” said Polly, turning a surprised look on him that didn’t lighten the gloom a bit.

“But, don’t you see,” Ben whirled on her eagerly, “you can pinch up the paper into ever so many different shapes and stick the feathers in, and they’ll be beautiful hats, Polly.”

Polly stared at him out of her brown eyes. Then she seized his hands. “Oh, Ben, so I can,” she cried, dreadfully excited. “I never thought of that, and we can have as many hats and bonnets as we want.”

“As long as the feathers hold out,” laughed Ben, well pleased to see the effect of his plan, “and the paper,” he added.

“Now, Phronsie and David,” Mother Pepper was saying, when the jollity over Ben’s plan of the paper bonnets and hats began to wax very high, “you’d better jump down from Mother’s lap, and go over there.”

“I’d rather stay here,” said both children at once, snuggling deeper in her lap.

“But you see, Mother must sew now, else this coat won’t be done. No, you run over,” and obediently they slid down to the floor and scrambled off to the little group.

And the box of feathers was brought out from the woodshed, Joel and David being sent off to get it, which filled them with the greatest delight, and Ben ran to collect all the paper in the house that didn’t have to be saved to light the fire with, Mother Pepper donating a stiff brown piece that had wrapped up some things given her by the parson’s wife.

When Polly saw that donation, she was quite overcome. “That will make the most splendid hat of all,” she declared; “I shall put the feather-duster plumes on that.”

“Do, Polly,” said Ben, “it’ll be fine.”

And then all the three younger children (the box of feathers being now on hand) were set to work to hunt for pins. “For we can’t fasten the feathers on without,” said Polly; and when this seemed a difficult matter,--for pins cost money and were always carefully saved in the Pepper household,--why, Mamsie came to the rescue, and said she would loan them some. But Polly must put them into the paper hats and bonnets very carefully so that they wouldn’t be lost out, and return them all after the company had gone.

And Polly promised, you may be sure! “And the children better hunt for pins all they can, for you never know where a pin can be found,” observed Mother Pepper, wisely. And so the three younger ones got down to prowl in all possible and impossible places for the little slippery things, and Joel and David hunted with all their eyes for any little stray gleams of light in the dirt whenever they went outdoors.

And the next morning in burst Joel with a small paper box high in his hand. It hadn’t any cover and if he hadn’t made such a noise anybody might have heard something jingling within. “See what I’ve got!” he screamed.

“Oh, Joe, what is it?” Polly was pinching up a remarkable hat on which she was tacking a rooster feather. An old newspaper was at her feet that Davie was cutting up according to her directions. Phronsie was busy with the snips of paper and bits of the feathers that Polly broke off, under the belief that she was making for Seraphina the most beautiful bonnet in all the world.

“Umph, I guess I’ve got something you haven’t got,” screamed Joel, waving the box high, whereat some little things, very tiny, flew out of the box, making him sprawl immediately on the floor to hunt after them, when the rest of the contents promptly went out to join the first lot.

“O dear me!” exclaimed Joel, in the greatest vexation.

“I’ll help you find them,” cried David, throwing down Mamsie’s big scissors and deserting the newspaper. Phronsie carefully laid down her paper snips and the bits of feathers. “I’ll help you, Joey,” she said, going over to get down and prowl by his side.

“Oh, they’re pins,” exclaimed little David, his blue eyes very big.

“Take care,” said Joel, irritably, “you’re covering ’em all up.”

“Where’d you get them?” asked David, picking up two or three; “why, they’re all crooked.”

“She wouldn’t give me any but crooked ones,” said Joel, pawing the floor on every side.

Polly heard these words. “Joel,” and she dropped the wonderful hat, “where did you get those pins? You haven’t asked anybody for them,--oh, Joel!” and she was over by the other children, consternation all over her face.

“Grandma Bascom gave them to me,” said Joel, prowling away, “and now they’re all spilled--”

“Grandma Bascom?” repeated Polly. “Oh, Joe, you didn’t ask for them; Mamsie’d be so sorry.”

“No,” said Joel, “I didn’t ask for one single old pin,” and he cocked up one black eye at her, but he didn’t stop working with his hands. “She asked me to stay and I told her I couldn’t ’cause Dave and me was hunting for pins, and she said she’d got some only they were crooked-- Ow--get away, Dave,--you’re on my place--”

“Go on, tell what else she said,” commanded Polly, beginning to breathe freer.

“And then she said I could have ’em as well as not, ’cause she was going to throw them away when she got round to cleaning out the drawers--”

“Are you sure?” asked Polly, as he began to regard his work again very closely.

“When she got round to cleaning out the drawers,” repeated Joel, in a very high voice to be the better understood.

“Well, I am glad,” said Polly, with a long breath, “that you didn’t ask for them, Joe,” and she ran back to her work with a light heart.

“I’ve found one,” announced Phronsie, holding up a big pin; “I have, Joel.”

“Well, put it in the box,” said Joel. So Phronsie dropped the bent and twisted pin in the little pasteboard box, and then she had to get up to run over and tell Polly about it, before she hurried back to get on the floor and hunt alongside of the two boys for more.

“And I shall pin on the feathers from the duster with that very pin,” Polly decided to herself as she worked busily away, “because Grandma gave them to us as well as the crooked pins!”

Meanwhile during all this great and absorbing preparation for the grand affair, Mother Pepper was casting busily about in her mind how to get some refreshments for the company; but try as she would, nothing seemed to suggest itself, until the remembrance of the glass of blackberry jelly that Deacon Blodgett’s wife had given her last summer, when making her fresh supply, came to her mind. There it was tucked away on the top shelf of the old cupboard. “Oh, I can’t take that,” said Mrs. Pepper to herself; “it’s so good in case of sickness.” But then--and she drew a long breath--would her little brood ever need it more than after this terrible disappointment that had threatened to make the Little Brown House the scene of despair? And surely when every household, in all probability, in the whole of Badgertown was to be drawn into the delights of the circus--all but hers--some sacrifices must be made to give what happiness she could to her children.

“They shall have it,” decided Mrs. Pepper to herself. “Now, what else can I find for them?”

But nothing else appearing, no matter how hard she thought as she stitched away, she sighed.

“Polly can bake some little biscuits,” she said to herself, “to go with the jelly.”

When the children were told that the precious glass of blackberry jelly was positively to be theirs for the feast to be prepared for the company, they were speechless with delight. Then came the great deliberation as to how to arrange it.

“We ought to have something to drink,” said Ben, “seeing we can’t have lemonade.”

“Oh, Ben, we couldn’t ever have lemonade,” exclaimed Polly.

“I said we couldn’t,” said Ben, “but we ought to have something; I thought folks always did when they had company, Polly.”

“O dear me, I know,” said Polly, quite distressed at the failure to be like other folks, “but we haven’t anything, Ben.”

“Why can’t we melt the jelly?” proposed Ben.

“Oh, Ben,” Joel gave a loud howl. Then he flew over to Mrs. Pepper’s chair. “Ben’s going to melt the jelly you gave us--” he cried wrathfully. “Make him stop, Mamsie,” he implored.

“Oh, I don’t think he is, Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, soothingly.

“He is--he is,” declared Joel, wildly; “he said so. Do stop him, Mamsie.”

Meanwhile Polly’s voice came pealing across the kitchen. Joel pricked up his ears. “How perfectly elegant!” she was exclaiming. So Joel flew back again, for things couldn’t be as bad as he feared with Polly so joyful.

“And just think, Joey,” she cried, as he came bounding up, “we’re going to have the jelly melted and--”

“No, no, no!” roared Joel, interrupting.

“And we’re going to pour it into the mugs and cups and drink it, and it will be just as sweet and beautiful as can be! And Ben thought this all out,” added Polly, proudly.

“Will it be sweet?” asked Joel.

“As sweet as can be,” declared Polly, decidedly.

“I’d rather have the jelly to eat on top of the little biscuits,” said Joel, grudgingly, yet he thought longingly of the beautiful mugful to drink.

“Oh, we aren’t going to melt it all,” said Polly, quickly; “the very idea! We’re going to save half to eat.”

“Then I want to drink some,” cried Joel, “and I’m going to melt it--Dave and me--”

“You can help, children,” said Polly, bustling away, feeling very grand and important. Dear me, how much there was to do, to be sure, when company was expected!

And when at last the eventful afternoon arrived, there was a still further surprise in store for the five little entertainers of the company. In walked Grandma Bascom. “I thought mebbe you’d like this, Polly, to dress up in. My Pa brought it home from the Indies, an’ you can keep it, ’cause th’ moths has got into it,” mourned Grandma, holding it up in her trembling old hands.

It was a yellowish, thin woollen shawl dingy with age, with a wide border running all around it of flowers of various sizes, and in flaring colors that, strange to say, had not dimmed in the least all the while they had been in Grandma Bascom’s possession. The children crowded around in speechless admiration as Grandma Bascom shook it out before their eyes.

“That corner goes up th’ back,” said Grandma, pointing to it, “an’ Ma was alwus partic’ler to settle it that way, bein’s th’ flowers ran up so fur”--as they surely did! A most remarkable spray like nothing ever seen in a garden, sprawled at its own sweet will almost into the middle of the shawl.

“There hain’t no other corner got a sprig, so you can’t make a mistake, Polly. An’ be careful of th’ fringe,” which indeed was necessary advice, as this particular adornment to the shawl had become very tired in the lapse of time since Grandma Bascom’s Pa brought it from the Indies, and had dropped away, till here and there only a thread remained, looking very lonely indeed.

“An’ don’t stick your fingers in th’ holes, child,” cautioned Grandma, before she finally let it go into Polly’s hands. “It beats me how those moths get into it, but if you don’t ketch it on any thin’, ’twon’t tear no more.”

“Oh, I’ll be very careful of it,” promised Polly, receiving the old shawl with fingers that trembled as much as Grandma’s. “It’s perfectly beautiful, but perhaps Mamsie won’t let me wear it,” she added, with a dreadful feeling that in that case the company would suffer a loss that could never be made up; “and then I’ll bring it back to you, Grandma, when she comes home,” she said loudly, for Grandma was so deaf.

“You ain’t never goin’ to bring it back to me,” said Grandma, beginning to waddle to the door, and turning back--“I’ve give it to you, Polly.”

“_You’ve given it to me!_” repeated Polly, in amazement, and her hands trembled so that the old shawl shook dreadfully.

“You’ve given it to Polly!” screamed Joel, huddling up to Grandma. “O my jiminy!”

Ben was not less excited, and the delighted babel that they all now set up pleased Grandma very much. She beamed at them all under the nodding frills of her cap border. “Yes, I’ve give it to Polly,” she said. “It’s got moth holes, and I sh’d be ashamed to wear it with them in; Ma never did. So Polly shall keep it to dress up in.” And despite all the pressing invitations to stay and be part of the company to receive, Grandma waddled off down the lane to see to her hens and other necessary work left undone.

* * * * *

It was about a half-hour after this. The old kitchen presented a very dignified aspect, suited for such a ceremonious occasion as it was presently to be the scene of. There on the table was spread the feast, two plates of little brown biscuits baked as nice as any one could ever want, and on Mother Pepper’s best blue willow saucer was half of the blackberry jelly. It had lopped down one side a bit, to be sure, as Polly turned it out of the glass, which was a great grief to her, but as Ben wisely suggested, “It will taste just as good, Polly,” she tried to be comforted. And next to it was the row of mugs and cups of the blackberry juice, nice and pink where it had been pieced out with plentiful additions of water. Could anything be more magnificent!

And in front of the table spread with this feast was the row of entertainers, all obliged to turn their backs, because Joel would stare at the refreshments, and Polly said that was not polite, for he ought to look at the company.

Phronsie sat on her little stool in the middle, or as near as she could get to it, being between Ben and Joel, and little Davie was at the very end, and each head was graced with the most remarkable structure of hat or bonnet, from which floated, or stuck straight upright, as the case might be, some feather or a chicken wing drawn from their treasured box.

Polly was to be company first, and she now stood before the row, perfectly resplendent in a tall newspaper hat, from which perked out a rooster feather, and the yellow old embroidered shawl that Grandma Bascom’s Pa had brought from the Indies, drawn across her shoulders. It had required all Ben’s best skill to persuade the sprig of flowers to run where it should, and he tried several times to get it right, as Polly couldn’t see her own back.

“It isn’t exactly straight,” he confessed at last, and pausing with a very red face, “but it doesn’t matter, Polly.”

“Oh, it must be straight,” said Polly, feeling that it would be an awful thing if Grandma Bascom’s shawl didn’t look the same as when Ma wore it. “Do try again, Ben.”

So Ben tried again, getting it worse than before. “The flowers won’t come straight,” he said, “and I can’t make ’em.” So Polly was forced to stifle a sigh and bear it as best she could.

“Now, children,” said Polly, standing in front of the row,--Ben had taken his seat at the head of the line,--“I’m going into the bedroom and--”

“What for?” cried Joel.

“Never mind,” said Polly, all in a twitter, for she had a little secret kept carefully from all the others except Ben. It was impossible to keep it from him, for Polly and Ben told everything to each other. Mamsie had told her she might take her dark green silk parasol owned for many years and carefully kept rolled in tissue paper. And because no one was to carry it but Polly, and only once by her, the children must not be told, so Polly couldn’t get it from the bureau drawer in the bedroom until the last minute.

“Now you must shut your eyes,” said Polly, for there was no other way to get out of doors, after getting the parasol, than to come through the kitchen, and then they would of course see her, “and don’t look until I say, ‘How do you do!’”

“I don’t want to shut my eyes,” said Joel. “I want to see what you’re going into the bedroom for.”

“Shut your eyes, Joe,” said Ben, leaning past Phronsie to give him a small nudge. So Joel shut his, especially as Ben, to set a good example, did the same. And little David, afraid he might see, put his two hands up over his face. When Phronsie saw that, she did the same thing, and then Joel, to be in the fashion, followed suit, and so did Ben, to keep the children in countenance.

But Polly couldn’t find the parasol, for Mother Pepper took it out to mend a little break in the well-worn silk,--afraid it might pull away more while doing duty for the company,--and then she set the roll of tissue paper out on the counterpane of the big four-poster, telling Polly so. But Polly hadn’t heard, being in such a fluster over the preparations; so she fumbled away, first in one drawer, and then in another, of the old bureau; even searching all through the lowest one where Phronsie always came to look at, and pat, her red-topped shoes.

“She’s coming!” cried Joel, having a dreadful time not to take down his hands, but remembering Polly’s command just in time.

“Well, you’re not to look till she says, ‘How do you do,’” warned Ben, as a small noise sounded over by the door. Then all was quiet.

“O dear, I wish she’d hurry,” grumbled Joel, and squirming dreadfully on his hard wooden chair.

Little David held his breath in delighted expectation, while Phronsie twisted her small fingers into her brown eyes. She wouldn’t have seen for the world until Polly wanted her to, when a fumbling noise back of them struck upon all their ears.

“I guess Polly’s thought of something she wanted to do to the refreshments,” said Ben to himself; “though I don’t see what it can be, for they look so nice.” But if Polly wasn’t satisfied, and still wanted to fix them over--why, it was all right; so he settled himself back on his chair.

But Polly seemed to be in a good many minds about the beautiful array of eatables, for the little clicking sound showed that the mugs and cups were being moved about; besides other noises that showed that something else was going on among the refreshments.

“What _can_ she be doing?” said Ben to himself, more puzzled than ever, when--

“_Oh!_” screamed somebody. It surely was Polly, but she was in front of them. And the whole row, tearing away their hands,--for it was impossible to keep their eyes shut after that,--saw Polly, the perfect picture of astonishment, coming out of the bedroom, the old green parasol in her hand, and looking with all her eyes at the table back of them. Every one whirled around. There on the edge, in calm enjoyment, sat a monkey, resplendent in a smart red waistcoat adorned all down the front with shining brass buttons, and a perky little red cap, which, not forgetting his manners, he was pulling off with one hand. The other was cramming the last little brown biscuit into his mouth. The mugs and cups stood empty, and the blue willow jelly plate was licked quite clean.

“_Oh--oh--oh--a monkey!_” It was impossible for anything else to be heard. Joel choked, trying to say as he pointed with shaking finger to the company sitting on the table, “He’s eat it all up,” but even he could not get out any words. But Company didn’t seem to mind the lack of a welcome in the least, peering about as he wrinkled up his brows, for more refreshments. But there were none--that was plain enough to be seen.

So then what did he do but hop to the floor, and begin the most surprising antics possible, perhaps thinking it quite time for him to do something to entertain, who had been so well entertained himself; but more than likely with a view to being offered something further in the way of refreshment, if he did his best.

And his best it was, for when the whole bunch of Peppers recovered from their astonishment, it was to burst into peals of enjoyment with eyes glued to the movements of a flashing red waistcoat and smart perky cap, as Company went through, from beginning to end, a most surprising list of accomplishments, turning up now and then a wrinkled little face to see if by any chance he was to be invited to have something to eat.

At last he got down to all fours and scrambled up to them. Little David gave a loud scream and clutched Polly about the neck, though, strange to say, Phronsie, the very one whom it might be expected would be frightened, leaned forward and put out her hand. “He’s my sweet little monkey. I want him,” she said.

The monkey, supposing at least a penny was in her hand, made her his grandest bow, and held out his paw, but, getting nothing, he gave the whole bunch of children a withering look, probably thinking that it was their funny curious headgear (for they weren’t nearly as fine as his smart red cap) that made them so queer, and turned and scrambled off to the door that he had left open a crack when he entered, and hurried out. And all they saw was a flash of red and his long tail slipping out.

“Oh, stop him--stop him!” roared Joel, plunging after him, with all the others at his heels. But, although they looked far and near, running down to the gate and out into the road, not a glimpse of him could be seen. And at last they were just turning back into the house when Sally Brown and her father and mother and four or five of the other neighbors came by in a big wagon.

“We’ve been to the _circus_!” screamed Sally, from the back of the wagon, where she was crammed in among some other children. “And ’twas awful good,” she added triumphantly.

“’Twasn’t either,” declared another girl, vindictively, in a louder scream; “the best monkey--th’ one that does all th’ tricks--ran away this morning, an’ they couldn’t fi-ind him--” Her voice pealed after her, as the wagon rolled on down the road.

“Oh, Ben!” Polly seized his coat. “It was our monkey, don’t you believe?” she gasped.

“Yes,” cried Ben, “I know it. Well, we’ve had the circus, after all.”

XIV

IN DOCTOR FISHER’S GIG

“Do you think you know of a little girl, just about as big as you are, who would like to go to ride with me in my gig?” Doctor Fisher leaned over and whispered it into Phronsie’s ear as she sat in the middle of the kitchen floor buttoning up her “red-topped shoes.”

Phronsie dropped the little button-hook, with a handle that looked exactly like silver, that old Mr. Beebe had given her when her new shoes were bought.

“Oh, I do--it’s me--please take me!” She hopped to her feet. Ever so many of the buttons were in the wrong holes of one little shoe, while the other lay on the floor, the little button-hook flying off to have a good time by itself.

“Oh, take me!” she begged, very much excited, and standing on tiptoe.

“So I shall,” cried the little doctor, beaming on her. “O dear me, you’ll have to get that other shoe on,” with a glance of dismay. “Well, now I must button it up for you.”

“Oh, no, no,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head. “I must do it all alone by myself--I truly must.” So she sat down on the floor and gravely set to work again, but the last little buttons positively refused to go in any holes at all.

“Now, see here, Phronsie,” said Doctor Fisher, at last, “you must let me help you, or you can’t go. Don’t you hear Dobbin telling us to hurry up? There, you put your foot right here, and I’ll have those buttons where they belong in no time.”

“Is Dobbin calling us?” asked Phronsie, the little hook pausing over a refractory button, to listen.

“Yes, indeed,” little Doctor Fisher nodded vehemently. Just then the old horse waiting out by the gate gave a loud neigh. “Don’t you hear him? There, now, says I.” And he slipped the little buttons out of the wrong holes to begin afresh.

“Oh, no--no,” protested Phronsie, in alarm, pulling away her little fat foot; “those are my very own buttons all done.” And two tears ran down her round cheeks.

The little doctor viewed her with dismay, and pulled out his big bandanna to wipe away the tears that were now coming so fast. He was at his wits’ end to know what to do next.

“I was going to say I’d take Polly, too, and she hasn’t been to ride since her eyes got well,” he said artfully, “but I can’t, unless you stop crying and let me button up your shoes.”

“Can’t Polly go?” said Phronsie, struggling very hard to crowd the tears back, and wiping her cheeks with her fat little hands.

“No, not unless you stop crying and let me button up your shoes,” declared Doctor Fisher, firmly. “She’ll have to stay at home, and, just think, she hasn’t had a ride since her eyes got well,” he repeated, quite delighted at his success so far.

“Then you may button up my new shoes,” said Phronsie, smothering her sobs, and she stuck out her foot, and the little doctor speedily had all the buttons in the right holes. “Now, then, the other one.” And then those buttons all flew into their places, and quicker than it takes to tell it, the little “red-topped” shoes were both fastened up, and Doctor Fisher was saying, “Now run and call Polly, child,” which really wasn’t necessary, for Phronsie was already on the way.

And then out flew Polly from the bedroom, her cheeks as red as two roses, and she raced up to Doctor Fisher. “Oh, I’m so glad--I’m going to ride! I am--I am!” just as if telling him a piece of news.

“Well, hurry up then,” said the little doctor, bursting into a merry laugh, and quite as excited. So Polly flew off to get Phronsie’s pink sunbonnet and her own, but presently back she came without them.

“Oh, I forgot we can’t go without asking Mamsie,” she said, and all the color flew out of her face, “and she’s down to Mrs. Henderson’s.” And she clasped her hands in distress.

“You go right along,” commanded the little doctor, peremptorily. “I asked your mother on the way down here. I had to stop at the parsonage, and she said, ‘Yes.’”

“Mamsie said ‘Yes,’” shouted Polly, her brown eyes widening in delight, and seizing Phronsie, who had followed her closely, clamoring for her sunbonnet. “She did, Phronsie, she truly did. There, come, Pet, and let me brush your hair.” And she began to dance over to the bedroom, hurrying Phronsie along.

“I don’t want my hair brushed, Polly,” said Phronsie, in a grieved tone, and stumbling along, Polly holding her hand closely.

“Oh, yes, you do.” Polly by this time had her in the bedroom. “Misery me, Phronsie, Mamsie wouldn’t ever want you to go to ride with your hair looking so. Why, it’s just like a cat’s nest,” making the old brush fly busily over Phronsie’s yellow hair.

“Will there be a cat’s nest here in this very room?” asked Phronsie, peering out from the soft wisps falling over her face with wide eyes of astonishment.

“Yes,” said Polly, in such a twitter over the promised ride she didn’t think what she was saying. “Do stand still, or I never’ll get through.”

“Oh, Polly,” Phronsie slipped from under the old brush, and pushed back the hair from her face, “then there’ll be a little kitty!” And she clasped her fat little hands ecstatically.

“Whatever in the world!” exclaimed Polly, the old hair-brush sticking up straight in the air, “do you mean, Phronsie?”

“I’m going to have a little kitty,” sang Phronsie, dancing away by the side of the old four-post bedstead. “Polly said so;--a little kitty!”

“Phronsie,” cried Polly, rushing after her, but Phronsie slipped off, her yellow hair streaming, and danced into the corner, “Polly said so;--a little kitty!”

“Now, Phronsie,” and Polly had her fast by the side of the big bureau, “you must just come out here;” and getting hold of her pink pinafore, Phronsie was soon in the middle of the bedroom. “Oh, make it a white one, do, Polly,” she begged, dreadfully excited.

“What _do_ you mean?” cried Polly, in a great state of bewilderment.

“I want a white one,” said Phronsie, but her lip drooped, and she looked ready to cry, for Polly’s face certainly didn’t look encouraging.

“If you’ll tell me what you’re talking about, child,” said Polly, almost in despair, still holding the old hair-brush, “I’ll--”

“You said there would be one,” said Phronsie, in an injured tone, and her blue eyes fastened on Polly with disapproval.

“Said there would be what?” gasped Polly.

“A cat’s nest in this very room,” said Phronsie, struggling with her tears, “and I want--a little white kitty, I do, Polly!” Then she burst into a loud sob and flung herself into Polly’s arms.

“O dear me! Oh--oh!” cried Polly, gustily, gathering her up, the old hair-brush flying off by itself. “Phronsie--O dear me!”

“You said so, Polly.” Phronsie, held tightly in Polly’s arms, kept saying this over and over reproachfully.

“Oh, I know it,” cried Polly. “O dear me, I didn’t mean there would really and truly be a cat’s nest in this room, Phronsie.”

“You said so,” repeated Phronsie, and this time she wriggled around to look up into Polly’s face with indignation.

“Well,--O dear me! I said your hair _looked_ like one, Phronsie.” Then Polly burst into such a merry peal of laughter that neither of them heard little Doctor Fisher come in from the kitchen.

“Well, I never!” he cried, setting his big spectacles straight to stare at them in amazement. Phronsie was, by this time, crying so that she didn’t see him, but Polly did, and she sprang to her feet, upsetting Phronsie, the color rushing up to her brown hair. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she cried.

But the little doctor smiled kindly at her, and went over and picked Phronsie up.

“Heyday!” he cried, swinging her as high as he could, which wasn’t much; “well, now, don’t you want to go to ride in my gig?”

But Phronsie was lost to all such charms and everything else. Polly had never told her anything that didn’t come true before, so she wailed on bitterly, until Polly, quite pale now, had told the whole story, interspersed with many reproaches for her careless speech.

“Oh, if that’s all,” said the little doctor, jubilantly, “I think I know exactly where to find a cat’s nest, Phronsie.”

“Is there a white kitty in it?” asked Phronsie, coming out of her sobs suddenly and brushing off the tears.

“Well, I don’t know about the white one,” said Dr. Fisher, racking his brains to remember if he had seen such a creature, and where. “But never mind,” as the little face fell, “there will be some other cunning kittens in the nest, probably, and they’re just waiting for some little girl who is going to be very good and not cry, and--”

“I’ll be very good and not cry,” announced Phronsie, struggling out of his arms, “and perhaps there’s a white one there.”

“Perhaps,” said the little doctor, with a merry laugh; “and now hurry up your cakes, and get ready, or Dobbin won’t wait for us much longer.”

“I’ll hurry up my cakes and get ready,” sang Phronsie. So Polly ran and picked up the old hair-brush and the yellow hair was brushed, and the two sunbonnets tied on. Then Polly, feeling very important, locked the old green door and put the key in her pocket, and with a long breath of delight ran down the path after Doctor Fisher and Phronsie. “We are really and truly going to ride in his gig,” she kept saying, over and over, to herself.

“You see,” said the little doctor, when they were at last in the depths of the roomy old gig, and Dobbin was jogging down the country road, “I thought I’d go over to Miller’s Corners this morning, because it’s such a fine day. ’Tisn’t very important, only the old lady expects me to call sometime this week.” And he was just turning off, when a man on horseback, who seemed very much in a hurry, clattered up, calling out long before he got there, “Hey, Doctor--I want you.”

“Now, what can have happened,” exclaimed the little doctor, peering out with visions of dreadful accidents flying through his mind, as the man and the horse bore down upon the gig. “Well, what’s wanted?”

“Mis’ Granniss has got hurt,” said the man, pulling up his beast so suddenly it seemed as if he must go over on his nose. “She hollered to me as I was goin’ past to tell you.”

“Sho--now, that poor woman!” exclaimed Doctor Fisher.

“Yes,” said the man; “she fell over her stove, an’ I guess she’s pretty bad.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The little doctor leaned over and took up the whip and gave Dobbin a cut, who, realizing from past experience a situation that required it, struck out his long legs so bravely that Phronsie, crowded into the middle of the seat, crowed gleefully at the pace, as she clung closely to Polly with both hands.

Doctor Fisher, slipping to the edge of the old leather seat, gripped the reins tightly. “I have to, Dobbin,” he said; “you must excuse me,” whenever he applied the whip, and at last, after many turns down the country road and an occasional uphill, there they were at their destination, and Dobbin gladly stopped to draw breath.

“You can play about here, children,” said Doctor Fisher, as he tied Dobbin fast to the worm-eaten post, and seized his medicine bag. So Polly and Phronsie hopped out of the gig, as the little doctor pranced off around the side of the house to the back door, this being evidently the best and quickest way to get into the house.

Polly drew a long breath and looked around. There wasn’t anything very pretty about the place; everything was so run down at the heel. Even the old shed tacked on to the weather-beaten dwelling had almost split apart from its connection, as if to say, “I’d rather stand alone.” And off on one side of the tiny yard where the grass sent up only occasional green spears, was a heap of broken bottles, and old tin cans, and other refuse that seemed to have been there for years and years.

“O dear me!” said Polly, under her breath. “Isn’t it beyewtiful,” hummed Phronsie, perfectly delighted; “he said we might play here, Polly.”

Polly was just going to say, “Oh, we can’t play in this dirty place, Phronsie,” when she remembered Mamsie’s words,--“Make the best of everything,”--so she brightened up. “Let’s go over there, Phronsie,” pointing across the road to a couple of old oak trees.

“No, no,” said Phronsie, shaking her head, “I want to stay here, Polly, I do.” And she seized Polly’s hand to drag her along. “Oh, there’s a kitty!” And she dropped the hand and ran off.

“Don’t touch her, Phronsie,” called Polly, racing after, but too late!--Phronsie already had in her arms a mangy, yellow cat, very dirty, and with big green eyes, now at their widest with fright.

“She’ll bite you,” screamed Polly. “Put her down, child,” as she got up to Phronsie’s side.

But Phronsie only hugged the dirty cat closer. “She won’t bite me,” she said. “Polly, she truly won’t,” as a small boy in a ragged pair of blue cotton overalls dashed out of the doorway and over the broken steps.

“You put down my cat, you girl, you!” he cried, with a fierce jump at Phronsie, who was quite willing now to drop the yellow cat. But unfortunately the cat’s long claws of one leg caught in Phronsie’s pinafore and in trying to get away from the dirty hands of the boy, toward whom she seemed to have very little love, she put her claws on Phronsie’s neck, and as she leaped over her shoulder, there was a long red mark left to show where she had sprung off.

“Now, you see, you’ve driven off my cat!” screamed the boy, anger all over his dirty little face, as the yellow cat leaped over the refuse heap and disappeared into a patch of scrub oaks.

“Oh, Phronsie,” exclaimed Polly, in distress, “just look at your neck,” which was quite impossible for Phronsie to do, as the long scratch was up over the little pink pinafore ruffle. But it was there, Phronsie knew quite well, as it began to sting and ache. “It hurts, Polly,” she said, putting up her hand to it, as she huddled up next to Polly’s gown to get away from that dreadful boy.

“I know, child,” said Polly, soothingly; “well, Doctor Fisher will fix it when he gets through in the house.”

“He ain’t ever goin’ to get through, the doctor man ain’t,” said the boy, quite ready to hold conversation, visitors being few and far between. “Mother’s got hurt, an’ he’s fixin’ her up.”

“Your mother’s got hurt?” repeated Polly, her eyes widening in sympathy. “O dear me, how?”

“Um--” the boy snapped his small mouth together impressively, “she fell over the stove, she an’ the baby, but--”

“Oh, Polly, there’s a baby!” screamed Phronsie, coming out suddenly from the folds of Polly’s brown gown.

“Hain’t you got a baby?” asked the boy.

“No,” said Phronsie, “and I want one, I do.”

“Huh--where do you live not to have a baby?” said the boy, in supreme contempt, and he swung on one dirty bare foot to come round again to stare at Phronsie with all his might.

“Oh, the poor thing,” said Polly, thinking of that dreadful fall over the stove, “but I’m so glad the baby wasn’t hurt.”

“And I want the baby,” cried Phronsie, excitedly tugging at Polly’s hand. “I want it now, please, Polly.”

“Come this way. I’m takin’ care of her,” said the boy, with an important air, striding off to the old shed, and Polly and Phronsie hurried after to find in an old box on top of a folded calico quilt, a small creature with very thin cheeks and big eyes gazing at them under a thatch of tangled black hair. She had something up at her mouth clutched in both hands, at which she was gnawing busily.

“Oh--oh!” screamed Phronsie, rushing over to the box, and stretching out both hands; “isn’t she be-_yew_tiful! I want her, I do.”

“Don’t, Phronsie,” cried Polly, trying to pull her away, but as well try to stop the wind. Phronsie was down on her knees by the box with both small arms around the baby, who immediately dropped her choice morsel and then roared because she couldn’t get it.