Five Little Peppers And How They Grew

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"Yes, truly--every day."

"Then I'll grow right away, I will," said Phronsie, bursting out
merrily; and she sat down and pulled off the well-worn shoes, into
which a big pool of dish-water had run, while Polly went for dry
stockings.

"So you shall," said Polly, coming back, a big piece of gingerbread
in her hand; "and this'll make you grow, Phronsie."

"O-o-h!" and Phronsie's little white teeth shut down quickly on the
comforting morsel. Gingerbread didn't come often enough into the
Pepper household to be lightly esteemed.

"Now," said Mrs. Pepper, when order was restored, the floor
washed up brightly, and every cup and platter in place, hobnobbing
away to themselves on the shelves of the old corner cupboard, and
Polly had come as usual with needle and thread to help mother--
Polly was getting so that she could do the plain parts on the coats
and jackets, which filled her with pride at the very thought--"now,"
said Mrs. Pepper, "you needn't help me this morning, Polly: I'm
getting on pretty smart; but you may just run down to the parson's,
and see how he is."

"Is he sick?" asked Polly, in awe.

To have the parson sick, was something quite different from an
ordinary person's illness.

"He's taken with a chill," said Mrs. Pepper, biting off a thread, "so
Miss Huldy Folsom told me last night, and I'm afraid he's going to
have a fever."

"Oh, dear," said Polly, in dire distress; "whatever'd we do,
mammy!"

"Don't know, I'm sure," replied Mrs. Pepper, setting her stitches
firmly; "the Lord'll provide. So you run along, child, and see how
he is."

"Can't Phronsie go?" asked Polly, pausing half-way to the bedroom
door.

"Well, yes, I suppose she might," said Mrs. Pepper, assentingly.

"No, she can't either," said Polly, coming back with her sun-bonnet
in her hand, and shutting the door carefully after her, "cause she's
fast asleep on the floor."

"Is she?" said Mrs. Pepper; "well, she's been running so this
morning, she's tired out, I s'pose."

"And her face is dreadfully red," continued Polly, tying on her
bonnet; "now, what'll I say, mammy?"

"Well, I should think 'twould be," said Mrs. Pepper, replying to the
first half of Polly's speech; "she cried so. Well, you just tell Mrs.
Henderson your ma wants to know how Mr. Flenderson is this
morning, and if 'twas a chill he had yesterday, and how he slept
last night, and"-- "Oh, ma," said Polly, "I can't ever remember all
that."

"Oh, yes, you can," said Mrs. Pepper, encouragingly; "just put your
mind on it, Polly; 'tisn't anything to what I used to have to
remember--when I was a little girl, no bigger than you are.

Polly sighed, and feeling sure that something must be the matter
with her mind, gave her whole attention to the errand; till at last
after a multiplicity of messages and charges not to forget any one
of them, Mrs. Pepper let her depart.

Up to the old-fashioned green door, with its brass knocker, Polly
went, running over in her mind just which of the messages she
ought to give first. She couldn't for her life think whether "if 'twas
a chill he had yesterday?" ought to come before "how he slept?"
She knocked timidly, hoping Mrs. Henderson would help her out
of her difficulty by telling her without the asking. All other front
doors in Badgertown were ornaments, only opened on grand
occasions, like a wedding or a funeral. But the minister's was
accessible alike to all. So Polly let fall the knocker, and awaited
the answer.

A scuffling noise sounded along the passage; and then Polly's soul
sank down in dire dismay. It was the minister's sister, and not
gentle little Mrs. Henderson. She never could get on with Miss
Jerusha in the least. She made her feel as she told her mother
once--"as if I don't know what my name is." And now here she
was; and all those messages.

Miss Jerusha unbolted the door, slid back the great bar, opened the
upper half, and stood there. She was a big woman, with sharp
black eyes, and spectacles--over which she looked--which to Polly
was much worse, for that gave her four eyes.

"Well, and what do you want?" she asked.

"I came to see--I mean my ma sent me," stammered poor Polly.

"And who is your ma?" demanded Miss Jerusha, as much like a
policeman as anything; "and where do you live?"

"I live in Primrose Lane," replied Polly, wishing very much that
she was back there.

"I don't want to know where you live, before I know who you are,"
said Miss Jerusha; "you should answer the question I asked first;
always remember that."

"My ma's Mrs. Pepper," said Polly.

"Mrs. who?" repeated Miss Jerusha.

By this time Polly was so worn that she came very near turning and
fleeing, but she thought of her mother's disappointment in her, and
the loss of the news, and stood quite still.

"What is it, Jerusha?" a gentle voice here broke upon Polly's ear.

"I don't know," responded Miss Jerusha, tartly, still holding the
door much as if Polly were a robber; "it's a little girl, and I can't
make out what she wants."

"Why, it's Polly Pepper!" exclaimed Mrs. Henderson, pleasantly.
"Come in, child." She opened the other half of the big door, and
led the way through the wide hail into a big, old-fashioned room,
with painted floor, and high, old side-board, and some stiff-backed
rocking-chairs.

Miss Jerusha stalked in also and seated herself by the window, and
began to knit. Polly had just opened her mouth to tell her errand,
when the door also opened suddenly and Mr. Henderson walked
in.

"Oh!" said Polly, and then she stopped, and the color flushed up
into her face.

"What is it, my dear?" and the minister took her hand kindly, and
looked down into her flushed face.

"You are not going to have a fever, and be sick and die!" she cried.

"I hope not, my little girl," he smiled back, encouragingly; and
then Polly gave her messages, which now she managed easily
enough.

"There," broke in Miss Jerusha, "a cat can't sneeze in this town but
everybody'll know it in quarter of an hour."

And then Mrs. Henderson took Polly out to see a brood of new
little chicks, that had just popped their heads out into the world;
and to Polly, down on her knees, admiring, the time passed very
swiftly indeed.

"Now I must go, ma'am," she said at last, looking up into the lady's
face, regretfully, "for mammy didn't say I was to stay."

"Very well, dear; do you think you could carry a little pat of
butter? I have some very nice my sister sent me, and I want your
mother to share it."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am!" cried Polly, thinking, "how glad Davie'll
be, for he does so love butter! only"-- "Wait a bit, then," said Mrs.
Henderson, who didn't seem

to notice the objection. So she went into the house, and Polly went
down again in admiration before the fascinating little puff-balls.

But she was soon on the way, with a little pat of butter in a blue
bowl, tied over with a clean cloth; happy in her gift for mammy,
and in the knowledge of the minister being all well.

"I wonder if Phronsie's awake," she thought to herself, turning in at
the little brown gate; "if she is, she shall have a piece of bread with
lots of butter."

"Hush!" said Mrs. Pepper, from the rocking-chair in the middle of
the floor. She had something in her arms. Polly stopped suddenly,
almost letting the bowl fall.

"It's Phronsie," said the mother, "and I don't know what the matter
is with her; you'll have to go for the doctor, Polly, and just as fast
as you can."

Polly still stood, holding the bowl, and staring with all her might.
Phronsie sick!

"Don't wake her," said Mrs. Pepper.

Poor Polly couldn't have stirred to save her life, for a minute; then
she said--"Where shall I go?"

"Oh, run to Dr. Fisher's; and don't be gone long."

Polly set down the bowl of butter, and sped on the wings of the
wind for the doctor. Something dreadful was the matter, she felt,
for never had a physician been summoned to the hearty Pepper
family since she could remember, only when the father died. Fear
lent speed to her feet; and soon the doctor came, and bent over
poor little Phronsie, who still lay in her mother's arms, in a burning
fever.

"It's measles," he pronounced, "that's all; no cause for alarm; you
ever had it?" he asked, turning suddenly around on Polly, who was
watching with wide-open eyes for the verdict.

"No, sir," answered Polly, not knowing in the least what "measles"
was.

"What shall we do!" said Mrs. Pepper; "there haven't any of them
had it."

The doctor was over by the little old table under the window,
mixing up some black-looking stuff in a tumbler, and he didn't
hear her.

"There," he said, putting a spoonful into Phronsie's mouth, "she'll
get along well enough; only keep her out of the cold." Then he
pulled out a big silver watch. He was a little thin man, and the
watch was immense. Polly for her life couldn't keep her eyes off
from it; if Ben could only have one so fine!

"Polly," whispered Mrs. Pepper, "run and get my purse; it's in the
top bureau drawer."

"Yes'm," said Polly, taking her eyes off, by a violent wrench, from
the fascinating watch; and she ran quickly and got the little old
stocking-leg, where the hard earnings that staid long enough to be
put anywhere, always found refuge. She put it into her mother's
lap, and watched while Mrs. Pepper counted out slowly one dollar
in small pieces.

"Here sir," said Mrs. Pepper, holding them out towards the doctor;
"and thank you for coming."

"Hey!" said the little man, spinning round; "that dollar's the
Lord's!"

Mrs. Pepper looked bewildered, and still sat holding it out. "And
the Lord has given it to you to take care of these children with; see
that you do it." And without another word he was gone.

"Wasn't he good, mammy?" asked Polly, after the first surprise was
over.

"I'm sure he was," said Mrs. Pepper. "Well, tie it up again, Polly,
tie it up tight; we shall want it, I'm sure," sighing at her little sick
girl.

"Mayn't I take Phronsie, ma?" asked Polly.

"No, no," said Phronsie. She had got mammy, and she meant to
improve the privilege.

"What is 'measles' anyway, mammy?" asked Polly, sitting down on
the floor at their feet.

"Oh, 'tis something children always have," replied Mrs. Pepper;
"but I'm sure I hoped it wouldn't come just yet."

"I sha'n't have it," said Polly, decisively; "I know I sha'n't! nor
Ben--nor Joe--nor--nor Davie--I guess," she added, hesitatingly,
for Davie was the delicate one of the family; at least not nearly so
strong as the others.

Mrs. Pepper looked at her anxiously; but Polly seemed as bright
and healthy as ever, as she jumped up and ran to put the kettle on
the stove.

"What'll the boys say, I wonder!" she thought to herself, feeling
quite important that they really had sickness in the house. As long
as Phronsie wasn't dangerous, it seemed quite like rich folks; and
she forgot the toil, and the grind of poverty. She looked out from
time to time as she passed the window, but no boys came.

"I'll put her in bed, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, in a whisper, as
Phronsie closed her eyes and breathed regularly.

"And then will you have your dinner, ma?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper, "I don't care--if the boys come."

"The boys'll never come," said Polly, impatiently; "I don't
believe--why! here they are now!"

"Oh, dear," said Joel, coming in crossly, "I'm so hungry--oh--
butter! where'd you get it? I thought we never should get here!"

"I thought so too," said Polly. "Hush! why, where's Ben?"

"He's just back," began Joel, commencing to eat, "and Davie;
something is the matter with Ben--he says he feels funny."

"Something the matter with Ben!" repeated Polly. She dropped the
cup she held, which broke in a dozen pieces.

"Oh, whocky!" cried Joel; "see what you've done, Polly Pepper!"

But Polly didn't hear; over the big, flat door-stone she sped, and
met Ben with little David, coming in the gate. His face was just
like Phronsie's! And with a cold, heavy feeling at her heart, Polly
realized that this was no play.

"Oh, Ben!" she cried, ffinging her arms around his neck, and
bursting into tears; "don't! please--I wish you wouldn't; Phronsie's
got 'em, and that's enough!"

"Got what?" asked Ben, while Davie's eyes grew to their widest
proportions.

"Oh, measles!" cried Polly, bursting out afresh; "the hate-fullest,
horridest measles! and now you're taken!"

"Oh no, I'm not," responded Ben, cheerfully, who knew what
measles were; "wipe up, Polly; I'm all right; only my head aches,
and my eyes feel funny."

But Polly, only half-reassured, controlled her sobs; and the
sorrowful trio repaired to mother.

"Oh, dear!" ejaculated Mrs. Pepper, sinking in a chair in dismay, at
sight of Ben's red face; "whatever'll we do now!"

The prop and stay of her life would be taken away if Ben should be
laid aside. No more stray half or quarter dollars would come to
help her out when she didn't know where to turn.

Polly cleared off the deserted table--for once Joel had all the bread
and butter he wanted. Ben took some of Phronsie's medicine, and
crawled up into the loft, to bed; and quiet settled down on the little
household.

"Polly," whispered Ben, as she tucked him in, "it'll be hard
buckling-to now, for you, but I guess you'll do it."

MORE TROUBLE

"Oh, dear," said Polly to herself, the next morning, trying to get a
breakfast for the sick ones out of the inevitable mush; "everything's
just as bad as it can be! they can't ever eat this; I wish I had an
ocean of toast!"

"Toast some of the bread in the pail, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper.

She looked worn and worried; she had been up nearly all night,
back and forth from Ben's bed in the loft to restless, fretful little
Phronsie in the big four-poster in the bedroom; for Phronsie
wouldn't get into the crib. Polly had tried her best to help her, and
had rubbed her eyes diligently to keep awake, but she was wholly
unaccustomed to it, and her healthy, tired little body succumbed--
and then when she awoke, shame and remorse filled her very heart.

"That isn't nice, ma," she said, glancing at the poor old pail, which
she had brought out of the "Provision Room." "Old brown bread! I
want to fix 'em something nice."

"Well, you can't, you know," said Mrs. Pepper, with a sigh; "but
you've got butter now; that'll be splendid!"

"I know it," said Polly, running to the corner cupboard where the
precious morsel in the blue bowl remained; "whatever ~hou1d we
do without it, mummy?"

"Do without it!" said Mrs. Pepper; "same's we have done."

"Well, 'twas splendid in Mrs. Henderson to give it to us, anyway,"
said Polly, longing for just one taste; "seems as if 'twas a year since
I was there--oh, ma!" and here Polly took up the thread that had
been so rudely snapped; "don't you think, she's got ten of the
prettiest--yes, the sweetest little chickens you ever saw! Why can't
we have some, mammy?"

"Costs money," replied Mrs. Pepper. "We've got too many in the
house to have any outside."

"Oh, dear," said Polly, with a red face that was toasting about as
much as the bread she was holding on the point of an old fork; "we
never have had anything. There," she added at last; "that's the best
I can do; now I'll put the butter on this little blue plate; ain't that
cunning, ma?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper, approvingly; "it takes you, Polly." So
Polly trotted first to Ben, up the crooked, low stairs to the loft; and
while she regaled him with the brown toast and butter, she kept her
tongue flying on the subject of the little chicks, and all that she
saw on the famous Henderson visit. Poor Ben pretended hard to
eat, but ate nothing really; and Polly saw it all, and it cut her to the
heart--so she talked faster than ever.

"Now," she said, starting to go back to Phronsie; "Ben Pepper, just
as soon as you get well, we'll have some chickens--so there!"

"Guess we sha'n't get 'em very soon," said Ben, despondently, "if
I've got to lie here; and, besides, Polly, you know every bit we can
save has got to go for the new stove."

"Oh, dear," said Polly, "I forgot that; so it has; seems to me
everything's giving out!"

"You can't bake any longer in the old thing," said Ben, turning over
and looking at her; "poor girl, I don't see how you've stood it so
long."

"And we've been stuffing it," cried Polly merrily, "till 'twon't stuff
any more."

"No," said Ben, turning back again, "that's all worn out."

"Well, you must go to sleep," said Polly, "or mammy'll be up here;
and Phronsie hasn't had her breakfast either."

Phronsie was wailing away dismally, sitting up in the middle of the
old bed. Her face pricked, she said, and she was rubbing it
vigorously with both fat little hands, and then crying worse than
ever.

"Oh me! oh my!" cried Polly; "how you look, Phronsie!"

"I want my mammy!" cried poor Phronsie.

"Mammy can't come now, Phronsie dear; she's sewing. See what
Polly's got for you--butter: isn't that splendid!"

Phronsie stopped for just one moment, and took a mouthful; but
the toast was hard and dry, and she cried harder than before.

"Now," said Polly, curling up on the bed beside her, "if you'll stop
crying, Phronsie Pepper, I'll tell you about the cunningest, yes, the
very cunningest little chickens you ever saw. One was white, and
he looked just like this," said Polly, tumbling over on the bed in a
heap; "he couldn't stand up straight, he was so fat."

"Did he biteP" asked Phronsie, full of interest.

"No, he didn't bite me," said Polly; "but his mother put a bug in his
mouth--just as I'm doing you know," and she broke off a small
piece of the toast, put on a generous bit of butter, and held it over
Phronsie's mouth.

"Did he swallow it?" asked the child, obediently opening her little
red lips.

"Oh, snapped it," answered Polly, "quick as ever he could, I tell
you; but 'twasn't good like this, Phronsie."

"Did he have two bugs?" asked Phronsie, eying suspiciously the
second morsel of dry toast that Polly was conveying to her mouth.

"Well, he would have had," replied Polly, "if there'd been bugs
enough; but there were nine other chicks, Phronsie."

"Poor chickies," said Phronsie, and looked lovingly at the rest of
the toast and butter on the plate; and while Polly fed it to her,
listened with absorbed interest to all the particulars concerning
each and every chick in the Henderson hen-coop.

"Mother," said Polly, towards evening, "I'm going to sit up with
Ben to-night; say I may, do, mother."

"Oh no, you can't," replied Mrs. Pepper; "you'll get worn out; and
then what shall I do? Joel can hand him his medicine."

"Oh, Joe would tumble to sleep, mammy," said Polly, "the first
thing--let me."

"Perhaps Phronsie'll let me go to-night," said Mrs. Pepper,
reflectively.

"Oh, no she won't, I know," replied Polly, decisively; "she wants
you all the time."

"I will, Polly," said Davie, coming in with an annful of wood, in
time to hear the conversation. "I'll give him his medicine, mayn't I,
mammy?" and David let down his load, and came over where his
mother and Polly sat sewing, to urge his rights.

"I don't know," said his mother, smiling on him. "Can you, do you
think?"

"Yes, ma'am!" said Davie, straightening himself up.

When they told Ben, he said he knew a better way than for Davie
to watch; he'd have a string tied to Davie's arm, and the end he'd
hold in bed, and when 'twas time for medicine, he'd pull the string,
and that would wake Davie up!

Polly didn't sleep much more on her shake-down on the floor than
if she had watched with Ben; for Phronsie cried and moaned, and
wanted a drink of water every two minutes, it seemed to her. As
she went back into her nest after one of these travels, Polly
thought: "Well, I don't care, if nobody else gets sick; if Ben'll only
get well. To-morrow I'm goin' to do mammy's sack she's begun for
Mr. Jackson; it's all plain sew-in', just like a bag; and I can do it, I
know----" and so she fell into a troubled sleep, only to be
awakened by Phronsie's fretful little voice: "I want a drink of
water, Polly, I do."

"Don't she drink awfully, mammy?" asked Polly, after one of these
excursions out to the kitchen after the necessary draught.

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper; "and she mustn't have any more; 'twill
hurt her." But Phronsie fell into a delicious sleep after that, and
didn't want any more, luckily.

"Here, Joe," said Mrs. Pepper, the next morning, "take this coat up
to Mr. Peterses; and be sure you get the money for it."

"How'll I get it?" asked Joe, who didn't relish the long, hot walk.

"Why, tell 'em we're sick--Ben's sick," added Mrs. Pepper, as the
most decisive thing; "and we must have it; and then wait for it."

"Tisn't pleasant up at the Peterses," grumbled Joel, taking the
parcel and moving slowly off.

"No, no, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, "you needn't do that," seeing
Polly take up some sewing after doing up the room and finishing
the semi-weekly bake; "you're all beat out with that tussle over the
stove; that sack'll have to go till next week."

"It can't, mammy," said Polly, snipping off a basting thread; "we've
got to have the money; how much'll he give you for it?"

"Thirty cents," replied Mrs. Pepper.

"Well," said Poily, "we've got to get all the thirty centses we can,
mammy dear; and I know I can do it, truly--try me once," she
implored.

"Well." Mrs. Pepper relented, slowly.

"Don't feel bad, mammy dear," comforted Polly, sewing away
briskly; "Ben'll get well pretty soon, and then we'll be all right."

"Maybe," said Mrs. Pepper; and went back to Phronsie, who could
scarcely let her out of her sight.

Polly stitched away bravely. "Now if I do this good, mammy'll let
me do it other times," she said to herself.

Davie, too, worked patiently out of doors, trying to do Ben's
chores. The little fellow blundered over things that Ben would
have accomplished in half the time, and he had to sit down often
on the steps of the little old shed where the tools were kept, to
wipe his hot face and rest.

"Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, "hadn't you better stop a little? Dear me!
how fast you sew, child!"

Polly gave a delighted little hum at her mother's evident approval.

"I'm going to do 'em all next week, mammy," she said; "then Mr.
Atkins won't take 'em away from us, I guess."

Mr. Atkins kept the store, and gave out coats and sacks of coarse
linen and homespun to Mrs. Pepper to make; and it was the fear of
losing the work that had made the mother's heart sink.

"I don't believe anybody's got such children as I have," she said;
and she gave Polly a motherly little pat that the little daughter felt
clear to the tips of her toes with a thrill of delight.

About half-past two, long after dinner, Joe came walking in,
hungry as a beaver, but flushed and triumphant.

"Why, where have you been all this time?" asked his mother.

"Oh, Joe, you didn't stop to play?" asked Polly, from her perch
where she sat sewing, giving him a reproachful glance.

"Stop to play!" retorted Joe, indignantly; "no, I guess I didn't! I've
been to Old Peterses."

"Not all this time!" exclaimed Mrs. Pepper.

"Yes, I have too," replied Joel, sturdily marching up to her. "And
there's your money, mother;" and he counted out a quarter of a
dollar in silver pieces and pennies, which he took from a dingy
wad of paper, stowed away in the depths of his pocket.

"Oh, Joe," said Mrs. Pepper, sinking back in her chair and looking
at him; "what do you mean?"

Polly put her work in her lap, and waited to hear.

"Where's my dinner, Polly?" asked Joel; "I hope it's a big one.

"Yes, 'tis," said Polly; "you've got lots to-day, it's in the corner of
the cupboard, covered up with the plate--so tell on, Joe."

"That's elegant!" said Joel, coming back with the well-filled plate,
Ben's and his own share.

"Do tell us, Joey," implored Polly; "mother's waiting."

"Well," said Joel, his mouth half full, "I waited--and he said the
coat was all right;--and---and--Mrs. Peters said 'twas all right;--and
Mirandy Peters said 'twas all right; but they didn't any of 'em say
anythin' about payin', so I didn't think 'twas all right--and--and--
can't I have some more butter, Polly?"

"No," said Polly, sorry to refuse him, he'd been so good about the
money; "the butter's got to be saved for Ben and Phronsie."

"Oh," said Joe, "I wish Miss Henderson would send us some more,
I do! I think she might!"

"For shame, Joe," said Mrs. Pepper; "she was very good to send
this, I think; now what else did you say?" she asked.

"Well," said Joel, taking another mouthful of bread, "so I waited;
you told me to, mother, you know--and they all went to work; and
they didn't mind me at all, and--there wasn't anything to look at, so
I sat--and sat--Polly, can't I have some gingerbread?"

"No," said Polly, "it's all gone; I gave the last piece to Phronsie the
day she was taken sick."

"Oh, dear," said Joel, "everything's gone."

"Well, do go on, Joe, do."

"And--then they had dinner; and Mr. Peters said, 'Hasn't that boy
gone home yet?' and Mrs. Peters said, 'no'--and he called me in,
and asked me why I didn't run along home; and I said, Phronsie
was sick, and Ben had the squeezles----"

"The what?" said Polly.

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