Five Little Peppers And How They Grew

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"I was a-nailing," began Joel; "oh dear! don't cry, Phronsie! do stop
her, Polly."

"Go on," said Polly, hoarsely.

"I was a-nailing," began Joel, slowly; "and--and--Davie's gone to
get the peppermint," he added, brightening up.

"Tell me, Joe," said Polly, "all that's been going on," and she
looked sternly into his face; "or I'll get Davie to," as little Davie
came running back, with a bottle of castor oil, which in his flurry
he had mistaken for peppermint. This he presented with a flourish
to Polly, who was too excited to see it.

"Oh, no!" cried Joel, in intense alarm; "Davie isn't going to! I'll
tell, Polly; I will truly."

"Go on, then," said Polly; "tell at once;" (feeling as if somebody
didn't tell pretty quick, she should tumble over.)

"Well," said Joel, gathering himself up with a fresh effort, "the old
hammer was a-shaking and Phronsie stuck her foot in the
way--and--I couldn't help it, Polly--no, I just couldn't, Polly."

Quick as a flash, Polly tore off the little old shoe, and well-worn
stocking, and brought to light Phronsie's fat little foot. Tenderly
taking hold of the white toes, the boys clustering around in the
greatest anxiety, she worked them back and forth, and up and
down. "Nothing's broken," she said at last, and drew a long breath.

"It's there," said Phronsie, through a rain of tears; "and it hurts,
Polly;" and she began to wiggle the big toe, where around the nail
was settling a small black spot.

"Poor little toe," began Polly, cuddling up the suffering foot. Just
then, a small and peculiar noise struck her ear; and looking up she
saw Joel, with a very distorted face, making violent efforts to keep
from bursting out into a loud cry. All his attempts, however, failed;
and he flung himself into Polly's lap in a perfect torrent of tears. "I
didn't--mean to--Polly," he cried; "'twas the--ugly, old hammer! oh
dear!"

"There, there, Joey, dear," said Polly, gathering him up in the other
corner of the old chair, close to her side; "don't feel bad; I know
you didn't mean to," and she dropped a kiss on his stubby black
hair.

When Phronsie saw that anybody else could cry, she stopped
immediately, and leaning over Polly, put one little fat hand on
Joel's neck. "Don't cry," she said; "does your toe ache?"

At this, Joel screamed louder than ever; and Polly was at her wit's
end to know what to do; for the boy's heart was almost broken.
That he should have hurt Phronsie! the baby, the pet of the whole
house, upon whom all their hearts centered--it was too much. So
for the next few moments, Polly had all she could do by way of
comforting and consoling him. Just as she had succeeded, the door
opened, and Grandma Bascom walked in.

"Settin' down?" said she; "I hope your cake ain't in, Polly," looking
anxiously at the stove, "for I've found it;" and she waved a small
piece of paper triumphantly towards the rocking-chair as she
spoke.

"Do tell her," said Polly to little David, "what's happened; for I
can't get up."

So little Davie went up to the old lady, and standing on tiptoe,
screamed into her ear all the particulars he could think of,
concerning the accident that had just happened.

"Hey?" said grandma, in a perfect bewilderment; "what's he
a-sayin', Polly--I can't make it out."

"You'll have to go all over it again, David," said Polly,
despairingly; "she didn't hear one word, I don't believe."

So David tried again; this time with better success. And then he
got down from his tiptoes, and escorted grandma to Phronsie, in
flushed triumph.

"Land alive!" said the old lady, sitting down in the chair which he
brought her; "you got pounded, did you?" looking at Phronsie, as
she took the little foot in her ample hand.

"Yes'm," said Polly, quickly; "twasn't any one's fault; what'll we do
for it, grandma?"

"Wormwood," said the old lady, adjusting her spectacles in
extreme deliberation, and then examining the little black and blue
spot, which was spreading rapidly, "is the very best thing; and I've
got some to home--you run right over," she said, turning round on
David, quickly, "an' get it; it's a-hang-in' by the chimbley."

"Let me; let me!" cried Joel, springing out of the old chair, so
suddenly that grandma's spectacles nearly dropped off in fright;
"oh! I want to do it for Phronsie!"

"Yes, let Joel, please," put in Polly; "he'll find it, grandma." So
Joel departed with great speed; and presently returned, with a
bunch of dry herbs, which dangled comfortingly by his side, as he
came in.

"Now I'll fix it," said Mrs. Bascom, getting up and taking off her
shawl; "there's a few raisins for you, Polly; I don't want 'em, and
they'll make your cake go better," and she placed a little parcel on
the table as she spoke. "Yes, I'll put it to steep; an' after it's put on
real strong, and tied up in an old cloth, Phronsie won't know as
she's got any toes!" and grandma broke up a generous supply of the
herb, and put it into an old tin cup, which she covered up with a
saucer, and placed on the stove.

"Oh!" said Polly; "I can't thank you! for the raisins and all--you're
so good!"

"They're awful hard," said Joel, investigating into the bundle with
Davie, which, however, luckily the old lady didn't hear.

"There, don't try," she said cheerily; "an' I found cousin Mirandy's
weddin' cake receet, for--"

"Did you?" cried Polly; "oh! I'm so glad!" feeling as if that were
comfort enough for a good deal.

"Yes, 'twas in my Bible," said Mrs. Bascom; "I remember now; I
put it there to be ready to give John's folks when they come in;
they wanted it; so you'll go all straight now; and I must get home,
for I left some meat a-boilin'." So grandma put on her shawl, and
waddled off, leaving a great deal of comfort behind her.

"Now, says I," said Polly to Phronsie, when the little foot was
snugly tied up in the wet wormwood, "you've got to have one of
mamsie's old slippers."

"Oh, ho," laughed Phronsie; "won't that be funny, Polly!"

"I should think it would," laughed Polly, back again, pulling on the
big cloth slipper, which Joel produced from the bedroom, the two
boys joining uproariously, as the old black thing flapped dismally
up and down, and showed strong symptoms of flying off. "We
shall have to tie it on."

"It looks like a pudding bag," said Joel, as Polly tied it securely
through the middle with a bit of twine; "an old black pudding
bag!" he finished.

"Old black pudding bag!" echoed Phronsie, with a merry little
crow; and then all of a sudden she grew very sober, and looked
intently at the foot thrust out straight before her, as she still sat in
the chair.

"What is it, Phronsie?" asked Polly, who was bustling around,
making preparations for the cake-making.

"Can I ever wear my new shoes again?" asked the child, gravely,
looking dismally at the black bundle before her.

"Oh, yes; my goodness, yes!" cried Polly; "as quick again as ever;
you'll be around again as smart as a cricket in a week --see if you
aren't!"

"Will it go on?" asked Phronsie, still looking incredulously at the
bundle, "and button up?"

"Yes, indeed!" cried Polly, again; "button into every one of the
little holes, Phronsie Pepper; just as elegant as ever!"

"Oh!" said Phronsie; and then she gave a sigh of relief, and thought
no more of it, because Polly had said that all would be right.

MAMSIE'S BIRTHDAY

"Run down and get the cinnamon, will you, Joey?" said Polly; "it's
in the 'Provision Room."

The "Provision Room" was a little shed that was tacked on to the
main house, and reached by a short ffight of rickety steps; so
called, because as Polly said, "'twas a good place to keep
provisions in, even if we haven't any; and besides," she always
finished, "it sounds nice!"

"Come on, Dave! then we'll get something to eat!"

So the cinnamon was handed up, and then Joel flew back to Davie.

And now, Polly's cake was done, and ready for the oven. With
many admiring glances from herself, and Phronsie, who with
Seraphina, an extremely old but greatly revered doll, tightly
hugged in her arms was watching everything with the biggest of
eyes from the depths of the old chair, it was placed in the oven, the
door shut to with a happy little bang, then Polly gathered Phronsie
up in her arms, and sat down in the chair to have a good time with
her and to watch the process of cooking.

There was a bumping noise that came from the "Provision Room"
that sounded ominous, and then a smothered sound of words,
followed by a scuffling over the old floor.

"Boys!" called Polly. No answer; everything was just as still as a
mouse. "Joel and David!" called Polly again, in her loudest tones.

"Yes," came up the crooked stairs, in Davie's voice.

"Come up here, right away!" went back again from Polly. So up
the
stairs trudged the two boys, and presented themselves rather
sheepishly before the big chair.

"What was that noise?" she asked; "what have you been doing?"

"Twasn't anything but the pail," answered Joel, not looking at her.

"We had something to eat," said Davie, by way of explanation;
"you always let us."

"I know," said Polly; "that's right, you can have as much bread as
you want to; but what you been doing with the pail?"

"Nothing," said Joel; "'twouldn't hangup, that's all."

"And you've been bumping it," said Polly; "oh! Joel, how could
you! You might have broken it; then what would mamsie say?"

"I didn't," said Joel, stoutly, with his hands in his pockets, "bump it
worse'n Davie, so there!"

"Why, Davie," said Polly, turning to him sorrowfully, "I shouldn't
have thought you would!"

"Well, I'm tired of hanging it up," said little Davie, vehemently;
"and I said I wasn't a-goin' to; Joel always makes me; I've done it
for two million times, I guess!"

"Oh, dear," said Polly, sinking back into the chair, "I don't know
what I ever shall do; here's Phronsie hurt; and we want to celebrate
to-morrow; and you two boys are bumping and banging out the
bread pail, and"-- "Oh! we won't!" cried both of the children,
perfectly overwhelined with remorse; "we'll hang it right up."

"I'll hang it," said Davie, clattering off down the stairs with a will.

"No, I will!" shouted Joel, going after him at double pace; and
presently both came up with shining faces, and reported it nicely
done.

"And now," said Polly, after they had all sat around the stove
another half-hour, watching and sniffing expectantly, "the cake's
done!--dear me! it's turning black!"

And quickly as possible Polly twitched it out with energy, and set
it on the table.

Oh, dear; of all things in the world! The beautiful cake over which
so many hopes had been formed, that was to have given so much
happiness on the morrow to the dear mother, presented a forlorn
appearance as it stood there in anything but holiday attire. It was
quite black on the top, in the center of which was a depressing
little dump, as if to say, "My feelings wouldn't allow me to rise to
the occasion."

"Now," said Polly, turning away with a little ffing, and looking at
the stove, "I hope you're satisfied, you old thing; you've spoiled our
mamsie's birthday!" and without a bit of warning, she sat right
down in the middle of the floor and began to cry as hard as she
could.

"Well, I never!" said a cheery voice, that made the children skip.

"It's Mrs. Beebe; oh, it's Mrs. Beebe!" cried Davie; "see, Polly."

Polly scrambled up to her feet, ashamed to be caught thus, and
whisked away the tears; the others explaining to their new visitor
the sad disappointment that had befallen them; and she was soon
oh-ing, and ah-ing enough to suit even their distressed little souls.

"You poor creeters, you!" she exclaimed at last, for about the
fiftieth time. "Here, Polly, here's some posies for you, and"-- "Oh,
thank you!" cried Polly, with a radiant face, "why, Mrs. Beebe, we
can put them in here, can't we? the very thing!"

And she set the little knot of flowers in the hollow of the cake, and
there they stood and nodded away to the delighted children, like
brave little comforters, as they were.

"The very thing!" echoed Mrs. Beebe, tickled to death to see their
delight; "it looks beautiful, I declare! and now, I must run right
along, or pa'll be worrying;" and so the good woman trotted out to
her waiting husband, who was impatient to be off. Mr. Beebe kept
a little shoe shop in town; and always being of the impression if he
left it for ten minutes that crowds of customers would visit it. He
was the most restless of companions on any pleasure excursion.

"And Phronsie's got hurt," said Mrs. Beebe, telling him the news,
as he finished tucking her up, and started the old horse.

"Ho? you don't say so!" he cried; "whoa!"

"Dear me!" said Mrs. Beebe; "how you scat me, pal what's the
matter?"

"What?--the little girl that bought the shoes?" asked her husband.

"Yes," replied his wife, "she's hurt her foot."

"Sho, now," said the old gentleman; "that's too bad," and he began
to feel in all his pockets industriously; "there, can you get out
again, and take her that?" and he laid a small piece of peppermint
candy, thick and white, in his wife's lap.

"Oh, yes," cried Mrs. Beebe, good-naturedly, beginning to clamber
over the wheel.

So the candy was handed in to Phronsie, who insisted that Polly
should hold her up to the window to thank Mr. Beebe. So amid
nods, and shakings of hands, the Beebes drove off, and quiet
settled down over the little brown house again.

"Now, children," said Polly, after Phronsie had made them take a
bite of her candy all around, "let's get the cake put away safe, for
mamsie may come home early.

"Where'll you put it?" asked Joel, wishing the world was all
peppermint candy.

"Oh--in the cupboard," said Polly, taking it up; "there, Joe, you can
climb up, and put it clear back in the corner, oh! wait; I must take
the posies off, and keep them fresh in water;" so the cake was
finally deposited in a place of safety, followed by the eyes of all
the children.

"Now," said Polly, as they shut the door tight, "don't you go to
looking at the cupboard, Joey, or mammy'll guess something."

"Can't I just open it a little crack, and take one smell when she isn't
looking?" asked Joel; "I should think you might, Polly; just one."

"No," said Polly, firmly; "not one, Joe; she'll guess if you do." But
Mrs. Pepper was so utterly engrossed with her baby when she
came home and heard the account of the accident, that she
wouldn't have guessed if there'd been a dozen cakes in the
cupboard. Joel was consoled, as his mother assured him in a
satisfactory way that she never should think of blaming him; and
Phronsie was comforted and coddled to her heart's content. And so
the evening passed rapidly and happily away; Ben smuggling
Phronsie off into a corner, where she told him all the doings of the
day--the disappointment of the cake, and how it was finally
crowned with flowers; all of which Phronsie, with no small pride
in being the narrator, related gravely to her absorbed listener. "And
don't you think, Bensie," she said, clasping her little hand in a
convincing way over his two bigger, stronger ones, "that Polly's
stove was very naughty to make poor Polly cry?"

"Yes, I do," said Ben, and he shut his lips tightly together.

To have Polly cry, hurt him more than he cared to have Phronsie
see.

"What are you staring at, Joe?" asked Polly, a few minutes later, as
her eyes fell upon Joel, who sat with his back to the cupboard,
persistently gazing at the opposite wall.

"Why, you told me yourself not to look at the cupboard," said Joel,
in the loudest of stage whispers.

"Dear me; that'll make mammy suspect worse'n anything else if
you look like that," said Polly.

"What did you say about the cupboard?" asked Mrs. Pepper, who
caught Joe's last word.

"We can't tell," said Phronsie, shaking her head at her mother;
"cause there's a ca"-- "Ugh!" and Polly clapped her hand on the
child's mouth; "don't you want Ben to tell us a stoty?"

"Oh, yes!" cried little Phronsie, in which all the others joined with
a whoop of delight; so a most wonderful story, drawn up in Ben's
best style, followed till bedtime.

The first thing Polly did in the morning, was to run to the old
cupboard, followed by all the others, to see if the cake was safe;
and then it had to be drawn out, and dressed anew with the
flowers, for they had decided to have it on the breakfast table.

"It looks better," whispered Polly to Ben, "than it did yesterday;
and aren't the flowers pretty?"

"It looks good enough to eat, anyway," said Ben, smacking his lips.

"Well, we tried," said Polly, stilling a sigh; "now, boys, call
marnsie; everything's ready."

Oh! how surprised their mother appeared when she was ushered
out to the feast, and the full glory of the table burst upon her. Her
delight in the cake was fully enough to satisfy the most exacting
mind. She admired and admired it on every side, protesting that
she shouldn't have supposed Polly could possibly have baked it as
good in the old stove; and then she cut it, and gave a piece to every
child, with a little posy on top. Wasn't it good, though! for like
many other things, the cake proved better on trial than it looked,
and so turned out to be really quite a good surprise all around.

"Why can't I ever have a birthday?" asked Joel, finishing the last
crumb of his piece; "I should think I might," he added, reflectively.

"Why, you have, Joe," said Ben; "eight of 'em."

"What a story!" ejaculated Joel; "when did I have 'em? I never had
a cake; did I, Polly?"

"Not a cake-birthday, Joel," said his mother; "you haven't got to
that yet."

"When's it coming?" asked Joel, who was decidedly of a
matter-of-fact turn of mind.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Pepper, laughing; "but there's plenty of
time ahead."

TROUBLE FOR THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE

"Oh, I do wish," said Joel, a few mornings after, pushing back his
chair and looking discontentedly at his bowl of mush and
molasses, "that we could ever have something new besides this
everlasting old breakfast! Why can't we, mammy?"

"Better be glad you've got that, Joe," said Mrs. Pepper, taking
another cold potato, and sprinkling on a little salt; "folks shouldn't
complain so long as they've anything to eat."

"But I'm so tired of it--same old thing!" growled Joel; "seems as if
I sh'd turn into a meal-bag or a molasses jug!"

"Well, hand it over, then," proposed Ben, who was unusually
hungry, and had a hard day's work before him.

"No," said Joel, alarmed at the prospect, and putting in an
enormous mouthful; "it's better than nothing."

"Oh, dear," said little Phronsie, catching Joel's tone, "it isn't nice;
no, it isn't." And she put down her spoon so suddenly that the
molasses spun off in a big drop, that trailed off the corner of the
table, and made Polly jump up and run for the floor-cloth.

"Oh, Phronsie," she said, reprovingly; "you ought not to. Never
mind, pet," as she caught sight of two big tears trying to make a
path in the little molasses-streaked face, "Polly'll wipe it up."

"Sha'n't we ever have anything else to eat, Polly?" asked the child,
gravely, getting down from her high chair to watch the operation
of cleaning the floor.

"Oh, yes," said Polly, cheerfully, "lots and lots--when our ship
comes in."

"What'll they be?" asked Phronsie, in the greatest delight, prepared
for anything.

"Oh, I don't know," said Polly; "ice cream for one thing, Phronsie,
and maybe, little cakes."

"With pink on top?" interrupted Phronsie, getting down by Polly's
side.

"Oh, yes," said Polly, warming with her subject; "ever and ever so
much pink, Phronsie Pepper; more than you could eat!"

Phronsie just clasped her hands and sighed. More than she could
eat was beyond her!

"Hohi" said Joel, who caught the imaginary bill of fare, "that's
nothing, Polly. I'd speak for a plum-puddin'."

"Like the one mother made us for Thanksgiving?" asked Polly,
getting up and waiting a minute, cloth in hand, for the answer.

"Yes, sir," said Joel, shutting one eye and looking up at the ceiling,
musingly, while he smacked his lips in remembrance; "wasn't that
prime, though!"

"Yes," said Polly, thoughtfully; "would you have 'em all like that,
Joe?"

"Every one," replied Joe, promptly; "I'd have seventy-five of 'em."

"Seventy-five what?" asked Mrs. Pepper, who had gone into the
bedroom, and now came out, a coat in hand, to sit down in the
west window, where she began to sew rapidly. "Better clear up the
dishes, Polly, and set the table back--seventy-five what, Joel?"

"Flum-puddings," said Joel, kissing Phronsie.

"Dear me!" ejaculated Mrs. Pepper; "you don't know what you're
saying, Joel Pepper; the house couldn't hold 'em!"

"Wouldn't long," responded Joel; "we'd eat 'em."

"That would be foolish," interposed Ben; "I'd have roast beef and
fixings--and oysters--and huckleberry pie."

"Oh, dear," cried Polly; "how nice, Ben! you always do think of the
very best things."

But Joel phoohed and declared he wouldn't waste his time "over
old beef; he'd have something like!" And then he cried:

"Come on, Dave, what'd you choose?"

Little Davie had been quietly eating his breakfast amid all this
chatter, and somehow thinking it might make the mother feel
badly, he had refrained from saying just how tiresome he had
really found this "everlasting breakfast" as Joel called it. But now
he looked up eagerly, his answer all ready. "Oh, I know," he cried,
"what would be most beautiful! toasted bread--white bread--and
candy."

"What's candy?" asked Phronsie.

"Oh, don't you know, Phronsie," cried Polly, "what Mrs. Beebe
gave you the day you got your shoes--the pink sticks; and"-- "And
the peppermint stick Mr. Beebe gave you, Phronsie," finished Joel,
his mouth watering at the remembrance.

"That day, when you got your toe pounded," added Davie, looking
at Joel.

"Oh!" cried Phronsie; "I want some now, I do!"

"Well, Davie," said Polly, "you shall have that for breakfast when
our ship comes in then."

"Your ships aren't ever coming," broke in Mrs. Pepper, wisely, "if
you sit there talking--folks don't ever make any fortunes by
wishing."

"True enough," laughed Ben, jumping up and setting back his
chair. "Come on, Joe; you've got to pile to-day."

"Oh, dear," said Joel, dismally; "I wish Mr. Blodgett's wood was
all a-fire."

"Never say that, Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, looking up sternly; "it's
biting your own nose off to wish that wood was a-fire-- and
besides it's dreadfully wicked."

Joel hung his head, for his mother never spoke in that way unless
she was strongly moved; but he soon recovered, and hastened off
for his jacket.

"I'm sorry I can't help you do the dishes, Polly," said David,
running after Joel.

"I'm going to help her," said Phronsie; "I am."

So Polly got the little wooden tub that she always used, gave
Phronsie the well-worn cup-napkin, and allowed her to wipe the
handleless cups and cracked saucers, which afforded the little one
intense delight.

"Don't you wish, Polly," said little Phronsie, bustling around with a
very important air, nearly smothered in the depths of a big brown
apron that Polly had carefully tied under her chin, "that you didn't
ever-an'-ever have so many dishes to do?"

"Urn--maybe," said Polly, thoughtlessly. She was thinking of
something else besides cups and saucers just then; of how nice it
would be to go off for just one day, and do exactly as she had a
mind to in everything. She even envied Ben and the boys who were
going to work hard at Deacon Blodgett's woodpile.

"Well, I tell you," said Phronsie, confidentially, setting down a cup
that she had polished with great care, "I'm going to do 'em all
to-morrow, for you, Polly--I can truly; let me now, Polly, do."

"Nonsense!" said Polly, giving a great splash with her mop in the
tub, ashamed of her inward repinings. "Phronsie, you're no bigger
than a mouse!"

"Yes, I am," retorted Phronsie, very indignantly. Her face began to
get very red, and she straightened up so suddenly to show Polly
just how very big she was that her little head came up against the
edge of the tub--over it went! a pile of saucers followed.

"There now," cried Polly, "see what you've done!"

"Ow!" whimpered Phronsie, breaking into a subdued roar; "oh,
Polly! it's all running down my back."

"Is it?" said Polly, bursting out into a laugh; "never mind, Phronsie,
I'll dry you."

"Dear me, Polly!" said Mrs. Pepper, who had looked up in time to
see the tub racing along by itself towards the "Provision Room"
door, a stream of dish-water following in its wake, "she will be wet
clear through; do get off her things, quick."

"Yes'm," cried Polly, picking up the tub, and giving two or three
quick sops to the floor. "Here you are, Pussy," grasping Phronsie,
crying as she was, and carrying her into the bedroom.

"Oh, dear," wailed the child, still holding the wet dish towel; "I
won't ever do it again, if you'll only let me do 'em all to-morrow."

"When you're big and strong," said Polly, giving her a hug, "you
shall do 'em every day."

"May I really?" said little Phronsie, blinking through the tears, and
looking radiant.

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