Five Little Peppers And How They Grew

M >> Margaret Sidney >> Five Little Peppers And How They Grew

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

"I didn't have any fears, if I worked it rightly," said the old
gentleman complacently. "I wasn't coming without her, Marian, if
it could possibly be managed. The truth is, that Phronsie had been
pining for Polly to such an extent, that there was no other way but
for her to have Polly; and her mother was just on the point,
although it almost killed her, of sending for Polly--as if we should
have let her go!" he cried in high dudgeon; just as if he owned the
whole of the Peppers, and could dispose of them all to suit his
fancy! "So you see, I was just in time; in the very nick of time, in
fact!"

"So her mother was willing?" asked his daughter, curiously. "Oh,
she couldn't help it," cried Mr. King, beginning to walk up and
down the floor, and beaming as he recalled his successful strategy;
"there wasn't the smallest use in thinking of anything else. I told
her 'twould just stop Polly from ever being a musician if she broke
off now--and so 'twould, you know yourself, Marian, for we should
never get the child here again, if we let her go now; and I
talked--well, I had to talk some; but, well--the upshot is I did get
her, and I did bring her--and here she is!" And the old gentleman
was so delighted with his success, that he had to burst out into a
series of short, happy bits of laughter, that occupied quite a space
of time. At last he came out of them, and wiped his face
vigorously.

"And to think how fond the little girl is of you, father!" said Mrs.
Whitney, who hadn't yet gotten over her extreme surprise at the old
gentleman's complete subjection to the little Peppers: he, whom all
children had by instinct always approached so carefully, and whom
every one found it necessary to conciliate!

"Well, she's a nice child," he said, "a very nice child; and,"
straightening himself up to his fullest height, and looking so very
handsome, that his daughter could not conceal her admiration, "I
shall always take care of Phronsie Pepper, Marian!"

"So I hope," said Mrs. Whitney; "and father, I do believe they'll
repay you; for I do think there's good blood there; these children
have a look about them that shows them worthy to be trusted."

"So they have: so they have," assented Mr. King, and then the
conversation dropped.

PHRONSIE

Phronsie was toiling up and down the long, oak staircase the
next morning; slowly going from one step to the other, drawing
each little fat foot into place laboriously, but with a pleased
expression on her face that only gave some small idea of the
rapture within. Up and down she had been going for a long time,
perfectly fascinated; seeming to care for nothing else in the world
but to work her way up to the top of the long flight, only to turn
and come down again. She had been going on so for some time, till
at last, Polly, who was afraid she would tire herself all out, sat
down at the foot and begged and implored the little girl, who had
nearly reached the top, to stop and rest.

"You'll be tired to death, Phronsie!" she said, looking up at the
small figure on its toilsome journey. "Why you must have gone up
a million times! Do sit down, pet; we're all going out riding,
Phronsie, this afternoon; and you can't go if yon're all tired out."

"I won't be tired, Polly," said Phronsie, turning around and looking
at her, "do let me go just once more!"

"Well," said Polly, who never could refuse her anything, "just
once, Phronsie, and then you must stop."

So Phronsie kept on her way rejoicing, while Polly still sat on the
lowest stair, and drummed impatiently on the stair above her,
waiting for her to get through.

Jappy came through the hail and found them thus. "Halloa, Polly!"
he said, stopping suddenly; "what's the matter?"

"Oh, Phronsie's been going so," said Polly, looking up at the little
figure above them, which had nearly reached the top in delight,
"that I can't stop her. She has really, Jappy, almost all the morning;
you can't think how crazy she is over it."

"Is that so?" said Jasper, with a little laugh. "Hulloa, Phronsie, is it
nice?" and he tossed a kiss to the little girl, and then sat down by
Polly.

"Oh," said Phronsie, turning to come down, "it's the beyew-tifiest
place I ever saw, Japser! the very be-yew-tiflest!"

"I wish she could have her picture painted," whispered Jasper,
enthusiastically. "Look at her now, Polly, quick!"

"Yes," said Polly, "isn't she sweet!"

"Sweetr' said Jasper. "I should think she was!"

The sunlight through an oriel window fell on the childish face and
figure, glinting the yellow hair, and lighting up the radiant face,
that yet had a tender, loving glance for the two who waited for her
below. One little foot was poised, just in the act of stepping down
to the next lower stair, and the fat hand grasped the polished
railing, expressive of just enough caution to make it truly childish.
In after years Jasper never thought of Phronsie without bringing up
this picture on that April morning, when Polly and he sat at the
foot of the stairs, and looked up and saw it.

"Where's Jap?" called one of the boys; and then there was a clatter
out into the hall.

"What are you doing?" and Van came to a full stop of amazement
and stared at them.

"Resting," said Jappy, concisely, "what do you want, Van?"

"I want you," said Van, "we can't do anything without you, Jappy;
you know that."

"Very well," said Jasper, getting up. "Come on, Polly, we must go."

"And Phronsie," said Van, anxiously, looking up to Phronsie, who
had nearly reached them by this time, "we want her, too."

"Of course," said Polly, running up arid meeting her to give her a
hug; "I don't go unless she does."

"Where are we going, Polly?" asked Phronsie, looking back
longingly to her beloved stairs as she was borne off.

"To the greenhouse, chick!" said Jasper, "to help Turner; and it'll
be good fun, won't it, Polly?"

"What is a greenhouse?" asked the child, wonderingly. "All green,
Japser?"

"Oh, dear me," said Van, doubling up, "do you suppose she thinks
it's painted green?"

"It's green inside, Phronsie, dear," said Jasper, kindly, "and that's
the best of all."

When Phronsie was really let loose in the greenhouse she thought
it decidedly best of all; and she went into nearly as much of a
rapture as Polly did on her first visit to it.

In a few moments she was cooing and jumping among the plants,
while old Turner, staid and particular as he was, laughed to see her
go.

"She's your sister, Miss Mary, ain't she?" at last he asked, as
Phronsie bent lovingly over a little pot of heath, and just touched
one little leaf carefully with her finger.

"Yes," said Polly, "but she don't look like me."

"She is like you," said Turner, respectfully, "if she don't look like
you; and the flowers know it, too," he added, "and they'll love to
see her coming, just as they do you."

For Polly had won the old gardener's heart completely by her
passionate love for flowers, and nearly every morning a little
nosegay, fresh and beautiful, came up to the house for "Miss
Mary."

And now nobody liked to think of the time, or to look back to it,
when Phronsie hadn't been in the house. When the little feet went
pattering through halls and over stairs, it seemed to bring sunshine
and happiness into every one's heart just to hear the sounds. Polly
and the boys in the schoolroom would look up from their books
and nod away brightly to each other, and then fall to faster than
ever on their lessons, to get through the quicker to be with her
again.

One thing Phronsie always insisted on, and kept to it
pertinaciously--and that was to go into the drawing-room with
Polly when she went to practice, and there, with one of her
numerous family of dolls, to sit down quietly in some corner and
wait till she got through.

Day after day she did it, until Polly, who was worried to think how
tedious it must be for her, would look around and say-- "Oh,
childie, do run out and play."

"I want to stay," Phronsie would beg in an injured tone; "please let
me, Polly."

So Polly would jump and give her a kiss, and then, delighted to
know that she was there, would go at her practicing with twice the
vigor and enthusiasm.

But Phronsie's chief occupation, at least when she wasn't with
Polly, was the entertainment and amusement of Mr. King. And
never was she very long absent from his side, which so pleased the
old gentleman that he could scarcely contain himself, as with a
gravity befitting the importance of her office, she would follow
him around in a happy contented way, that took with him
immensely. And now-a-days, no one ever saw the old gentleman
going out of a morning, when Jasper was busy with his lessons,
without Phronsie by his side, and many people turned to see the
portly figure with the handsome head bent to catch the prattle of a
little sunny-haired child, who trotted along, clasping his hand
confidingly. And nearly all of them stopped to gaze the second
time before they could convince themselves that it was really that
queer, stiff old Mr. King of whom they had heard so much.

And now the accumulation of dolls in the house became something
alarming, for Mr. King, observing Phronsie's devotion to her
family, thought there couldn't possibly be too many of them; so he
scarcely ever went out without bringing home one at least to add to
them, until Phronsie had such a remarkable collection as would
have driven almost any other child nearly crazy with delight. She,
however, regarded them something in the light of a grave
responsibility, to be taken care of tenderly, to be watched over
carefully as to just the right kind of bringing up; and to have small
morals and manners taught in just the right way.

Phronsie was playing in the corner of Mrs. Whitney's little
boudoir, engaged in sending out invitations for an elaborate
tea-party to be given by one of the dolls, when Polly rushed in with
consternation in her tones, and dismay written all over her
face.

"What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Whitney, looking up from her
embroidery.

"Why," said Polly, "how could I! I don't see--but I've forgotten to
write to mamsie to-day; it's Wednesday, you know, and there's
Monsieur coming." And poor Polly looked out in despair to see the
lively little music teacher advancing towards the house at an
alanning rate of speed.

"That is because you were helping Van so long last evening over
his lessons," said Mrs. Whitney; "I am so sorry."

"Oh, no," cried Polly honestly, "I had plenty of time--but I forgot
'twas mamsie's day. What will she do!"

"You will have to let it go now till the afternoon, dear; there's no
other way; it can go in the early morning mail."

"Oh, dear," sighed Polly, "I suppose I must." And she went down to
meet Monsieur with a very distressed little heart.

Phronsie laid down the note of invitation she was scribbling, and
stopped to think; and a moment or two after, at a summons from a
caller, Mrs. Whitney left the room.

"I know I ought to," said Phronsie to herself and the dolls, "yes, I
know I had; mamsie will feel, oh! so bad, when she don't get
Polly's letter; and I know the way, I do, truly."

She got up and went to the window, where she thought a minute;
and then, coming back, she took up her little stubby pencil, and
bending over a small bit of paper, she commenced to trace with
laborious efforts and much hard breathing, some very queer
hieroglyphics that to her seemed to be admirable, as at last she
held them up with great satisfaction.

"Good-bye," she said then, getting up and bowing to the dolls who
sat among the interrupted invitations, "I won't be gone but a little
bit of one minute," and she went out determinedly and shut the
door.

Nobody saw the little figure going down the carriage drive, so of
course nobody could stop her. When Phronsie got to the gateway
she looked up and down the street carefully, either way.

"Yes," she said, at last, "it was down here, I'm very sure, I went
with grandpa," and immediately turned down the wrong way, and
went on and on, grasping carefully her small, and by this time
rather soiled bit of paper.

At last she reached the business streets; and although she didn't
come to the Post Office, she comforted herself by the thought--"it
must be coming soon. I guess it's round this corner."

She kept turning corner after corner, until, at last, a little anxious
feeling began to tug at her heart; and she began to think--"I wish I
could see Polly"---- And now, she had all she could do to get out of
the way of the crowds of people who were pouring up and down
the thoroughfare. Everybody jostled against her, and gave her a
push. "Oh dear!" thought Phronsie, "there's such a many big
people!" and then there was no time for anything else but to
stumble in and out, to keep from being crushed completely
beneath their feet. At last, an old huckster woman, in passing
along, knocked off her bonnet with the end of her big basket,
which flew around and struck Phronsie's head. Not stopping to
look into the piteous brown eyes, she strode on without a word.
Phronsie turned in perfect despair to go down a street that looked
as if there might be room enough for her in it. Thoroughly
frightened, she plunged over the crossing, to reach it!

"Look out!" cried a ringing voice. "Stop!"

"The little girl'll be killed!" said others with bated breath, as a
powerful pair of horses whose driver could not pull them up in
time, dashed along just in front of her! With one cry, Phronsie
sprang between their feet, and reached the opposite curbstone in
safety!

The plunge brought her up against a knot of gentlemen who were
standing talking on the corner.

"What's this!" asked one, whose back being next to the street,
hadn't seen the commotion, as the small object dashed into their
midst, and fell up against him.

"Didn't you see that narrow escape?" asked a second, whose face
had paled in witnessing it. "This little girl was nearly killed a
moment ago--careless driving enough!" And he put out his hand to
catch the child.

"Bless me!" cried a third, whirling around suddenly, "Bless me!
you don't say so! why"---- With a small cry, but gladsome and
distinct in its utterance, Phronsie gave one look--"Oh, grandpa!"
was all she could say.

"Oh! where"--Mr. King couldn't possibly have uttered another
word, for then his breath gave out entirely, as he caught the small
figure.

"I went to the Post Office," said the child, clinging to him in
delight, her tangled hair waving over the little white face, into
which a faint pink color was quickly coming back. "Only it
wouldn't come; and I walked and walked--where is it, grandpa?"
And Phronsie gazed up anxiously into the old gentleman's face.

"She went to the Post Officel' turning around on the others fiercely,
as if they had contradicted him--"Why, my child, what were you
going to do?"

"Mamsie's letter," said Phronsie, holding up for inspection the
precious bit, which by this time, was decidedly forlorn-- "Polly
couldn't write; and Mamsie'd feel so bad not to get one--she would
really" said the child, shaking her head very soberly, "for Polly said
so."

"And you've been--oh! I can't think of it," said Mr. King, tenderly
taking her up on his shoulder, "well, we must get home now, or I
don't know what Polly will do!" And without stopping to say a
word to his friends, he hailed a passing carriage, and putting
Phronsie in, he commanded the driver to get them as quickly as
possible to their destination.

In a few moments they were home. Mr. King pushed into the
house with his burden. "Don't anybody know," he burst out,
puffing up the stairs, and scolding furiously at every step, "enough
to take better care of this child, than to have such goings On!"

"What is the matter, father?" asked Mrs. Whitney, coming up the
stairs, after him. "What has happened out of the way?"

"Out of the way!" roared the old gentleman, irascibly, "well, if you
want Phronsie racing off to the Post Office by herself, and nearly
getting killed, poor child! yes, Marian, I say nearly killed!" he
continued.

"What do you mean?" gasped Mrs. Whitney.

"Why, where have you been?" asked the old gentleman, who
wouldn't let Phronsie get down out of his arms, under any
circumstances; so there she lay, poking up her head like a little
bird, and trying to say she wasn't in the least hurt, "where's
everybody been not to know she'd gone?" he exclaimed, "where's
Polly--and Jasper--and all of 'em?"

"Polly's taking her music lesson," said Mrs. Whitney. "Oh,
Phronsie darling!" and she bent over the child in her father's arms,
and nearly smothered her with kisses.

"Twas a naughty horse," said Phronsie, sitting up straight and
looking at her, "or I should have found the Post Office; and I lost
off my bonnet, too," she added, for the first time realizing her loss,
putting her hand to her head; "a bad old woman knocked it off
with a basket--and now mamsie won't get her letter!" and she
waved the bit, which she still grasped firmly between her thumb
and finger, sadly towards Mrs. Whitney.

"Oh, dear," groaned that lady, "how could we talk before her! But
who would have thought it! Darling," and she took the little girl
from her father's arms, who at last let her go, "don't think of your
mamma's letter; we'll tell her how it was," and she sat down in the
first chair that she could reach; while Phronsie put her tumbled
little head down on the kind shoulder and gave a weary little sigh.

"It was so long," she said, "and my shoes hurt," and she thrust out
the dusty little boots, that spoke pathetically of the long and
unaccustomed tramp.

"Poor little lamb!" said Mr. King, getting down to unbutton them.
"What a shame!" he mumbled pulling off half of the buttons in his
frantic endeavors to get them off quickly.

But Phronsie never heard the last of his objurgations, for in a
minute she was fast asleep. The tangled hair fell off from the tired
little face; the breathing came peaceful and regular, and with her
little hand fast clasped in Mrs. Whitney's she slept on and on.

Polly came flying up-stairs, two or three at a time, and humming a
scrap of her last piece that she had just conquered.

"Phronsie," she called, with a merry little laugh, "where"-- "Hush!"
said Mr. King, warningly, and then just because he couldn't explain
there without waking Phronsie up, he took hold of Polly's two
shoulders and marched her into the iiext room, where he carefully
closed the door, and told her the whole thing, using his own
discretion about the very narrow escape she had passed through.
He told enough, however, for Polly to see what had been so near
them; and she stood there so quietly, alternately paling and
flushing as he proceeded, till at last, when he finished, Mr. King
was frightened almost to death at the sight of her face.

"Oh, goodness me, Polly!" he said, striding up to her, and then
fumbling around on the table to find a glass of water, "you are not
going to faint, are you? Phronsie's all well now, she isn't hurt in the
least, I assure you; I assure you--where i.s a glass of water! Marian
ought to see that there's some here--that stupid Jane!" and in utter
bewilderment he was fussing here and there, knocking down so
many things in general, that the noise soon brought Polly to, with a
little gasp.

"Oh, don't mind me, dear Mr. King--I'm---all well."

"So you are," said the old gentleman, setting up a toilet bottle that
he had knocked over, "so you are; I didn't think you'd go and
tumble over, Polly, I really didn't," and he beamed admiringly
down on her.

And then Polly crept away to Mrs. Whitney's side where she threw
herself down on the floor, to watch the little sleeping figure. Her
hand was gathered up, into the kind one that held Phronsie's; and
there they watched and watched and waited.

"Oh, dear," said Phronsie, suddenly, turning over with a little sigh,
and bobbing up her head to look at Polly; "I'm so hungry! I haven't
had anything to eat in over an' ever so long, Polly!" and she gazed
at her with a very injured countenance.

"So you must be," said Mrs. Whitney, kissing the flushed little
face. "Polly must ring the bell for Jane to bring this little bird some
crumbs.

"Can I have a great many?" asked Phronsie, lifting her eyes, with
the dewy look of sleep hill lingering in them, "as many as two
birdies?"

"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Whitney, laughing; "I think as many as three
little birdies could eat, Phronsie."

"Oh," said Phronsie, and leaned back satisfied, while Polly gave
the order, which was presently followed by Jane with a well-filled
tray.

"Now," said Jappy, when he heard the account of the adventure, "I
say that letter ought to go to your mother, Polly."

"Oh," said Polly, "it would scare mamsie most to death, Jappy!"

"Don't tell her the whole," said Jasper, quickly, "I didn't mean
that--about the horses and all that--but only enough to let her see
how Phronsie tried to get it to her."

"And I'm going to write to your brother Joel," said Van, drawing
up to the library table; "I'll scare him, Polly, I guess; he won't tell
your mother."

"Your crow-tracks'II scare him enough without anything else," said
Percy, pleasantly, who really could write very nicely, while Polly
broke out in an agony:

"Oh, no, Van, you mustn't! you mustn't!"

"If Van does," said Jasper, decidedly, "it'll be the last time he'll
write to the 'browii house,' I can tell him; and besides, he'll go to
Coventry." This had the desired effect.

"Let's all write," said Polly.

So a space on the table was cleared, and the children gathered
around it, when there was great scratching of pens, and clearing of
ideas; which presently resulted in a respectable budget of letters,
into which Phronsie's was lovingly tucked in the centre; and then
they all filed out to put it into the letterbox in the hall, for Thomas
to mail with the rest in the morning.

GETTING READY FOR MAMSIE AND THE BOYS

"And I'll tell you, Marian, what I am going to do."

Mr. King's voice was pitched on a higher key than usual; and
extreme determination was expressed in every line of his face. He
had met Mrs. Whitney at the foot of the staircase, dressed for
paying visits. "Oh, are you going out?" he said, glancing
impatiently at her attire. "And I'd just started to speak to you on a
matter of great importance! Of the greatest importance indeed!" he
repeated irritably, as he stood with one gloved hand resting on the
balustrade.

"Oh, it's no matter, father," she replied pleasantly; "if it's really
important, I can postpone going for another day, and--"

"Really important!" repeated the old gentleman irascibly. "Haven't
I just told you it's of the greatest importance? There's no time to be
lost; and with my state of health too, it's of the utmost consequence
that I shouldn't be troubled. It's very bad for me; I should think you
would realize that, Marian."

"I'll tell Thomas to take the carriage directly back," said Mrs.
Whitney stepping to the door. "Or stay, father; I'll just run up and
send the children out for a little drive. The horses ought to be used
too, you know," she said lightly, preparing to run up to carry out
the changed plan.

"Never mind that now," said Mr. King abruptly. "I want you to give
me your attention directly." And walking towards the library door,
getting a fresh accession of impatience with every step, he
beckoned her to follow.

But his progress was somewhat impeded by little Dick--or rather,
little Dick and Prince, who were standing at the top of the stairs to
see Mrs. Whitney off. When he saw his mother retrace her steps,
supposing her yielding to the urgent entreaties that he was sending
after her to stay at home, the child suddenly changed his
"Good-byes" to vociferous howls of delight, and speedily began to
plunge down the stairs to wclcome her.

But the staircase was long, and little Dick was in a hurry, and
besides, Prince was in the way. The consequence was, nobody
knew just how, that a bumping noise struck into the conversation
that made the two below in the hall look up quickly, to see the
child and dog come rolling over the stairs at a rapid rate.

"Zounds!" cried the old gentleman. "Here, Thomas, Thomas!" But
as that individual was waiting patiently outside the door on the
carriage box, there was small hope of his being in time to catch the
boy, who was already in his mother's arms, not quite clear by the
suddenness of the whole thing, as to how he came there.

"Oh! oh! Dicky's hurt!" cried somebody up ahove--followed by
every one within hearing distance, and all came rushing to th~ spot
to ask a thousand questions all in the same minute.

There sat Mrs. Whitney in one of the big carved chairs, with little
Dick in her lap, and Prince walking gravely around and around
him with the greatest expression of concern on his noble face. Mr.
King was storming up and down, and calling on everybody to bring
a "bowl of water, and some brown paper; and be quick!"
interpolated with showers of blame on Prince for sitting on the
stairs, and tripping people up! while Dick meanwhile was laughing
and chatting, and enjoying the distinction of making so many
people run, and of otherwise being the object of so much attention!

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16