 Chapter twenty-four of Five Little Peppers Grown Up. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney. Chapter twenty-four. Home. "'I don't want to leave you, Mrs. Higbee,' said Fronzee slowly. Mrs. Higbee looked as if she were about to throw her apron over her head again. "'You blessed child!' she exclaimed, half-crying and allowing her hands to rest on the rim of the dishpan. "'You have been so very good to us,' continued Fronzee, shaking her yellow head decidedly. "'I love you, Mrs. Higbee, very much indeed.' With that she clasped the farmer's wife around her stout waist and held her closely. "'Dear, dear,' cried Mrs. Higbee violently, caressing Fronzee, "'you precious lamb, you, to think I shan't hear you pattering around any more nor asking questions.' "'I've made you ever so much trouble, Mrs. Higbee,' said Fronzee in a penitent little voice, and enjoying to the fullest extent the petting she was receiving. "'And I'm so sorry.' "'Trouble!' exploded the farmer's wife, smoothing Fronzee's yellow hair with her large red hands. "'The land! It's only a sight of comfort, you've been, while I've just set by you.' "'I've come in here,' said Fronzee, reflectively peering around at the spotless kitchen floor, with muddy boots on and spoiled it, and I've talked when you wanted to weigh out things and make cake, and once don't you remember, Mrs. Higbee, I left the pantry door open and the cat got in and ate up part of the custard pudding. "'Bless your heart,' exclaimed Mrs. Higbee with another squeeze. "'I've forgotten all about it.' "'But I haven't,' said Fronzee with a sigh, and I'm sorry.' "'Well, now,' said the farmer's wife, "'I'll tell you how we will settle that. If you'll come again to the farm and give my old eyes a sight of you, that'll make it all right.' "'You're not old,' cried Fronzee, wriggling enough out of Mrs. Higbee's arms to look at the round red cheeks and bright eyes. "'Oh, Mrs. Higbee, and you're just as nice!' With that she clasped her impulsively around the neck. "'And pickering likes you too, Mrs. Higbee,' continued Fronzee. "'He says you're as good as gold.' "'You don't say so,' cried Mrs. Farmer Higbee, intensely gratified. "'Well, he's as nice a boy as ever lived, I'm sure, and I'm just as tickled as I can be that that fever was broke up so sudden, for you see, Fronzee, he's got the making of being a right smart man yet.' "'Grandpa Pa's going to have pickering go home with us,' said Fronzee confidentially, and edging away from the farmer's wife to facilitate conversation, and he's going to stay at our house with us till he gets nice and strong.' "'Well, I'm dreadful glad of that,' declared Mrs. Higbee heartily, for that ant of his. "'Well, there, Fronzee, she ain't to my taste. She is such a making-sorta woman. She comes in here, and she wants to make me do this and do that till I'm most out of my wits, and I'd like to take my broom and say scat as I do to the cat.' And a black frown settled on Mrs. Higbee's pleasant face. Fronzee began to look quite grave. "'She loves pickering,' she said thoughtfully, and when he was so bad, she cried almost all the time, Mrs. Higbee. "'Oh, she loves him well enough,' answered Mrs. Higbee, but she fusses over him so and wants her way all the same. It would be good if she thought somebody else knew something once in a while. And she began to splash in the dishpan vigorously, to make up for lost time, quickly heaping up a pile of dishes to drain on the little old tray. "'Let me wipe them do, Mrs. Higbee,' begged Fronzee eagerly, and without waiting for the permission she felt quite sure of, Fronzee picked up the long brown towel and set to work. Upstairs, Jasper and his father were going over again all the incidents of Mr. King's and Polly's trip that the old gentleman was willing to communicate, and Jasper, despite his eagerness to know all the wise and wherefores, held himself in check as well as he could, fiercely realizing that he was really to go back to Mr. Marlowe's. And Polly and Mrs. Cabot were busily packing, with the aid of a farmer's daughter who lived near, while Polly, who dearly loved to do it all herself, was forced to stand by in direct matters. An old Mr. Lock had divided his time between stalking out to the piazza, where pickering was slowly pacing back and forth in his constitutional to insist that he shouldn't walk his legs off, and calling Polly from her work just to help me a bit, my dear, when he got into a tight place over the packing, that he insisted should be done by none but his own two hands. And the whole farmhouse was soon thrown into such a bustle and ferment that anyone looking in would have known without the telling that Mr. King's family are going home. And after a day or so of all this, Farmer Higby carried a wagonload of trunks down to the little station, and his wife drove the carry-all, in the back of which pickering was carefully tucked with Mrs. Cabot, who insisted on being beside him, and old Mr. Lock had in front. The others of the party merrily following in a large old vehicle of no particular pattern whatever, and before anybody could hardly realize it, the train came rushing in, and there were hurried goodbyes and handshakes, and they were off. Everybody crying as she held to her, I wish you were going to! I do, dear Mrs. Higby! And the farmer and his wife were left on the platform, staring after them with sorry eyes. Well, now, Fronzie, said Mr. King, as they quieted down and Fronzie turned back after the last look at the little station. I think it is time to answer your question, so as to let you go home without anything on your mind. About Charlotte, you mean, Grandpa? whispered Fronzie softly with wide eyes, and glancing back to see that no one else heard. To be sure about Charlotte, said the old gentleman. Well, I've concluded you ought to have your way, and make Charlotte a gift of some money if you want to. Oh, Grandpa! cried Fronzie in a suppressed scream, and having great difficulty not to clap her hands. Oh, how good! Then she sat quite still and folded them in silent rapture. And I'll see that it is fixed as soon as may be after we get home, said the old gentleman, and I'm sure I'm glad you've done it, Fronzie, for I think Charlotte is a very good sort of a girl. Charlotte is just lovely, cried Fronzie with warmth, and I think, Grandpa, that dear Mrs. Chatterton up in heaven is glad, too, that I've done it. Old Mr. King turned away with a mild snort, and then, not finding any words to say, picked up the newspaper, and Fronzie, full of her new happiness, looked out the window as the cars sped along. There's Thomas, cried Jasper, at sight of that functionary waiting on his carriage-box, as he had waited so many other times for them, now for the jolliest of all homecomings. And the girls finished Polly, craning her neck to look out the car window at a knot of them, restlessly curbing their impatience on the platform as the train moved into the station, and, why, Mamsey, oh, Jasper, how slow we are! Pickering Dodge shook his long legs impatiently as he got out of his seat. Don't try to help me, Mr. Lockhead, he said testily, as the old gentleman offered his arm. I'm not sick now. No thanks. I'll go out alone. Jasper now ran up, but he didn't offer to help, but waited patiently for Pickering's slow movements as he worked his way unsteadily down the aisle. Don't stop by me, said Pickering rather crossly. Go ahead, Jasper, and get the fun. Nonsense exclaimed Jasper, yet feeling his heart bound at the merry din as Polly was surrounded, and the babble of voices waxed louder, for everybody was now out of the car but Pickering and himself. Here we are now, as they neared the car step. Alexha Reese, back on the platform hanging to Polly, who had one hand and mother fishers at the expense of all the other girls who couldn't get the chance, looked up and saw Pickering dodge, and dropping Polly's arm, she ran lightly across the stream of passengers and put out her hand. How do you do, Pickering? It's so good to see you back! Pickering shot her an astonished glance, then he said gratefully, thank you, Alexha, and he actually let her help him down the steps, which so astonished her that it took away her breath and left her without a word to say. And the rest was all bustle and confusion. Mr. King declaring it was worse than a boarding school, everybody talking together, and Jasper ran off to seat at the luggage for the whole party, followed by Ben trying to help. An old Mr. Lockhead had to be introduced all around, and little Dr. Fisher tried to get them all settled in the carriages, but at last gave it up in despair. Charlotte, my girl, go and tell Polly to get in, will you? He said, turning to Charlotte Chatterton. Fronzie won't sturt till Polly is settled. Oh, Polly, let me drive you home. I've got my dog cart here, cried Clem Forsythe luringly, and trying to pull her off as Charlotte ran up with her message. No, no, cried Sally more. I brought my fate and on purpose. You know I did, Clem. Come with me, Polly, do. You'll have to get in here, called Dr. Fisher waiting at the carriage to end it. Yes, I think I shall, said Polly merrily, and running to him followed by Fronzie. Girls, come over this evening, won't you? She looked back to call after them. Yes, we'll be over this evening, cried the girls back again, and Fronzie hopping in after her. The carriage door was shut and off they rolled. An old turner was waiting at the steps as the carriage rolled up the winding drive with a monstrous bouquet of his choice's blossoms for Polly, and one exactly like it, only a little smaller for Fronzie. And Prince came running out, getting in everyone's way and nearly devouring Fronzie, and there was King Fisher running away on toddling feet from his nurse to meet them, screaming with all his might. And Mrs. Fargo with Johnny in her arms, crowing with the light, all stood on the broad stone porch. Oh, oh, cried Polly, jumping out, her cheeks aflame. Are we really at home? Oh, oh, echoed Fronzie, flying at the mall and trying to keep hold of Prince at the same time. And there in the wide hall, drawn back within the shadow of the oaken door were Mr. and Mrs. Whitney and Dick, ready to pounce upon them in a moment. And no one ever hinted a suspicion that the college boys were steaming along as fast as they could for the evening's festivities. An old Mr. King appeared superbly indifferent to the fact that Mr. Marlowe was waiting at a hotel for that hour to arrive, and everybody rushed off to get ready for dinner, with the exception of Polly and Jasper and Fronzie. Oh, we must go in the conservatory just for a minute, begged Fronzie, flying off on eager feet. We'll only take one peep, said Polly, just as eagerly. Come on, Jasper. And then Polly had to run into the long drawing room and just look at her piano and lay her fingers lovingly on the keys. Don't try it with your lame hand, Polly, begged Jasper close beside. No, I won't, promised Polly, running light scales with the fingers of the other hand. But, oh, Jasper, I do verily believe I could. My arm feels so well. Well, don't Polly, begged Jasper again. No, of course I won't, said Polly with a little laugh. But it won't be many weeks, you dear, this to the piano, as she unwillingly got up from her music stool and let Jasper lead her off, before you and I have all our good times together. Polly, in a soft white gown, sat on a low seat by Motherfisher's side, her head in Mamsey's lap. It was after dinner, and the gas was turned low. Mamsey, said Polly, and she threw one hand over her head to clasp Motherfisher's strong fingers closer. It's so good to be home. Oh, you can't think how I wanted you. Just then somebody looked into Motherfisher's bedroom. Oh, beg pardon, said Jasper as he saw them. But there was so much longing in the voice that Polly called out, oh, come Jasper, may he, Mamsey. Yes, said Mrs. Fisher, come in, Jasper. Jasper came in quickly, and stood a moment looking down at them. It's so lovely to be home, Jasper, said Polly, looking at Badam and playing with her mother's fingers. Isn't it? cried Jasper with feeling. There never was anything so nice. Mrs. Fisher, may I sit down by you here? And he went over to her where she sat on the sofa. It was the same big, comfortable affair where Joel had flung himself when he declared he could not keep on at school, and where Mamsey had often sat when the children brought at their troubles, declaring it was easier to tell her everything on the roomy, old-fashioned sofa than anywhere else. Yes, indeed, cried Mrs. Fisher cordially, and making way for him to sit down by her side. Now isn't this nice, brief Polly lifting her head out of her mother's lap to look at him on Mamsey's other side? Now Jasper, you begin, and we'll tell her all about it as we always do, you know, when we get home from places. I want to tell her something, and you too, Polly, began Jasper quietly. Mrs. Fisher, may I speak? He leaned over and looked into the black eyes above Polly's shining brown hair. Yes, said Mother Fisher, as quietly. How funny you are, Jasper, cried Polly with a laugh, asking Mamsey in such a solemn way. There now begin, too. Polly, said Jasper, look at me, do dear. Polly lifted her brown eyes quietly. Why, Jasper? I waited because I thought I ought, said Jasper, trying not to speak too quickly. It seemed at one time as if you were going to be happy, and I should spoil it, Polly, if I spoke. But now, oh, Polly, he put out his hand, and Polly instinctively laid her own warm palm within it. Do you think you could love me? I've loved you ever since the little brown house, dear. Oh, Jasper, Polly, cried with a glad ring in her voice. How could you are? And she clung to his hand across Mamsey's lap. Will you, Polly, cried Jasper, holding your hand so tightly that she winced a bit. Tell me quickly, dear. Will I what? asked Polly, wonderingly. Love me, Polly. Oh, I do, I do, she cried. You know it, Jasper, I love you with all my heart. Polly, will you marry me? Tell her Mrs. Fisher do and make her understand, begged Jasper, turning to Mother Fisher imploringly. Polly child, said Mamsey, putting both arms around her, careful not to disturb Jasper's hand over Polly's. Jasper wants you to be his wife. Do you love him enough for that? Polly, not taking her brown eyes from Jasper's face, laid her other hand upon his. I love him enough, she said, for that. Oh, Jasper! Old Mr. King walked proudly down the long drawing room with Polly on his arm. Everybody was in the highest possible spirits. The Lord of Miserule had made a triumphant entree, covering himself with glory and winning great applause for his long train of maskers, whose costumes, if not gotten up on strict historical lines, were made up any lack by the variety of other contrivances, each one following his own sweet will and dressing. They had gone through with the minuet and the pantomimes, and Charlotte, in a peaked hat and big flowered brocade gown rich with tambour lace, had sung like a nightingale, as more than one declared, and now the room was in a buzz of applause. Old Mr. King took this time to walk up and down the long room with Polly several times, quite pompously, and once in a while the little Lord of Miserule would brush up to them, say something very earnest, seize Polly's hand and give it a shake and then dart away, which preceding Joel would imitate, at such times leaving Robert Bingley to his own devices, until Joel, evidently struck by remorse, would suddenly fly back and introduce his college friend violently to right and left to make up for lost time. "'That's three times you've introduced me to that girl in blue,' said Bingley on one of those occasions, when he could get Joel aside for a minute. "'Do let me alone. I was having a good enough time where I was.' "'Did I?' cried Joel, opening his black eyes at him. "'Oh, beg pardon!' and off he rushed at Polly again. "'How clearly they do act!' cried a lecture to a nod of the girls. "'And just look at Mr. King. He holds on to Polly every minute. I'm going to see what it's all about.'" So she hurried across the room as fast as her high-heeled slippers would let her. "'Polly! Polly! Did you really like it all?' she asked breathlessly. "'Oh, dear me, this ruffle will be the death of me,' picking at it with impatient fingers. "'Don't, Alexia!' cried Polly. "'It's so pretty. It was all just as fine as could be and splendidly gotten up.' "'Well, it nearly killed us,' declared Alexia, fanning herself violently. "'And this old ruffle and me, there!' And she made a little break in the starched affair under her chin. That's one degree less of misery!' "'What would Queen Bess do to you?' cried Polly, saying the first thing that came in her head to keep off questions she saw trembling on Alexia's tongue. "'Queen Bess was an old goose to wear such a thing,' retorted Alexia. "'Oh, Polly, do come with us. Let her do, Mr. King!' To the old gentleman who made all sorts of signs that served to show he meant to keep Polly to himself. "'We girls want her now,' she added saucily. "'You keep away,' said old Mr. King, with an emphatic nod and a twinkle in his eye. "'And the other girls, I'm going to have Polly tonight. You can come over in the morning and see her.' He moved off coolly, carrying Polly with him. Alexia stood a moment transfixed with astonishment. "'Joel! Joel, what is it?' she cried in a stage whisper, as that individual pranced by in one of his fits of remorse looking up bingly. "'Do tell me what's come over Polly, and why does Mr. King act so clearly?' Joel flashed her a smile but wouldn't say anything, and his eyes twinkled so exactly like Mr. King's that Alexia lost all patience. "'Oh, you horrid boy!' she cried and ran back dismally to the girls with nothing to tell. And Charlotte Chatterton walked as if she disdained the ground, her peak-tatt towering threateningly, while her shallow face was wreathed with smiles, and it seemed as if she couldn't sing enough, throwing in encores in a perfectly reckless fashion. "'What is it? Oh, I shall die if I don't know!' exclaimed Alexia over and over. "'Girls, if some of you don't find out what's going on, I shall lie crazy!' And the room buzzed and buzzed with the light, the growing mystery not lessening the hilarity. "'That's an uncommonly fine fellow I've just been talking with,' said Mason Whitney, coming up to old Mr. King still keeping Polly by his side. "'I haven't met such a man in one spell. He's a thoroughgoing intellectual chap, and he's been around the world a good deal. It's easy to see by his fine manner. Where did you pick him up?' "'Whom are you talking of, Mason?' asked Mr. King in his crispest fashion. "'Why, that new man, Mr.—Mr.—I didn't catch the name when I was introduced. That you invited here to-night,' said Mr. Whitney, with a little touch of the asperity yet remaining over the failure of his plan for Jasper, and he jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Marlowe.' "'He? Oh, that's Jasper's publisher, Mr. Marlowe,' said the old gentleman, trying to speak carelessly. Then he burst into a laugh at Mr. Whitney's face. "'Who?' exclaimed that gentleman as soon as he could speak. "'I've got to eat humble pie before my fourteen-year-old son, Dick. And you've taken my breath away, Polly, looking at her blooming cheeks and happy eyes, with that piece of news, and "'What news? Oh, what news?' cried Alexia, coming up, too frantic to remember her manners. "'Please tell us, girls, for we are dying to know.' "'You come away,' retorted Mr. Whitney unceremoniously, and Mr. King laughed, and Polly shook her right fan at them as the two moved off, and it was just as bad as ever.' "'Pickering, do you know?' At last demanded Alexia as he leaned against the door by surveying the bright crowd. "'Yes, I know enough. That is, I can guess. Don't ask me.' "'Oh, what?' breathlessly cried Alexia, seizing his arm. "'Do tell me, Pickering, that is a deer. Oh, I thought I was talking to the girls. I don't know what I'm doing anyway. Polly is so upset me.' "'Well, she is upset me, too, Alexia,' said Pickering gloomily. But it isn't her fault. She couldn't help it.' Alexia, feeling that here was coming something quite worth her while to hear, waited patiently. "'You all know I've loved Polly for years,' said Pickering steadily. I made no secret of it.' "'I know it,' said Alexia, full of sympathy and not daring to breathe, lest you should spoil it all. Well, go on.' And when I was sick, I hoped that things might be different, for Polly was sorry for me. But one day Aunt was talking about it to me in a way that made me mad, and I knew that Polly would be bothered awfully if she ever got at her. So I told Polly the first chance I got that she was never to be sorry for me any more, for I'd made up my mind not to think of her in that way again. Which was an awful lie, declared Pickering suddenly, standing quite erect, for I can't help it. "'Oh, dear, oh, dear,' exclaimed Alexia, quite gone in sympathy, aren't things just shameful in the world? Of course you oughtn't to be allowed to marry Polly, for you are not half good enough for her Pickering,' she added frankly. "'But I'm so sorry for you,' and she put out her hand instinctively. Pickering took it, and held it a minute in a calm grasp, with the ear of a man considering it better to take the little, since he couldn't get all he wanted. "'But now tell why Polly and Mr. King and all the family acts of funny,' cried Alexia, pulling away her hand and suddenly awaking to the fact that this important piece of news had not been made known to her. "'Can't you see for yourself?' cried Pickering with an impatient stare, while Alexia, where are your eyes?' Which was all she could get him to say, as Pickering walked off immediately. Jasper, all this while, seemed to find it impossible to be separated from Mother Fisher, and together they wandered up and down the long drawing-room, fronzie clinging to his hand. "'I always long since the little brown house stays to call you Mamsey,' he said affectionately, looking down at a Mrs. Fisher's face. "'And now I can.' "'And you will really and truly be my very own brother, Jasper,' said fronzie, as they walked on.' End of Chapter 24 A Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney