 CHAPTER VII. Old Times Again Don't let me look! Oh, don't let me look! cried Polly in the old gig, and twisting around she hid her face against the faded green cloth side. I ought not to see the little brown house before Mamsey and the others do. I'll turn down the lane, said the little doctor. So, and suiting the action to the word, Polly could feel that they were winding down the narrow little road over toward Grandma Baskham's. She could almost smell the violets and the anemones under the carpet of snow, and could scarcely restrain herself from jumping out for a riotous run. Don't get too far away, she cried, and set an alarm. We must be there by the time the stage does, and she applied her eye to the little circular glass in the back of the gig. Will it never come? Oh, here it is, here it is, dear Dr. Fisher! And with a quick flourish, a round of the old horse they were soon before the little brown house, and helping out the inmates of the stage, who, with more speed than grace, were hurrying over the steps. Joe went down before Mr. Tisbit had fairly drawn up in front of the gate. Hold on, roared the stage-driver, I don't want you to break your neck with me. It's really here, cried Fronsey with wide eyes, standing quite still on a hummock of frozen snow, with their eyes riveted on the house. It really is! Polly had raced up the winding path, and over the flat stone to drop a kiss on the little old door. Oh, Mamsey, do come, she cried to Mrs. Pepper on the path. Hmm, I think, Jasper, you and I will let them alone for a few moments, said Mr. King, who was still within the stage. Here, my good fellow, to Mr. Tisbit, you say it's all comfortable in there for them. Yes, yes, sir, said Mr. Tisbit heartily. Good land, Miss Hinderson and her boys, come down early this morning, and make the fires, and there's a mighty sight of things to eat. The stage-driver put one foot on the hind-wheel to facilitate conversation, and smacked his lips. All very well. Now you may drive us down the road a bit, said Mr. King, withdrawing his head to the depths of the lumbering old vehicle again. Ain't going in? cried Mr. Tisbit, opening his round eyes at him in astonishment. Get up and drive us on, I say, commanded the old gentleman, and cease your talking, which had the effect to send honest Mr. Tisbit clambering expeditiously up to the box, where he presently revenged himself by driving furiously over all the hard frozen ruts he could quickly select, determined not to stop till he was obliged to. Goodness! exclaimed Mr. King within, holding to the strap at the side, as well as to the leather band of the swinging seat in front. What an abominable road! The road is well enough, said Jasper, who couldn't bear to have a word uttered against Badger Town. It's the fellow driving that makes it rough. Here can't you be a little more careful to keep to the road? He called, thrusting his head out the window, but he only narrowly escaped losing his brown travelling cap for his pains, as the stage gave a worse lurch than before, to introduce a series of creakings and joltings hitherto unparalleled. I cannot endure this much longer, said old Mr. King, growing wide around the mouth and wishing he had strength for one half the exclamations he felt inwardly capable of. Outside, honest Mr. Tisbit was taking solid comfort in the reflection that he was teaching a rich city-man that he could not approach with anything less than respect a citizen of Badger Town. Ain't I as good as he? cried Mr. Tisbit to himself, with an extra cut to the off-horse, as he spied a sharp ragged edge of ice along the cart-track in front of him. Now that's good, that'll shake him, he added, carefully. Land! But I ain't been spoke to so since I was sassed at school by Jim Bentley, and then I licked him enough to pay twice over. Gling there, easy! The first thing he knew, one of the glass windows was shivered two fragments, the bits flying off along the quiet road, to fall a gleaming shower upon the snow. Whoa! cried Mr. Tisbit, to his smoking horses, and leaning over he cried, What's the matter in there? The matter is, said Jasper, putting his face out, that as I could not possibly make you hear my calls, I chose to break the window, have the goodness to let my father and me at once out of this vehicle. Mr. Tisbit got down slowly over the wheel. Beg your pardon, he said awkwardly, pulling open the door. Ain't you going to ride back? Heavens! cried Mr. King. He was glad to find he could ejaculate so much as he tremblingly worked his way out to terra firma. Nothing on earth would tempt me to step foot inside there again. Here is the money for your window, said Jasper, putting a bill into the firm mitten, covering Mr. Tisbit's brawny right hand. Kindly bring our traps to the little brown house. Here, father, take my arm. And he ran after the tall figure, picking its way along the frozen road. Hey, what's this? exclaimed Mr. Tisbit, looking into the center of his firm mitten. Five dollars! Gee, thumps! I ain't a-going to take it, after shaking that old party almost to pieces. He stood staring at the bill in stupid perplexity till the uneasy movements of his horses warned him that his position was not exactly the proper one for a stage-driver who was on his box from morning till night. So he clambered over the wheel, full of vexed thoughts, and carefully tucked the bill under the old cushion before he took his seat. I'll give it back to him that certain, he said, picking up the reins, and perhaps they've had enough walk-in, so they'll let me pick them up, which raised him out of his depression not a little. But the stern faces of the old gentleman and the tall boys smote him with a chill, long before he passed them, and he drove by silently, well-knowing it would not do to broach the subject by so much as a look. Not daring to go near the little brown house, without the occupants of the stage who had driven down the road with him, Mr. Tisbit drew up miserably to a convenient angle, and waited till the two came up. Then, without trusting himself to think, he sprang to the ground, and with shame written all over his honest face, called out, See here, you young chap, I want to speak to you, when you've got him in the house. I will see you then, said Jasper, as the two hurried on to meet the peppers, rushing out from the little brown house, and down the small path. I've made an awful mess for them all, and they'd just come home, groaned Mr. Tisbit, drawing his fermenting across his eyes, and leading his horses. He followed at a funeral pace, careful not to stop at the gate until the door was closed, when he began furiously to unload. A footstep, crunching the snow, broke into the noise he was making. Oh, well! he exclaimed, pausing with a trunk half off the rack. It's a mighty awkward thing for a man to say he's sorry, but you bet I be, as certain as my name's John Tisbit. His face became so very red that Jasper hastened to put his young shoulder under the trunk, a movement that only added to the stage driver's distress. Don't pay to get mad, now I tell you, declared Mr. Tisbit, dumping the trunk down on the snow, and then drawing himself to his full height. First place, your pa's asked me, and— He didn't intend to, cried Jasper eagerly, and I'll apologize for him, if that's what you want. He laid a strong right hand on the old fermenting. Good land, taint what I want! cried Honest John, but he gripped the hand nevertheless, a fact that the boy never forgot. I say I'm sorry to shook up your paw. His age ought to have protected him, said the boy simply. Show, that's a fact! cried Mr. Tisbit, sinking into deeper distress. But how's anybody to remember he's so old, when he steps so almighty high as if he owned all Badgetowns, say? I think we shall be good friends, Mr. Tisbit, said Jasper cordially, as he turned to wave his hand toward the little brown house. Simultaneously the door opened, and all the young peppers and Whitney's rushed out to help in the delightful unloading. It was well along in the afternoon, the dusk of the December twilight shut down speedily, around the little brown house, and its happy occupants, but no one wandered the candles lighted till the last moment. Oh, Polly! cried Joel, who was prancing as of old over the kitchen floor. Don't you remember that night, when you said you wished you had two hundred candles, and you'd light them all at once? I said a good many silly things in those days, said Polly meditatively, and smoothing Franzi's yellow hair that was lying across her lap. Some silly ones, and a good many wise ones, observed Mother Pepper, over in her little old rocker in the west window, where she used to sit, sewing up coats and sacks for the village storekeeper. You kept us together many a time, Polly, when nothing else could. Oh, no I didn't, Mamzy, protested Polly, guilty of contradicting. You and Bessie did. I just washed dishes and swept up, and baked and brewed and fussed and stewed, finished Joel, afraid of being too sentimental. Polly was just lovely in those days, said Davy, coming across the room to lay a cold cheek against her rosy one. I liked the rainy day's best when we all could stay in the house, and hear her sing and tell stories while she was working. She was cross sometimes, cried Joel, determined to not let reminiscence become too comfortable. She used to scold me just awfully, I know. Polly broke into a merry laugh, yet she exclaimed, You poor Joey, I suppose I was dreadful. You didn't catch one half as bad scoldings as belonged to you, put in Ben, thrusting another stick into the stove. You were a bad lot, Joe, in those days. And not over good in these, cried old Mr. King, ensconced in the snugest corner in the seat of honour, the high-backed rocker that comforted Fronzie after her little toe was hurt. There, now, my boy, how's that? with a grim smile. Do you remember when the old stove used to plague you, Polly? cried Joel, suddenly changing the conversation, and how Ben's putty was ever lastingly tumbling out? Ho, ho! And you two boys were always stuffing up the holes for me when Ben was away, cried Polly, with affectionate glances at Davy and Joel. I didn't so much, said Joel honestly. Dave was always giving boot-tops and such things. Boot-tops, repeated Mr. King in astonishment, bless me, I didn't know that they had anything in common with stoves. Oh, that was before we knew you, said Joel, ready in advance of any one else with the explanation. It wasn't this stove, Dr. Fisher gave Polly this one after she had the measles, but it was a lumbering old affair that was full of holes that had to be stopped up with anything we could get, and leather was the best, and Davy saved all the old boot-heels and tops he could find, you know. Oh! said the old gentleman, wondering if other revelations would come to light about the early days of the peppers. Isn't Dr. Fisher lovely, cried Polly with sparkling eyes, just the same as ever, Mamzy. I ought to do something for him. He is as good as gold, assented Mrs. Pepper heartily. You've done something, I'm sure, Polly. The medical books you bought out of your pocket money and sent him pleased him more than anything you could give him. But I want to do something now, said Polly. Oh! just think how good he was to us. May we never forget it, exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, wiping her eyes. But he's very unwise, said Mr. King, a trifle testily, not to take up with my offer to establish him in the town. A man like him could easily hold a practice, because the fellow's got ability. Oh! Dr. Fisher wouldn't leave Badger Town, cried all the peppers in a bunch. And what would the poor people here do without him? finished Polly. Well, well, never mind. He won't come to town, and that's enough, said the old gentleman quickly. Aside from that, he's a sensible chap, and one quite to my liking. Oh! Polly! cried Franzi suddenly, and lifting her head she fastened her brown eyes on the face above her. Wasn't Mamzy's birthday cake good? The flowers were pretty, but the cake was heavy, don't you remember? said Polly, who hadn't recovered from that grief even yet. I thought it was just beautiful, cried Mrs. Pepper hastily. No one could have baked it better in the old stove than you had. I'm sure we ate it all up, every crumb. We kept it in the old cupboard, cried Joel, rushing over to the corner to swing the door open. And we never once peaked, Mamzy, so afraid you'd suspect. You kept staring at the cupboard door all evening, Joe. You know you did, cried Ben. You were just within a hair's breath of letting the whole thing out ever so many times. Polly and I had to drag you away. We weren't glad enough when you went to bed. I can tell you. You were always sending me off to bed in those days, said Joel, taking his head out of the cupboard to throw vindictive glances over the group around the stove. I wish we could do so now, said Ben. And those two, Joel went on, pointing to Polly and Ben, used to go whispering around a lot of old secrets that they wouldn't even tell us. Oh, it was perfectly awful, wasn't it, Dave, bestowing a small pinch on that individual's shoulder. I liked the secrets best not to know them till Polly and Ben got ready to tell us, said David slowly. Then they were just magnificent. Franzi had laid her head back in the waiting-lap, and was crooning softly to herself. I want to go see dear good Mr. Beebe, she said presently, and nice Mrs. Beebe, can I, Mamzie, looking over at her? To be sure, cried Mrs. Pepper, you shall indeed, child. Beebe, Beebe, and who is he, pray, demanded Mr. King. Oh, he keeps the shoe shop over in the centre, explained three or four voices, and Franzi's new shoes were bought there, you know. And he gave me pink and white candy-sticks, said Franzi, and he was very nice, and I like him very much. And Mrs. Beebe gave us doughnuts all around, communicated Joel. I don't know, but I liked those the best. There was more to them. So you always bought your new shoes of the Beebe's, asked the old gentleman, a question that brought all the five peppers around his chair at once. We didn't ever have new shoes that I can remember, said Joel quickly, except Franzi's, and once Ben had a new pair, he had to because he was the oldest, you know. Oh, said Mr. King. You see, said Franzi, shaking her head gravely, while she laid one hand on his knee. We were very poor, Grand Papa, dear. Don't you understand? Yes, yes, child, said old Mr. King. There, get up here, and he took her within his arms. No, no, you're not going to talk yet. Seeing Percy and Van beginning violent efforts to join in the conversation, let the peppers have a chance to talk over old times first. See how good Jasper is to wait. I would much prefer to hear the peppers talk forever, said Jasper, smiling down on the two Whitney's, than to have the gates open for a general flood. Go on, do, Polly and Ben and the rest of you. Oh, there is so much, said Polly despairingly, clasping her hands. We shouldn't get through if we talk ten years, should we, Ben, Mamsi? And she rushed over to her. Can we have a baking time tomorrow, just as we used to in the old days? Oh, do say yes. Yes, do say yes, echoed Jasper, also rushing to the side of the little rocking chair. You will, won't you, Mrs. Pepper? Oh, oh, cried the two Whitney's derisively. I thought you could hear the peppers talk forever. That's great, Jasper. Well, when it comes to hearing a proposal for a baking frolic, my principles are thrown to the wind, said Jasper recklessly. Why, boys, that's the first thing I remember about the little brown house. Do say yes, Mrs. Pepper. End of Chapter 7. Recording by Breanna Simmons. Carson City, Nevada, www.simyspot.blogspot.com. Chapter 8 of Five Little Peppers Midway. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Breanna Simmons. Five Little Peppers Midway by Margaret Sidney. Chapter 8. Some Badger Town Calls. Well, I declare, exclaimed Grandma Baskham, opening the door and looking in. I never. Come in! cried Mr. King sociably. His night over at the parsonage had been most fortunate experiment. I haven't slept so finely in ten years. He confided to Mrs. Whitney as they met at breakfast at the minister's table. So now, his face wreathed with smiles, he repeated his invitation. Come in! Do, Miss Baskham. We're glad to see you. I never, said Grandma Baskham once more, for want of something better to say, and coming close to the center of operations. Jasper attired in one of Mrs. Pepper's long aprons, which was fashioned in the style of the old days, by the strings around his neck, was busily engaged in rolling out under Polly's direction a thin paste expected presently under the genial warmth of the waiting stove to evolve into the most two-some cakes. Ben was similarly attired and similarly employed, while Joel and David were in a sticky state preparing their dough after their own receipt over at the corner table, their movements closely followed by the three Whitney's. Fronzie, before a board laid across two chairs, was enlightening old Mr. King, who sat by her, into the mysteries of baking day. Do bake a gingerbread boy, he begged. I never had anything half so good as the one you sent over to Hingham. You were my poor, sick man, then, observed Fronzie, with slow, even pats on her bat of dough. Please, the rolling pin now, Grand Papa dear! You be sure, cried the old gentleman, here, Jappy, my boy, be so good as to hand us over the article. And you see, continued Fronzie, receiving the rolling pin, and making the deftest of passes with it over the soft mass, I couldn't send you anything better, though I wanted to, Grand Papa dear. Better! cried Mr. King. I should think not. You couldn't have made me anything that pleased me more had you tried a thousand times. Fronzie never tired of hearing this, and now humming a soft note of thanks, proceeded with her task, declaring that she would make the best gingerbread boy that could possibly be achieved. Grandma Baskham was still reiterating, I never, and going slowly from one group to another to inspect operations. When she came to Fronzie, she stopped short, raising her hands in surprise. Seems as if Eft was only yesterday when the peppers went away, though land knows I've missed them all most dreadfully. And there sets that blessed child baking as big as any of them, I never. Have you any more raisins to give us, Grandma, shouted Joel across the kitchen? They were terribly hard, he added in his natural voice, almost broke our teeth. Hey! Grandma called back again. Raisins, Grandma, or peppermints, cried Joel. Oh, Joe, for shame, called Ben. I'm going to have the fun of going after them, declared Joel, throwing down his dough-pat and wiping his sticky fingers on his apron, just like old times, so there. I'll go over and get him, said Grandma. You come along with me, looking admiringly up at the tall boy. So the two, Joel laughing and hopping by her side as if he were five-year-junger, disappeared well-pleased with each other. Now I shall take his dough, declared Dick, rushing around the end of the table to Joel's deserted place. No such thing, declared Van, flying out of his chair. Leave your hands off, youngster, that's to be mine. Polly looked up from the little cookies she was cutting with the top of a tin baking powder box and their eyes met. I didn't promise not to have it out with Dicky, said Van stoutly. He's a perfect plague and always underfoot. I never thought of such a thing as not making him stand around, Polly. But the brown eyes did not return to their task as Polly mechanically stamped out another cookie. I only promised not to have it out with Percy, Van proceeded, uncomfortably. And in the same breath, go ahead if you want it, Dicky, I don't care. I do want it, declared Dick, clambering into Van's chair, while Van returned to his own. And I'm going to have it, too. I guess you think you'd better give it up now, sir, I'm getting so big. Softly there, Dicky, said Mrs. Whitney over in the window seat with her fans who work. If Van gives up, you should thank him. I think he is very good to do it. And the bigger boy's heart warmed with the radiant smile she sent him. Dick gave several vicious thrusts to his dough and looked up at last to say very much against his will, thank you, and adding brightly, but you know I'm getting big, sir, and you'd better give up. All right, said Van, with that smile in his heart feeling equal to anything. Now cried Jasper with a flourish of his baking apron, mine are ready, here goes, and he opened the oven door and pushed in a pan of biscuit. Jappy's always ahead in everything, grumbled Percy, laboring away at his dough. How in the world do you make the thing roll out straight? Mine humps up in the middle. Put some more flour on the board, said Polly, running over to him. There, now see, Percy, if that doesn't roll smooth. It does with you, said Percy, taking the rolling pin again, to send it violently over the long-suffering dough. And I declare it's going to do with me, he cried, in delight at the large flat cake staring up at him from the board. Now, says I, I'll beat you, Jappy, and presently the whole kitchen resounded with a merry din as the several cakes and biscuits were declared almost ready for their respective pans. But I can tell you this gingerbread boy is going in next, declared Mr. King from Fronzie's baking board. It's almost done, isn't it, child? Not quite, Grand Papa, said Fronzie. This eye won't stay in, just like the other. It doesn't look the same way, don't you see? Pointing to the current, that certainly showed no inclination to do its duty, as any well-bred eye should. Wait just a moment, please, I'll pull it out and stick it in again. Like another, advised the old gentleman, fumbling over the little heap of currents on the saucer. There, here's a good round one, and very expressive, too, Fronzie. That's lovely, hummed Fronzie, accepting the new eye with very sticky fingers. Now he's all ready, as she said it in its place, and took the boy up tenderly. Give me a pan, do, Polly. Did you cut that out, cried Dick, turning around in his chair, and regarding her enviously, all alone by yourself? Could Grand-Papa help you just one teeny bit to make the legs in the hands? No, she made it all herself, said the old gentleman, with justifiable pride. There, Fronzie, here's your pan, and Polly set it down before her with a euprecious deer that's perfectly elegant. Fronzie placed the boy within the pan and gave it many loving a pat. Grand-Papa sat here and looked at it and smiled, she said, turning her eyes gravely on Dick, and that helped me ever so much, I couldn't ever have made it so nice alone. Good-bye, now, bake like a good boy. Let me put it in the oven all by myself, do, Polly, she begged. So Fronzie, the old gentleman, escorting her in mortal dread, that she would be burned, safely tucked her long pan into the warmest corner, shut the door, and gravely consulted the clock. If I look at it in twenty-one minutes I think it will be done, she said, quite brown. In twenty-one minutes the whole kitchen was far removed from being the scene of a baking-exploit as was possible. Everything was cleared away and set up primly in its place, leaving only a row of fine little biscuits and cookies, with Fronzie's gingerbread boy in the midst, to tell the tale of what had been going on. Outside there was a great commotion. Dick and Brown's old wagon stood at the gate, for the peppers and their friends. And oh joy, not the old horse between the shafts, but a newer and much livelier beast! And on the straw laid in the bottom of the wagon the seats being removed, desported all the merry group, Mr. King alone having the dignity of a chair. Dick and Brown delighted with his scheme of bringing the wagon over as a surprise for the peppers to take a drive in, was on the side of the narrow footpath, chuckling and rubbing his hands together. "'You won't have to drive so easy as you used to, Ben,' he called out. "'This fellow's Turk. Give him his head. Show what you go on that way for!' As Ben turned off down the lane. "'To Grandma Baskham's,' shouted two or three voices. "'Jol's over there,' sang out Polly. "'We couldn't go without him, you know,' chirped Fronzie poking a distressed little face up from the straw heap. "'Twits serve him right if we did,' said Van. "'He's a great chap to stray over there like this.' "'No, no,' cried Dick in terror. "'Don't go without Joel. I'd rather have him than any of you,' he added, not over politely. Fronzie began to cry piteously at the mere thought of Joel's being left behind. "'He wanted to see Mr. Beebe,' she managed to say, "'and dear Mrs. Beebe, oh, don't go without him!' So Mr. King made them hand her up to him, and at the risk of their both rolling out he held her in his lap until the wagon, stopping at the door of Grandma Baskham's cottage, brought Joel bounding out with a hoop. "'Jolly, where'd you get that? And where are you going?' All in one breath, as he swung himself up behind. "'Dick and Brown brought it over just now,' cried Polly. "'As a surprise,' furnished Percy. "'Isn't he a fine old chap? Here's for the very jolliest go.' "'We're going to see dear Mr. Beebe and dear Mrs. Beebe,' announced Fronzie, smiling through her tears, and leaning out of the old gentleman's lap to nod at him. "'Hara!' screamed Joel, good-bye, Grandma, to the old lady whose cap frills were framed in the small window. "'I've had a fine time in there,' he condescended to say, but nothing further as to the details could they extract from him, and so at last they gave it up, and lent their attention to the various things to be seen as the wagon spun along, and so over and through the town, and to the very door of the little shoe-shop, and there, to be sure, was Mr. Beebe all the same as ever, to welcome them, and Joel found to his immense satisfaction that the stone pot was as full of sugary donuts as in the old days. And Fronzie had her pink and white sticks, and Mrs. Beebe ooed an odd over them all, and couldn't bear to let them go when at last it was time to say good-bye, and at last they all climbed into the old wagon, and were off again on their round of visits. It was not till the gray dusk of the winter afternoon settled down on a mistakeably, so that no one could beg to stay out longer, that they turned Deacon Brown's horse toward the little brown house. It's going to snow to-morrow, I think, observed Jasper squinting up at the leaden sky. Isn't it, Father?' "'Whoop!' exclaimed Joel. "'Then we'll have a sport, I tell you.' "'It certainly looks like it,' said old Mr. King, wrapping his fur-lined coat closer. "'Fronzie, are you sure you are warm enough?' "'Yes, Grandpapa, dear,' she answered, curling up deeper in the straw at his feet. "'Do you remember how you would carry the red top shoes home with you, Fronzie?' cried Polly, and then away they rushed again, into, Don't you remember this, and you haven't forgotten that?' Jasper as wildly reminiscent now as the others, for hadn't he almost as good as lived at the little brown house, pray tell? So the Whitney's looked curiously on, without a chance to be heard in all the merry chatter, and then they drew up at the gate of the parsonage, where they were all to have supper. When Fronzie woke up in the big bed by the side of her mother the next morning, Polly was standing over her, and looking down into her face. "'Oh, Fronzie!' she exclaimed, in great glee. The ground is covered with snow. "'Oh!' screamed Fronzie, her brown eyes flying wide open. "'Do give me my shoes and stockings, Polly, do! I'll be dressed in just one minute.' And thereupon ensued a merry scramble as she tumbled out of the big bed and commenced operations, Polly running out to help Mamsey get breakfast. "'Mush seems good, now we don't have to eat it,' cried Joel, as they all at last sat around the board. "'Twas good, then,' said Mrs. Pepper, her black eyes roving over the faces before her. "'How funny!' cried Percy Whitney, who had run over from the parsonage to breakfast. "'This yellow stuff,' and he took up a spoonful of it gingerly. "'You don't like it, Percy, don't try to eat it. I'll make you a slice of toast,' cried Polly, springing out of her chair, in just one moment. "'No, you mustn't!' cried Dick, bounding in in time to catch the last words. "'Mama said no one was to have anything different if we came to breakfast, from what the peppers are going to eat. "'I like the yellow stuff, give me some, do,' and he slid into a chair and passed his plate to Mrs. Pepper. "'So you shall, Dickie,' she said hastily, and you will never taste sweeter food than this, giving him a generous spoonful. "'Grandpa Pa is eating ham and fried eggs over at the minister's house,' contributed Dick after satisfying his hunger a bit. "'Ham and fried eggs,' exclaimed Mother Pepper aghast, why he never touches them, you must be mistaken, my boy.' "'No, I'm not,' said Dick obstinately. The minister's wife said it was, and she asked me if I wouldn't have some, and I said I was going over to the peppers to breakfast. I'd rather have some of theirs, and Grandpa Pa said it was good, the ham and fried eggs was, and he took it twice,' he did, Mrs. Pepper. "'Took it twice?' she repeated faintly, with troubled visions of the future. "'Well, well, the mischief is done now, so there is no use in talking about it, but I'm worried all the same.' "'Hurry up, Percy,' called Joel, across the table, and don't dawdle so. "'We're going to make a double-ripper four yards long to go down that hill there.' He laid down his spoon to point out the window at a distant snow-covered slope. Percy shivered, but, recalling himself in time, said, and addressed himself with difficulty to his mush. "'Well, you'll never be through with that speed,' declared Joel. See, I've eaten three saucer-folds, and he handed his plate up, and now for the fourth, Mamsey.' "'Oh, baked potatoes!' cried Ben, rolling one around in his hand before he took off its crackling skin. Weren't they good, though, with a little salt? I tell you they helped us to chop wood in the old times.' "'I really think I shall have to try one,' said Percy, who deeply, to his regret, was obliged to confess that Indian mill-mush had few charms for his palate. "'There's real milk in my mug now,' cried Fronsey, with long, deep droughts. "'Pawley, did I ever have anything but make-believe in the little-brown house ever, Pawley?' Pawley was saved from answering by a stamping of snowy boots on the flat door-stone. "'Hurrah there!' cried Van, rushing in, followed by Jasper. "'Oh, you slow-people in the little-brown house! Come on for the double-ripper!' End of Chapter 8. Recording by Breanna Simmons. Carson City, Nevada. www.simyspot.blogspot.com. Chapter 9 of Five Little Peppers Midway. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Breanna Simmons. Five Little Peppers Midway by Margaret Sidney. Chapter 9. A Sudden Blow. Mamsey! cried Pawley suddenly and resting her hands on her knees as she sat on the floor before the stove. "'Do you suppose there is any one poor enough in Badger Town to need the little-brown house when we lock it up to-morrow?' "'Not a soul,' replied Mrs. Pepper quickly. "'No more than there was when we first locked it up five years ago, Pawley. I've been all over that with the parson last evening, and he says there isn't a new family in the place, and all the old ones have their homes the same as ever. So we can turn the key and leave it with a clear conscience.' Pawley drew a long breath of delight, and gazed long at the face of the stove that seemed to crackle out an answering note of joy as the wood snapped merrily. Then she slowly looked around the kitchen. "'It's so perfectly lovely, Mamsey,' she broke out at length. "'To see the dear old things and to know that they are waiting here for us to come back whenever we want to. And to think it isn't wicked not to have them used because everybody has all they need. Oh! It is so delicious to think they can be left to themselves.' She folded her hands now across her knees and drew another long breath of content. Mamsey stole out of the bedroom and came slowly up to her mother's side, pausing a bit on the way to look into Pawley's absorbed face. "'I don't think, Mamsey,' she said quietly, that people ought to be so very good who've never had a little brown house, never in all their lives.' "'Oh, yes, they had, child,' said Mrs. Pepper briskly. "'Places don't make any difference. It's people's duty to be good wherever they are. But Franzi's face expressed great incredulity. "'I'm always going to live here when I'm a big grown-up woman,' she declared, slowly gazing around the kitchen. "'And I shall never, never go out of Badger Town.' "'Oh, Franzi!' exclaimed Pawley, turning around in dismay. "'Why, you couldn't do that. Just think, child, whatever in the world would Grandpapa do or any of us pray tell?' "'Grandpapa would come here,' declared Franzi decidedly, and shaking her yellow head to enforce her statement, "'Of course, Grandpapa would come here, Pawley. We couldn't live without him.' "'That's it,' said Pawley, with a corresponding shake of her brown head. Of course we couldn't live without Grandpapa, and just as, of course, he couldn't leave his own dear home. He would never be happy, Franzi, to do that.' Franzi took a step or two into the sunshine lying in the middle of the old kitchen floor. "'Then I'd rather not come, Pawley,' she said. But she sighed, and Pawley was just about saying, "'We'll run down now and then, perhaps, Franzi, as we have done now, when the door was thrown open suddenly, and Joel burst in, his face as white as a sheet, and working fearfully.' "'Oh, Pawley, you must tell Mrs. Whitney I can't!' Pawley sprang to her feet. Mrs. Pepper, who had just stepped into the pantry, was saying, "'I think Pawley, I'll make some apple dumplings. The boys liked them so much.' "'What is it, Joe?' cried Pawley hoarsely, and standing quite still. Franzi, with wide eyes, went up and took the boy's cold hand and gazed into his face as he leaned against the door. "'Dick!' groaned Joel. "'Oh! Oh! I can't bear it!' And, covering his face with one hand, he would have pulled the other from Franzi's warm little palm, but she held it fast. "'Tell me at once, Joe,' commanded Pawley. "'Hush! Mother!' But Mrs. Pepper was already out of the pantry. "'Joe,' said Mrs. Pepper, whatever it is, tell us immediately. The look in her black eyes forced him to gasp in one breath. "'Dick fell off the double ripper, and both of his legs are broken. Maybe not!' he added in a loud scream. Franzi still held the boy's hand. He was conscious of it, and that she uttered no word, and then he knew no more. "'Leave him to me,' Pawley said Mrs. Pepper, through drawn lips, and then, do you run as you have never run before to the parsonage? Oh! If they should bring him there before the mother hears!' Franzi dropped the hand she held, and running on unsteady little feet into the bedroom came back with Pawley's hood and coat. "'Let me go!' cried Pawley wildly, rushing away from the detaining hand to the door. "'I don't want those things on. Let me go, Franzi!' "'You'll be cold,' said Franzi. With all her care her little white lips were quivering as she held out the things. "'Please, Pawley,' she said piteously. The child is right. Put them on,' commanded Mrs. Pepper, for one instant taking her thought from her boy, and Pawley obeyed, and was gone. In the parsonage's best room sat Mrs. Whitney. Her rocking chair was none of the easiest, being a hair-cloth affair. Its cushion very much elevated in the world just where it should have been depressed, so that one was in constant danger of slipping off its surface. Moreover, the arms and back of the chair were covered with indescribable arrangements made and presented by loving parishioners, and demanding unceasing attention from the occupant. But the chair was drawn up in the sunshine pouring into the window, and Mrs. Whitney's thoughts were sunny, too. For she smiled now and then as she drew her needle busily in and out through the bright walls. How restful it all is here! And so quaint and simple! She glanced up now to the high-backed mantle with its wealth of daguerreotypes, and surprising collection of dried leaves in tall china vases, and over the walls adorned with pine-cone framed pictures to the center table loaded with annuals, and one or two volumes of English poetry, and then her gaze took in the little paths the winter sunshine was making for herself along the red and green ingrain carpet. I'm so glad father thought to bring us all. Dear father, it is making a new man of him. This winter frolic, why, she was looking out the window now, and her hands fell to her lap as Polly Pepper came running breathlessly down the village street, her hood untied, and the coat grasped with one hand and held together across her breasts. But it was the face that terrified Mrs. Whitney, and hurrying out of her chair, she ran out to the veranda as the girl rushed through the gateway. Polly Child cried Mrs. Whitney, seizing her with loving arms and drawing her on the steps. Oh, what is it, dear? Polly's lips moved, but no words came. Oh, at last, don't hate us for bringing you to the little brown house. Why did we come? And convulsively she threw her young arms around the kind neck. Oh, auntie, Dickie is hurt, but we don't know how much. His legs, Joel says, but it may not be as bad as we think, dear auntie. Mrs. Whitney trembled so that she could scarcely stand. Around them streamed the same winter sunshine that had been so bright a moment since. How long ago it seemed, and out of gathering clouds in her heart she was saying, Polly dear, God is good, we will trust him. She did not know her own voice, nor realized when Polly led her mercifully within, as a farmer's wagon came slowly down the street to stop at the parsonage gate, nor even when Dick was brought in, white and still, could she think of him as her boy? It was some other little figure, and she must go and help them care for him. Her boy would come bounding in presently, happy and ready, with a kiss for mama, and a world of happy nonsense, just as usual. It was only when Mrs. Henderson came in, and took her hand to lead her into the next room, that it all came to her. Oh, Dick! And she sprang to the side of the sofa where he lay. My child, my child! And then came Dr. Fisher, and the truth was known. One of Dick's legs was broken below the knee, the other badly bruised. Only Jasper and the mother remained in the room while the little doctor set the limb, and after what seemed an age to the watchers, the boy came out. He bore it like a trojan, declared Jasper, wiping his forehead. I tell you, Dick's our hero after this. Now, I should like to know how all this happened, demanded Mr. King. The old gentleman had remained at the parsonage to get a good morning nap while the snow frolic was in progress, and he had been awakened by the unusual bustle below the stairs in time to hear the welcome news that Dickie was all right since Dr. Fisher was taking care of him. He now presented himself in his dressing-gown, with his sleeping cap awry, over a face in which anger, distress, and impatience strove for the mastery. Speak up, my boy, to Jasper, and tell us what you know about it. Well, the first thing I knew of any danger ahead, said Jasper, was hearing Dick sing out, Hold up! I supposed the double-ripper all right, didn't you, Ben? Yes, said Ben sturdily, and it was all right, just exactly as we used to make them, we boys. There wasn't a weak spot anywhere in her, sir. Who was steering, demanded old Mr. King almost fiercely. I was, said Van, beginning boldly enough to let his voice die out in a tremulous effort. Huff! Huff! Responded Mr. King grimly, a bad business shaking his head. Van Wood began Percy, but his eye meeting Polly's, he added, We'd none of us done any better. I don't believe, sir, than Van. Van was now choking so badly, that the greatest kindness seemed to be not to look at him. Accordingly the little company turned their eyes away and regarded each other instead. Well, so Dick rolled off, proceeded the old gentleman. Oh, no, he didn't, said all three boys together. He stuck fast to the double-ripper. We ran into a tree, and Dick was pitched off, head first. But honestly and truly, father, said Jasper, I do not think that it was the fault of the steerer. Indeed, it was not, declared Ben sturdily. There was an ugly little goalie that we hadn't seen under the snow, we'd been down four or five times all right, but only missed it by a hair-breath. This time the ripper stuck into it, I suppose Dick felt it bump, as it was on his side, and sang out, and as quick as lightning we were against that tree. It was as much my fault as any one's, and more because I ought to have known that old hill thoroughly. I share the blame, Ben, broken Jasper, old fellow, if you pitch into yourself, you'll have to knock me over, too. Come here, Vanny, said old Mr. King, holding out his hand. Why, you needn't be afraid, my boy, aghast at the tears that no power on earth could keep back. Now all leave the room, please. Where's Polly? asked Ben, on the other side of the door. She's run home, said David. I guess. She isn't here. And that's where I must be, too, cried Ben, bounding off. When Ben was next seen, he was with old Mr. King, and wearing all signs of having received his full share of comfort. Fronzie, just tying on her little hood to go down to the parsonage to ask after Dickie, looked out of the window to exclaim in pleased surprise, Why, here comes, dear grand-papa! And then she rushed out to meet him. Here's my little girl, cried the old gentleman, opening his arms, when she immediately ran into them. Now we're all right. Is Dickie all right? asked Fronzie anxiously, as she fell into step by his side. Yes, indeed, as well as a youngster can be who's broken his leg. Fronzie shivered. But then, that's nothing, Mr. King hastened to add. I broke my own when I was a small shaver no bigger than Dick, and I was none the worse for it. Boys always have some trifling mishaps, Fronzie. Ben never broke his leg, nor Joel nor Davy, said Fronzie, must they yet grand-papa? Oh, dear no, declared Mr. King hastily. That isn't necessary. I only meant that they must have something. Now you see, Ben had the measles, you know. Yes, he did, said Fronzie, quite relieved to think that this trial could take the place of the unusual leg-breaking episode in a boy's career. And so did Joel and Davy, all of them grand-papa, dear. Exactly. Well, and then Ben had to work hard, and Joel and Davy, too, for that matter. So, you see, it wasn't as essential that they should break their legs, child. But Jasper and Percy and Van don't have to work hard. Oh, I don't want them to break their legs, said Fronzie in a worried tone. You don't think they will, grand-papa, dear, do you? Please say they won't. I don't think there is the least danger of it, said Mr. King. Finally, as I shall put an end to this double-ripper business, though not because this upset was anybody's fault. Remember that, Fronzie? Van's head, which had dropped a bit at the last words, came up proudly. Van here has acted nobly. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and would have saved Dickey if he could. It was a pure accident that nobody could help except by keeping off from the abominable thing. Well, here we are at the little brown house, and there's your mother, Fronzie, waiting for us in the doorway. Hello! cried Van, rushing over the flat stone and past Mrs. Pepper. Where's Joel? Oh, here, you old chap! Well, Mrs. Pepper, said the old gentleman, coming up to the step, Fronzie hanging to his hand. This looks like starting for town tomorrow, doesn't it? Oh, what shall we do, sir? cried Mrs. Pepper in distress, to think you have to come down here in the goodness of your heart to be met with such an accident as this. How we do, she repeated. Goodness of my heart, repeated Mr. King, nevertheless well pleased at the tribute. I've had as much pleasure out of it all as you were the young people. I want you to realize that. So does any one who does a kind act, replied Mrs. Pepper, wiping her eyes. Well, sir, now how shall we manage about going back? That remains to be seen, said Mr. King slowly, and he took a long look at the winter sky and the distant landscape before he ventured more. It very much looks as if we all should remain for a few days to see how Dick is to get on. All but the four boys, they must pack off to school tomorrow, and then probably Mrs. Whitney will stay over with the boy till he can be moved. Dr. Fisher will do the right thing by him. Oh, everything is all right, Mrs. Pepper. Mrs. Pepper sighed, and led the way into the house. She knew, in spite of the reassuring words, that the extreme limit of the outing ought to be passed on the tomorrow. End of Chapter 9. Recording by Breanna Simmons, Carson City, Nevada, www.simmyspot.blogspot.com. Chapter 10. A Five Little Peppers Midway. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Breanna Simmons. Five Little Peppers Midway. By Margaret Sidney. Chapter 10. The Party Separates Good-bye to the little brown house, Joel and David, Percy and Van, sang out in doleful chorus, from the old stagecoach. Two of the boys on the seat, shared by John Tisbit, the other two, within his companions to Mrs. Pepper and Jasper, who were going home to start the quartet off to school. Ben and I will take good care of everything, Mamsey, said Polly, for the fiftieth time, and climbing up on the steps to tuck the traveling shawl closer. Thereupon Franzi climbed up, too, to do the same thing. Don't you worry, we'll take care of things, she echoed. I shan't worry, said Mrs. Pepper, in a bright, assured way. Mother knows you'll both do just right, and Franzi'll be a good girl, too, with a long look into the bright eyes peering over the window casing of the old coach. I'll try, said Franzi. Good-bye, Mamsey, and she tried to stand on tiptoe to reach her mouth up. Goodness me, cried Polly, you nearly tumbled off the steps. Throw her a kiss, Franzi, Mamsey'll catch it. If that child wants to kiss her ma again, she shall do it, declared Mr. Tisbit, and throwing down the reins he sprang to the ground, seized Franzi, and swung her lightly over the window edge. Will you be? Went through, just like a bird, and there she was, sure enough, in Mrs. Pepper's lap. I should like to go with you, Franzi was whispering under Mrs. Pepper's bonnet-strings, Mamsey, I should. Oh, no, Franzi, Mrs. Pepper, made haste to whisper back. You must stay with Polly. Why, what would she ever do without you? Be Mother's good girl, Franzi. You're all coming home, except Auntie and Dick, in a few days. Franzi cast one look at Polly. Good-bye, she said slowly. Take me out now, holding her arms towards Mr. Tisbit. Here you be! exclaimed Mr. Tisbit merrily, reversing the process and setting her carefully on the ground. Now, says I, up I goes, his foot on the wheel to spring to the box. Stay! A peremptory hand was laid on his shaggy coat-sleeve, and he turned to face old Mr. King. When I meet a man who can do such a kind thing, it is worth my while to say that I trust no words of mine gave offence. Bless you, man! added the old gentleman abruptly, changing the tone of his address as well as its form. It's my way, that's all. John Tisbit had no words to offer, but remained his foot on the wheel, stupidly staring up at the handsome old face. We shall be late for the train, called Jasper within the coach, if you don't start. Get up, do, cried Joel, who had seized the reins, or I'll drive off without you, Mr. Tisbit, which had the effect to carry honest John briskly up to his place. When there, he took off his fur cap without a word and bowed to Mr. King, cracked his whip, and they were off, leaving the four on the little footpath, gazing after them, till the coach was only a speck in the distance. Mama, dear, said Dick, one afternoon three weeks later, the little brown house had been closed to Fortnight, and all the rest of the party back in town. When are we going home? Next week, said Mrs. Whitney brightly, the doctor thinks if all goes well, you can be moved from here. Dick leaned back in the big chintz-covered chair. Mama, he said, your cheeks aren't so pink, and not quite so round, but I think you are a great deal nicer, Mama, than you were. Do you, Dick? She said, laughing. Well, we have had a happy time together, haven't we? The Fortnight hasn't been so long for you as I feared when the others all went away. It hasn't been long at all, said Dick promptly, and burrowing deeper into the chair-back. It's just flown, Mama. I like Polly and Franzi, but I'd rather have you than any girl I know. I had really, Mama. I'm very glad to hear it, Dick, said Mrs. Whitney with another laugh. And when I grow up, I'm just going to live with you forever and ever. Do you suppose Papa will always be going to Europe then? I trust not, said Mrs. Whitney fervently. Dickie, would you like to have a secret? She asked suddenly. The boy's eyes sparkled. Wouldn't I, Mama? He cried, springing forward in the chair. Ugg! Take care, darling, warned his mother. You must remember the poor leg. Dick made a grimace, but otherwise took the pain pluckily. Tell me, do, Mama, he begged the secret. Yes, I thought it would be a pleasant thing for you to have it to think of, darling, while you are getting well. Dickie, Papa is coming home soon. Right away, shouted Dick so lustily, that Mrs. Henderson popped her head in the door. Oh, beg your pardon, she said. I thought you wanted something. Isn't it lovely, cried Mrs. Whitney, to have a boy who is beginning to find his lungs. Indeed it is, cried the parson's wife, laughing. I always picked up heart when my children were able to scream. It's good to hear you, Dickie, as she closed the door. Is he, is he, is he? cried Dick in a spasm of excitement, coming right straight away, Mama? Next week, said Mama, with happy eyes. He sails in the Serbia. Next week, Dickie, my boy, we will see Papa, and here is the best part of the secret. Listen. It has all been arranged that Mr. Dickink shall live in Liverpool so that Papa will not have to go across any more. But he can stay at home with us, oh, Dickie! That oh, Dickie, told volumes to the boy's heart. Mama, he said at last, isn't it good that God didn't give boys and girls to Mr. Dickink? Because you see if he had, why then Mr. Dickink wouldn't like to live over there. Mr. Dickink might not have felt as your father does, Dickie dear, about having his children educated at home. And Mrs. Dickink wants to go to England. She hasn't any father as I have, Dickie dear, who clings to the old home. Only I wish God had made Mr. Dickink and Mrs. Dickink a little sooner. He said, Dick, reflectively, I mean, made them want to go to England sooner, don't you, Mama? I suppose we ought not to wish that, said his mother with a smile, for perhaps we needed to be taught to be patient. Only now, Dickie, just think, we can actually have Papa live at home with us. Your cheeks are pink now, observed, Dick. Just the very pink they used to be, Mama. Mrs. Whitney ran to the old-fashioned-looking glass hanging in its pine-stained frame between the low windows, and peered in. Do I look just as I did when Papa went away six months ago, Dickie? She asked anxiously. Yes, said Dick. Just like that, only a great deal nicer, he added enthusiastically. His mother laughed and pulled a bright wave on her forehead, dodging a bit to avoid a long crack running across the looking-glass front. Here's Dr. Fisher, shouted Dick suddenly. Now you old fellow you, and shaking a small fist at his lame leg, you've got to get well. I tell you, I won't wait much longer, sir. And as the doctor came in, I have a secret." Well, then, you would better keep it, said Dr. Fisher. Good morning, to Mrs. Whitney. Our young man here is getting ahead pretty fast, I should think. How's the leg, Dickie?" Sitting down by him. The leg is all right, cried Dick. I'm going to step on it, trying to get out of the chair. Dickie! cried his mother in alarm. Softly, softly now, young man, said Dr. Fisher, I suppose you want me to cure that leg of yours to make it as good as the other one, don't you? Why, of course, replied Dick, that's what you are a doctor for. Well, I won't agree to do anything of the sort, said the little doctor coolly, if you don't do your part. Do you know what patience means? I've been patient, exclaimed Dick in a dungeon, for ever and ever so many weeks, and now Papa's coming home, and I—and then he realized what he had done, and he turned quite pale and looked at his mother. Her face gave no sign, but he sank back in his chair, feeling disgraced for life, and ready to keep quiet for ever. And he was so good, while Dr. Fisher was attending to his leg, that when he was through, the little doctor turned to him approvingly. Well, sir, I think that I can promise that you can go home Saturday. You've improved beyond my expectation. But Dick didn't hurrah, nor even smile. Dicky, said Mrs. Whitney, smiling into his downcast face, how glad we are to hear that. Just think, good Dr. Fisher says we may go next Saturday. I'm glad, mumbled Dick in a forlorn little voice, until after the door closed on the retreating form of the doctor, it was all that could be gotten out of him. Then he turned and put out both arms to his mother. I didn't mean—I didn't mean—I truly didn't mean to tell, Mama. He sobbed as she clasped him closely. I know you didn't, dear, she soothed him. It has really done no harm. Papa didn't want the home people to know, as he wants to surprise them. But it was a secret, said Dick, between his tears, feeling as if he had lost a precious treasure entrusted to him. Oh, Mama, I really didn't mean to let it go. Mama feels quite sure of that, said Mrs. Whitney gently. You are right, Dickie, in feeling sorry and ashamed, because anything given to you to keep is not your own, but belongs to another. But, my boy, the next duty is to keep back those tears. All this is hurting your leg. Dick struggled manfully, but still the tears rolled down his cheeks. At last, he said, raising his head, you would much better let me have my cry out, Mama. It's half way, and it hurts to send it back. Well I don't think so, said Mrs. Whitney with a laugh. I've often wanted to have a cry out, as you call it, but that's weak, Dickie, and should be stopped. For the more one cries, the more one wants to. You've often wanted to have a cry out, repeated Dick in such amazement that every tear, just getting ready to show itself, immediately rushed back again. Why, you haven't anything to cry for, Mama. Indeed I have, she declared, often and often, I do many things that I ought not to do. Oh, never, never! cried Dick, clutching her around the neck to the detriment of her lace-trimmed wrapper. My sweetest, dearingest Mama is ever and always just right. Indeed, Dick, said Mrs. Whitney earnestly, the longer I live I find that every day I have something to be sorry for in myself. But God, you know, is good, she whispered softly. Dick was silent. And then, when Papa goes, continued Mrs. Whitney, why, then, my boy, it is very hard not to cry. Here was something that the boy could grasp, and he seized it with avidity. And you stop crying for us, he cried, I know now why you always put on your prettiest gown and play games with us the evening after Papa goes. I know now. There are three letters cried the person hurrying in and tossing them over to the boy, and Polly Pepper has written to me, too. Dick screamed with delight, two for me, one for Ben, and one for Grandpa. And mine is from Fronzie, said Mrs. Whitney, seizing the epistle, carefully printed in blue crayon. But although there were three letters from home, none of them carried the news of what was going on there. None of them breathed the syllable that Cousin Eunice Chatterton was ill with a low fever, aggravated by nervous prostration, and that Mrs. Pepper and Polly were having a pretty hard time of it. On the contrary, every bit of news was of the cheeriest nature. Jasper tucked in a post-script to his father's letter in which he gave the latest bulletin of his school life, and Polly did the same thing to Ben's letter. Even Fronzie went into a long detail concerning the new developments of a wonderful kitten she had left at home, to take her visit to Badger Town, so the two recipients never missed the lack of information in regard to the household life from which they were shut out. Only once Mrs. Whitney said thoughtfully, as she bolded her letter and slipped it back into its envelope, they didn't speak of Mrs. Chatterton. I presume she has changed her plans, and is going to remain longer at her nephews. I hope she'll live there always, declared Dick, looking up savagely from Ben's letter. What an old guy she is, mamma! Dick, Dick! said his mother reprovingly. She is our guest, you know. Not if she is at her nephews, said Dick triumphantly, turning back to his letter. Polly, at this identical minute, was slowly ascending the stairs, a tray in one hand, the contents of which she was anxiously regarding on the way. I do hope it is right now, she said, and presently knocked at Mrs. Chatterton's door. Come in, said that lady's voice fretfully, and do close the door before Polly and her tray were well within. Polly shut the door gently, and approached the bedside. I am so faint I do not know that I can take any, said Mrs. Chatterton. Whether it was her white cashmere dressing-robe and her delicate lace cap that made her face against the pillow seem so wane and white, Polly did not know, but it struck her that she looked more ill than usual, and she said earnestly, I am so sorry I wasn't quicker. There is no call for an apology from you, said Mrs. Chatterton coldly. Set the tray down on the table and get a basin of water. I need to be bathed. Polly stood quite still, even forgetting to deposit the tray. Set the tray down, I told you, repeated Mrs. Chatterton sharply, and then get the basin of water. I will call Hortense, said Polly quietly, placing the tray as desired. Hortense has gone to the apothecaries, said Mrs. Chatterton, and I will not have one of the other maids. They are too insufferable." And indeed Polly knew that it would be small use to summon one of them, as Martha, the most obliging, had airily tossed her head when asked to do some little service for the sick woman that very morning, saying, I will never lift another finger for that madame Chatterton. My neck aches and my side and my head, said Mrs. Chatterton irritably, why do you not do as I bid you? For one long instant Polly hesitated. Then she turned to rush from the room, a flood of angry, bitter feelings surging through her heart, more at the insufferable tone and manner than at what she was bitten to do. Polly turned, and she was back by the side of the bed, and looking down into the fretful, dictatorial old face. I will bathe you, Mrs. Chatterton, she said gently, I'll bring the water in a minute. CHAPTER 11. Poor Polly. You are very awkward, child, observed Mrs. Chatterton to Polly on her knees, and abrupt, move the sponge more slowly, there, that is better. Polly shifted her position from one aching knee to another, set her lips closer together, and bent all her young energies to gentler effects. But Mrs. Chatterton cried out irritably, have you never taken care of a sick person, pray tell, or is it all your back country training that makes you so heavy-handed? I helped mother take care of Franzi when she had the measles, and Ben and Joel, said Polly, five years ago, we haven't been sick lately. Humpf! ejaculated Mrs. Chatterton not very elegantly. But what was the use of a fine manner when there was nobody but a little back country maiden to see it? I shall have to endure it till Hortense returns, she said with a sigh. Besides it is my duty to give you something useful to do in this house, you should be thankful that I allow you to bathe me. Polly's eyes flashed, and the hand holding the sponge trembled. Nothing but the fear of troubling Mamsey and dear old Mr. King, whose forbearance was worn to the finest of threads, kept her at her post. Now, get the violet water, said Mrs. Chatterton, with an air she would never have dared employ towards Hortense. It is the bottle in the lower left-hand corner of the case. Polly got up from her knees and stiffly stumbled across the room to the case of silver-mounted toilette articles, in her tumult bringing away the upper right-hand corner vial. Stoopid! exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton among her pillows, go back and do as I bid, you girl, the lower left-hand corner bottle. Without a word Polly returned, and bringing the right vial set about its use as directed in a rapidly growing dismay at the evil feelings surging through her, warning her it would not be safe to stay in the room much longer. Do you understand, presently began Mrs. Chatterton, fastening her cold blue eyes upon her, what your position is in this house? Everybody else appears to be blind and idiotic to the last degree. You seem to have a little quickness to catch an idea. As Polly did not answer, the question was repeated very sharply. Do you understand what your position is in this house? Yes, said Polly, in a low voice, and dashing out the violet water with a reckless hand, I do. Take care, impatiently cried Mrs. Chatterton, then she pushed her pillow into a better position and returned to the charge. What is it, pray, since you understand it so well? I understand that I am here in this house, said Polly, quite cold and white, because dear Mr. King wants me to be here. Dear Mr. King, echoed Mrs. Chatterton in shrill disdain, stuff and nonsense, and she put her head back for an unpleasant cackle. It could hardly be called a laugh. What an idiot the man is to have the wool pulled over his eyes in this fashion! I tell you, Polly, and she raised herself up on her elbow. The soft lace falling away from the white and yet shapely arm. This member had been one of her strongest claims to beauty, and even in her rage Mrs. Chatterton paused a second to glance complacently at it in its new position. You are, when all is said about your dear Mr. King, and your absurd assumption of equality with refined people who frequent this house, exactly the same underbred country girl as you were in your old brown house, goodness knows wherever that is. I am glad that I am, declared Polly, and she actually laughed merrily while she squared her sturdy shoulders. Nothing could be sweeter than to hear it said she was worthy of the dear little old brown house, and didn't disgrace Mamsie's bringing up. The laugh was the last feather that overthrew Mrs. Chatterton's restraint. She was actually furious now that she, widow of Algernon Chatterton, who was own cousin to Jasper Horatio King, should be faced by such presumption, and her words put aside with girlish amusement. And I'll tell you more, she went on, sitting quite erect now on the bed. Your mother thinks she is doing a fine thing to get all her family wormed in here in this style, but she'll, Polly Pepper, the girlish gladness gone from heart and face, waited for no more. Your mother, she cried stormily, unable to utter another word, oh, oh! Her breath came in quick short gasps, the hot indignant blood mounting to the brown waves of hair on her brow. While she clasped her hands so tightly together, the pain at any other time would have made her scream. Mrs. Chatterton, aghast at the effect of her words, leaned back once more against her pillows. Don't try to work up a scene, she endeavored to say carelessly, but she might as well have remonstrated with the north wind. The little country maiden had a temper as well as her own, and all the more for its long restraint, now on breaking bounds, it rushed at the one who had provoked it, utterly regardless, that it was the great Mrs. Algernon Chatterton. For two minutes, so breathlessly, did Polly hurl the stinging sentence at the figure on the bed. Cousin Eunice was obliged to let her have her own way, then, as suddenly, the torrent ceased. Polly grew quite white. What have I done? Oh, what have I done? She cried, and rushed out of the room. Polly, Polly, called Jasper's voice below, she knew he wanted her to try a new duet he had gone downtown to purchase. But how could she play with such a storm in her heart? And worse than all else was the consciousness that she had spoken to one whose gray hairs should have made her forget the provocation received, words that now plunged her into a hot shame to recall. She flew over the stairs, up, away from everyone else's sight, to a long dark lumber-room, partially filled with trunks and a few articles of furniture prized as heirlooms, but no longer admissible in the family apartments. Polly closed the door behind her, and sank down in the shadow of a packing-box, half filled with old pictures, in a distress that would not even let her think. She covered her face with her hands, too angry with herself to cry, to aghast at the mischief she had done to even remember the dreadful words Mrs. Chatterton had said to her. For, of course, now she will complain to Mamsey, and I'm really afraid Mr. King will find it out. And it only needs a little thing to make him send her off. He said yesterday Dr. Valentine told him there was nothing really the matter with her, and, dear, I don't know what will happen. To poor Polly, crouching there on the floor in the dim and dusty corner, it seemed as if her wretchedness held no hope. Turn whichever way she might, the dreadful words which she had uttered, rang through her heart. They could not be unsaid. They were never to be forgotten, but must always stay and wrinkle there. Oh, oh! she moaned, clasping her knees with distressed little palms and swaying back and forth. Why didn't I remember what Mamsey has always told us, that no insult can do us harm if only we do not say or do anything in return? Why, why couldn't I have remembered it? How long she stayed there, she never knew. But at last, realizing that every moment was only making matters worse, she dragged herself up from the little heap on the floor, and, trying to put a bit of cheerfulness into a face, she knew must frighten Mamsey. She went slowly out and down the stairs. But no one looked long enough at her face to notice its change of expression. Polly, the moment she turned towards the household life again, could feel that the air was charged with some intense excitement. Hortense met her on the lower stairs, the maid was startled out of her usual nonchalance, and was actually in a hurry. What is the matter, cried Polly? Oh, the madame is ill, said the maid. The doctor says it's not a lie this time. And she swept past Polly. Polly clung to the stair-relling, her face whitening and her gaze fastened upon Mrs. Chatterton's door, where Hortense was now disappearing. Inside was a sound of voices, and that subdued stirred that gives the token of a sick room. I have killed her, cried Polly's heart. For one wild moment she was impelled to flight, anywhere she did not care where, to shake off, by motion, in the free air this paralysis of fear. But the next she started, and, rushing down the stairs and into Mr. King's room, cried out, Oh, dear grand-papa, will Mrs. Chatterton die? No, no, I think not, replied the old gentleman, surprised at her feeling. Cousin Eunice never did show much self-control, but then I don't believe this piece of bad news will kill her. Bad news! Gasp Polly hanging on to the table where Mr. King was writing letters. Oh, grand-papa, what do you mean? Bless me, where have you been, Polly Pepper? said Mr. King, settling his eyeglass to regard her closely. Not to hear the uproar in this house? Yes, Mrs. Chatterton received a telegram half an hour since that her nephew, the only one that she was very fond of among her relatives, was drowned at sea, and she has been perfectly prostrated by it, till she really is quite ill. Polly waited to hear no more, but on the wings of the wind flew out and up the stairs once more. Where have you been, Polly, cried Jasper, coming out of the side passage, in time to catch a dissolving view of her flying figure? Polly! Polly! And he took three steps to her one, and gained her side. Oh, don't stop me, begged Polly, flying on. Don't, Jasper! He took a good look at her face. Anything I can help you about? He said quickly. She suddenly stopped her foot on the stair above. Oh, Jasper! She cried with clasped hands. You don't know, she may die, and I said horribly cruel things to her. Who, Mrs. Chatterton? Said the boy, opening his dark eyes. Why, you couldn't have said cruel things to her, Polly. Don't be foolish, child. He spoke as he went to Franzi's terror, and smiled into her face. But it did not reassure Polly. Jasper, you don't know, and you can't guess what dreadful things I said, cried poor, overwhelmed Polly, clasping her hands tightly together at the mere thought of the words she had uttered. Then she must have said dreadful things to you, said the boy. She—but—oh, Jasper! That doesn't make it any better for me, said Polly. Don't stop me. I am going to see if they won't let me do something for her. There are ever so many people up there now, said Jasper, your mother and Hortense, and two or three maids. What in the world could you do, Polly? Come down into the library, and tell us all about it. But Polly broke away from him with an—oh, I must do something for her! Speeding on until she softly worked her way into the sick-room. Mrs. Peper was busy with the doctor in the further part of the room, and Polly stood quite still for a moment, wishing she were one of the maids to whom a bit of active service was given. She could not longer endure her thoughts in silence and gently, going up to her mother's side with a timorous glance at the bed, she passed it, and she begged, Mamzy, can't I do something for her? Mrs. Peper glanced up quickly. No. Yes, you can. Take this prescription down to Oakley's to be prepared. Polly seized the bit of paper from Dr. Valentine's hand, and hurried out. Again she glanced fearfully at the bed, but the curtain on that side was drawn so that only the outline of the figure could be seen. She was soon out on the street, the movement through the fresh air bringing back a little color to her cheek, and courage to her heart. Things did not seem quite so bad if she only might do something for the poor sick woman that could atone for the wretched work she had done. At least it would be some comfort if the invalid could be helped by her service. Thus revolving everything in her mind, Polly did not hear her name called, nor rapid footsteps hurrying after her. Wait! at last cried a voice. Oh, dear me, what is the matter, Polly? Alexia Riss drew herself up flushed and panting at Polly's side. I'm on the way to the apothecaries, said Polly, without looking around. So I should suppose, said Alexia, oh, dear, I'm so hot and tired. Do go a bit slower, Polly. I can't, said Polly. She's very sick, and I must get this just as soon as I can. She waved the prescription at her and redoubled her speed. Who, gasped Alexia, stumbling after her as best as she could? Mrs. Chatterton, said Polly, a lump in her throat as she uttered the name. Oh, dear me, that old thing, cried Alexia, her enthusiasm over the errand gone. Hush, said Polly hoarsely. She may die. She has had bad news. What? asked Alexia. The uncomfortable walk might be enlivened by a bit of stray gossip. What is it, Polly? What news? A telegram, said Polly. Her favorite nephew was drowned at sea. Oh, I didn't know she had any favorite nephew. Doesn't she fight with everybody? Do be quiet, beg Polly. No, that is, perhaps other people are not kind to her. Oh, said Alexia, in a surprised voice, well, I think she's perfectly in all through and through horrid. So, don't race like this through the streets, Polly. You'll get there soon enough. But Polly turned to deaf ear, and at last the prescription was handed over the counter at Oakley's, and after what seemed an endless time to Polly, the medicine was given to her. Now, as soon as you can carry that thing home, observed Alexia glancing at the white parcel in Polly's hand, I hope you'll come with us girls. That's what I ran after you for. What girls? asked Polly. Why, Phylena, and the Cornwalls, we are going to have a slaying party tonight, and a supper at Lily Drexel's. Mrs. Cornwall chaperones the thing. Polly was surprised to feel her heartbound. It hadn't seemed as if it could ever be moved by any news of girlish frolics, but that its dull ache must go on forever. Oh, I can't, she cried in the next moment. I must stay at home and help take care of Mrs. Chatterton. Nonsense, exclaimed Alexia, in a provoked tone. You are not wanted there, Polly Pepper, the idea with the great houseful of servants. Well, I shall not go, declared Polly sharply. You needn't to ask me, Alexia. I shall stay home till she gets well. You little idiot, cried Alexia thoroughly out of temper. But as this produced no effect on Polly, she began to weadle and coax. Now Polly do be reasonable. You know we can't go without you. You wouldn't spoil the whole thing. You know you wouldn't. I shall just tell the Cornwalls that you are coming. She turned off to the corner of the avenue. Indeed, you will not, called Polly after her. Don't you dare do that, Alexia Riss? She said with flashing eyes. You are the most uncomfortable girl I ever saw, cried Alexia, stopping to come slowly back. You spoil every bit of fun with your absurd notions. I'm quite, quite put out with you, Polly. I'm sorry, said poor Polly, fairly longing for the snow-revel and dismayed at disappointing the girls. No, you're not, pouted Alexia, and I shall tell them also. And she broke away and ran off in the opposite direction. Polly was met at the door by Mrs. Pepper, who grasped the packet of medicine quickly. Isn't there anything else I can do, Mamzy, beg Polly? No, sit down and rest. You're hot and tired. You've run so. I'm not tired, said Polly, not daring to ask, is she better? Well, you must be, said Mrs. Pepper, hurrying off, going all the way down to Oakley's. So Polly had nothing to do but sit out in the hall and listen and watch all the movements in the sick room, every one of which but increased her terror. At least she could bear it no longer, and as Dr. Valentine came out, putting on his gloves, she rushed after him. Oh, will she die, she begged? Please do tell me, sir. Die? No, indeed, I hope not, said Dr. Valentine. She has had a severe shock to her nerves, and her age is against her, but she is coming around all right, I trust. Why, Polly, I thought better things of you, my girl. He glanced down into the distressed face with professional disfavor. I'm so glad she won't die, breathed Polly, wholly lost to his opinion of her, and her face gleamed with something of her old brightness. I didn't know you were so fond of her, observed Dr. Valentine grimly. Indeed, to speak truthfully, I have yet to learn that anybody is fond of her, Polly. Now if you really want to help her, he continued thoughtfully, pulling his beard as Polly did not answer. I can give you one or two hints that might be of use. Oh, I do, I do, cried Polly with eagerness. It will be tiresome work, said Dr. Valentine, but it will be a piece of real charity, and perhaps, Polly, it's as well for you to begin now as to wait till you can belong to forty charity clubs and spend your time going to committee meetings. And he laughed, not altogether pleasantly. How was Polly to know that Mrs. Valentine was immersed up to her ears in a philanthropic sea, with the smallest possible thought for the doctor's home? Now that maid, said the physician, dropping his tone to a confidential one, is as well as the average, that she's not the one who is to amuse the old lady. It's that she needs more than medicine, Polly. She actually requires diversion. Poor Polly stood as it turned to stone. Diversion? And she had thrown away all chance of that. She is suffering for the companionship of some bright young nature Dr. Valentine preceded, attributing the dismay written all over the girl's face to natural unwillingness to do the service. After she gets over this attack she needs to be read to for one thing, to be told the news to be made to forget herself. But of course, Polly, he said hastily, buttoning his top coat and opening the outer door, it's too much to ask of you, so think no more about it, child. CHAPTER XII. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Brianna Simmons. Five Little Peppers Midway. CHAPTER XII. New Work for Polly. It was Saturday morning, and Polly ran upstairs with a bright face, the morning journal in her hand. I'm going to stay with Mrs. Chatterton, Hortense, she announced to that functionary in the dressing room. And a conferte may give to you, said Hortense, with a vicious shake of the silk wrapper in her hand, before hanging it in its place. The room has tré diable ray, cross as the two sticks, what you call it, this morning. Polly went softly into the room, closing the door gently after her. In the shadow of one corner of the large apartment, said Mrs. Chatterton, under many wrappings in the depths of an invalid's chair. Polly went up to her side. Would you like to have me read the news, Mrs. Chatterton, she asked gently. Mrs. Chatterton turned her head and looked at her. No, she was about to say shortly, just as she had repulsed many little offers of Polly's for the past few days. But somehow this morning the crackling of the fresh sheet in the girl's hands, suggestive of its crisp bits of gossip, was too much for her to hear indifferently, especially as she was in a worse state of mind than usual over Hortense and her bad temper. You may sit down and read a little if you like, she said ungraciously, so Polly, happy as a queen, at the permission, slipped into a convenient chair and began it once. She happened, fortunately, on just the right things for the hungry ears, in description of a large church wedding, the day before, two or three bits about society people that Mrs. Chatterton had lost sight of, and a few other items, just as acceptable. Polly read on and on, from one thing to another, not daring to look up to see the effect, until at last everything in the way of gossip was exhausted. Is that all, asked Mrs. Chatterton hungrily. Polly, hunting the columns for anything, even a murder account if it was but in high life, turned the paper again disconsolently, obliged to confess it was. Well, do put it by then, said Mrs. Chatterton sharply, and not whirl it before my face, it gives me a frightful headache. I might get the town-talk, suggested Polly, as a bright thought struck her, it came yesterday, I saw it on the library table. So it is Saturday, Mrs. Chatterton looked up quickly. Yes, you may Polly, her mouth watering for the revel she would have in its contents. So Polly ran over the stairs with delighted feet, and into the library, beginning to rummage over the papers and magazines on the reading table. Where is it, she exclaimed, turning them with quick fingers, oh, dear! It was right here last evening. What is it? asked Fronzie from the depths of a big arm-chair, and looking up from her book. Then she saw, as soon as she had asked the question that Polly was in trouble, so she laid down her book and slid out of the chair. What is it, Polly, let me help you do? Why the town-talk, that hateful old society thing, said Polly, throwing the papers to the right and left. You know, Fronzie, it has a picture of a bottle of ink and a big quill for a heading. Oh, dear, do help me, child, for she will get nervous if I am gone long. Oh, I know where that is, said Fronzie deliberately, laying a cool little hand on Polly's hot one. Where, demanded Polly feverishly. Oh, Fronzie, where? Jack Rutherford has it. Polly threw down the papers and started for the door. He has gone, said Fronzie. He went home almost an hour ago. Polly turned sharply at her. What did he want town-talk for? He said it was big, and he asked Grandpapa if he might have it, and Grandpapa said yes. I don't know what he wanted it for, said Fronzie, and he took other newspapers, too, Polly, oh, ever so many. Well, I don't care how many he took, nor what they were, cried Polly, only that very identical one. Oh, dear me, well, I'll ask Jasper. And rushing from the library, Fronzie, following in a small panic over Polly's distress, she knocked at the door of Jasper's den, a little room in the wing, looking out on the east lawn. Oh, I am so glad you're here, she exclaimed, as, come in, greeted her, and both Fronzie and she precipitated themselves with no show of ceremony in front of his study table. Oh, Jasper, could you get me a copy of town-talk? Jack Rutherford has gone off with ours. Town-talk, repeated Jasper, raising his head from his hands to stare at her. Yes, Jack has taken ours off. When Papa gave it to him, can you, Jasper, will it break up your steady much, she poured out anxiously? No, that is, never mind, said Jasper, pushing the book away, and springing from his chair. But whatever in the world do you want that trash for? He turned and looked at her curiously. Mrs. Chatterton will let me read it to her. She said so, cried Polly, clasping her hands nervously. But if I don't get the paper soon, why, I'm afraid she'll change her mind. Jasper gave a low whistle as he flung himself into his coat. An estimable privilege, he exclaimed at last, tossing on his cap. Oh, Jasper, you are so good, cried Polly, in a small rapture. I'm so sorry to have to ask you. I'll go for you, Jasper, declared Franzy. Mamsie will let me. I almost know she will. No, no, Franzy, said Jasper, as she was flying off. It isn't any place for you to go to. I shall get one at the hotel, the alabone. I will be back in a trice, Polly. Polly went out and sat down in one of the big oaken chairs in the hall to seize it as it came, and Franzy deposited herself in an opposite chair and watched Polly. And presently in came Jasper, waving the desired journal. Polly with a beaming face grasped it and rushed off upstairs. Polly called the boy looking after her. It isn't too late now for you to go with them. Lucy Bennett met me at the corner, and she said they will take the twelve o'clock train instead of the eleven, and she wanted me to beg you to come. No, no, tossed back Polly, rushing on. I am quite determined to stay at home. Then she went into Mrs. Chatterton's room and closed the door. But she couldn't so easily shut out the longings that would rise in her heart for the Saturday outing that the other girls were to have. How lovely it would be! The run out to Sylva Horne's charming house, some ten miles distant, the elegant luncheon they would have, followed by games, and a dance in the ballroom upstairs that Sylvia's older sister had used for their beautiful parties. Then the merry return before dusk of the twelve girls, all capital friends at school, oh, oh! You've been an unconscious of all time, exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton in a sharp high key, just to get a paper. While do sit down, I am quite tired of waiting for you. Polly sat down and resolutely plunged into the column where the news items promised the most plentiful yield, but in between the lines ran the doings of the girls, how they were all assembling by this time at Lucy Bennett's, how they were hurrying off to the train, and all the other delightful movements of the outing flashed before her eyes as she finished item after item of her dreary task, but how Mrs. Chatterton gloated over it. At last Polly, feeling as if she could not endure another five minutes of it, glanced up to see the old lady's eyes actually sparkling. Her mouth had fallen into contented curves, and the jeweled hand resting on the chair arm was playing with the fringe, while she leaned forward that she might not lose a word. Read that again, Polly, she said, the list of presents exhibited at Arabella Granger's wedding. I didn't hear any mention of the Archibalds. It can't be that they have fallen out, and read more slowly. So Polly began once more the long lists of gifts that ushered in the matrimonial happiness of Mrs. John Westover, near Miss Arabella Granger, this time however stimulated by the pleasure she was giving to find it an indurable task. It seemed to Polly as if Mrs. John Westover had everything on earth given to her that could possibly be presented at a wedding. Nevertheless the list was gone through again bravely, Polly retracing her steps two or three times to read the items over for her listener's slow digestion. The Archibalds are not mentioned either as being there or sending a gift, nor the Harlins, nor the Smiths, so I am very glad I didn't remember her, said Mrs. Chatterton, drawing herself up with a relieved sigh. Those presents sound fine on paper, but it isn't as well as she might have done if she had made a different match. Now something else Polly, and she dismissed Mrs. Westover with a careless wave of her hand. Polly flew off into the fashion-hints and was immediately lost in the whirl of coming toilets. No one noticed when the door opened, so of course no one saw Mrs. Whitney standing smiling behind the old lady's big chair. Well Polly said a pleasant voice suddenly. Down went town talk to the floor as Polly sprang up with a glad cry and Mrs. Chatterton turned around nervously. Oh, Auntie, Auntie! cried Polly, convulsively clinging to her. Are you really here and a sticky home? Dear child! said Mrs. Whitney, as much a girl for the moment as Polly herself, and pressing kisses on the red lips while she folded her close. Yes, Dick is at home. There, go and find him. He is in Mrs. Pepper's room. I am glad to see you so much better, Mrs. Chatterton, said Mrs. Whitney, leaning over the invalid's chair, to lay the tenderest of palms on the hand resting on the chair arm. Oh yes, Marion, I am better, said Mrs. Chatterton, looking around for Polly, then down at the delicious town talk carelessly thrown on the floor. Will you send her back as soon as possible? She asked with her old imperativeness. Who, Polly? said Mrs. Whitney, following the glance. Why, she has gone to see Dick, you know. Now, why cannot I read a bit? And she picked up the paper. You don't know what has been read, said Mrs. Chatterton, as Mrs. Whitney drew up a chair and sat down, running her eye in a practised way over the front page. Dear me, it makes me quite nervous, Marion, to see you prowling around all over the sheet that way. Oh, I shall find something interesting quite soon, I fancy, said Mrs. Whitney cheerfully, her heart on her boy and the jolly homecoming he was having. Here is the Washington News. I mean all about the receptions and teas. She has read that, said Mrs. Chatterton. Now for the fashion department. Mrs. Whitney whirled the paper over dexterously. Do you know, Mrs. Chatterton, gray stuffs are to be worn more than ever this spring? I don't care about that, said Mrs. Chatterton quickly, and besides, quite likely there will be a complete revolution before spring really sets in, and gray stuffs will go out. Find some description of teagounds, can't you? I must have one or two more. And here are some wonderfully pretty caps, if they are all like the descriptions, said Mrs. Whitney, unluckily dropping on another paragraph. Caps, who wants to hear about them? cried Mrs. Chatterton in a dungeon. I hope I'm not at the cap period yet. Oh, those lovely little lace arrangements, said Mrs. Whitney hastily. Don't you know how exquisite they are at pinnads, she cried? I'm sure I never noticed, said Mrs. Chatterton indifferently. Hortense always arranges my hair better without lace. If you can't find what I ask you, Marion, raising her voice to a higher key, you needn't trouble to read it all. Fortunately, the description of the gown worn by Lady Hartley Cavendish at a London High Tee stood out in bold relief, as Mrs. Whitney's eyes nervously ran over the columns again and she seized upon it. But in just two moments she was interrupted. Send that girl back again, Marion, cried Mrs. Chatterton. I had just got her trained, so that she suits me. It tires me to death to hear you. I do not know whether Polly can come now, said Mrs. Whitney gently. She— Do not know whether Polly can come, repeated Mrs. Chatterton sharply and leaning forward in her chair. Didn't I say I wanted her? You did, Marion's tone did not lose a note of its ordinary gentleness. But I shall ask her if she is willing to do it as a favour, Mrs. Chatterton. You quite understand that, of course. She, too, leaned forward in her chair and gazed into the cold, hard face. Just like your father, cried Mrs. Chatterton, settling herself irascibly back in the chair depths again. There is no hope that affairs in this house will mend. I wash my hands of you. I am so glad that you consider me like my father, said Mrs. Whitney gleefully as a child. We surely are united on this question. May I read some more, cried Polly, coming in softly and trying to calm the impetuous rush of delight as her eyes met Mrs. Whitney's. Yes, I am waiting for you, said Mrs. Chatterton. Begin where you left off. Mrs. Whitney bit her pretty lips and slipped out of the chair, just pausing a moment to lay her hand on the young shoulder as she passed, and a world of comfort fell upon Polly, shut in once more to her dreary task. So perfectly splendid that I didn't go to Sylvia's home's luncheon party now, cried Polly's heart over and over between the lines. If I had, I should have missed dear Auntie's homecoming and Dickie's. She glanced up with luminous eyes as she whirled the sheet. Mrs. Chatterton, astonishing as it may seem, was actually smiling. It's some comfort to hear you read, she observed with a sigh of enjoyment, as you enjoy it yourself. I wouldn't give a fig for anybody to try to do it. Polly felt like a guilty little thing to take this quietly, and she eased her conscience by being more glad that she was in that very room doing that very task, and so the moment sped on. Outside Dick was holding high revel as everyone revolved around him, the hero of the coasting accident, till the boy ran considerable danger from all the attention he was receiving, but one glance and a smile from Mrs. Whitney brought him back to himself. Don't talk any more about it, he cried a trifle impatiently. I was a muff to stick on, when I knew we were going over. Mama, won't you stop them? And she did. Do you know, Dickie, and I have a secret to tell all of you good people. The color flew into her soft cheek, and her eyes beamed. Really, Marion? said her father, whose hand had scarcely ceased patting Dick's brown head since the boy's homecoming. You've grown young in Badger Town. I never saw you look so well as you do today. Mrs. Whitney laughed and tossed him a gay little smile that carried him back to the days when Marion King stood before him looking just so. Now listen, father, and all you good people, to my secret. Dickie's in mine. We are allowed to tell it now. Papa Whitney sailed in the Serbia, and he ought to be in today. A shout of joy greeted her announcement. Pauly, often her prison, could hear the merry sounds, and her happy heart echoed them. The misery of the past week, when she had been bearing an unattoned fault, seemed to drop away from her as she listened, and to say, if hold sunshine yet. Then a hush dropped upon the gay uproar. She did not know that Dickie was proclaiming, Yes, and he is never, never going back again. That is, unless he takes Mama and me, you know. Mrs. Chatterton turned suddenly upon the young figure. Do go, she tossed an imperative command with her jeweled fingers. You have ceased to be amusing since your interest is all in the other room with that boy. Pauly dashed the newspaper to the floor, and rushing impulsively across the room, through herself, with no thought for the consequences, on her knees at Mrs. Chatterton's chair. Oh, oh, she cried, the color flying up to the brown waves on her temples. Don't send me off, then I shall know you will never forgive me. Get up, do, exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton, and discussed. You are crushing my gown, and besides, I hate scenes. Ms. Pauly held resolutely to the chair-arm, and never took her brown eyes from the cold face. I must say, Pauly Pepper, cried Mrs. Chatterton with rising anger. You are the most disagreeable girl that I have ever had the misfortune to meet. I, for one, will not put up with your constant ebullations of temper. Go out of this room! Pauly rose slowly and drew herself up with something so new in face and manner that the old lady instinctively put up her eyeglass and gazed curiously through it, as one would look at a strange animal. Huff! she said slowly at last. Well, what do you say? Speak out, and then go. Nothing, said Pauly in a low voice, but quite distinctly. Only I shall not trouble you again, Mrs. Chatterton. And, as the last words were spoken, she was out of the room. Pauly doing these, Mr. King, by a dexterous movement, succeeded in slipping back of the portier folds in the little riding-room, as Pauly rushed out through the other doorway into the hall. A fortunate thing it was that I left Dick to see what had become of Pauly. Now, cousin Eunice, you move from my house. And, extending the stairs, he called determinedly, Pauly, Pauly child! Pauly, often her own room now, ignored him, and, for the first time in her life, wished she need not answer. Pauly, Pauly! the determined call rang down the passage, causing her to run fast with a, Yes, Grand Papa, I'm coming! Now, I should just like to inquire, began Mr. King, taking her by her two young shoulders, and looking down into the flushed face. What she has been saying to you? Oh, Grand Papa! down went Pauly's brown head. Don't make me tell. Please don't, Grand Papa. I shall, declared Mr. King, every blessed word. Now begin. She, she wanted me to go out of the room, said Pauly, in a reluctant gasp. Indeed, snorted Mr. King. Well, she will soon get out of that room. Indeed, I might say, out of the house. Oh, Grand Papa! exclaimed Pauly, in great distress, and raising the brown eyes. He was dismayed to find them filling with tears. Don't, don't send her away. It is all my fault. Indeed, it is, Grand Papa. Your fault! cried Mr. King, irate-ly. You must not say such things, child. That's silly. You do not know the woman. Grand Papa cried Pauly, holding back the storm of tears to get the words out. I never told you. I couldn't. But I said perfectly dreadful words to her a week ago. Oh, Grand Papa, I did truly. That's right, said the old gentleman in a pleased tone. What were they? Pray tell. Let us know. Oh, Grand Papa, don't! begged Pauly. With a shiver. I want to forget them. If you would only follow them up with more, said Mr. King meditatively. When it comes to tears, she must march, you know. I won't, said Pauly, swallowing the lump in her throat. If you will only let her stay, she turned to him such a distressed and white face that Mr. King stood perplexedly, looking down at her, having nothing to say. I am tired of her, at last, he said. We are all tired of her. She has about worn us out. Grand Papa cried Pauly, seeing her advantage in his hesitation. If you will only let her stay, I will never beg you for anything else again. Well, then she goes, cried Mr. King, shortly. Goodness me, Pauly! If you are going to stop asking favors, Cousin Eunice marches in stenter. Oh! I'll beg in tears for ever so many things, cried Pauly radiantly. Her color coming back. Will you let her stay, Grand Papa, will you? She clasped his arm tightly and would not let him go. Well, said Mr. King, slowly. I'll think about it, Pauly. Will you, cried Pauly? Dear Grand Papa, please say yes. Mr. King drew a long breath. Yes, he said at last.