Five Little Peppers Grown Up

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"O, Grandpapa!" she cried, "do you think it can be right to take Jasper
away from his work?"

"Hoity-toity! Well, I must say, Polly," exclaimed the old gentleman in
the greatest displeasure, and rising abruptly from the sofa, brushing
her aside as he did so, "that I never have been so surprised in my life,
as to have you come to teach me my duty. Right? Of course it is--it must
be, if I wish it. I have always looked out for Jasper's good," with that
he walked up and down the parlor, fuming at every step, and looking so
very dreadful, that Polly, rooted to the spot, had only to stand still,
and watch him in despair.

"If you could have seen Jasper, the way he was when I found him," said
Mr. King, tired at last of vituperating, and coming up to Polly sternly,
"you would be glad to have me get him out of the wretched business. It
smelt so of trade, and everybody was grossly familiar; while that Mr.
Marlowe--I have no words for him, Polly. He insulted me."

"Oh!--oh!" cried Polly, with clasped hands and flaming cheeks. "How
could he, Grandpapa? Jasper has always said he was such a gentleman."

"Jasper's ideas of what a gentleman should be, and mine, are very
different," exploded the old gentleman, beginning to walk up and down
the parlor again. "I tell you, Polly, that my boy is sadly changed since
he went into that contemptible trade."

"But Jasper loves his work," mourned Polly, her color dying down.

"Loves his work? Well, he shouldn't," cried Mr. King in extreme
irritation. "It's no sort of a work for him to love, brought up as he
has been. A profession is the only thing for him. Now he studies law"--

"O, Grandpapa!" cried Polly, quite white now, and she precipitated
herself in front of the old gentleman's angry feet, "Jasper just hates
the law. I know, for he has often said so; and if you do fasten him down
all his life to what he don't like, and make him be a lawyer, it will
kill him. He'll do it, Grandpapa"--Polly rushed on, regardless of the
lightning gleam of anger in the sharp eyes above her; and, although she
knew that after this she should never be the same Polly to him as of
old, she kept on steadily--"because you want him to; he'll do anything
to please you, and make you happy, Grandpapa, and he won't say anything,
but it will kill him; it surely will, for he loves his work with Mr.
Marlowe so." Then Polly stopped, aghast at the effect of her words.

"And what am I to do now, pray, to please you?" asked old Mr. King, and
drawing off to look at her quite coldly.

"Oh! nothing to please me," cried poor Polly; "only for Jasper. Do let
him go back to Mr. Marlowe, Grandpapa."

"He shall never go back to Mr. Marlowe with my consent," declared the
old gentleman stiffly, his anger rising again, "and you have displeased
me very much, Polly Pepper, by all this. Now you may go; and remember,
not another word about Jasper and his work. I will arrange everything
concerning him without interference." And Polly, not knowing how crept
out of Mrs. Higby's parlor, and shut the door.

[Illustration: "OH, WHY DID I SPEAK?" CRIED POLLY OVER AND OVER.]

"Polly!" somebody called, as she hurried on unsteady feet over the
stairs to her own little room that she had begged under the farmhouse
eaves. But she didn't even answer, only rushed on, and locked the door
behind her. Then she threw herself on her knees by the bed, and buried
her face in her hands. This was worse than the day so long ago when she
sat in the old rocking-chair in the little brown house, with eyes bound
closely to shut out all outside things; and all of them had been afraid
she was going to be blind. For now she felt sure that she had spoiled
whatever chance there might have been for Jasper. "Oh! why did I
speak--why did I?" she cried, over and over in her distress, as she
buried her face deeper yet in Mrs. Higby's gay patch bedquilt.

After a while--Polly never could tell how long she had staid
there--somebody rapped at the door. It was Phronsie; and she cried in a
grieved little voice, "Polly, are you here? I've been under the
apple-trees--and just everywhere for you. Do let me in."

"I can't now, Pet," cried Polly, trying not to let her voice sound
choked with tears; "you run away, dear; Polly will let you in by and
by."

"Are you sick, Polly?" cried Phronsie anxiously, and kneeling down to
put her mouth to the keyhole.

"No, not a bit," said Polly hastily, and trying to speak cheerfully.

"Really, Polly?"

"Really and truly, Phronsie; there, run away, dear, if you love me."

Phronsie, at this, unwillingly crept off, and still Polly knelt on, with
the wild remorse tugging at her heart that she had been the one to
injure Jasper's prospects for life.

And then the dinner-bell rang, and Polly, who was never known to be late
at a meal, heard Mrs. Higby come out into the hall again, and shake the
big bell till it seemed to fill the whole farmhouse with its noise.

"Oh! I can't go down--I can't!" moaned poor Polly to herself, quite lost
to everything but the dreadful distress at the mischief she had wrought.
And then Phronsie came again, this time imploring, with tears--for Polly
felt quite sure that she could hear her crying--that Polly would only
open the door, "and let me see you just once, Polly!"

And even Mrs. Cabot came, and Polly thought she should go wild to have
her stand outside there and beg and insist that Polly should come down
to them all.

[Illustration: "ARE YOU SICK, POLLY?" CRIED PHRONSIE ANXIOUSLY.]

"I don't want any dinner," said Polly over and over. "I just must be
alone a little while," and at last she spoke quickly to Mrs. Cabot's
persistent pleadings, "Have the goodness, Mrs. Cabot, not to call me
again." And then she was sorry the minute she had spoken the words, and
she opened her door a little crack to call after Mrs. Cabot, as she
sailed downstairs in great displeasure, "Oh! do forgive me, dear Mrs.
Cabot, for speaking so. I am very sorry, but I cannot come down just
yet."

"I shall send you up your dinner, then," said Mrs. Cabot, only half
appeased, and pausing on the stairs.

"No, no!" begged Polly, and she seemed so distressed at the mere
thought, that Mrs. Cabot unwillingly let her have her way about it.

It was in the middle of the afternoon, and Polly, exhausted by weeping,
had fallen asleep just where she was, on her knees by the bed, her head
on the gay bedquilt, when a low knock on the door startled her and made
her rub her eyes and listen.

"Polly," said a voice--it was Jasper's--"won't you undo the door? I want
to speak to you."

"O, Jasper!" cried Polly, springing to her feet, and running over to the
door, "I can't; don't ask me--not just yet."

"I won't ask you again," said Jasper, "if you don't wish it, Polly."

His voice showed his disappointment, and Polly, full of dismay at the
trouble she had made for him, couldn't find it in her heart to cause him
this new worry.

"You won't want to speak to me, Jasper," she cried, unlocking the door
with trembling fingers, "when you know what I have done."

"What, Polly?" he cried, trying not to show how he felt at sight of the
swollen eyelids and downcast face. Meanwhile he drew her out gently into
the hall. "There, let us sit down here," pausing before the wide
window-seat; "it's quiet here, and nobody will be likely to come here."
He waited till Polly sat down, then made a place for himself beside her.

"Jasper," cried Polly, lifting her brown eyes, now filling with tears
again, "you can't think what I've done. I've ruined your whole life for
you!"

"How, Polly?" Jasper's face grew pale to his lips. "Oh! do tell me at
once," yet he seemed to be afraid of what she was about to say.

"O, Jasper! I thought perhaps I could help you. I never knew till this
morning, just before you came, that you had lost your place. Mrs. Cabot
had a letter from her husband, and she told me. And I spoke to Grandpapa
and begged him to let you go back, and, O, Jasper!" here Polly's tears,
despite all her efforts to keep them back, fell in a shower, "you can't
guess how dreadfully Grandpapa feels, and he says--oh! he says that you
are to study law, and never, never go back to Mr. Marlowe."

"Is that all?" exclaimed Jasper in such a tone of relief that Polly
sprang to her feet and stared at him through dry eyes.

"All?" she gasped. "O, Jasper! I thought you loved your work."

CHAPTER XXII.

MR KING AND POLLY.

"So I do love my work," cried Jasper in a glow, "but, Polly," and he
sprang to his feet and walked away so that she couldn't see his face, "I
thought that you were going to say something about yourself,"

Then he turned around and faced her again.

"O, Jasper!" exclaimed Polly reproachfully, "what could I possibly have
to say about myself! How can I think of anything when you are in
trouble?"

"Forgive me, Polly," broke in Jasper eagerly, and he took her hand, "and
don't worry about me; I mean, don't think that what you said to
Grandpapa made any difference."

"But indeed it did, Jasper," declared Polly truthfully; "oh! I know it
did, and I have done it all."

"Polly--Polly!" begged Jasper in great distress, "don't, dear!"

"And now you must give it all up and go into the law--oh! the horrid,
hateful law; oh! what will you do, Jasper?" And she gazed up into his
face pityingly.

"I shall have to go," said Jasper, drawing his breath hard, and looking
at her steadily. "You know you yourself told me long ago to make my
father happy any way, Polly." He smiled as he emphasized the last word.

"Oh! I know," cried Polly in despair, "but I didn't think it could ever
be anything as bad as this, Jasper."

"'Any way' means pretty hard lines sometimes, Polly," said Jasper.
"Well, there's no help for it now, so you must help me to go through
with it."

"And just think," mourned Polly, looking as if the shower were about to
fall again, "how I've made it worse for you with Grandpapa. O, Jasper! I
shall never be any help to you."

"Polly!" exclaimed Jasper, in such a tone that she stopped to look at
him in astonishment. "There, now, I'll tell you all about it," he added
with his usual manner, and sitting down beside her again, "and then
you'll see that nothing on earth made any difference to father. This was
the way of it," and Jasper proceeded to lay before her every detail of
Mr. King's visit to him, and all the circumstances at the store, not
omitting Mr. Whitney's part in the affair, as shown by the letter that
Jasper had seen.

"Oh, oh! how mean," interrupted Polly at this point, with flashing brown
eyes; "how could he?" and her lips curled disdainfully,

"Oh! Mason thought he was doing me the greatest favor in the world, I
don't doubt," answered Jasper. "You know, Polly, he never could bear to
hear of the publishing business, and he was so disappointed when I
wouldn't go into the law."

"I know," said Polly, "but this was dreadful, to meddle--after you had
once decided; very, very dreadful!"

"I think so," said Jasper, with a laugh; feeling surprisingly
light-hearted, it was so beautiful to be talking it all over with Polly,
"but the trouble is, Mason don't. Well, and then came that dreadful
misunderstanding about Mr. Marlowe; that hurt me worse than all. O,
Polly! if you only knew the man," and Jasper relapsed into gloom once
more.

"O, dear, dear!" cried Polly sympathetically, and clasping her hands.
"What can we do; isn't there anything to do?"

"No," said Jasper, "absolutely nothing. When father once makes up his
mind about anything, it's made up for all time. I must just lose the
friendship of that man, as well as my place." With that his gloom
deepened, and Polly, feeling powerless to utter a word, slipped her hand
within his as it lay on his knee.

He looked up and smiled gratefully. "You see, Polly, we can't say
anything to him."

"Oh! no, no," cried Polly in horror at the mere thought; "I've only made
it a great deal worse."

"No, you haven't made it worse, dear; but we shouldn't do any good to
talk to him about it."

"I don't believe I could live," cried Polly, off her guard, "to have him
look at me, and to hear him speak so again, Jasper."

Jasper started, while a frown spread over his face. "I can bear anything
but that you should be hurt, Polly," he exclaimed, his fingers
tightening over hers.

"Oh! I don't mind it so much," cried Polly, recovering herself hastily,
"if I hadn't made mischief for you."

"And that you never must think of again. Promise me, Polly."

"I'll try not to," said Polly.

"You must just put the notion out of your mind whenever it comes in,"
said Jasper decidedly; "you'll promise that, Polly, I know you will."

"Well," said Polly reluctantly, "I will, Jasper."

"All right," exclaimed Jasper, in great satisfaction.

"Polly--Polly." Phronsie's yellow head came up above the stairs, and
presently Phronsie came running up to them in great haste.

"O, Polly!" and she threw her arms hungrily around Polly and hugged her
closely. "O, dear!" letting her arms fall, "I wasn't to stop a minute.
Grandpapa wants you to drive with him, Polly, and you are to go right
down as soon as you get your hat on."

"Grandpapa!" screamed Polly, jumping off from the window-seat so hastily
that Phronsie nearly fell over, while Jasper was hardly less excited.
"Why, Phronsie, you can't mean it. He"--

"Father really wants you, Polly, I know," broke in Jasper, with a look
into the brown eyes. But his voice shook, and if Phronsie hadn't been so
worried over Polly, she would certainly have noticed it.

"Polly hasn't had any dinner," she said in a troubled way.

"Oh! I don't care for dinner," cried Polly, with another look at Jasper,
and beginning to dance off to her room for her hat.

"But you must have some," declared Phronsie in gentle authority, going
toward the stairs, "and I shall just ask Grandpapa to wait for you to
get it. Mrs. Higby saved your dinner for you, Polly"--

"Oh! I couldn't eat a morsel," protested Polly from her little room,
"and don't ask Grandpapa to wait an instant, whatever you do, Phronsie.
See, I'm ready," and she ran out into the hall, putting on her hat as
she spoke.

"Get her a glass of milk, Phronsie," called Jasper, standing by the
stair-railing; "that's a good child."

Polly flashed him a grateful look as she dashed down the stairs, drawing
on her gloves, and not daring to look forward to meeting Grandpapa.

But when she came out to the back piazza, Phronsie following her with
the glass, and begging her to drink up the rest left in it, old Mr.
King, standing by the little old-fashioned chaise, received her exactly
as if nothing had happened.

"Well, I declare, Polly," he said, turning to her with a smile, "I never
saw anybody get ready so quickly as you can. There, hop in, child," and
he put aside her dress from the wheel in his most courtly manner
possible.

"Polly hasn't had all the milk," said Phronsie, by the chaise-step,
holding up the glass anxiously.

"Well, I don't believe she wants it," said old Mr. King.

[Illustration: "POLLY HASN'T HAD ALL THE MILK," SAID PHRONSIE]

"No, I don't," said Polly, from the depths of the old chaise. "I
couldn't drink it, dear."

Mr. King bent his white head to kiss Phronsie, and then they drove away,
and left her standing in the lilac-shaded path, her glass in her hand,
and looking after them.

All sorts of things Mr. King talked of in the cheeriest manner possible,
just as if Polly and he were in the habit of taking a drive like this
every morning; and he never seemed to notice her swollen eyelids, or
whether she answered, but kept on bravely with the conversation. At last
Polly, at something he said, laughed in her old merry fashion; then Mr.
King drew a long breath, and relaxed his efforts.

"I declare, Polly," he said, leaning back in a comfortable way against
the old cushion, and allowing the neighbor's horse, hired for the
occasion, to amble along in its own fashion, "now we are so cosy, I
believe I'll tell you a secret."

Polly stopped laughing and gazed at him.

"How would you like to take a little journey, just you and I,
to-morrow?" he asked, looking down into her face.

"A journey, Grandpapa?" asked Polly wonderingly.

"Yes; about as far as---say, well, to the place where Jasper has been
all winter. The fact is, Polly," went on Mr. King very rapidly, as if
with the fear that if he stopped he would not be able to finish at all,
"I want you to look over the ground--Jasper's work, I mean. It seems an
abominable place to me--a perfectly abominable one," confided the old
gentleman in a burst of feeling, "but there," pulling himself up, "maybe
I'm not the one to say it. You see, Polly, I never did a stroke of work
in my life, and I really can't tell how working-places ought to look.
And I suppose a working man like Mr. Marlowe might be different from me,
and yet be a decent sort of a person, after all. Well, will you go?" he
asked abruptly.

"O, Grandpapa!" cried Polly, aghast, and turning in the chaise to look
at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, I really mean it," nodded old Mr. King, in his most decided
fashion, "although I don't blame you for thinking me funny, child."

"I was only thinking how good you are Grandpapa!" exclaimed Polly
fervently, and creeping up close to his side.

"There--there, Polly, child," said the old gentleman, "no more of that,
else we shall have a scene, and that's what I never did like, dear, you
know. Well, will you go with me--you haven't said yes yet."

"Oh! yes, yes, yes," cried Polly, in a rapturous shout, not taking her
glowing eyes off from his face.

"Take care, you'll scare the natives," warned old Mr. King, beaming at
her. "Brierly folks couldn't have any such transports, Polly," as they
turned down a shady lane and ambled by a quiet farmhouse.

"Well, they ought to," replied Polly merrily, peering out at the still,
big house. "O, Grandpapa! I just want to get out and jump and scream. I
don't feel any bigger than Phronsie."

"Well, I much rather have you here in this carriage with me," said the
old gentleman composedly. "Now that's settled that we are going, Polly.
Of course I asked the doctor; I sent down a letter to him after dinner,
to ask if your arm would let you take a little journey with me, and of
course he said 'yes,' like a sensible man. Why shouldn't he, pray
tell--when we were all going home in a day or two? Now, of course, that
must be postponed a bit."

"Never mind," Polly hastened to say, "if Jasper is only fixed up."

"Now, Polly," Mr. King shifted his position a bit, so that he might see
her the better, "perhaps Mr. Marlowe won't take Jasper back. Judging
from what I know of the man, I don't think he will," and the old
gentleman's face, despite his extreme care, began to look troubled at
once.

"Oh! maybe he will," cried Polly warmly. "Grandpapa, I shouldn't wonder
at all--he must!" she added positively.

"I don't know, Polly," he said, in a worried way. "I think it's very
doubtful; indeed, from what I know of business now, I don't believe at
all that he will. But then, we can try."

"Oh! we can try," echoed Polly hopefully, and feeling as if, since God
was good, he would let Jasper back into his chosen life-work.

"Well, we'll start early to-morrow morning on our little trip, Polly,"
said the old gentleman, catching her infectious spirit, and giving the
old horse a fillip with the whip. "Meantime, not a word, my dear, of our
little plan!"

So Polly promised the deepest secrecy, and that no one should even have
a hint from her looks, of what Grandpapa and she were to do.

And the next morning, although everybody was nearly devoured by
curiosity, no one dared to ask questions; so old Mr. King and Polly,
with two well-filled portmanteaus, departed for a journey of apparently
a few days; and Polly didn't dare to trust herself alone with Jasper,
but ran a race with him around all the angles of the old farmhouse,
always cleverly disappearing with a merry laugh when there was the least
chance of his overtaking her and cornering her for an explanation.

And Pickering Dodge, in his invalid chair drawn close to the window,
heard the merry preparations for the journey, and fretfully declared
"that people seem to be happy, with never a thought for a poor dog like
me," while old Mr. Loughead, who, despite Doctor Bryce's verdict, had
never seemed quite well enough in his own estimation for his departure
from the "Higby hospital," on the contrary brightened up, exclaiming,
"Now, that is something like--to hear Miss Polly laugh like that--bless
her!"

"Good-by, Pickering," said Polly, coming into his room, old Mr. King
close behind; "I am going away with Grandpapa for a day or two," and she
came up in her traveling hat and gown close to his chair.

"So I heard," said Pickering, lifting his pale face, and trying to seem
glad, for Polly's joy was bubbling over. But he made rather a poor show
of it.

"Good-by to you, my boy," said Mr. King, laying a soft palm over the
thin fingers on Pickering's knee. "Now see that you get up a little more
vigor by the time we are back. Goodness! all you want is a trifle more
backbone. Why, an old fellow like me would beat you there, I do believe.
I am surprised at you," cried the old gentleman, shaking his fingers at
Mr. Loughead, with whom he was on the best of terms, but never feeling
the necessity to weigh his words, "that you, being chief nurse, don't
set up with that boy and make him get on his feet quicker."

"So I could do," cried old Mr. Loughead, whose chief object in life
since Pickering had been pronounced out of danger, had been to browbeat
the trained nurse, and usurp the authority in Pickering's sick-room, "if
Mrs. Cabot would keep out, or take it into her head to return home. To
state it mildly," continued the old gentleman, not lowering his tone in
the least, "that lady doesn't seem to be gifted with the qualities of a
nurse. Providence never intended that she should be one, in my opinion."

"Don't tell him to bully me worse than he does," cried Pickering. "He
shows a frightful hand when he wants his own way."

"That's it," cried old Mr. King delightedly; "only just keep it up.
You'll get well fast, as long as you can fight. Come on, Polly, my girl,
or we shall be late for the train."

The evening before, Jack Loughead ran up the steps to Miss Salisbury's
"Select School for Young Ladies," and pulled the bell hastily.

Amy ran down as quickly to the little room where she was always allowed
to see her brother.

"Well, Amy, child," cried Jack, when they had gone through with the
preliminaries always religiously observed on his visits: how she had
progressed in her music under the new teacher Miss Pepper had
recommended during her enforced absence, and how far she had pleased
Miss Salisbury, and all the other things an elder brother who had come
to his conscience rather late, would be apt to look into. "And so you
really think you are getting on in your practice?"

"O, yes, Jack!" cried Amy confidently. "Come and see; I've a new
Beethoven for you," and she laid hold of his arm with eager fingers.
"Now, you'll be immensely surprised, Jack--immensely."

"No doubt, no doubt," answered Jack hastily, and not offering to get up
from the sofa, "but you needn't play it now."

"Why, Jack," cried Amy, no little offended, "what's the matter? You've
asked me regularly to play you my pieces, and now to-night when I offer
to, you won't have any of it," and she began to pout.

"That's shabby in me," declared Jack, with remorse; and getting off the
sofa, to his feet, he dutifully spread the music on the rack, and paid
his little sister such attention, that she was soon smilingly launched
into the new piece, and lost to everything else but her own melody.

"That's fine!" pronounced Jack, as Amy declared herself through, and
whirled around on the music-stool for his applause. But his heart wasn't
in it, and Amy's blue eyes soon found it out.

"You're not a bit like yourself to-night, Brother Jack," she cried, with
another pout and staring at him.

"You're right; I'm not, Amy," declared Jack. "Come over to the sofa, and
I'll tell you about it."

So the two turned their backs on the piano; and pretty soon, Amy, her
hand in her brother's big brown palm, was nestled up against him, and
hearing a confidence that made her small soul swell with delight.

"Amy," said Jack, putting his arm closer around her, "when Miss Pepper
had the courage to tell me of my duty to you, I made up my mind that you
should never want for anything that my hand could supply."

"And I never have," cried little Amy, poking her head up from its nest
to look at him. "All the girls say you are just splendid to me; that
they never saw such a brother; and I don't believe they ever did, Jack,"
she added proudly.

"So now, what I am about to do," said Jack, speaking with great effort,
"isn't to bring anything but the greatest happiness to you, Amy, as well
as to me. If only I can secure it!" he added under his breath.

"What are you going to do, Jack?" demanded Amy, springing away from him
to stare into his bronzed face. "Oh! I know; you are going to Europe
again, and will take me this time--oh! goody, goody!" She screamed like
a child, clapping her hands gaily.

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