Five Little Peppers And How They Grew

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"How did Jasper begin his?" asked Mrs. Pepper back again. "Oh,"
cried Polly, running into the bedroom to get the precious missive.
"Dear Miss Polly'--that's what it says."

"Well," said Mrs. Pepper, "then you'd better say, 'Dear Mister
Jasper'--or you might say, 'Dear Mr. King.'"

"Oh, dear!" cried Polly, "that would be the father then-- s'pose he
should think we wrote to him!" and Polly looked horror-stricken to
the last degree.

"There, there 'tis," said Ben: 'Dear Mister Jasper'--now what'll we
say?"

"Why, say about the cakes," replied Polly.

"And the 'gingerbread boy," cried Phronsie. "Oh, tell about him,
Polly, do."

"Yes, yes, Phronsie," said Polly, "we will--why, tell him how we
wish he could have come, and that we baked him some cakes, and
that we do so want him to come just as soon as he can."

"All right!" said Ben; so he went to work laboriously; only his hard
breathing showing what a hard task it was, as the stiff old pen
scratched up and down the paper.

"There, that's done," he cried at length in great satisfaction,
holding it up for inspection.

"Oh, I do wish," cried Polly in intense admiration, "I could write so
nice and so fast as you can, Ben."

"Read it, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, in pride.

So Polly began: "Dear Mister Jasper we were all dreadfully sorry
that you didn't come and so we baked you some cakes.'--You didn't
say anything about his being sick, Ben."

"I forgot it," said Ben, "but I put it in farther down--you'll see if
you read on."

"Baked you some cakes--that is, Polly did, for this is Ben that's
writing."

"You needn't said that, Ben," said Polly, dissatisfied; "we all baked
'em, I'm sure. 'And just as soon as you get well we do want you to
come over and have the baking. We're real sorry you're
sick--boneset's good for colds."

"Oh, Ben!" said Mrs. Pepper, "I guess his father knows what to
give him."

"And oh! the bitter stuff!" cried Polly, with a wry face. "Well, it's
hard work to write," said Ben, yawning. "I'd rather chop wood."

"I wish I knew how," exclaimed Joel, longingly.

"Just you try every day; Ben'll teach you, Joe," said his mother,
eagerly, "and then I'll let you write."

"I will!" cried Joe; "then, Dave, you'll see how I'll write-- I tell
you!"

"And I'm goin' to--ma, can't I?" said Davie, unwilling to be
outdone.

"Yes, you may, be sure," said Mrs. Pepper, delighted; "that'll make
a man of you fast."

"Oh, boys," said Polly, lifting a very red face, "you joggle the table
so I can't do anything."

"I wasn't jogglin'," said Joel; "the old thing tipped. Look!" he
whispered to Davie, "see Pofly, she's writing crooked."

So while the others hung around her and looked over her shoulder
while they made their various comments, Polly finished her part,
and also held it up for inspection.

"Let us see," said Ben, taking it up.

"It's after, 'boneset's good for colds,'" said Polly, puckering up her
face again at the thought.

"We most of us knew you were sick--I'm Polly now--because you
didn't come; and we liked your letter telling us so, -- "Oh, Polly!
we weren't glad to hear he was sick!" cried Ben, in horror.

"I didn't say so!" cried Polly, starting up. "Why, Ben Pepper, I
never said so!" and she looked ready to cry.

"It sounds something like it, don't it, mainmy?" said Ben, unwilling
to give her pain, but appealing to Mrs. Pepper.

"You needn't said that, Ben," said Polly, dissatisfied; "we all baked
'em, I'm sure. 'And just as soon as you get well we do want you to
come over and have the baking. We're real sorry you're
sick--boneset's good for colds."

"Oh, Ben!" said Mrs. Pepper, "I guess his father knows what to
give him."

"And oh! the bitter stuff!" cried Polly, with a wry face. "Well, it's
hard work to write," said Ben, yawning. "I'd rather chop wood."

"I wish! knew how," exclaimed Joel, longingly.

"Just you try every day; Ben'll teach you, Joe," said his mother,
eagerly, "and then I'll let you write."

"I will!" cried Joe; "then, Dave, you'll see how I'll write-- I
tellyou!"

"And I'm goin' to--ma, can't I?" said Davie, unwilling to be
outdone.

"Yes, you may, be sure," said Mrs. Pepper, delighted; "that'll make
a man of you fast."

"Oh, boys," said Polly, lifting a very red face, "you joggle the table
so I can't do anything."

"I wasn't jogglin'," said Joel; "the old thing tipped. Look!" he
whispered to Davie, "see Polly, she's writing crooked."

So while the others hung around her and looked over her shoulder
while they made their various comments, Polly finished her part,
and also held it up for inspection.

"Let us see," said Ben, taking it up.

"It's after, 'boneset's good for colds,'" said Polly, puckering up her
face again at the thought.

"We most of us knew you were sick--I'm Polly now--because you
didn't come; and we liked your letter telling us so, -- "Oh, Polly!
we weren't glad to hear he was sick!" cried Ben, in horror.

"I didn't say so!" cried Polly, starting up. "Why, Ben Pepper, I
never said so!" and she looked ready to cry.

"It sounds something like it, don't it, manimy?" said Ben, unwilling
to give her pain, but appealing to Mrs. Pepper.

"Polly didn't mean it," said her mother consolingly; "but if I were
you, I'd say something to explain it."

"I can't put anything in now," said poor Polly; "there isn't any room
nor any more paper either--what shall I do! I told you, Ben, I
couldn't write." And Polly looked helplessly from one to the other
for comfort.

"Yes, you can," said Ben; "there, now I'll show you: write it fine,
Polly--you write so big--little bits of letters, like these."

So Polly took the pen again with a sigh. "Now he won't think so, I
guess," she said, much relieved, as Ben began to read again.

"I'll begin yours again," Ben said: "We most of us knew you were
sick because you didn't come, and we liked your letter telling us so
because we'd all felt so badly, and Phronsie cried herself to sleep'--
(that's good, I'm sure.) 'The "gingerbread boy" is for your
father--please excuse it, but Phronsie would make it for him
because he is sick. There isn't any more to write, and besides I
can't write good, and Ben's tired. From all of us.'"

"Why, how's he to know?" cried Ben. "That won't do to sign it."

"Well, let's say from Ben and Polly then," said Polly; "only all the
others want to be in the letter."

"Well, they can't write," said Ben.

"We might sign their names for 'em," suggested Polly.

"Here's mine," said Ben, putting under the "From all of us" a big,
bold "Ben."

"And here's mine," echoed Polly, setting a slightly crooked "Polly"
by its side.

"Now Joe, you better let Ben hold your hand," said Polly,
warningly. But Joel declaring he could write had already begun, so
there was no hope for it; and a big drop of ink falling from the pen,
he spattered the "J" so that no one could tell what it was. The
children looked at each other in despair.

"Can we ever get it out, mammy?" said Polly, running to Mrs.
Pepper with it.

"I don't know," said her mother. "How could you try it, Joe?"

"I didn't mean to," said Joel, looking very downcast and ashamed.
"The ugly old pen did it!"

"Well," said Polly, "it's got to go; we can't help it." But she looked
so sorrowful over it that half the pleasure was gone for Ben; for
Polly wanted everything just right, and was very particular about
things.

"Now, Dave." Ben held his hand, and "David" went down next to
Joel.

But when it was Phronsie's turn, she protested that Polly, and no
one else, must hold her hand.

"It's a dreadful hard name to write--Phronsie is," said Polly, as she
guided Phronsie's fat little hand that clung faithfully to the stubby
old pen. "There, it's over now," she cried; "and I'm thankful! I
wouldn't write another for anything!"

"Read it all over now, Ben," cried Mrs. Pepper, "and don't speak,
children, till he gets through."

"Don't it sound elegant!" said Polly, clasping her hands, when he
had finished. "I didn't think we ever could do it so nice, did you,
Ben?"

"No, indeed, I didn't," replied Ben, in a highly ecstatic frame of
mind. "Now--oh! what'll we do for an envelope?" he asked in
dismay.

"You'll have to do without that," said Mrs. Pepper, "for there isn't
any in the house--but see here, children," she added, as she saw the
sorry faces before her--"you just fold up the letter, and put it inside
the parcel; that'll be just as good."

"Oh dear," said Polly; "but it would have been splendid the other
way, mammy--just like other folks!"

"You must make believe this is like other folks," said Mrs. Pepper,
cheerily, "when you can't do any other way."

"Yes," said Ben, "that's so, Polly; tie 'em up quick's you can, and
I'll take 'em over to Deacon Blodgett's, for he's goin' to start early
in the morning."

So after another last look all around, Polly put the cakes in the
paper, and tied it with four or five strong knots, to avoid all danger
of its undoing.

"He never'll untie it, Polly," said Ben; "that's just like a girl's
knots!"

"Why didn't you tie it then?" said Polly; "I'm sure it's as good as a
boy's knots, and they always muss up a parcel so." And she gave a
loving, approving little pat to the top of the package, which,
despite its multitude of knots, was certainly very neat indeed.

Ben, grasping the pen again, "here goes for the direction.

"Deary, yes!" said Polly. "I forgot all about that; I thought 'twas
done."

"How'd you s'pose he'd get it?" asked Ben, coolly beginning the
"M."

"I don't know," replied Polly, looking over his shoulder; "s'pose
anybody else had eaten 'em up, Ben!" And she turned pale at the
very thought.

"There," said Ben, at last, after a good many flourishes, "now 'ti.s
done! you can't think of another thing to do to it, Polly!"

"Mamsie, see!" cried Polly, running with it to Mrs. Pepper, "isn't
that fine! 'Mr. Jasper E. King, at the Hotel Hingham."

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper, admiringly, to the content of all the
children, "I should think it was!"

"Let me take it in my hand," screamed Joel, reaching eagerly up
for the tempting brown parcel.

"Be careful then, Joe," said Polly, with an important air. So Joel
took a comfortable feel, and then Davie must have the same
privilege. At last it was off, and with intense satisfaction the
children watched Ben disappear with it down the long hill to
Deacon Blodgett's.

The next day Ben came running in from his work at the deacon's.

"Oh, Polly, you had 'em!" he screamed, all out of breath. "You had
'em!"

"Had what?" asked Polly in astonishment. "Oh, Bensie, what do
you mean?"

"Your flowers," he panted. "You sent some flowers to Jasper."

"Flowers to Jasper!" repeated Polly, afraid Ben had gone out of his
wits.

"Yes," said Ben; "I'll begin at the beginning. You see, Polly, when I
went down this morning, Betsey was to set me to work. Deacon
Blodgett and Mrs. Blodgett had started early, you know; and while
I was a-cleanin' up the woodshed, as she told me, all of a sudden
she said, as she stood in the door looking on, 'Oh, Ben, Mis'
Blodgett took some posies along with your parcel.' 'What?' said I; I
didn't know as I'd heard straight. 'Posies, I said,' says Betsey;
'beautiful ones they were, too, the best in the garding. I heard her
tell Mr. Blodgett it would be a pity if that sick boy couldn't have
some flowers, and she knew the Pepper children were crazy about
'em, so she twisted 'em in the string around the parcel, and there
they stood up and looked fine, I tell you, as they drove away.' So,
Polly!"

"Bensie Pepper!" cried Polly, taking hold of his jacket, and
spinning him round, "I told you so! I told you so!"

"I know you did," said Ben, as she gave him a parting whirl, "an' I
wish you'd say so about other things, Polly, if you can get 'em so
easy."

JOLLY DAYS

"Oh Ben," cried Jasper, overtaking him by a smart run as he was
turning in at the little brown gate one morning three days after, "do
wait."

"Halloa!" cried Ben, turning around, and setting down his load--a
bag of salt and a basket of potatoes--and viewing Jasper and Prince
with great satisfaction.

"Yes, here I am," said Jasper. "And how I've run; that fellow on the
stage was awful slow in getting here--oh, you're so good," he said
and his eyes, brimful of gladness, beamed on Ben. "The cakes
were just prime, and 'twas great fun to get your letter."

"Did you like it?" asked Ben, the color up all over his brown face--
"Like it!" cried Jasper. "Why 'twas just splendid; and the cakes
were royal! Isn't Polly smart though, to bake like that!" he added
admiringly.

"I guess she is," said Ben, drawing himself up to his very tallest
dimensions. "She knows how to do everything, Jasper King!"

"I should think she did," responded the boy quickly. "I wish she
was my sister," he finished longingly.

"Well, I don't," quickly replied Ben, "for then she wouldn't be
mine; and I couldn't think of being without Polly! Was your father
angry about--about--'the gingerbread boy'?" he asked timidly,
trembling for an answer.

"Oh dear," cried Jasper, tumbling over on the grass, "don't, don't! I
shan't be good for anything if you make me laugh! oh! wasn't it
funny;" and he rolled over and over, shaking with glee.

"Yes," said Ben, immensely relieved to find that no offence had
been taken. "But she would send it; Polly tried not to have her, and
she most cried when Phronsie was so determined, cause she said
your father never'd let you come again"-- "Twas just lovely in
Phronsie," said the boy, sitting up

and wiping his eyes, "but oh it was so funny! you ought to have
seen my father, Ben Pepper."

"Oh, then he was angry," cried Ben.

"No indeed he wasn't!" said Jasper; "don't you think it! do you
know it dod him lots of good, for he'd been feeling real badly that
morning, he hadn't eaten any breakfast, and when he saw that
gingerbread boy"--here Jasper rolled over again with a peal of
laughter--"and heard the message, he just put back his head, and he
laughed--why, I never heard him laugh as he did then! the room
shook all over; and he ate a big dinner, and all that afternoon he
felt as good as could be. But he says he's coming to see the little
girl that baked it for him before we go home."

Ben nearly tumbled over by the side of Jasper at these words--
"Coming to see us!" he gasped,

"Yes," said Jasper, who had scarcely got over his own
astoruishment about it, for if the roof had suddenly whisked off on
to the church steeple, he couldn't have been more amazed than
when he heard his father say cheerily: "Well, Jasper my boy, I
guess I shall have to drive over and see your little girl, since she's
been polite enough to bake me this," pointing to the wild-looking
"gingerbread boy."

"Come in and tell 'em about it," cried Ben, radiantly, picking up his
potatoes and salt. "It's all right, Polly!" he said in a jubilant voice,
"for here's Jasper, and he'll tell you so himself."

"Hush!" said Jasper warningly, "don't let Phronsie hear; well, here's
my pet now," and after bobbing lovingly to the others, with eyes
beaming over with fun, he caught up the little girl who was
screaming--"Oh, here's Japser! and my beyew-ti-ful doggie!"

"Now Phronsie," he cried, "give me a kiss; you haven't any soft
soap to-day, have you? no; that's a good, nice one, now; your
'gingerbread boy' was just splendid!"

"Did he eat it?" asked the child in grave delight.

"Well--no--he hasn't eaten it yet," said Jasper, smiling on the
others; "he's keeping it to look at, Phronsie."

"I should think so!" groaned Polly.

"Never mind, Polly," Ben whispered; "Jasper's been a-tellin' me
about it; his father liked it--he did truly."

"Oh!" said Polly, "I'm so glad!"

"He had eyes," said Phronsie, going back to the charms of the
"gingerbread boy."

"I know it," said Jasper admiringly; "so lie did."

"Rather deep sunk, one of 'em was," muttered Ben.

"And I'll bake you one, Japser," said the child as he put her down;
"I will very truly--some day."

"Will you," smiled Jasper; "well then," and there was a whispered
conference with Phronsie that somehow sent that damsel into a
blissful state of delight. And then while Phronsie monopolized
Prince, Jasper told them all about the reception of the parcel--how
very dull and forlorn he was feeling that morning, Prince and he
shut up in-doors--and how his father had had a miserable night,
and had eaten scarcely no breakfast, and just at this juncture there
came a knock at the door, "and" said Jasper, "your parcel walked
in, all dressed up in flowers!"

"They weren't our flowers," said Polly, honestly. "Mrs. Blodgett
put 'em on."

"Well she couldn't have, if you hadn't sent the parcel," said Jasper
in a tone of conviction.

Then he launched out into a description of how they opened the
package--Prince looking on, and begging for one of the cakes.

"Oh, didn't you give him one?" cried Polly at this. "Good old
Prince!"

"Yes I did," said Jasper, "the biggest one of all."

"The one I guess," interrupted Joel, "with the big raisin on top."

Polly spoke up quickly to save any more remarks on Joel's part.
"Now tell us about your father--and the 'gingerbread boy.

So Jasper broke out with a merry laugh, into this part of the story,
and soon had them all in such a gale of merriment, that Phronsie
stopped playing out on the door-step with Prince, and came in to
see what the matter was.

"Never mind," said Polly, trying to get her breath, just as Jasper
was relating how Mr. King set up the "gingerbread boy" on his
writing table before him, while he leaned back in his chair for a
hearty laugh.

"And to make it funnier still," said Jasper "don't you think, a little
pen-wiper he has, made like a cap, hanging on the pen-rack above
him, tumbled off just at this very identical minute right on the head
of the 'gingerbread boy,' and there it stuck!"

"Oh!" they all screamed, "if we could only have seen it."

"What was it?" asked Phronsie, pulling Polly's sleeve to make her
hear.

So Jasper took her in his lap, and told how funny the "gingerbread
boy" looked with a cap on, and Phronsie clapped her hands, and
laughed with the rest, till the little old kitchen rang and rang again.

And then they had the baking! and Polly tied one of her mother's
ample aprons on Jasper, as Mrs. Pepper had left directions if he
should come while she was away; and he developed such a taste
for cookery, and had so many splendid improvements on the
Peppers' simple ideas, that the children thought it the most
fortunate thing in the world that he came; and one and all voted
him a most charming companion.

"You could cook a Thanksgiving dinner in this stove, just as easy
as not," said Jasper, putting into the oven something on a little
cracked plate that would have been a pie if there were any centre;
but lacking that necessary accompaniment, probably was a
short-cake. "Just as easy as not," be repeated with emphasis,
slamming the door, to give point to his remarks.

"No, you couldn't either," said Ben at the table with equal decision;
"not a bit of it, Jasper King!"

"Why, Ben Pepper?" asked Jasper, "that oven's big enough! I
should like to know why not?"

"'Cause there isn't anything to cook," said Ben coolly, cutting out a
piece of dough for a jumble; "we don't keep Thanksgiving."

"Not keep Thanksgiving!" said Jasper, standing quite still; "never
had a Thanksgiving! well, I declare," and then he stopped again.

"Yes," answered Ben; "we had one once; 'twas last year-- but that
wasn't much."

"Well then," said Jasper, leaning over the table, "I'll tell you what I
should think you'd do--try Christmas."

"Oh, that's always worse," said Polly, setting down her rolling-pin
to think--which immediately rolled away by itself off from the
table.

"We never had a Christmas," said little Davie reflectively; "what
are they like, Jasper?"

Jasper sat quite still, and didn't reply to this question for a moment
or two.

To be among children who didn't like Thanksgiving, and who
"never had seen a Christmas," and "didn't know what it was like,"
was a new revelation to him.

"They hang up stockings," said Polly softly.

How many, many times she had begged her mother to try it for the
younger ones; but there was never anything to put in them, and the
winters were cold and hard, and the strictest economy only carried
them through.

"Oh!" said little Phronsie in horror, "are their feet in 'em, Polly?"

"No dear," said Polly; while Jasper instead of laughing, only
stared. Something requiring a deal of thought was passing through
the boy's mind just then. "They shall have a Christmas!" he
muttered, "I know father'll let me." But he kept his thoughts to
himself; and becoming his own gay, kindly self, he explained and
told to Phronsie and the others, so many stories of past
Christmases he had enjoyed, that the interest over the baking soon
dwindled away, until a horrible smell of something burning
brought them all to their senses.

"Oh! the house is burning?" cried Polly. "Oh get a pail of water!"

"Tisn't either," said Jasper, snuffing wisely; "oh! I know-- I forgot
all about it--I do beg your pardon." And running to the stove, he
knelt down and drew out of the oven, a black, odorous mass,
which with a crest-fallen air he brought to Polly.

"I'm no end sorry I made such a mess of it," he said, "I meant it for
you."

"Tisn't any matter," said Polly kindly.

"And now do you go on," cried Joel and David both in the same
breath, "all about the Tree, you know."

"Yes, yes," said the others; "if you're not tired, Jasper."

"Oh, no," cried their accommodating friend, "I love to tell about it;
only wait--let's help Polly clear up first."

So after all traces of the frolic had been tidied up, and made nice
for the mother's return, they took seats in a circle and Jasper
regaled them with story and reminiscence, till they felt as if fairy
land were nothing to it!

"How did you ever live through it, Jasper King," said Polly,
drawing the first long breath she had dared to indulge in. "Such an
elegant time!"

Jasper laughed. "I hope I'll live through plenty more of them," he
said merrily. "We're going to sister Marian's again, father and I; we
always spend our Christmas there, you know, and she's to have all
the cousins, and I don't know how many more; and a tree--but the
best of all, there's going to be a German carol sung by choir boys--I
shall like that best of all."

"What are choir boys?" asked Polly who was intensely fond of
music.

"In some of the churches," explained Jasper, "the choir is all boys;
and they do chant, and sing anthems perfectly beautifully, Polly!"

"Do you play on the piano, and sing?" asked Polly, looking at him
in awe.

"Yes," said the boy simply; "I've played ever since I was a little
fellow, no bigger'n Phronsie."

"Oh, Jasper!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, her cheeks all
aflame--"do you mean to say you do really and truly play on the
piano?"

"Why yes," said the boy, looking into her flashing eyes. "Polly's
always crazy about music," explained Ben; "she'll drum on the
table, and anywhere, to make believe it's a piano."

"There's Dr. Fisher going by," said Joel, who, now that they had
gotten on the subject of music, began to find prickles running up
and down his legs from sitting so still. "I wish he'd stop."

"Is he the one that cured your measles--and Polly's eyes?" asked
Jasper running to the window. "I want to see him."

"Well there he is," cried Ben, as the doctor put his head out of the
gig and bowed and smiled to the little group in the window.

"He's just lovely," cried Polly, "oh! I wish you knew him."

"If father's sick again," said Jasper, "we'll have him--he looks nice,
anyway--for father don't like the doctor over in Hingham--do you
know perhaps we'll come again next summer; wouldn't that be
nice!"

"Oh!" cried the children rapturously; "do come, Jasper, do!"

"Well, maybe," said Jasper, "if father likes it and sister Marian and
her family will come with us; they do some summers. You'd like
little Dick, I know," turning to Phronsie. "And I guess all of you'd
like all of them," he added, looking at the group of interested
listeners. "They wanted to come this year awfully; they said--'Oh
grandpapa, do let us go with you and Jappy, and"----

"What!" said the children.

"Oh," said Jasper with a laugh, "they call me Jappy--its easier to
say than Jasper; ever so many people do for short. You may if you
want to," he said looking around on them all.

"How funny!" laughed Polly, "But I don't know as it is any worse
than Polly or Ben."

"Or Phronsie," said Jappy. "Don't you like Jappy?" he said,
bringing his head down to her level, as she sat on the little stool at
his feet, content in listening to the merry chat.

"Is that the same as Japser?" she asked gravely.

"Yes, the very same," he said.

When they parted--Jappy and the little Peppers were sworn friends;
and the boy, happy in his good times in the cheery little home, felt
the hours long between the visits that his father, when he saw the
change that they wrought in his son, willingly allowed him to
make.

"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Pepper one day in the last of September--as a
carriage drawn by a pair of very handsome horses, stopped at their
door, "here comes Mr. King I do believe; we never looked worse'n
we do to-day!"

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