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

"Isn't this fun, though!" cried Jasper, running up to try the oven; "I
wish I could ever bake," and he looked longingly at the little
brown biscuits waiting their turn out on the table.

"You come out some day," said Polly, sociably, "and we'll all try
baking--mammy'd like to have you, I know," feeling sure that
nothing would be too much for Mrs. Pepper to do for the protector
of little Phronsie.

"I will!" cried Jasper, perfectly delighted. "You can't think how
awfully dull it is out in Hingham!"

"Don't you live there?" asked Polly, with a gasp, almost dropping a
tin full of little brown lumps of dough she was carrying to the
oven.

"Live there!" cried Jasper; and then he burst out into a merry laugh.
"No, indeed! I hope not! Why, we're only spending the summer
there, father and I, in the hotel."

"Where's your mother?" asked Joel, squeezing in between Jasper
and his audience. And then they all felt instinctively that a very
wrong question had been asked.

"I haven't any mother," said the boy, in a low voice.

They all stood quite still for a moment; then Polly said, "I wish
you'd come out sometime; and you may bake--or anything else,"
she added; and there was a kinder ring to her voice than ever.

No mother! Polly for her life, couldn't imagine how anybody could
feel without a mother, but the very words alone smote her heart;
and there was nothing she wouldn't have done to give pleasure to
one who had done so much for them.

"I wish you could see our mother," she said, gently. "Why, here she
comes now! oh, mamsie, dear," she cried. "Do, Joe, run and take
her bundle."

Mrs. Pepper stopped a minute to kiss Phronsie--her baby was
dearer than ever to her now. Then her eye fell on Jasper, who stood
respectfully waiting and watching her with great interest.

"Is this," she asked, taking it all in at the first glance--the boy with
the honest eyes as Ben had described him--and the big, black
dog--"is this the boy who saved my little girl?"

"Oh, ma'am," cried Jasper, "1 didn't do much; 'twas Prince."

"I guess you never'll know how much you did do," said Mrs.
Pepper. Then looking with a long, keen gaze into the boy's eyes
that met her own so frankly and kindly: "I'll trust him," she said to
herself; "a boy with those eyes can't help but be good."

"Her eyes are just the same as Polly's," thought Jasper, "just such
laughing ones, only Polly's are brown," and he liked her on the
spot.

And then, somehow, the hubbub ceased. Polly went on with her
work, and the others separated, and Mrs. Pepper and Jasper had a
long talk. When the mother's eyes fell on Phronsie playing around
on the floor, she gave the boy a grateful smile that he thought was
beautiful.

"Well, I declare," said Jasper, at last, looking up at the old clock in
the corner by the side of the cupboard, "I'm afraid I'll miss the
stage, and then father never'll let me come again. Come, Prince."

"Oh, don't go," cried Phronsie, wailing. "Let doggie stay! Oh, make
him stay, mammy!"

"I can't, Phronsie," said Mrs. Pepper, smiling, "if he thinks he
ought to go."

"I'll come again," said Jasper, eagerly, "if I may, ma'am."

He looked up at Mrs. Pepper as he stood cap in hand, waiting for
the answer.

"I'm sure we should be glad if your father'll be willing," she added;
thinking, proudly, "My children are an honor to anybody, I'm sure,"
as she glanced around on the bright little group she could call her
own. "But be sure, Jasper," and she laid her hand on his arm as she
looked down into his eyes, "that you father is willing, that's all."

"Oh, yes, ma'am," said the boy; "but he will be, I guess, if he feels
well."

"Then come on Thursday," said Polly; "and can't we bake
something then, mammy?"

"I'm sure I don't care," laughed Mrs. Pepper; "but you won't find
much but brown flour and meal to bake with."

"Well, we can pretend," said Polly; "and we can cut the cakes with
the heart-shape, and they II do for anything.

"Oh, I'll come," laughed Jasper, ready for such lovely fun in the old
kitchen; "look out for me on Thursday, Ben!"

So Jasper and Prince took their leave, all the children
accompanying them to the gate; and then after seeing him fairly
started on a smart run to catch the stage, Prince scampering at his
heels, they all began to sing his praises and to wish for Thursday to
come.

But Jasper didn't come! Thursday came and went; a beautiful,
bright, sunny day, but with no signs of the merry boy whom all had
begun to love, nor of the big black dog. The children had made all
the needful preparations with much ostentation and bustle, and
were in a state of excited happiness, ready for any gale. But the
last hope had to be given up, as the old clock ticked away hour
after hour. And at last Polly had to put Phronsie to bed, who
wouldn't stop crying enough to eat her supper at the dreadful
disappointment.

"He couldn't come, I know," said both Ben and Polly, standing
staunchly up for their new friend; but Joel and David felt that he
had broken his word.

"He promised," said Joel, vindictively.

"I don't believe his father'd let him," said Polly, wiping away a sly
tear; "I know Jasper'd come, if he could."

Mrs. Pepper wisely kept her own counsel, simply giving them a
kindly caution:

"Don't you go to judging him, children, till you know."

"Well, he promised," said Joel, as a settler.

"Aren't you ashamed, Joel," said his mother, "to talk about any one
whose back is turned? Wait till he tells you the reason himself."

Joel hung his head, and then began to tease David in the corner, to
make up for his disappointment.

The next morning Ben had to go to the store after some more meal.
As he was going out rather dismally, the storekeeper, who was also
postmaster, called out, "Oh, halloa, there!"

"What is it?" asked Ben, turning back, thinking perhaps Mr. Atkins
hadn't given him the right change.

"Here," said Mr. Atkins, stepping up to the Post-office department,
quite smart with its array of boxes and official notices, where Ben
had always lingered, wishing there might be sometime a letter for
him--or some of them. "You've got a sister Polly, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Ben, wondering what was coming next.

"Well, she's got a letter," said the postmaster, holding up a nice big
envelope, looking just like those that Ben had so many times
wished for. That magic piece of white paper danced before the
boy's eyes for a minute; then he said-- "It can't be for her, Mr.
Atkins; why, she's never had one." "Well, she's got one now, sure
enough," said Mr. Atkins; "here 'tis, plain enough," and he read
what he had no need to study much as it had already passed
examination by his own and his wife's faithful eyes: "Miss Polly
Pepper, near the Turnpike, Badgertown'--that's her, isn't it?" he
added, laying it down before Ben's eyes. "Must be a first time for
everything, you know, my boy!" and he laughed long over his own
joke; "so take it and run along home." For Ben still stood looking
at it, and not offering to stir.

"If you say so," said the boy, as if Mr. Atkins had given him
something out of his own pocket; "but I'm afraid 'tisn't for Polly."
Then buttoning up the precious letter in his jacket, he spun along
home as never before.

"Polly! Polly!" he screamed. "Where is she, mother?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Pepper, coming out of the bedroom.
"Dear me! is anybody hurt, Ben?"

"I don't know," said Ben, in a state to believe anything, "but Polly's
got a letter."

"Polly got a letter!" cried Mrs. Pepper; "what do you mean, Ben?"

"I don't know," repeated the boy, still holding out the precious
letter; "but Mr. Atkins gave it to me; where is Polly?"

"I know where she is," said Joel; "she's up-stairs." And he flew out
in a twinkling, and just as soon reappeared with Polly scampering
after him in the wildest excitement.

And then the kitchen was in an uproar as the precious missive was
put into Polly's hand; and they all gathered around her, wondering
and examining, till Ben thought he would go wild with the delay.

"I wonder where it did come from," said Polly, in the greatest
anxiety, examining again the address.

"Where does the postmark say?" asked Mrs. Pepper, looking over
her shoulder.

"It's all rubbed out," said Polly, peering at it "you can't see
anything."

"Do open it," said Ben, "and then you'll find out."

"But p'raps 'tisn't for me," said Polly, timidly.

"Well, Mr. Atkins says 'tis," said Ben, impatiently; "here, I'll open
it for you, Polly."

"No, let her open it for herself, Ben," protested his mother.

"But she won't," said Ben; "do tear it open, Polly."

"No, I'm goin' to get a knife," she said.

"I'll get one," cried Joel, running up to the table drawer; "here's
one, Polly."

"Oh, dear," groaned Ben; "you never'll get it open at this rate!"

But at last it was cut; and they all holding their breath, gazed
awe-struck, while Polly drew out the mysterious missive.

"What does it say?" gasped Mrs. Pepper.

"Dear Miss Polly," began both Ben and Polly in a breath. "Let
Polly read," said Joel, who couldn't hear in the confusion.

"Well, go on Polly," said Ben; "hurry!"

"Dear Miss Polly, I was so sorry I couldn't come on Thursday' "--

"Oh, it's Jasper! it's Jasper!" cried all the children in a breath.

"I told you so!" cried Ben and Polly, perfectly delighted to find
their friend vindicated fully--"there! Joey Pepper!"

"Well, I don't care," cried Joe, nothing daunted, "he didn't come,
anyway--do go on, Polly."

"I was so sorry I couldn't come' "--began Polly.

"You read that," said Joel.

"I know it," said Polly, "but it's just lovely; 'on Thursday; but my
father was sick, and I couldn't leave him. If you don't mind I'll
come again--I mean I'll come some other day, if it's just as
convenient for you, for I do so want the baking, and the nice time.
I forgot to say that I had a cold, to,' (here Jasper had evidently had
a struggle in his mind whether there should be two 0's or one, and
he had at last decided it, by crossing out one) but my father is
willing I should come when I get well. Give my love to all, and
especially remember me respectfully to your mother. Your friend,

JASPER ELYOT KING."

"Oh, lovely! lovely!" cried Polly, flying around with the letter in
her hand; "so he is coming!"

Ben was just as wild as she was, for no one knew but Polly just
how the new friend had stepped into his heart. Phronsie went to
sleep happy, hugging "Baby."

"And don't you think, Baby, dear," she whispered sleepily, and
Polly heard her say as she was tucking her in, "that Japser is really
comin'; really--and the big, be-you-ti-ful doggie, too!"

PHRONSIE PAYS A DEBT OF GRATITUDE

"And now I tell you," said Polly, the next day, "let's make Jasper
something; can't we, ma?"

"Oh, do! do!" cried all the other children, "let's; but what'll it be,
Polly?"

"I don't know about this," interrupted Mrs. Pepper; "I don't see how
you could get anything to him if you could make it."

"Oh, we could, mamsie," said Polly, eagerly, running up to her;
"for Ben knows; and he says we can do it."

"Oh, well, if Ben and you have had your heads together, I suppose
it's all right," laughed Mrs. Pepper, "but I don't see how you can do
it."

"Well, we can, mother, truly," put in Ben. "I'll tell you how, and
you'll say it'll be splendid. You see Deacon Blodgett's goin' over to
Hingham, to-morrow; I heard him tell Miss Blodgett so; and he
goes right past the hotel; and we can do it up real nice--and it'll
please Jasper so--do, mammy!"

"And it's real dull there, Jasper says," put in Polly, persuasively;
"and just think, mammy, no brothers and sisters!" And Polly
looked around on the others.

After that there was no need to say anything more; her mother
would have consented to almost any plan then.

"Well, go on, children," she said; "you may do it; I don't see but
what you can get 'em there well enough; but I'm sure I don't know
what you can make."

"Can't we," said Polly--and she knelt down by her mother's side
and put her face in between the sewing in Mrs. Pepper's lap, and
the eyes bent kindly down on her--"make some little cakes, real
cakes I mean? now don't say no, mammy!" she said, alarmed, for
she saw a "no" slowly coming in the eyes above her, as Mrs.
Pepper began to shake her head.

"But we haven't any white flour, Polly," began her mother. "I
know," said Polly; "but we'll make 'em of brown, it'll do, if you'll
give us some raisins--you know there's some in the bowl, mammy."

"I was saving them for a nest egg," said Mrs. Pepper; meaning at
some future time to indulge in another plum-pudding that the
children so loved.

"Well, do give 'em to us," cried Polly; "do, ma!"

"I want 'em for a plum-pudding sometime," said Mrs. Pepper.

"Ow!"--and Joel with a howl sprung up from the floor where he
had been trying to make a cart for "Baby" out of an old box, and
joined Mrs. Pepper and Polly. "No, don't give 'em away, ma!" he
screamed; "let's have our plum-pudding-- now, Polly Pepper,
you're a-goin' to bake up all our raisins in nasty little cakes--and"--

"Joey!" commanded Mrs. Pepper, "hush! what word did you say!"

"Well," blubbered Joel, wiping his tears away with his grimy little
hand, "Polly's --a-goin'--to give"-- "I should rather you'd never have
a plum-pudding than to say such words," said Mrs. Pepper, sternly,
taking up her work again. "And besides, do you think what Jasper
has done for you?" and her face grew very white around the lips.

"Well, he can have plum-puddings," said Joel, whimpering,
"forever an' ever, if he wants them--and--and"-- "Well, Joey," said
Polly, "there, don't feel bad," and she put her arms around him, and
tried to wipe away the tears that still rolled down his cheeks. "We
won't give 'em if you don't want us to; but Jasper's sick, and there
isn't anything for him to do, and"--here she whispered slyly up into
his ear --"don't you remember how you liked folks to send you
things when you had the measles?"

"Yes, I know," said Joel, beginning to smile through his tears;
"wasn't it fun, Polly?"

"I guess 'twas," laughed Polly back again, pleased at the return of
sunshine. "Well, Jasper'll be just as pleased as you were, 'cause we
love him and want to do somethin' for him, he was so good to
Phronsie."

"I will, Polly, I will," cried Joel, completely won over; "do let's
make 'em for him; and put 'em in thick; oh! thick as you can;" and
determined to do nothing by halves, Joel ran generously for the
precious howl of raisins, and after setting it on the table, began to
help Polly in all needful preparations.

Mrs. Pepper smiled away to herself to see happiness restored to the
little group. And soon a pleasant hum and bustle went on around
the baking table, the centre of attraction.

"Now," said Phronsie, coming up to the table and standing on
tip-toe to see Polly measure out the flour, "I'm a-goin' to bake
something for my sick man, lam."

"Oh, no, Phronsie, you can't," began Polly.

"Hey?" asked Joel, with a daub of flour on the tip of his chubby
nose, gained by too much peering into Polly's flour-bag. "What did
she say, Polly?" watching her shake the clouds of flour in the sieve.

"She said she was goin' to bake something for Jasper," said Polly.
"There," as she whisked in the flour, "now that's done."

"No, I didn't say Japser," said Phronsie; "I didn't say Japser," she
repeated, emphatically.

"Why, what did you say, Fet?" asked Polly, astonished, while little
Davie repeated, "What did you say, Phronsie?"

"I said my sick man," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head;
"poor sick man."

"Who does she mean?" said Polly in despair, stopping a moment
her violent stirring that threatened to overturn the whole
cake-bowl.

"I guess she means Frince," said Joel. "Can't I stir, Polly?"

"Oh, no," said Polly; "only one person must stir cake."

"Why?" asked Joel; "why, Polly?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Polly, "cause 'tis so; never mind now, Joel.
Do you mean Prince, Phronsie?"

"No, I don't mean Princey," said the child decisively; "I mean my
sick man."

"It's Jasper's father, I guess she means," said Mrs. Pepper over in
the corner; "but what in the world!"

"Yes, yes," cried Phronsie, perfectly delighted at being at last
understood, and hopping on one toe; "my sick man."

"I shall give up!" said Polly, tumbling over in a chair, with the cake
spoon in her hand, from which a small sticky lump fell on her
apron, which Joel immediately pounced upon and devoured.
"What do you want to bake, Phronsie?" she gasped, holding the
spoon sticking up straight, and staring at the child.

"A gingerbread boy," said the child, promptly; "he'd like that best;
poor, sick man!" and she commenced to climb up to active
preparations.

A LETTER TO JASPER

"Mamsie, what shall we do?" implored Polly of her mother.

"I don't know," said her mother; "however did that get into her
head, do you suppose?"

"I am sure I can't tell," said Polly, jumping up and beginning to stir
briskly to make up for lost time. "P'r'aps she heard us talking about
Jasper's having to take care of his sick father, and how hard it must
be to he sick away from home."

"Yes," said Phronsie, "but he'll be glad to see my gingerbread boy,
I guess; poor, sick man."

"Oh, Phronsie," cried Polly, in great distress, "you aren't ever going
to make a 'gingerbread boy' to-day! see, we'll put in a cunning little
cake for Mr. King--full of raisins, Phronsie; won't that be lovely!"
and Polly began to fill a little scalloped tin with some of the cake
mixture.

"N-no," said the child, eying it suspiciously; "that isn't like a
'gingerbread boy,' Polly; he'll like that best."

"Mamsie," said Polly, "we can't let her make a dreadful, horrid
'gingerbread boy' to send Mr. King! he never'll let Jasper come
here again."

"Oh, let her," cried Joel; "she can bake it, and Dave an' I'll eat it,"
and he picked up a raisin that had fallen under the table and began
crunching it with great gusto.

"That wouldn't be fair," said Polly, gloomily. "Do get her off from
it, mammy."

"Phronsie," said Mrs. Pepper, going up back of the child, who sat
patiently in her high chair waiting for Polly to let her begin, "hadn't
you rather wait and give your 'gingerbread boy' to Jasper for his
father, when he comes?"

"Oh, no, no," cried Phronsie, twisting in her chair in great
apprehension, "I want to send it now, I do."

"Well, Polly," said her mother, laughing, "after all it's best, I think,
to let her; it can't do any harm anyway--and instead of Mr. King's
not letting Jasper come, if he's a sensible man that won't make any
difference; and if he isn't, why, then there'd be sure to something
come up sometime to make trouble."

"Well," said Polly, "I suppose she's got to; and perhaps," as a
consoling idea struck her, "perhaps she'll want to eat it up herself
when it's done. Here, Phronsie," giving her a handful of the cake
mixture, which she stiffened with flour to the right thickness,
"there, you can call that a 'gingerbread boy;' see, won't it make a
beautiful one!"

"You needn't think," said Mrs. Pepper, seeing Phronsie's delighted
face, and laughing as she went back to her work, "but what that
gingerbread boy'll go."

When the little cakes were done, eight of them, and set upon the
table for exhibition, they one and all protested that they never saw
so fine a lot. Polly was delighted with the praise they received, and
her mother's commendation that she was "growing a better cook
every day." "How glad Jasper'll be, won't he, mamsie?" said she.

The children walked around and around the table, admiring and
pointing out the chief points of attraction, as they appeared before
their discriminating eyes.

"I should choose that one," said Joel, pointing at one which was
particularly plummy, with a raisin standing up on one end with a
festive air, as if to say, "there's lots of us inside, you better
believe!"

"I wouldn't," said Davie, "I'd have that--that's cracked so pretty."

"So 'tis," said Mrs. Pepper; "they're all as light as a feather, Polly."

"But my 'gingerbread boy," cried Phronsie, running eagerly along
with a particularly ugly looking specimen of a cake figure in her
hand, "is the be-yew-tifullest, isn't it, Polly?"

"Oh, dear," groaned Polly, "it looks just awfully, don't it, Ben!"

"Hoh, hoh!" laughed Joel in derision; "his leg is crooked, see
Phronsie--you better let Davie an' me have it."

"No, no," screamed the child in terror; "that's my sick man's
'gingerbread boy,' it W"

"Joe, put it down," said Ben. "Yes, Phronsie, you shall have it;
there, it's all safe;" and he put it carefully into Phronsie's apron,
when she breathed easier.

"And he hasn't but one eye," still laughed Joel, while little Davie
giggled too.

"He did have two," said Polly, "but she punched the other in with
her thumb; don't, boys," she said, aside, "you'll make her feel bad;
do stop laughing. Now, how'll we send the things?"

"Put 'em in a basket," said Ben; "that's nicest."

"But we haven't got any basket," said Polly, "except the potato
basket, and they'd be lost in that."

"Can't we take your work-basket, mamsie?" asked Ben; "they'd
look so nice in that."

"Oh," said Mrs. Pepper, "that wouldn't do; I couldn't spare it, and
besides, it's all broken at the side, Ben; that don't look nice."

"Oh, dear," said Polly, sitting down on one of the hard wooden
chairs to think, "I do wish we had things nice to send to sick
people." And her forehead puckered up in a little hard knot.

"We'll have to do 'em up in a paper, Polly," said Ben; "there isn't
any other way; they'll look nice in anything, 'cause they are nice,"
he added, comfortingly.

"If we only had some flowers," said Polly, "that would set 'em off."

"You're always a-thinkin' of flowers, Polly," said Ben. "I guess the
cakes'll have to go without 'em."

"I suppose they will," said Polly, stifling a little sigh. "Where's the
paper?"

"I've got a nice piece up-stairs," said Ben, "just right; I'll get it."

"Fut my 'gingerbread boy' on top," cried Phronsie, handing himup.

So Polly packed the little cakes neatly in two rows, and laid the
'gingerbread boy' in a fascinating attitude across the top.

"He looks as if he'd been struck by lightning!" said Ben, viewing
him critically as he came in the door with the paper.

"Be still," said Polly, trying not to laugh; "that's because he baked
so funny; it made his feet stick out."

"Children," said Mrs. Pepper, "how'll Jasper know where the cakes
come from?"

"Why, he'll know it's us," said Polly, "of course; 'cause it'll make
him think of the baking we're going to have when he gets well."

"Well, but you don't say so," said Mrs. Pepper, smiling; "tisn't
polite to send it this way."

"Whatever'll we do, mammy!" said all four children in dismay,
while Phronsie simply stared. "Can't we send 'em at all?"

"Why yes," said their mother; "I hope so, I'm sure, after you've got
'em baked; but you might answer Jasper's letter I should think, and
tell him about 'em, and the 'gingerbread boy'."

"Oh dear," said Polly, ready to fly, "I couldn't mamsie; I never
wrote a letter."

"Well, you never had one before, did your said her mother,
composedly biting her thread. "Never say you can't, Polly, 'cause
you don't know what you can do till you've tried."

"You write, Ben," said Polly, imploringly.

"No," said Ben, "I think the nicest way is for all to say somethin',
then 'twon't be hard for any of us."

"Where's the paper," queried Polly, "coming from, I wonder!"

"Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, "run to the bureau in the bedroom, and
open the top drawer, and get a green box there."

So Joel, quite important at the errand, departed, and presently put
the designated box into his mother's hand.

"There, now I'm going to give you this," and she took out a small
sheet of paper slightly yellowed by age; but being gilt-edged, it
looked very magnificent to the five pairs of eyes directed to it.

"Now Ben, you get the ink bottle and the pen, and then go to
work."

So Ben reached down from the upper shelf in the cupboard the ink
bottle, and a pen in a black wooden penholder.

"Oh, mamsie," cried Polly, "that's where Phronsie bit it off when
she was a baby, isn't it?" holding up the stubby end where the little
ball had disappeared.

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper, "and now you're going to write about her
'gingerbread boy' with it--well, time goes, to be sure." And she bent
over her work again, harder than ever. Poor woman! if she could
only scrape together enough money to get her children into
school--that was the earnest wish of her heart. She must do it soon,
for Ben was twelve years old; but with all her strivings and
scrimpings she could only manage to put bread into their mouths,
and live from day to day. "I know I ought to be thankful for that,"
she said to herself, not taking time even to cry over her troubles.
"But oh, the learning! they must have that!"

"Now," said Polly, "how'll we do it Ben?" as they ranged
themselves around the table, on which reposed the cakes; "you
begin."

"How do folks begin a letter?" asked Ben in despair, of his mother.

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