Five Little Peppers Grown Up

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"Yes, mamma," said Phronsie, still in a wonder.

"Well--and she suffered, dear, oh, so much!"

A look of pain stole over Phronsie's face, and Mrs. Fisher hastened to
say, "But oh. Phronsie, she can't ever suffer any more, for--for--God
has taken her home, Phronsie."

"Has Helen died?" asked Phronsie, in a sharp little voice, so unlike her
own that Mrs. Pepper shivered and held her close.

"Oh, darling--how can I tell you? Yes, dear, God has taken her home to
Heaven."

"And left Mrs. Fargo without any little girl?" asked Phronsie, in the
same tone.

"My dear--yes--He knows what is best," said poor Mrs. Fisher.

The startled look on Phronsie's little face gave way to a grieved
expression, that slowly settled on each feature.

"Let me get down, Mamsie," she said, quietly, and gently struggling to
free herself.

"Oh, Phronsie, what are you going to do?" cried Mrs. Fisher. "Do sit
with mother."

"I must think it out, Mamsie," said Phronsie, with grave decision,
getting on her feet, and she went slowly up the stairs, and into her own
room; then closed the door.

And all that day she said nothing; even when Mother Fisher begged her to
come and talk it over with her, Phronsie would say, "I can't, Mamsie
dear, it won't talk itself." But she was gentle and sweet with Baby, and
never relaxed any effort for his amusement. And at last, when they were
folding Helen away lovingly in flowers, from all who had loved her, Mrs.
Fisher wrote in despair to Polly, telling her all about it, and adding,
"You must come home, if only for a few days, or Phronsie will be sick."

"I shall go, too," declared old Mr. King, "for Marian can spare me now.
Oh, that blessed child! And I can come back here with you, Polly, if
necessary."

And Polly had nothing for it but to help him off, and Charlotte's father
being ever so much better, she joined them; and as soon as it was a
possible thing, there they were at home, and Thomas was driving them up
at his best speed, to the carriage porch.

"Polly!" Phronsie gasped the word, and threw hungry little arms around
Polly's neck.

"There, there, Pet," cried Polly cheerily, "you see we're all home.
Here's Grandpapa!"

"Where's my girl?" cried old Mr. King hastily. "Here, Phronsie," and she
was in his arms, while the tears rained down her cheeks.

"Bless me!" exclaimed the old gentleman, putting up his hand at the
shower. "Well, that is a welcome home, Phronsie."

"Oh, Grandpapa, I didn't mean to!" said Phronsie, drawing back in
dismay. "I do hope it hasn't hurt your coat."

"Never mind the coat, Phronsie," said Mr. King. "So you are glad to get
us home, eh?"

Phronsie snuggled close to his side, while she clung to his hand without
a word.

"Well, we mustn't forget Charlotte," cried Polly, darting back to a tall
girl with light hair and very pale blue eyes, standing composedly in one
corner of the hall, and watching the whole thing closely. "Mamsie, dear,
here she is," taking her hand to draw her to Mrs. Fisher.

"Don't mind me," said Charlotte, perfectly at her ease. "You take care
of the little girl," as Polly dragged her on.

Mrs. Fisher took a good long look at Charlotte Chatterton. Then she
smiled, "I am glad to see you, Charlotte."

[Illustration: CHARLOTTE, STANDING COMPOSEDLY IN ONE CORNER OF THE
HALL.]

Charlotte took the firm fingers extended to her, and said, "Thank you,"
then turned off to look at Phronsie again.

And it wasn't till after dinner that Phronsie's trouble was touched
upon. Then Polly drew her off to a quiet corner.

"Now, then, Phronsie," she said, gathering her up close in her arms,
"tell me all about it, Pet. Just think," and Polly set warm kisses on
the pale little cheek, "how long it is since you and I have had a good
talk."

"I know it," said Phronsie wearily, and she drew a long sigh.

"Isn't it good that dear Aunty is so much better?" cried Polly cheerily,
quite at a loss how to begin.

"Yes, Polly," said Phronsie, but she sighed again, and did not lift her
eyes to Polly's face.

"If anything troubles you," at last broke out Polly desperately, "you'd
feel better, Phronsie, to tell sister about it. I may not know how to
say the right things, but I can maybe help a little."

Phronsie sat quite still, and folded and unfolded her hands in her lap.
"Why did God take away Helen?" she asked suddenly, lifting her head.
"Oh, Polly, it wasn't nice of him," she added, a strange look coming
into her brown eyes.

[Illustration: PHRONSIE WENT OVER TO THE WINDOW.]

"Oh, Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, quite shocked, "don't, dear; that isn't
like you, Pet. Why, God made us all, and he can do just as he likes,
darling."

"But it isn't nice," repeated Phronsie deliberately, and quite firmly,
"to take Helen now. Why doesn't He make another little girl then for
Mrs. Fargo?" and she held Polly with her troubled eyes.

"Phronsie"--cried Polly; then she stopped abruptly. "Oh, what can I say?
I don't know, dearie; it's just this way; we don't know why God does
things. But we love him, and we feel it's right. Oh, Phronsie, don't
look so. There, there," and she drew her close to her, in a loving,
hungry clasp. "I told you I didn't think I could say the right things to
you," she went on hurriedly, "but, Phronsie, I know God did just right
in taking Helen to heaven. Just think how beautiful it must be there,
and so many little children are there. And Helen is so happy. Oh,
Phronsie, when I think of that, I am glad she is gone."

"Helen was happy here," said Phronsie decidedly. "And she never--never
would want to leave her mother alone, to go off to a nicer place. Never,
Polly."

Polly drew a long breath, and shut her lips. "But, Phronsie, don't you
see," she cried presently, "it may be that Mrs. Fargo wouldn't ever want
to go to Heaven unless Helen was there to meet her? It may be, Phronsie;
and that would be very dreadful, you know. And God loved Mrs. Fargo so
that he took Helen, and he is going to keep her happy every single
minute while she is waiting and getting ready for her mother."

Phronsie suddenly slipped down from Polly's lap. "Is that true?" she
demanded.

"Yes, dear," said Polly, "I think it is, Phronsie," and her cheeks
glowed. "Oh, can't you see how much nicer it is in God to make Mrs.
Fargo happy for always with Helen, instead of just a little bit of a
while down here?"

Phronsie went over to the window and looked up at the winter sky. "It is
a long way off," she said, but the bitter tone had gone, and it was a
grieved little voice that added, "and Mrs. Fargo can't see Helen."

"Phronsie," said Polly, hurrying over to her side, "perhaps God wants
you to do some things for Mrs. Fargo--things, I mean, that Helen would
have done."

"Why, I can't go over there," said Phronsie wonderingly. "Papa Fisher
says I am not to go over there for ever and ever so long, Polly."

"Well, you can write her little notes and you can help her to see that
God did just right in taking Helen away," said Polly; "and that would be
the very best thing you could do, Phronsie, for Mrs. Fargo; the very
loveliest thing in all this world."

"Would it?" asked Phronsie.

"Yes, dear."

"Then I'll do it; and perhaps God wants me to like Heaven better; does
he, Polly, do you think?"

"I really and truly do, Phronsie," said Polly softly. Then she leaned
over and threw both arms around Phronsie's neck. "Oh, Phronsie, can't
you see--I never thought of it till now--but He has given you somebody
else instead of Helen, to love and to do things for?"

Phronsie looked up wonderingly. "I don't know what you mean, Polly," she
said.

"There's Charlotte," cried Polly, going on rapidly as she released
Phronsie. "Oh, Phronsie, you can't think; it's been dreadfully hard and
dull always for her at home, with those two stiff great-aunts pecking at
her."

"Tell me about it," begged Phronsie, turning away from the window, and
putting her hand in Polly's.

"Well, come over to our corner then." So the two ran back, Phronsie
climbing into Polly's lap, while a look of contentment began to spread
over her face.

"You see," began Polly, "Charlotte's mother has always been too ill to
have nice times; she couldn't go out, you know, very much, nor keep the
house, and so the two great-aunts came to live with them. Well, pretty
soon they began to feel as if they owned the house, and Charlotte, and
everybody in it."

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Phronsie, in distress.

"And Charlotte's father, Mr. Alexander Chatterton, couldn't stop it; and
beside, he was away on business most of the time, and Charlotte didn't
complain--oh, she behaved very nice about it; Phronsie, her father told
Grandpapa all about it; and by and by her mother died, and then things
got worse and worse; but Mr. Chatterton never knew half how bad it was.
But when he was sick it all came out, and it worried him so that he got
very bad indeed, and then he sent for Grandpapa--Charlotte couldn't stop
him; he made her go. You see he was afraid he was going to die, and he
couldn't bear to have things so very dreadful for Charlotte."

"And is he going to die?" broke in Phronsie excitedly.

"Oh no, indeed! he was almost well when we came away; it was only his
worrying over Charlotte that made him so bad. Oh, you ought to have seen
him, Phronsie, when Grandpapa offered to take Charlotte home with us for
the winter. He was so happy he almost cried."

"I am so glad he was happy," cried Phronsie in great satisfaction, her
cheeks flushing.

"And so now I think God gave Charlotte to you for a little while because
you haven't Helen. I do, Phronsie, and you can make Charlotte glad while
she is here, and help her to have a good time."

"Can I?" cried Phronsie, her cheeks growing a deep pink. "Oh, Polly,
how? Charlotte is a big girl; how can I help her?"

"That's your secret to find out," said Polly merrily. "Well, come now,"
kissing her, "we must hurry back to Grandpapa, or he'll feel badly to
have you gone so long."

"Polly," cried Phronsie, as they hurried over the stairs, "put your ear
down, do."

"I can't till we get downstairs," laughed Polly, "or I'll tumble on my
nose, I'm afraid. Well, here we are. Now then, what is it?" and she bent
over to catch the soft words.

"I'm sorry," said Phronsie, her lips quite close to Polly's rosy cheek,
"that I said God wasn't nice to take Helen away. Oh, I love him, Polly,
I truly do."

"So you do," said Polly, with, a warm clasp. "Well, here's Grandpapa,"
as the library door opened, and Mr. King came out to meet them.

Polly, running over the stairs the next day to greet Alexia and some of
the girls who were determined to make the most of her little visit at
home, was met first by one of the maids with a letter.

[Illustration: ALEXIA COOLLY READ ON, ONE ARM AROUND POLLY.]

"Oh, now," cried Alexia, catching sight of it, "I almost know that's to
hurry you back, Polly. She sha'n't read it, girls." With that she made a
feint of seizing the large white envelope.

"Hands off from my property," cried Polly merrily, waving her off, and
sitting down on the stair she tore the letter open.

Alexia worked her way along till she was able to sit down beside her,
when she was guilty of looking over her shoulder.

"Oh, Alexia Rhys, how perfectly, dreadfully mean!" cried one of the
other girls, wishing she could be in the same place.

Alexia turned a deaf ear, and coolly read on, one arm around Polly.

"Oh, girls--girls!" she suddenly screamed, and jumping up, nearly
oversetting Polly, she raced over the remaining stairs to the bottom,
where she danced up and down the wide hall, "Polly isn't going back--she
isn't--she isn't," she kept declaring.

"What!" cried all the girls. "Oh, do stop, Alexia. What is it?"

Meantime Cathie Harrison ran up and quickly possessed herself of the
vacated seat.

"Why, Mr. Whitney writes to say that Polly needn't go back--oh, how
perfectly lovely in him!" cried Alexia, bringing up flushed and panting.
"Oh, dear me, I can't breathe!"

"Oh! oh!" cried all the girls, clapping their hands.

"But that doesn't mean that I shall not go back," said Polly, looking up
from her letter to peer through the stair-railing at them. "I
think--yes, I really do think that I ought to go back."

"How nonsensical!" exclaimed Alexia impatiently. "If Mr. Whitney says
you are not needed, isn't that enough? Beside he wrote it for Mrs.
Whitney; I read it all."

"No, I don't think it is enough," answered Polly slowly, and turning the
letter with perplexed fingers, "for I know dear Aunty only told him to
write because she thought I ought to be at home."

"And so you ought," declared Alexia, very decidedly. "She's quite right
about it, and now you're here, why, you've just got to stay. So there,
Polly Pepper. Hasn't she, girls?"

"Yes, indeed," cried the girls.

Polly shook her brown head, as she still sat on her stair busily
thinking.

"Here comes Mr. King," cried Cathie Harrison, suddenly craning her neck
at the sound of the opening of a door above them. "Now I'm just going to
ask him," and she sprang to her feet.

"Cathie--Cathie," begged Polly, springing up too.

"I just will," declared Cathie, obstinately scampering up over the
stairs. "Oh, Mr. King, mayn't Polly stay home? Oh, do say yes, please!"

"Yes, do say yes, please," called all the other girls in the hall below.

"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed the old gentleman, well pleased at the
onslaught. "Now then, what's the matter, pray tell?"

"I just won't have Cathie Harrison tell him," said Alexia, trying to run
up over the stairs. "Let me by, Polly, do," she begged.

"No, indeed," cried Polly, spreading her arms. "It's bad enough to have
one of you up there besieging Grandpapa."

"Then I'll run up the back stairs," cried Alexia, turning in a flash.

"Oh, yes, the back stairs!" exclaimed the other girls, following her.
"Oh, do hurry! Polly's coming after us."

But speed as she might, Polly could not overtake the bevy, who, laughing
and panting, stood before Mr. King a second ahead of her.

"A pretty good race," said the old gentleman, laughing heartily, "but
against you from the first, Polly, my girl."

"Don't listen to them, Grandpapa dear," panted Polly.

"Mayn't she stay at home--mayn't she?"

"Hush, girls," begged Polly. "Oh, Grandpapa dear, don't listen to them.
Aunty told Uncle Mason to write the letter, and you know"--

"Well, yes, I know all you would say, Polly. But I've also had a letter
from Mason, and I was just going to show it to you." He pulled out of
his vest pocket another envelope corresponding to the one in Polly's
hand, which he waved at her.

"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Polly, quite aghast at his so easily going
over to the enemy. With that, all the girls deserted the old gentleman,
and swarmed around Polly.

"See here, now," commanded Mr. King, "every single one of you young
things come back here this minute. Goodness me, Polly, I should think
they'd be the death of you."

Polly didn't hear a word, for she was reading busily: "Marian says
'don't let Polly come back on any account. It worries me dreadfully to
think of all that she is giving up; and I will be brave, and do without
her. She must not come back.'"

Polly looked up to meet old Mr. King's eyes fixed keenly upon her.

"You see, Polly," he began, "I really don't dare after that to let you
go back."

"Oh--oh--oh!" screamed all the girls.

"There, I told you so," exclaimed Alexia.

CHAPTER VIII.

POLLY LOOKS OUT FOR CHARLOTTE.

"Second floor--Room No. 3," said Buttons, then stood like an automaton
to watch the tall young man scale the stair.

"He did 'em beautifully," he confided afterward to another bell-boy.
"Mr. King himself can't get over them stairs better."

"Come in!" cried Jasper, in response to the rap.

"Halloo, old fellow!" cried Pickering Dodge, rushing in tumultuously.
"Well, well, so this is your den," looking around the small room in
surprise.

"Yes. Now this is good to see you!" exclaimed Jasper, joyfully leaping
from his chair to seize Pickering's hand. "Well, what brought you?
There's nothing wrong?" he asked, anxiously scanning Pickering's face.

"No--that is, everything's right; all except Polly."

"There isn't anything the matter with Polly?" Jasper turned quite white,
scarcely speaking the words.

"No, she's all right, only"--Pickering turned impatiently off from the
chair Jasper pulled forward with a hasty hand, and stalked to the other
side of the little room. "She's--she's--well, she's so hard to come at
nowadays. Everybody has a chance for a word with her but old friends.
And now the Recital is in full blast."

Jasper drew a long breath, and began to get his color again. "Oh,
yes--well, it's all going on well, the Recital, I mean, isn't it?" he
asked.

"I believe so," said Pickering in a gloomy way. "The girls are wild over
it; you can't hear anything else talked about at home. But," he broke
off abruptly, "got a cigar, Jasper?" and he began to hunt the mantel
among the few home-things spread around to enliven the hotel apartment.

"Haven't such an article," said Jasper.

"I forgot you don't smoke," said Pickering with a sigh. "Dear me! how
will you bear trouble when it comes, old chap?" He came back to the
table, and thrust his hands in his pockets, looking dismally at Jasper.

"I'm afraid a cigar wouldn't help me much," said Jasper, with a laugh;
"but if you must have one, I can get it, eh?"

"Yes, I must," said Pickering in despair, "for I've something on my
mind. Came over on purpose to get your help, and I can't do it without a
weed."

"Very well," said Jasper, shoving the chair again toward Pickering. "Sit
down, and I'll have one sent up," and he went over and touched the
electric button on the wall.

"Yes, sir?" Buttons ran his head in the doorway, and stared at them
without winking.

"A cigar for this gentleman," said Jasper, filliping a coin into the
boy's hand.

"Is that the way you order cigars?" demanded Pickering, whirling around
in his chair.

"Yes, when I order them at all," said Jasper, laughing; "a weed is a
weed, I suppose."

"Indeed, and it is not, then," retorted Pickering. "I'll have none of
your ordering. You needn't bring it up, boy; I'll go down to the office
and pick some out for myself."

"All right, sir," said Buttons, putting down the coin on the table with
a lingering finger.

"Keep it," said Jasper, with a smile.

"He's a gentleman," observed Buttons, on the way downstairs, Pickering
treading his heels. "He ain't like the rest of 'em that boards here.
They orders me around with a 'Here, you!' or a 'Hoi, there, boy!'
They're gents; he's the whole word--a first-class gentleman, Mr. King
is," he repeated.

"Now, then, for it," said Jasper, when at last the gleam of Pickering's
cigar was steady and bright, "open your budget of news, old fellow," he
added, with difficulty restraining his impatience.

"It ought not to be any news," declared Pickering, with extreme
abruptness, "for I've never tried to conceal it. I love Polly."

Jasper started so suddenly his arm knocked from the table a slender
crystal vase, that broke into a dozen pieces.

"Never mind," he said, at Pickering's dismayed exclamation, "go on."

Whew--puff! floated the rings of cigar smoke over Pickering's head. "And
I can't stand it, and I won't, waiting any longer to tell her so. Why,
man," he turned savagely now on Jasper, "I've loved her for years, and
must I be bullied and badgered out of my rights by men who have only
just been introduced to her--say?"

"Whom do you mean?" asked Jasper huskily, his fingers working over the
table-cloth, under the pretense of pulling the creases straight.

"Why, that Loughead chap," said Pickering, bringing his hand down
heavily on the table; "he has more sweet words from Polly Pepper in a
week than I get in a month--and I such an old friend!"

"Polly is so anxious to help his sister," Jasper made out to say.

"Well, that's no reason why the fellow should hang around forever,"
declared Pickering angrily.

"Why, he's gone abroad!" exclaimed Jasper, "long ago."

"Ah, but he's coming back," said Pickering, with a sage nod, and
knocking off the ashes from his cigar end.

"Is that so?" cried Jasper, in astonishment.

"Yes, 'tis," declared Pickering, nodding again, "and I don't like it.
You know as well as I do," squaring around on Jasper, "that he don't
care a rap about his sister's getting on; he's only thinking of Polly,
and _I_ love her."

Seeing that something was expected of him, Jasper made out to say, "You
do?"

"Of course I do; and you know it, and every one knows it, or ought to; I
haven't ever tried to conceal it," said Pickering proudly.

"How do you know that Loughead is coming back?" asked Jasper abruptly.

"How do I know? The best way in the world." Pickering moved uneasily in
his chair. "Hibbard Crane had a letter yesterday; that's the reason I
threw my traps together and started for you."

"For me?" cried Jasper, in surprise.

"Yes. You've got to help me. I can't stand it, waiting around any
longer. It has almost killed me as it is." Pickering threw his head on
the chair-back and took savage pulls at the cigar between his teeth.

"I help you?" cried Jasper, too astonished to do much more than to
repeat the words. "How in all this world can I do anything in the
matter?" he demanded, as soon as he could find his voice.

"Why, you can tell Polly how it is; you're her brother, or as good as
one; and she'll see it from you. And you must hurry about it, too, for I
expect that Loughead will turn up soon. He means mischief, he does."

"See here, Pick," cried Jasper, getting out of his chair hastily to face
Pickering, "you don't know what you are asking. Why, I couldn't do it.
The very idea; I never heard of such a thing! You--you must speak to
Polly yourself."

"I can't," said Pickering, in a burst, and bringing up his head
suddenly. "She won't give me the ghost of a chance. There's always those
girls around her; and she's been away an age at Mrs. Whitney's. And
everlastingly somebody is sick or getting hurt, and they won't have
anybody but Polly. You know how it is yourself, Jasper," and he turned
on him an injured countenance.

"Well, don't come to me," cried Jasper, beginning to pace the floor
irritably. "I couldn't ever speak on such a subject to Polly. Beside it
would be the very way to set her against you. It would any girl; can't
you see it, Pick?" he added, brightening up.

"Girls are queer," observed Pickering shrewdly, "and the very thing you
think they won't like, they take to amazingly. Oh, you go along, Jasper,
and let her see how matters stand; how I feel, I mean."

"You will do your own speaking," said Jasper, in his most crusty
fashion, and without turning his head.

"I did; that is, I tried to last night after I met Crane," began
Pickering, in a shamefaced way, "but I couldn't get even a chance to see
Polly."

"How's that?" asked Jasper, still marching up and down the floor;
"wasn't she home?"

"Why, she sent Charlotte Chatterton down to see me," said Pickering,
very much aggrieved, "and I hate that Chatterton girl."

"Why couldn't Polly see you?" went on Jasper, determined, since his
assistance was asked, to go to the root of the matter.

"Oh, somebody in the establishment, I don't know who, had a finger-ache,
I suppose," said Pickering, carelessly throwing away his cigar end and
lighting a fresh one, "and wanted Polly. Never mind why; she couldn't
come down, she sent word. So I gave up in despair. See here now, Jasper,
you must help me out."

"I tell you I won't," declared Jasper, with rising irritation, "not in
that way."

"You won't?"

"No, I won't. I can't, my dear fellow."

"Well, there's a great end of our friendship," exclaimed Pickering, red
with anger, and he jumped to his feet. "Do you mean to say, Jasper King,
that you won't do such a simple thing for me as to say a word to your
sister Polly, when I tell you it's all up with me if you don't speak
that word--say?"

"You oughtn't to ask such a thing; it's despicable in you," cried
Jasper, aghast to find his anger rising at each word. "And if you insist
in making such a request when I tell you that I cannot speak to Polly
for you, why, I shall be forced to repeat what I said at first, that I
won't have anything to do with it."

"Do you mean it," Pickering put himself in front of Jasper's advancing
strides, "that you will not speak to Polly for me?"

"I do."

"I tell you," declared Pickering, now quite beside himself, "it's
absolutely necessary for me to have your word with her, Jasper King."

"And I tell you I can't give that word," said Jasper. Then he stopped
short, and looked into Pickering's face. "I'm sorry, old chap," and he
put out his hand.

Pickering knocked it aside in a towering passion. "You needn't 'old
chap' me," he cried. "And there's an end to our friendship, King." He
seized his hat and dashed out of the room.

"Miss Salisbury!" Alexia Rhys, in real distress, threw herself against
her old teacher, who was hurrying through the long school-room.

"Well, what is it?" asked Miss Salisbury, settling her glasses for a
look at her former pupil. "You mustn't hinder me; I'm on my way to the
recitation room," and her hand made a movement toward her watch.

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