 CHAPTER VIII. Polly looks out for Charlotte. Second floor, room number three, said Buttons, then stood like an automaton to watch the tall young man scale the stair. He did him beautifully, he confided afterward to another bell-boy. Mr. King himself can't get over them stairs better. Come in, cried Jasper in response to the rap. Hello, old fella, cried Pickering Dodge, brushing in tumultuously. Well, well, so this is your den, looking around the small room in surprise. Yes, now this is good to see you, exclaimed Jasper, joyfully leaping from his chair to seize Pickering's hand. Well, what brought you? There's nothing wrong, he asked, anxiously scanning Pickering's face. No, that is, everything's right. I'll accept Polly. There isn't anything to matter with Polly. Jasper turned quite white, scarcely speaking the words. No, she's all right only. Pickering turned impatiently off from the chair Jasper pulled forward with a hasty hand and stalked to the other side of the little room. She's—she's—well, she's so hard to come at nowadays. Everybody has a chance for a word with her but old friends, and now the recital is in full blast. Jasper drew a long breath and began to get his color again. Oh, yes, well, it's all going on well. The recital, I mean, isn't it? He asked. I believe so, said Pickering in a gloomy way. The girls are wild over it. You can't hear anything else talked about at home. But he broke off abruptly. Got a cigar, Jasper, and he began to hunt the mantle among the few home things spread around to enliven the hotel apartment. Haven't such an article, said Jasper. I forgot you don't smoke, said Pickering with a sigh. Dear me, how will you bear trouble when it comes old chap? He came back to the table and thrust his hands in his pockets, looking dizzily at Jasper. I'm afraid a cigar wouldn't help me much, said Jasper with a laugh. But if you must have one, I can get it, eh? Yes, I must, said Pickering in despair, for I've something on my mind, came over on purpose to get your help, and I can't do it without a weed. Very well, said Jasper, shoving the chair again toward Pickering. Sit down, and I'll have one sent up. And he went over and touched the electric button on the wall. Yes, sir? Buttons ran his head through the doorway and stared at them without winking. A cigar for this gentleman, said Jasper, filloping a coin into the boy's hand. Is that the way you order cigars, demanded Pickering whirling around in his chair? Yes, when I order them at all, said Jasper, laughing. A weed is a weed, I suppose. Indeed, and it is not, then, retorted Pickering. I'll have none of your ordering. You needn't bring it up, boy. I'll go down to the office and pick some out for myself. All right, sir, said Buttons, putting down the coin on the table with a lingering finger. Keep it, said Jasper, with a smile. He's a gentleman, absurd Buttons on the way downstairs, Pickering treading his heels. He ain't like the rest of them that board's here. They orders me around with a hear you or a hoid there, boy. They're gents. He's the whole word. A first-class gentleman, Mr. King is. He repeated. Now then for it, said Jasper, when at last the gleam of Pickering's cigar was steady and bright. Open your budget of news, old fellow, he added, with difficulty restraining his impatience. It ought not to be any news, declared Pickering, with extreme abruptness, for I've never tried to conceal it. I love Polly. Jasper started so suddenly his arm not from the table a slender crystal vase that broke into a dozen pieces. Never mind, he said at Pickering's dismayed exclamation. Go on. Who puff-floated the rings of cigar smoke over Pickering's head? And I can't stand it, and I won't, waiting any longer to tell her so. Why, man, he turned savagely now on Jasper. I've loved her for years, and must I be bullied and badgered out of my rights by men who have only just been introduced to her, say? Whom do you mean? asked Jasper huskily, his fingers working over the tablecloth under the pretence of pulling the creases straight. Why, that lockhead chap, said Pickering, bringing his hand down heavily on the table. He has more sweet words from Polly Pepper in a week than I get in a month, and I such an old friend. Polly is so anxious to help his sister, Jasper made out to say. Well, that's no reason why the fellow should hang around forever, declared Pickering angrily. Why, he's gone abroad, exclaimed Jasper long ago. Ah, but he's coming back, said Pickering with a sage nod and knocking off the ashes from his cigar end. Is that so? cried Jasper in astonishment. Yes, tits, declared Pickering nodding again, and I don't like it. You know as well as I do, squaring around on Jasper, that he don't care a rap about his sister's getting on. He's only thinking of Polly, and I love her. Seeing that something was expected of him, Jasper made out to say. You do? Of course I do, and you know it, and everyone knows it wrought to. I haven't ever tried to conceal it, said Pickering proudly. How do you know that lockhead is coming back? asked Jasper abruptly. How do I know? the best way in the world. Pickering moved uneasily in his chair. Pickering had a letter yesterday. That's the reason I threw my traps together and started for you. For me, cried Jasper in surprise. Yes, you've got to help me. I can't stand it waiting around any longer. It's almost killed me as it is. Pickering threw his head on the chair back and took savage pulls at the cigar between his teeth. I help you, cried Jasper, too astonished to do more than repeat the words. How in all this world can I do anything in the matter? he demanded, as soon as he could find his voice. Why, you can tell Polly how it is. You're her brother or as good as one, and she'll see it from you. And you must hurry about it, too, for I expect that lockhead will turn up soon. He means mischief, he does. See here, Pick, cried Jasper, getting out of his chair hastily to face Pickering. You don't know what you are asking. Why couldn't do it? The very idea. I never heard of such a thing. You must speak to Polly yourself. I can't, said Pickering, in a burst and bringing up his head suddenly. She won't give me the ghost of a chance. There's always those girls around her, and she's been away an age at Mrs. Whitney's, and everlastingly somebody is thicker getting hurt and they won't have anybody but Polly. You know how it is yourself, Jasper, and he turned on him in injured countenance. Well, don't come to me, cried Jasper, beginning to pace the floor irritably. I couldn't ever speak on such a subject to Polly. Beside, it would be the very way to set her against you. It would any girl. Can't you see it, Pick? he added, brightening up. Girls are queer, observed Pickering shrewdly, and the very thing you think they won't like they take too amazingly. Oh, you go along, Jasper, and let her see how matters stand. How I feel, I mean. You will do your own speaking, said Jasper, in his most crusty fashion and without turning his head. I did. That is, I tried to last night after I met Crane. Began Pickering in a shame-faced way, but I couldn't even get a chance to see Polly. How's that? asked Jasper, still marching up and down the floor. Wasn't she home? Well, she sent Charlotte Chatterton down to see me, said Pickering, very much aggrieved, and I hate that Chatterton girl. Why couldn't Polly see you? Went on Jasper, determined since his assistance was asked to go to the root of the matter. Oh, somebody in the establishment, I don't know who, had a finger ache, I suppose, said Pickering, carelessly throwing away his cigar end and lighting a fresh one, and wanted Polly. Never mind why she couldn't come down, she sent word. So I gave up in despair. See here now, Jasper, you must help me out. I tell you I won't, declared Jasper with rising irritation, not in that way. You won't? No, I won't. I can't, my dear fellow. Well, there's a great end of our friendship, exclaimed Pickering, read with anger, and he jumped to his feet. Do you mean to say, Jasper King, that you won't do such a simple thing for me as to say a word to your sister Polly when I tell you it's all up with me if you don't speak that word, say? You oughtn't to ask such a thing, it's despicable in you, cried Jasper, aghast to find his anger rising at every word. And if you insist in making such a request when I tell you that I cannot speak to Polly for you, why I shall be forced to repeat what I said at first, that I won't have anything to do with it. Do you mean, Pickering put himself in front of Jasper's advancing strides, that you will not speak to Polly for me? I do. I tell you, declared Pickering, now quite beside himself, it's absolutely necessary for me to have your word with her, Jasper King. And I tell you I can't give that word, said Jasper. Then he stopped short and looked into Pickering's face. I'm sorry, old chap, and he put out his hand. Pickering knocked it aside in a towering passion. You need an old chap, me, he cried, and there's an end to our friendship, King. He seized his hat and dashed out to the room. Miss Salisbury! Alexia raced in real distress through herself against her old teacher, who was hurrying through the long schoolroom. Well, what is it, asked Miss Salisbury, settling her glasses for a look at her former pupil, you mustn't hinder me on my way to the recitation room, and her hand made of movement toward her watch. Oh, don't think of time, Miss Salisbury, begged Alexia just as familiarly as in the old days, when Polly Pepper needs to be looked out for. If Polly Pepper needs me in any way why I must stop, said the principal of the young lady's select boarding and day school. But I don't see how she can need me, Alexia, she added in perplexity. Polly is fully capable of taking care of herself. Oh, no she isn't! cried Alexia abruptly. Big, you're pardoned, but Polly is a dear, sweet, dreadful idiot. Oh, dear me, what do you suppose Miss Salisbury, she has gone and done? I am quite at a loss to guess, said Miss Salisbury calmly, and I must say, Alexia, I am very much pained by your failure to profit by my instructions, to think that one of my young ladies, especially one on whom I have spent so much care and attention as yourself, should be so careless in speech and manner as you are constantly. Gone and done? Oh, Alexia! she exclaimed in a grieved way. Oh, I know, cried Alexia imperturbably. You did your best, dear Miss Salisbury, and it isn't your fault that I'm not fine. But oh, don't waste the time, please, over me when I want to tell you about Polly. What is it about Polly? demanded Miss Salisbury, fingering her watch chain nervously. Really, Alexia? I think Polly would do very well if you didn't try so hard to take possession of her. I quite pity her, she added, frankly. Alexia burst into a laugh. It's the only way to catch a glimpse of her, Miss Salisbury. She cried, for everybody is trying to take possession of Polly Pepper, and now, oh, it's getting perfectly dreadful. Miss Salisbury took an impatient step forward. Oh, Miss Salisbury! cried Alexia in alarm. Wait just a minute, dear Miss Salisbury! She cried, throwing her arms around her, thereby endangering the glasses set upon the fine Roman nose. There can't anyone help in this but just you! It is very wrong, said Miss Salisbury, yet yielding to the embrace, for me to stay and listen to you in this way, but I've always been fond of you, Alexia, and I know it, cried Alexia penitently. You've just been a dear always, Miss Salisbury, to me. If you hadn't, why, I don't know what I should have done, for I had nobody but Anne, with a little pathetic sniff, to look after me. My dear Alexia, cried Miss Salisbury quite so often. Don't feel so. You are very dear to me. You always were, patting her hand. And so what is it that you want to tell me now? May I be quick, dear? Why, then, will you promise to make Polly Pepper do what she ought, Miss Salisbury? cried Alexia, quite enchanted with her success thus far. Miss Salisbury turned a puzzled face at her. Will I make Polly Pepper do what she ought to? she repeated. My dear Alexia, what a strange request! Polly Pepper is always doing as she ought. Well, Polly is just hateful to herself, declared Alexia, and if it wasn't for us girls, she'd, oh, dear me, I don't know what would happen. What do you suppose, Miss Salisbury, she's gone and— Oh, dear, I didn't mean to, but what do you suppose Polly has just done? Before Miss Salisbury could reply, Alexia rushed on frantically. If you'll believe me, Polly has gone and asked that Charlotte Chatterton to sing at her recital. Just think of that! exclaimed Alexia, quite gone at the enormity of such a blunder. Why, doesn't Charlotte Chatterton sing well? asked Miss Salisbury in surprise. Oh, frightfully well, said Alexia, that's just the trouble, and now Polly's recital will all be part of that Chatterton girl's glory, and it was to be so swell. Then Alexia sank into a chair and waved back and forth in grief. Swell! Oh, Alexia! exclaimed Miss Salisbury in consternation. Oh, do excuse me, mumbled Alexia, but Polly really has spoiled that elegant recital. It won't be all Polly's now, oh, dear me! Miss Salisbury drew a long breath. I'm very glad Polly has asked Miss Chatterton to sing, she said at last. It was the right thing to do. Very glad that Polly has asked that Chatterton girl to sing! almost shrieked Alexia, starting out of her chair. Yes, said Miss Salisbury decidedly. Very glad indeed, Alexia. And now you won't make Polly see that Charlotte Chatterton ought not to be stuck into that recital! cried Alexia wildly. Oh, dear me! And you were the only one that can bring Polly to her senses. Oh, dear me! Certainly not, said Miss Salisbury with a little dignified laugh. The recital is Polly's, and she knows best how to manage it. Well, we won't applaud. We girls won't, declared Alexia stiffening up. When that Charlotte Chatterton sings, but we'll all just look the other way, every single one of us. Alexia, Reese! Slowly ejaculated Miss Salisbury and real sorrow. Well, we can't, it wouldn't be right, gasped Alexia. Don't look so, Miss Salisbury. Oh, dear me, why will Polly act so? Oh, dear me! I wish Charlotte Chatterton was in the Red Sea. Miss Salisbury gathered herself up in quiet disapproval, and with a parting look prepared to leave the room. Oh, Miss Salisbury! cried Alexia, flying after her to pluck her gown. Do turn around! Oh, dear me! And she began to cry as hard as she could. When you have come to your better self, Alexia, I will talk with you, said Miss Salisbury distinctly, and she went out and closed the door. Did she say she would? Did she? Did she? cried a group of the old girls as Miss Salisbury's present scholars called Polly and her set, as they came tiptoeing in. Wait, where are you, Alexia? Here, said a dismal voice from the depths of a corner easy chair. They all rushed at her. I've had an awful time with her. Sobbed Alexia, her face buried in her handkerchief, and I suppose it really will kill me, girls. Nonsense, cried one or two. Well, what did she say about making Polly listen to reason? Oh, dreadful, dreadful, groaned Alexia gustly, you can't think. You don't mean to say that she approves after all that Polly Pepper has worked over that old recital to have someone else come in and grab the glory? finished another voice. Oh, dear, dear, groaned Alexia, in between, and Miss Salisbury would kill you, Clem, if she heard you say grab. Well, do tell us, what did Miss Salisbury say? She hated another girl impatiently. She said it was right for Polly to ask Charlotte Chatterton to sing, and she was glad she was going to do it. Oh, whores, exclaimed the group in dismal chorus. The idea, as much as she loves Polly Pepper, cried Sally more. And I hate the word right, exploded Alexia, whirling her handkerchief around her fingers, now it's poked at one everlastingly. I think it's just sweet to be wicked. Oh, Alexia, Reese. Well, just a little bit wicked, said Alexia. Kathy Harrison shook back the waves of light hair on her brow. Girls, she began hesitatingly. But no one would listen. The laments were going on so fast over Polly and her doings. It is right, cried Kathy at last, after many ineffectual attempts to be heard. Do stop, girls, making such a noise! She added impatiently. That's a great way to preach, said Clem, laughing. Lose your temper to begin with, Kathy. I didn't. That is, I'm sorry, said Kathy. But anyway, I want to say I ought to have been ashamed to act so about that chatterton girl. Where should I have been if Polly Pepper hadn't taken me up? She looked down the long aisle to a seat in the corner. That's where I sat, pointing to it, and you all know it, for a whole week, and I thought I should die. I did, tragically, without anyone speaking to me. And one day Polly Pepper came up and asked, wouldn't I come to her house, to the bee where I'll going to get up to fit out that horrible, poor white family down south, and I wanted to get up and scream I was so glad. Kathy Harrison exclaimed Alexia, springing to her feet defiantly. What do you want to bring back those dreadful old times for? You were the most uncomfortable person I ever saw. You didn't mind it now, Alexia, cried Kathy, rushing at her, for you've been too lovely for anything ever since, you dear. I lovely? Oh, girls, did you hear? cried Alexia, sinking into her chair again, quite overcome. She said I was lovely. Oh, dear me. And so you are, repeated Kathy stoutly, just as nice and sweet and lovely to me as you can be. So, throwing her long arms around Alexia. I didn't want to be Polly made me, said Alexia. I know it, but I don't care. You are nice now anyway. And I suppose we must be nice to that chatterton girl now if she does break up our fun, said Alexia with a sigh getting out of her chair. Come on, girls, let us go and tell Polly it's just heavenly that Charlotte is to sing. End of chapter eight. Chapter nine of Five Little Peppers Grown Up. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney. Chapter nine. Polly's Recital. Charlotte Chatterton stood back at the Portier, pulling her refractory button of her glove into place, as a gay group precipitated themselves into the dressing room of the Exeter. Now remember, girls, cried Alexia rushing at the toilet table to bestow frantic twitches of the fluffy waves of hair over her forehead that we must applaud the very minute that she gets through singing. Oh, dear me, just look at my bangs. They are perfect frights. Hateful things with another pull at the offending locks. It's a swell house, exclaimed one of the girls delightedly. Just let Miss Salisbury catch you saying swell, warned Alexia. Take care now, Sally more. This is a very proper and select occasion. Well, do let some of us have that glass a minute, retorted Sally, and mend your manners before you take occasion to correct my speech. My bangs are worse than yours, Sally, cried another girl crowding up. Do let me get one corner of that glass, trying to achieve a view of her head over Alexia's shoulder. Alexia calmly picked at the fluffy bunch of hair on her brow, giving it a little quirk before she said, don't fight girls, it quite spoils one's looks. I never do when I'm dressed up. Of course not, said Sally more, for you get everything you want without fighting. The idea, exclaimed Alexia with an injured expression, when I never have my own way. What I give up and give up the whole time to somebody. Well, never mind. Let's talk about the recital. Oh, it's going to be quite elegant for Polly Pepper. There's a regular society cram in the hall. Well, I don't think society cram is a bit better than a swell affair, said Clem Forsythe, slipping out of her opera cloak. Nor I either, cried three or four voices. Oh, I don't object to swell affair myself, said Alexia. I've used the words on more than one occasion, unless my memory is treacherous. I only wanted to spare Miss Salisbury's nerves. Pity you didn't give more attention to Miss Salisbury's nerves five or six years ago, said Sally. Don't get away from that glass. It's no time to talk about me now, observed Alexia. All our minds should be on Polly and her recital. Girls, did you see Jack Lockhead down at the door? Didn't we, cried the girls. He's as handsome as a picture, isn't he, cried Alexia, with another little pull at her rebellious hair. Isn't he, hummed the girls. Well, he won't look at you for all your fussing over those bangs, said Sally vindictively. Did you suppose I thought he would, cried Alexia Cooley? Why, it's Polly Pepper everybody knows that brings him here. Let's become a Mr. Bailey, asked one of the girls suddenly. She mustn't ask, cried Alexia mysteriously, and turning away from the mirror with a lingering movement. There it looks shockingly, but it is as good as I can fix it. Your hair always does look perfectly horrid, declared Sally more, deftly slipping into the vacated place. Well, do tell all you know about Mr. Bailey and Polly, begged the girl who would raise the question. I'm just dying to know. Alexia Reese doesn't know a thing more than we do, Francis, said Clem. Only she pretends she's in the secret. I was down at Dunraven at the Christmas splurge, said Alexia, and you were not, Clem. That's all I shall say. And she leisurely disposed herself in the big chair and began to draw on her gloves with the air of one who could reveal volumes, were she so disposed? Polly wouldn't ever send him off, said one of the girls. I don't believe. Why, he's horribly rich, and just think of marrying into the Bailey family. Oh my. I should think the shock of being asked to enter that family would kill any girl to begin with, said Clem. Well, he goes back to William the Conqueror, doesn't he? And there's an Earl in the family, and I don't know what else. And then beside there's his mother, the idea of sitting opposite to her at the table every single day. Oh dear me, I know I should drop my knife and fork in things from pure fright. I'm sure I don't see why anybody is proud to have a family go back all the time, said Alexiaries. For my part, I should want to start things forward a little myself. Well, who does know anything about it? Why, Mr. Bailey has gone off suddenly, demanded Francis. No one knows, said Clem. Alexia hummed a tune provokingly. We all guess, and it's easy enough to guess the truth, but Polly won't ever let it out, so that's all there is about it. Well, now, girls, said Alexia suddenly. We must remember what we promised each other. What do you mean, asked Francis? I didn't promise anything to anybody. You weren't with us when we promised my dear, answered Alexia, and I'll rise and explain. You see, we don't any of us like that Charlotte Chatterton, not a single one of us. She's a perfect stick, I think. So do I, said another girl. This is the way she walks. Thereupon followed a representation, given to the life, of Charlotte Chatterton's method of getting her long figure over the ground, which brought subdued peals of laughter from the girls looking on. And she has no more feeling than an oyster, pursued Alexia, when she had recovered her breath. Or she might see that Polly was just giving up all her fun and hours, too, by dragging her into everything that is going on. I know it, said the girls. And I'm so sick of her taking in everything, so is a matter of course, observed Alexia. Oh, she's quite an old sponge. It's bad enough to be called an oyster, without having old sponge fastened to one, said Sally Moore, coming away from the mirror. Thereby, occasioning another rush for that useful dressing room appointment. Well, she is both of those very things, declared Alexia. Nevertheless, we must applaud her dreadfully when she's finished singing. That's what we promised each other, Francis. It will please Polly, you know. You better hurry, or you will lose your seats, announced a friendly voice in the doorway, which had the effect to send the whole bevy out as precipitately as they had hurried in. When she was quite sure that no one remained, Charlotte Chatterton shook herself free from the friendly Portier folds and stepped to the center of the deserted room. I'll not sing one note, she declared standing tall, not one single note. Just then, Anne ran Amy Lockhead. Oh, dear, oh, dear. What is the matter, asked Charlotte, not moving. Oh, I'm so frightened, gasped Amy, shivering from head to foot. There are so many people in there. Oh, oh, I can't play. Beating her hands together in terror. You must, said Charlotte unsympathizingly. I can't, I can't, oh, I shall die. The hall is full and they keep coming in. Oh, Miss Pepper! For Polly and her soft white gown was coming quickly into the dressing room. Your hands are just as cold as ice, said Polly, gathering up Amy's shaking little palms into her own. There now we'll see if we can't coax them into playing order, rubbing them between her own warm ones. Oh, I can feel all those people's eyes staring through me, cried Amy, huddling up against Polly. You mustn't think of their eyes, child, laughed Polly, but there was a little white line around her mouth. Just then a messenger came in with a note. Any answer, asked Polly. Oh, stay, I would better read it before you go. And she tore it open. I am so sorry that I cannot keep my engagement to play the duet with Miss Porter, but the doctor has just been here, and he says I must not go out. I should have written this morning that I had a sore throat, but I thought I could manage to go. I'm so sorry. Oh, Miss Pepper, I'm so sorry. Julia Anderson. The note fell to Polly's lap and for a minute she could not speak. There is no answer. At last she said to the messenger. Oh, Miss Pepper, what is it? Cried Amy Lockhead brought out of her own fright by the dread of a new trouble. Julia Anderson is sick and cannot be here, said Polly. Oh, dear, and she was going to play with Miss Porter. What will you do? Cried Amy in consternation. Why, I shall have to take her place, said Polly, forcing herself to speak. Oh, dear, dear, exclaimed Amy, trying not to burst into tears. Everything is just as bad and horrid as it can be. Oh, dear, dear, and I can't play. I should disgrace you. Oh, no, no, Amy, said Polly, trying to smile. That you'll never do. She threw the note on the floor now and began to rub the cold little hands again. But, but I'm so frightened, gasped Amy. Charlotte Chatterton walked to the window. I may be a stick and an oyster and an old sponge and everybody wish me out of the way, but I'm not such a villain as to bother her now by telling her I won't sing, if they only won't applaud. She shut her teeth tightly and turned back again. I wouldn't, Miss Lockhead, she began. But her voice sounded cold and unsympathetic and Amy clung to Polly tighter than ever. Ben now looked in. Come Polly, he said. You really ought to be out here and it's almost three o'clock. Amy gave a gasp. What shall I do? You may stay in here if you really wish, said Polly in a low voice. Charlotte Chatterton looking on with all her eyes. And I will excuse you. And will, will you be disappointed in me? Amy brought out the question shame-facedly. Very much, said Polly. And will you never try me again? And never give me music lessons? Asked Amy fearfully. I do not seem to teach you successfully, said Polly very slowly, so it would be no use to continue the lessons. And she put aside the clinging hands. You may stay here, Amy. I'm coming, Ben, looking over at him. I'll play, cried Amy Lockhead desperately. I'd rather, oh dear me, if they were bears and gorillas looking on and I just know I shall die, but I'd rather, Miss Pepper, than to have you give me up. Charlotte Chatterton drew a long breath. What's the matter? asked Ben in dismay. Miss Lockhead was a little scared, I believe, said Charlotte with a touch of scorn in her manner. Ben gave an uneasy exclamation. Everything seems to be all right now, he said in a relieved way, looking off at Polly and Amy. Oh yes, a scare don't amount to much if one has a mind to put it down, said Charlotte. I should think you'd be scared, said Ben looking at her admiringly, to stand up and sing before all those people, but I suppose you never are. You don't seem to mind things like the rest of us. Charlotte shrugged her shoulders but said nothing. We are all ready, said Polly cheerfully, coming up with Amy. Charlotte, you are such a comfort, she found time to whisper. Charlotte clasped her hands tightly together so that an ominous rent appeared in one of her pretty gloves. I'll sing, she kept saying to herself all the way out to the platform, oh, I'll sing, I'll sing. And later on, while looking down into the eyes of the girls waiting to applaud, I'll sing, I'll sing, she had to declare to herself till her name was announced. As the last note died away, who is that girl? Went around the hall. Charlotte Chatterton had made a sensation. Alexa Reese, angry at the effect of the song, still clapped steadily together her soft-gloved hands, looking at Polly with the air of a martyr all the while. Charlotte, oh, I'm glad, whispered Polly radiantly. They want you to sing again, trying to pull her forward as the storm of applause went on. I'll not sing, cried Charlotte passionately, never. Don't ask it, Polly. Why, Charlotte, implored Polly, astonished at the passion in the girl usually so cold and indifferent. Still, the applause continued. Polly set keeping at it like veterans. Ben ran up the platform steps with shining eyes. Grandpa Polly requests Charlotte to sing again, he whispered to Polly. There, you hear Charlotte, said Polly. Grandpa Polly wishes it. Very well, said Charlotte, resuming her ordinary manner, and looking as if it really made no difference to her whether she sang or was quiet, she walked to her place. Polly slipped back at the piano and began the accompaniment. And again, Charlotte's singing carried all by storm. Polly, looking down into Jasper's face, saw him smile over to his father and nod in a pleased surprise. And she was aghast to feel a faint little wish began to grow in her heart that Charlotte Chatterton had not been asked to sing. Of course, Jasper is surprised as he has never heard her sing, said Polly to herself. And her voice is so beautiful in this big hall. Oh, it's so very beautiful. As Charlotte came back, apparently not hearing the expressions of delight that ran over the concert room. That Chatterton girl will be all the rage now, whispered electro-savagely to Clem, who sat next to her. Look at Mrs. Cabot. She has her. I'll take you up and patronize you, Aeron. And I know she's making up her mind to give Charlotte a musicale. Other people also, scattered here and there in the hall, were making up their minds to introduce Miss Chatterton to their friends. As a girl with such a wonderful voice, it would be quite worth one's while to bring out. Polly, by this time, explaining to the audience the failure of Miss Anderson to take her part in the duet, caught little ends of the whispers going on beneath her, such as perfectly exquisite, most wonderful range, so certainly ask her to sing. And again she saw Jasper's beaming face, while Ben took no pains to conceal his delight. And she sat down to the piano mechanically and began in a dazed way to help Miss Porter through with the duet that was to have been one of the finest things on the carefully prepared program. Suddenly, in the midst of a slow movement, Polly glanced down and caught her mother's eye. Polly, it said, just as plainly as if Mrs. Fisher had spoken. Is this my girl? For shame if the little brown house teachings are forgotten like this. Polly straightened up, sent Manzi down a smile that made Mrs. Fisher nod and flash back one in return, then bent all her energies to making that duet speak its message through the concert room. People who had rather languished in their chairs now gathered themselves up with fresh interest and clapped their hands at the brilliant passages and exclaimed over the ability of the music teacher who could change an apparent failure to such a glorious success. Everybody said it was wonderful, and when the duet was over the house rang with the charming noise by which the gratified friends tried to express their delight. But Polly saw only Manzi's eyes, filled with joy. Meantime, Charlotte Chatterton had hurried out to the dressing room, tossing on her walking things with a quick hand, and held fast for a minute as she crept out into the broad passage by the duet now in full progress. She went softly down the stairs. When it was all over, everybody crowded around Polly. Oh, Miss Pepper, your recital is lovely. Oh, how beautifully Miss Chatterton sang, and oh, Miss Pepper, I am delighted with your pupil's progress and what an exquisite voice Miss Chatterton has. And then it was, oh, it must have been so hard, Miss Pepper, for you to excuse Miss Anderson at the last minute, and we can't thank you enough for letting us hear Miss Chatterton sing. Oh, I shall fly crazy to hear them go on, cried Alexia to a little bunch of the girls back of the crowd. Well, nothing stopped them, ringing her hands angrily together. It's all Chatterton, Chatterton now, and after Polly's magnificent playing to, oh, dear me, I knew it would be so. Polly turned with a happy face to pull Charlotte forward to hear the kind things. Why, where? Oh, she's gone home, answered Alexia, stepping forward hastily. Hasn't she girls appealing to them? She must have. She went out like a shot. Don't Polly, how can you? She begged, turning back to twitch Polly's arm. You've done enough, I should think. What did she run off for? cried Jasper, scaling the platform steps. Polly glanced quickly up into his beaming face. Oh, Jasper, she's gone home. I couldn't help it, and her face fell. He looked annoyed. Never mind Polly, he said, his brow clearing. Father wanted to introduce her to some friends, that's all. Well, and wasn't it a grand success, though? And he beamed at her. Yes, said Polly, settling Amy's music with an unsteady hand. And Charlotte really surprised us all, he went on gaily. Why, Polly, who would think that we have, or you rather, for you have done it all, the honor to bring out a nightingale? Here, let me do that for you. He was fairly bubbling over with delight, and as he essayed to take the music out of Polly's hand, he laughed again. Dear me, how stupid I am, as a piece flooded to the floor. And did Amy do nicely? Asked Polly, beginning to feel a bit tired now. Yes, indeed, ascended Jasper enthusiastically as he recovered the piece. Just splendidly, I didn't know she had so much music in her. Oh, here comes a horde of congratulations, Polly. He threw her the brightest of smiles as he moved to make way for a group of friends hurrying up to shower Polly with compliments, and everyone had something delightful to add of Charlotte Chatterton's singing. Jasper couldn't help but be happy over Charlotte's singing, said Polly to herself and looking after him. It's so beautiful, as they came up. Where are you going, Polly? cried Alexia at last when it was all over, and the janitor was closing the big outer door as Polly ran ahead of the girls and down the long steps of the Exeter. Polly turned and waved her music roll at them for our reply. Now somebody is going to carry her off. Grumbled Alexia, hurry up, girls, let's see who it is. So they ran as lightly as Polly herself after her down the steps, only in time to see old Mr. King help her into the carriage with Mrs. Fisher and Francie and drive rapidly off. Whatever is the matter, cried Alexia, running up to Jasper who was watching them speed away. Why Polly thinks Charlotte is sick, explained Jasper, because she went home before the recital was out. Stuff and nonsense exclaimed Alexia angrily. What is the matter with Polly, Jasper? She grows worse and worse. Why can't she let Charlotte Chatterton alone pray tell? I, for one, should think mischief enough had been done by that girl. You should think mischief enough had been done by Charlotte, repeated Jasper in astonishment. I must say, Alexia, that I failed to understand you. To hear people praise to the very skies that Chatterton girl, cried Alexia in a passion. She was actually stamping her foot now. Oh, oh, why don't some of you say something? She cried, appealing suddenly to the girls. You all feel as I do about Polly's pushing forward that girl and there you stand to make me do all the talking. Jasper looked grave at once. There is no occasion for anyone to exert herself to talk over this, he said. It is Polly's affair and hers alone. He raised his hat to her and to the rest of the group and walked off. End of chapter nine. Chapter 10 of Five Little Peppers Grown Up. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney. Chapter 10, Fronzie has a plan. Fronzie was the first to reach Charlotte's door. Charlotte? She called softly through the keyhole. There was no answer and after one or two ineffectual attempts, Fronzie turned fearfully away. I do believe something is in the room with Charlotte, she said, as Polly came running up the stairs. Then she sat down on the top step and clasped her hands. I heard it raging up and down. Oh, no, Fronzie, said Polly reassuringly. There couldn't be anything in there with Charlotte. I'll try. And she laid a quick hand on the knob. Oh, Charlotte, do open the door. You are worrying us also, called Polly imploringly. Charlotte flung wide the door. Two red spots burned on her cheeks and her pale blue eyes snapped. But when she saw Polly, she said, I'm sorry I frightened you, but I'm best alone. Isn't there really anything in here with you, Charlotte? Asked Fronzie, getting off from her stair to peer past Polly. Oh, I'm sure I heard it raging up and down. That was I, said Charlotte. I was the wild beast, Fronzie. Oh, dear, breathed Fronzie. Oh, exclaimed Polly. Charlotte, said Fronzie, coming into slipper hand into Charlotte's. It was just beautiful when you sang. I thought it was birds when you went clear up in the air. I did really, Charlotte. Oh, don't, begged Charlotte, looking over at Polly. Come down to dinner, Charlotte, said Polly quickly. Really, you must. Else I'm afraid Grandpa Pa will be up here after you. I don't want any dinner, said Charlotte, drawing back. Indeed, but you must come down, said Polly firmly, holding out her hand. Come, Charlotte. Let me smooth your hair, begged Fronzie, standing on tiptoe, to bend down just a very little please. There, that's it, petting Charlotte's head with both hands. Now you look very nice. You really do, doesn't she, Polly? Yes, indeed, said Polly cheerily, just as fine as can be. There, they are coming after us. As quick footsteps sounded in the hall below. Hurry, Charlotte, do. We're coming, boys, she called. They had just finished dinner when a note was handed Polly. It ran thus. Do, dear Polly, run over to-morrow morning early. I want to consult you in regard to asking Miss Chatterton to sing at my next at-home. I should be charmed to have her favour us. Felicia A. Cabot. The very thing, exclaimed Jasper, with only a thought for Polly's pleasure. When Polly had cried, how nice of Mrs. Cabot. Don't you say so, father? He added. Assuredly, said old Mr. King, with great satisfaction in Polly's pleasure, and at her success in drawing Charlotte out. And then he thought no more about it, and the bell ringing and Mr. Alstein coming in, he went off into the library for a quiet chat. And after this there were no more quiet days for Charlotte Chatterton. Everybody who was musical wanted to revel in her voice, and everybody who wasn't wanted the same thing, because it was so talked about. So she was asked to sing at musicals and receptions without end until Elexia exclaimed at last, they are all raving, stark mad over her, and it's all Polly's own fault, the whole of it. Franzi laid down the note she was writing to Mrs. Fargo a fortnight later, and said to herself, I would better do it now, I think. And going out, she went deliberately to old Mr. King's room and wrapped at the door. Come in, called the old gentleman, come in. Oh, bless me, it's you, Franzi, in pleased surprise. Yes, Grandpa, said Franzi, coming in and shutting the door carefully. I came on purpose to see you all alone. So you did, dear, said Mr. King, highly gratified, and pushing away his writing table he held out his hand. Now then, Franzi, you are never going to be too big, you know, to sit on my knees, so hop up now. Oh, no, Grandpa, cried Franzi in a rapture. I could never be too big for that. So she perched up as of old on his knee. Then she folded her hands and looked gravely in his face. Well, my dear, what is it? Asked the old gentleman presently. You've come to tell me something, I suppose. Yes, Grandpa, I have, said Franzi decidedly, and it is most important to Grandpa Pa, and oh, I do wish it so much. And she clasped her hands tighter inside. Well, then, Franzi, if you want it, I suppose it must be, said Mr. King, quite as a matter, of course. But first child, tell me what it is. And he stroked her yellow hair. Grandpa Pa, asked Franzi suddenly, how much money did Mrs. Chatterton say I was to have? Oh, bless me, exclaimed Mr. King with a start. Why, what makes you ask such a question? Oh, she left you everything she had, Franzi. A couple of millions or so it is. Why? Grandpa Pa, asked Franzi, looking intently at him. Isn't Charlotte very, very poor? Charlotte poor? repeated the old gentleman. Why, no, not exactly. Her father isn't rich, but Charlotte, I think, may do very well, especially as I intend to keep her here for a while, and then I shall never let her suffer, Franzi, never indeed. Grandpa Pa, said Franzi, wasn't Mrs. Chatterton aunt to Charlotte? Yes, that is, to Charlotte's father, corrected Mr. King. But what of that, child, pray? What if you got into your head, Franzi? If Mrs. Chatterton was aunt to Charlotte, persisted Franzi slowly, it seems as if Charlotte ought to have some of the money. It really does, Grandpa Pa. But cousin Eunice didn't think so, else she'd have left it to Charlotte, said Mr. King abruptly, and she did choose to leave it to you. So there's an end of it, Franzi. I didn't want you to have it, but the thing was fixed and I couldn't help myself. And neither can we do anything now but take matters as they are. I do think, said Franzi, without taking her eyes from his face, that maybe Mrs. Chatterton is sorry now, and wishes that she had left some money to Charlotte. Don't you suppose so, Grandpa Pa? And one hand stole up to his neck. Maybe, said the old gentleman with a short laugh, and I shouldn't wonder if cousin Eunice was sorry over a few other things, too, Franzi. Wouldn't it make her very glad if I gave Charlotte some of the money? Franzi's red lips were very close to his ear now. Oh, I do want to so much, you can't think, Grandpa Pa, how much? For answer, Mr. King set her down hastily on the floor and took two or three turns up and down the room. Franzi stood a moment quite still where he left her. Then she ran up to him and slipped her hand within his. Oh, I do so wish I might, she said. There's so much for a little girl like me. It would be so nice to have Charlotte have some with me. Still no answer. So Franzi went up and down silently by his side for a few more turns. Then she spoke again. Does it make you sorry, Grandpa Pa, dear, to have me want Charlotte to have the money with me? She asked timidly. No, no, child, answered Mr. King hastily, and yet I don't know what to say. I don't feel that it would be right for you to give any of your money to her. Right, cried Franzi, opening her brown eyes very wide. Why, isn't the money my very own, Grandpa Pa? Yes, yes, of course, but you are too young to judge of such things, said the old gentleman decidedly, as the giving away of property and all that. Oh, Grandpa Pa, exclaimed Franzi in general approach and standing very tall. Why, I am 13. And when you get to be 10 years older, you might blame me, said Mr. King. And I can't say but what you'd have reason to if I let you do such a thing as give away any money to Charlotte. Why, Grandpa Pa, I couldn't. Franzi drew a long breath, then threw herself convulsively into his arms, her face working hard and her efforts not to cry. But it was no use, and Mr. King caught her in time to see the quick drops roll down Franzi's cheek and to feel them fall on his hand. Oh, dear me, he cried in great distress. There, there, child, you shall give away the whole of you wish. I've enough for you without it, only don't cry, Franzi. You may do anything you like, dear, there. Mopping up her wet little face with his handkerchief. Now, that's a good child, Franzi. You are not going to cry, of course not. There, do smile a bit, that's my girl now. As a faint light stole into Franzi's eyes. I didn't mean you'd really blame me only. I couldn't, still said Franzi, and it looked as if the shower were about to fall again. I know, child, you think your old Grandpa Pa does just about right, said Mr. King suingly and highly gratified. He's ever and always right, said Franzi, still not moving. Bless you, child, cried the old gentleman, much moved. I wish I could say I believed what you say, but many things in my life might have been bettered. Oh, no, Grandpa Pa, protested Franzi in a tone of horror. They couldn't have been better. Don't, Grandpa Pa, don't. She caught him around the neck imploringly. Well, I won't, child, promised Mr. King, holding her close. And now, Franzi, I'll tell you. I'll think of all this that you and I have talked over, and I'll let you know by and by what ought to be done about it. And you mustn't say anything about it to anybody, not a single soul, child. It shall be just a secret between you and me. I won't, Grandpa Pa, said Franzi, obediently, and patting his broad back with her soft hand. And meantime, said Mr. King, quite satisfied. Why, Charlotte is having pretty good times, I think. Polly is looking out for that. Polly is making her have beautiful times, said Franzi happily. Oh, very beautiful times indeed, Grandpa Pa. I expect she's an awful nuisance, the old gentleman broke out suddenly. Oh, Grandpa Pa, exclaimed Franzi, breaking away from him to look into his face. Well, perhaps I shouldn't say quite that, said Mr. King, correcting himself. But well now, Franzi, you run back to your play, child, and I'll set to work at once to think out this matter. I was writing a note to Mrs. Fargo, said Franzi, putting up her lips for a kiss. You are sure you won't make your headache thinking about it, Grandpa Pa, she asked anxiously. Sure as I can be, Franzi, said old Mr. King, smiling. Goodbye, dear. See you here, Pickering. Mr. Cabot threw wide the door of his private office with a nervous hand. It's time I had a good talk with you. Come in, I never get one nowadays. Can't stop, Uncle, said Pickering hastily. Besides, what would be the use? You never see anything encouraging about me or my career, and I believe I'm going to the dogs. Indeed you are not, Pickering, cried Mr. Cabot quickly, the color rising to his cheek. There, there, my sister's voice shall never say that. But come in, come in. He laid hold of Pickering's arm and gently forced him into the little room. Not to be ungracious, the young man threw himself into a chair. Well, what is it, Uncle? Do out with it. I'm in no mood for a lecture, though, this morning. I'm not going to lecture you, my voice, said Mr. Cabot, closing the door, then going to the mantel to lean one elbow on it, a favorite attitude of his, while he scanned his nephew. But something worse than common has come to you. Can I help in any way? No, no, don't ask me, ejaculated Pickering, striking his knee with one glove and turning apprehensively in his chair. Oh, hang it, Uncle, why can't you let me alone? I've seen this thing, whatever it is, coming upon you for some time, said Mr. Cabot, too nervous to notice the entreaty in Pickering's voice and manner, and I cannot wait any longer to find out the trouble. It's my right, Pickering. You have no father to see to you, and I've always wanted to have the best success be yours. He turned away his head now, a break coming in his voice. You have, Uncle, you have, ascented Pickering, brought out a trifle from his distress. But then I'm not equal to the strain my relatives put upon me. Not worth it, either, he added, relapsing into his gloom. Then he shoved his chair so that he could not look his uncle in the face and bent a steady glance out of the window. Mr. Cabot gave a nervous start that carried him away from the mantle a step or two. But when he was there, he felt so much worse that he soon got back into the old position. I don't see Pickering, he resumed, why you shouldn't get along. You're through college, which is a wonder, interpolated Pickering. Well, I can't say but that I was a good deal disturbed at one time, said Mr. Cabot, frankly. But never mind that now, you are through. And he heaved a sigh of relief and nicely established with the band meter and cart right. It's the best law firm in the town, Pickering. Mr. Cabot brought his elbow off from the mantle enough to smite his palms together smartly in enthusiasm. I got you in there. I know you did, Uncle, said Pickering. You've done everything that's good. Only I repeat, I'm not worth it. And he jumped on the chair arm. For heaven's sake, Pickering cried his uncle, darting in front of the chair in its restless occupant. Don't say that again. It's enough to make a man go to the bad to lose hope. What have you been doing lately? Do you gamble? What do you take me for? Demanded Pickering, starting to his feet with flashing eyes and throwing open his top coat as if the way to press him. I've been a lazy dog all my life and a good for naught, but I hope I've not sunk to that. Oh, nothing, nothing. I'm sure I didn't mean to cry to Mr. Cabot, starting back suddenly in astonishment. Dear me, Pickering, taking off his eyeglasses to blow his nose, you needn't pick me up so violently. I've been much worried about you. Settling his glasses again for another look at his nephew. And I can't tolerate any thoughts I cannot speak. I should think not, retorted Pickering shortly. The trouble is in having the thoughts. And I am very much relieved to find that my fears are groundless, that you've been about nothing that my sister or I should be ashamed of. And he picked up courage to step forward gingerly and pat the young man on the shoulder. You are in trouble, though, and I insist on knowing what it is. Pickering dropped suddenly beneath his uncle's hand into the nearest chair. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 of Five Little Peppers Grown Up. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney, Chapter 11. Things are getting mixed. How can you ask me, uncle? cried Pickering passionately. Because I will know, Mr. Cabot was quite determined. Well then, if you must have it, it's Polly Pepper. Pickering could get no further. It's Polly Pepper, ejaculated Mr. Cabot. Then a light broke over his face and he laughed aloud. He was so pleased. You mean you are in love with Polly Pepper? As if everybody didn't know it, cried Pickering hotly. Don't pretend, uncle, that you were surprised. He was really disrespectful now in manner. Oh, big pardonser, recovering himself. Never mind, said Mr. Cabot indulgently. You are overwrought this morning. My boy, he came over and clapped his nephew on the back approvingly. That's the best thing you ever told me. You make me very happy. And hold, uncle, cried Pickering, darting away from the hand. Don't go so fast. You are taking too much for granted. Mr. Cabot, for answer, bestowed another wrap, this time on Pickering's arm, indulging all the while in the broadest of smiles. Just then, someone knocked at the door and in response to Mr. Cabot's unwilling, come in. Ben's head appeared. Big pardon, Mr. Cabot, but Mr. Van Meter wants you out here. Pickering lunged past Ben. Don't stop me, he cried crossly in response to Ben's. Well, old fellow. Ben stared after him with puzzled eyes as he shot down the long store, and all that afternoon he could not get Pickering in a strange ways out of his mind. And on the edge of the twilight, jumping out of his car at the corner near his home, he buttoned up his coat and rushed on, regardless that Billy Harlow was making frantic endeavors to overtake him. What's got into the old chap? Said Ben to himself, pushing on doggedly with the air of a man who has thoughts of his own to think out. I declare, if I should know Pickering dodged lately, I can't tell where to find him. And with no light on his puzzle, Ben turned into the stone gateway and stowed up to the east porch to let himself in as usual with his latchkey. As he was fitting it absently, all the while his mind more intent on Pickering and his change demeanor than on his own affairs, he heard a little rustling noise that made him turn his head to see a tall figure spring down the veranda floor in haste to gain the quickest angle. Charlotte, why what are you doing out here? exclaimed Ben, leaving his key on the lock to look at her. Don't speak, begged Charlotte hastily and coming up to him, somebody will hear you. I came out here to walk up and down, I shall die in that house and I am going home tomorrow. She nervously twisted her handkerchief around her fingers and Ben, still looking at her closely, saw that she had been crying. Charlotte, what are you talking about? he cried, opening his honest blue eyes wide at her. Why, I thought you had ever so much sense and that you were way ahead of other girls, except Polly, he added quite as a matter, of course. Don't, cried Charlotte wincing and, but I shall go home tomorrow. Look here, Ben took out his key and tucked it into his pocket, then faced Charlotte. Take a turn up and down, Charlotte, you'll pull out of your bad fit, you're homesick. Ben's honest face glowed with pity as he looked at her. I'm, I'm everything, said Charlotte desperately. Oh, Ben, you can't think, she seized his arm. Polly is just having a dreadful time because I'm here. See here now, said Ben, taking the hand on his arm in a strong grip as if it were Polly. Don't you go to getting such an idea under your head, Charlotte. I can't help it, said Charlotte. It was put there, she added bitterly. Ben gave a start of surprise. Well, you are not the sort of girl to believe such stuff anyway, he said. Charlotte pulled away her hand. I'm going home, she declared flatly. Indeed you are not, said Ben, quite as decidedly. Oh, yes I am. We'll see, he nodded at her. Take my advice, Charlotte, and don't make a muff of yourself. It's very easy for you to talk, cried Charlotte, a little pink spot of anger rising on either cheek. You have everybody to love you and to be glad you are here, very easy indeed. With that she walked off, swinging her gown disdainfully after her. Ooh, ejaculated Ben. Well, I must say I'm surprised at you, Charlotte. I didn't suppose you could be jealous. Jealous, Charlotte flamed around at him. Oh, Ben Pepper, what do you mean? You are just as jealous as you can be, said Ben honestly. Absolutely green. I'd have you to know I never was jealous in my life, said Charlotte, quite pale now and standing very still. You don't know it, but you are, said Ben imperturbably. When people begin to talk about other folks being loved and happy and all that, they're always jealous. Why in the world don't you think how everybody is loving you and wanting to make you happy? It was quite a long speech for Ben and he was overcome with astonishment at himself for having made it. Because they are not, said Charlotte bitterly, at least they can't love me if they do try to make me happy. Stuff and nonsense, exclaimed Ben. And Polly, then Charlotte pulled herself up. Well, what about Polly, demanded Ben? Oh, nothing. Charlotte twisted uneasily and shut her lips tightly together. If you think my sister Polly doesn't love you and want to make you happy, there's no use in my talking to you, said Ben in a displeased way. I didn't say so, cried Charlotte. Oh, don't go. You were the only one who can help me. As he made a movement toward the door, I never told anybody else and they don't guess. And it's a pity that they should now, said Ben. I tell you, Charlotte, if you never say anything like this again, I'll believe that you're the girl I thought you with plenty of sense and all that. There, give us your hand, hurry up now. Here comes Fransy. Charlotte slowly laid her hand in Ben's big palm as Fransy opened the oaken door and peered out into the darkness. I can't think what makes Ben so late, she said softly to herself. I'm going into the other door, said Charlotte, springing off down the veranda. Hello, pet. Ben rushed into the hall and ceased Fransy for a good hug. Oh, Ben, you're so late, cried Fransy. Well, I'm here now, said Ben comfortably. You can't think what has happened, said Fransy with a delightful air of mystery. To be sure I can't, but you were going to tell me, declared Ben with assurance. Oh, Benz, I'd so much rather you would guess, said Fransy, clasping her hands. Well, then you have a new cat, said Ben at a hazard while he disposed of his coat and hat. Oh, Ben, cried Fransy in reproach, while I've given up having new cats indeed I have. Since when, asked Ben. Why, last week, I really have, I'm not going to get anymore, said Fransy. Ben shouted. At the sound of his voice, somebody called over the stairs. Oh, Ben, are you home? Come up here. Come on, pet, cried Ben, where wanted, seizing Fransy and hurrying off to the stairs. I did so want to tell you myself, mourned Fransy on the way. Then you shall, Ben said her on the floor suddenly. I'll come up in a minute or so, he called. There now, Fransy, we'll have the wonderful news, out with it, child. I don't suppose you ever could guess, said Fransy, pausing a moment. I really don't, Ben, because this is something you never would think of. No, I'm quite sure I should never guess in all the worlds, said Ben, decidedly, so let us have it. Grandpa Pa has promised to give us a surprise party, announced Fransy with careful scrutiny to see the effect of her news. A surprise party? Goodness me, exploded Ben, what do you mean, Fransy? A surprise party to go and see Jasper, and we are to start tomorrow, now, Ben. And Fransy, her news all out, beamed up into his face. Oh, so it's Jasper's surprise party, cried Ben. Yes, and it's ours too, because you see, we didn't any of us think Grandpa Pa was going to do it, said Fransy. Well, it's my surprise party too, said Ben lugeriously, for I'm astonished. And beside, I'm left out in the cold. Oh, Ben, can't you go? cried Fransy, her face falling instantly. No pet, wait till you get to be a businessman, and you'll see that surprise parties can't be indulged in very often. Won't Mr. Cabot let you go? asked Fransy with an anxious stoop of the head. Oh, I think he will, truly I do. I shan't ask him, said Ben, I'm sure of that. But Grandpa Pa will, said Fransy, her face changing. No, no pet, you mustn't say anything about that. I'd rather stick to the business. There, come on, they're wild, I suppose, upstairs to tell the news. Just then, someone called Fransy. Oh dear, she sighed involuntarily, as Ben sped over the stairs without her. I thought you were never coming home, Ben, said Polly, meeting him in the upper hall. Oh, we've such a fine thing to tell you. I'm going to guess, said Ben wisely. Oh, you never can, declared Polly. Never in all this world, don't try. Can't I though, give me a chance. You were to have a surprise party and go to see Jasper there. How did you guess? cried Polly in wide-eyed astonishment. Ben burst into a hearty laugh. Well, I met Fransy, if you must know. Of course, laughed Polly. How stupid of me. Well, was ever anything so fine in all this world? And she danced down the hall and came back, flushed and panting. And Grandpa Pa has written to tell Mr. Cabot how it is, and to ask for a day or two off for you, she said with a little pat on his back. Oh, Polly, exclaimed Ben and dismay. Grandpa Pa shouldn't. I mean, I ought not to go. I'd really rather not. Well, Grandpa Pa says that you are working too hard, Benzy, and it's quite true. Polly gave him another pat, this time a motherly one. And so you are going. But Ben shook his head. And we start tomorrow, ran on Polly, and Jasper doesn't know a word about our coming, and we are going to stay at the hotel two or three days. And here Fransy ran eagerly up the stairs. And it's going to be lovely and not rain any of the time, and we are to take Jasper a box full of everything, she announced in great excitement. We began to pack it the very minute that Grandpa Pa told us we were to go. That's fine. Well, I'll drop something into that box, said Ben. Of course, said Polly, in great satisfaction. And Jasper wouldn't like that to have something of Ben's in it, said Fransy. Well, now Benzy run down after dinner and asked Pickering Dodge to go, that's a good boy. Polly patted the broad back coaxingly this time. Ben's face fell. How do you know Grandpa Pa would like to have him along? He asked abruptly. As if I had asked you to invite him, cried Polly, unless Grandpa Pa had said he could go, the very idea, Ben. Well, something is the matter with Pick, confessed Ben unwillingly, and I don't want to ask him. Something the matter with Pickering, repeated Polly and dismay. Oh, Ben, is he sick? No, said Ben bluntly, but he's cross. Oh, Ben, then something very bad must have happened, said Polly, for Pickering is almost never cross. Well, I don't know what to make of him, said Ben. He's been queer for a week now more or less, and today he wouldn't speak to me, just shot off telling me to let him alone. And Ben rapidly laid before Polly the little scene of the morning in the store. Now, Ben, said Polly, when it was all over, I know really that something dreadful is the matter with Pickering, and I shall send him a note to come here tonight. He must tell us what it is, I'm going to write it now. And Polly sped off to her room, followed by Fronze. Ben went slowly down the hall to get ready for dinner. I don't know how it is, he said, but everything seems to be getting mixed up in this house and all our good, quiet time's gone. And now what can Charlotte have heard to make her want to go home? And all the time during dinner, Ben kept up a steady thinking until Polly, looking across the table, caught his eye. Don't worry, her smile said. I've sent a note to Pickering, and we'll find out what the trouble is. Ben sat straight in his chair and nodded back at her. I can't tell her now that Pick is not what I'm stewing over, he said to himself. And I can't tell her any time either, for Charlotte has heard something that makes her think Polly is bothered by her being here. I must just fuss out at myself till I straighten it out. So when Pickering dodged, with a radiant face that being sent for by Polly's own hand, ran lightly up the steps of the King mansion about an hour later, Ben hurried off to find Charlotte Chatterton. I can't come down, called Charlotte from the upper hall. I'm tired, good night. So am I tired, declared Ben, but I'm going to talk to you, Charlotte, he added decidedly. No, I don't want to talk, said Charlotte, shaking her head. Good night. Thank you, Ben, she added a bit pleasanter, but I'm not going down. Indeed you are, said Ben obstinately. I'm not going to stir from this spot. He struck his hand on the stair railing. Until you are down here, come, Charlotte. No, began Charlotte, but the next moment she was on the stairs, saying as she went slowly down, I don't want to talk, Ben, there isn't anything to say. Now that's something like, observed Ben cheerfully as she reached his side. Come in here, do Charlotte, leading the way into Mother Fisher's little sewing room. But I'm not going to talk, reiterated Charlotte following him in. You are going to talk enough so that I can know how to get this ridiculous idea out of your head, said Ben, as he closed the door on them both. Mr. Cabot hurried into his wife's room, his face lighted with great satisfaction. Well, Felicia, he said, I believe I needn't worry about that boy anymore. Who, Pickering? Asked Mrs. Cabot with the last little touch to the lace at her throat. Of course, Pickering. Well, he's in better hands than mine. Oh, I'm so glad to be rid of him. And he threw himself into an easy chair and beamed at her. What in the world do you mean, Mr. Cabot? Demanded his wife. You haven't had another fuss with Pickering. Oh, I'm quite sure he'll do well in the law if you'll only have patience a little longer. Nonsense, Felicia, said Mr. Cabot, as if I'd get him out of that office when it was such a piece of work to fasten him in there. Well, to make a long story short, he loves Polly Pepper. Think of that, Felicia. And Mr. Cabot and his joy got out of the chair and began to rush up and down the room, rubbing his hands together in glee. Oh, Mr. Cabot, Mr. Cabot, cried his wife flying after him. You don't mean to say that Pickering and Polly are betrothed. What's ever anything so lovely? Oh, never mind about dinner. I couldn't eat a mouthful. I must go right around there and get my arms around that dear girl. Tell Biggs to put the horses in at once. Stop just one moment, Felicia, for heaven's sake, cried Mr. Cabot, putting himself in front of her. That's just like a woman. I only hear the first word and off she goes. Do order the carriage. Baked Mrs. Cabot with dancing eyes. I can't wait an instant, but I must tell Polly how glad we are. Of course you'll come too, Mr. Cabot. Oh, dear, it's such blessed news. I didn't say they were engaged, began Mr. Cabot frantically. I didn't say that Polly and Pickering were engaged, repeated Mrs. Cabot. Well, what did you say, Mr. Cabot? I said he loved her, said Mr. Cabot. Oh, Felicia, it's the making of the boy, he added jubilantly. Mrs. Cabot sank into her husband's deserted chair, unable to find a word. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of Five Little Peppers Grown Up. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney. Chapter 12. Polly tries to do what is right. Oh, Pickering! Polly actually ran into the drawing room without stretched hands. Why did Jenks put you in here? I asked to come in here, said Pickering. I don't want to see a lot of people tonight. I only want you, Polly. But Mansy could help you. She'd know the right thing to say to you, said Polly. No, no, cried Pickering in alarm and edging off into a corner. Do sit down, Polly. I want to talk to you. So Polly sat down, her eyes fastened on his face and wishing all the while that Mansy would come in. I don't wonder you think I'm in a bad way, began Pickering nervously. It was awfully good in you to send for me, Polly, awfully. Well, I couldn't help it, said Polly. You know it's just like having one of the boys in trouble to have you worried, Pickering. Yes, yes, said Pickering. I know. Well, I want to tell you something, began Polly radiantly, thinking it better to cheer him up a bit with her news before getting at the root of his trouble. Do you know that Grandpa Pa is going to take us all tomorrow to see Jasper? It's to be a surprise party. Ah, said Pickering, all his gladness gone. Yes, and Grandpa Pa wants you to go with us, Pickering. Polly went on. Oh dear me, I can't, can't possibly, exclaimed Pickering in a tone of horror. Don't ask me, Polly, anything but that. Oh yes, you can, laughed Polly, determined to get him out of his strange mood. Why, Pickering, we don't want to go without you. We would spoil all our fun. Well, I can't go, cried Pickering, in an agony at being misunderstood. I do anything in the world, you ask Polly, but not that. Why not, you ridiculous boy, asked Polly, quite as if it were Joel who was before her? Because Jasper and I don't speak to each other, Pickering bolted out. We had a fight. Polly sprang to her feet. What do you say? She cried. It's beastly I know, declared Pickering, his face aflame. But Polly, if you knew, I really couldn't help it. Jasper was, don't tell me that it was any of Jasper's doings, cried Polly vehemently, clasping her hands tightly together, so afraid she might say something to make the matter worse. I know, Pickering, it was quite your own fault if you won't speak. Oh, Polly, exclaimed Pickering, the hot blood all over his face. Don't say that, please don't. I must, because I know it is the truth, said Polly uncompromisingly. If it isn't, why then come with us tomorrow, Pickering, and her brow cleared. I can't, Polly, I can't possibly, cried Pickering in distress, ask me anything but that, and I'll do it. This is the only thing that you ought to do, said Polly coldly. Oh, Pickering, suppose that anything should happen so that you never could speak, she added reproachfully. I'm sure I don't want to speak to a man when I've broken friendship with him, said Pickering solemnly. What is there to talk about, I'd like to know. If you've broken friendship with Jasper, I'm quite sure it is your own fault, hotly declared Polly again. Jasper never turned away from a friend in his life. And Polly broke off suddenly, and walked down the long room. I gasped to find how angry she was at each step. Don't you turn away from me, Polly? Begged Pickering in such a piteous tone that Polly felt little twinges of remorse, and in a minute she was by his side again. I didn't mean to be crossed, she said quickly, but you mustn't say such things, Pickering. I must tell you the truth, said Pickering doggedly, and that is that I've broken friendship with Jasper, and I can't speak to him. Pickering, said Polly, whirling abruptly to get a good look at his face. You must speak to Jasper, and she drew a long breath. I tell you I can't, said Pickering, his face paneling with the effort to control himself. Then, said Polly very deliberately, yet with a glow of determination, you can't speak to me. So good night, Pickering, and she ran out of the room. Pickering stared after her a moment in a dazed way, then picked up his hat and darted out of the house, shutting the door hard behind him. Polly, hurrying over the stairs to her own room, kept saying to herself over and over, oh, how could I have said that? How could I when I want to help him? And now I've made everything worse. Polly, called Mrs. Fisher as Polly sped by her door, you are going to take the noon train, you know, tomorrow, Mr. King says, so you can pack in the morning easily. I'm not going, Mamsey, that is. I hope you're not any of us going, said Polly incoherently, as she tried to hurry by. Not going? Polly, child, what do you mean, cried Mrs. Fisher aghast. Oh, Mamsey, don't ask me. Begged Polly, having hard work to keep the tears back. Do forgive me, but need I tell? And Polly stopped and clung to the knob of the door. No, Polly, if you cannot tell mother your trouble willingly, I will not ask it, child. And Mrs. Fisher turned off and began to busy herself over her work. Polly, quite broken down by this, deserted her door knob and rushed into the bedroom. Oh, Mamsey, it's about, about other people, and I didn't know as I ought to tell, need I? Cried Polly imploringly, seizing her mother's gown just as Fronzie would. No more had you a right to tell Polly, said her mother, if that is the case. And she turned a cheerful face toward her. I can trust my girl that she won't keep anything that is her own away from me. They are there. And she smoothed Polly's brown hair with her hand. How I used to be always telling you to brush your hair, and now how nice it looks, Polly, she added approvingly. It's the same fly away hair now, said Polly, throwing back her rebellious locks with an impatient toss of the head. Oh, how I do wish I had smooth hair like Charlotte's. Fly away hair when it's taken care of as it ought to be, observed Mrs. Fisher, is one thing. And when it's all sixes and sevens, because a girl doesn't have time to brush it is another. Your hair is all right now, Polly. There go, child. And she dismissed her with a final loving pat. I can trust you. And when your worry gets too big for you, why bring it to mother? So Polly, up in her own room at last, crept into a corner, and there went over every word bitterly lamenting what she had done. At last, she could endure it no longer, and she sprang up. I'll write a note to Pickering and say I am sorry. She cried to herself. Maybe Ben will take it to him. Oh dear, I forgot Ben is vexed with him, but perhaps he will leave it at the door. Anyway, I'll ask him. So Polly scribbled down hastily. Dear Pickering, I am so sorry I said those words to you. I don't see how I came to. Do forget them and forgive. Polly. Ben, Ben! Polly ran over the stairs, nervously twirling little note. Oh dear me, where are you, Ben? Here, called Ben in Mamzy's sewing room. Oh, I beg your pardon, exclaimed Polly, throwing wide the door on the day to day that Ben was having with Charlotte. Come in, Polly, cried Ben, his blue eyes glowing with welcome. That's all right, you don't interrupt us. Charlotte and I were having a bit of a talk, but we're through. Now, what's the matter? With a good look at Polly's face. Oh, Ben, if you could, began Polly fearfully. It's only this, waving the note with trembling fingers. Now, do say you will take this note to Pickering Dodge. I thought you sent him a note before dinner, said Ben in surprise. So I did, and he came, said Polly, her head drooping in a shame-faced way, and I was crossed to him. Oh, Polly, you crossed to him, exclaimed Ben, as if I believed that, while Charlotte stared at her with wide eyes. I truly was, confessed Polly. There, don't stop Ben to talk about it, please. But do take this note, thrusting it at him. But Ben shook his head. I thought I told you, Polly, that Pick don't want to speak to me. How in the world can I go at him? At this, Charlotte stared worse than ever. You needn't go in the house, said Polly. Just leave it at the door. Ah, do, Ben. She went up to him, encocely patted his cheek. All right, as long as you don't want me to bore him, said Ben, slowly getting out of his chair. Here, give us your note, Polly. Of course you'll make me do as you say. Here, just as splendid as you could be, cried Polly joyfully. They are now, Benzie, pushing the note into his hand. Do hurry, that's a good boy. And in a quarter of an hour, Ben rushed in, meeting Polly in the hall, his face aglow and eyes shining. Here, Polly, catch it, tossing her a note. That's from Pick. Why did you see him? Asked Polly in amazement. Yes, couldn't help it. He was rushing out at the door like a whirlwind, and we came together on the steps, said Ben, with a burst of laughter at the remembrance. And we spoke before we meant to. Couldn't help it, you know, just ran into each other. And he read your note, and then he flew into the house and was gone a minute or two and came back, mumbling it was all his fault, and he'd written that you'd understand, or something of that sort. And he gave me this note to carry back. And I guess Pick is all right, Polly. Ben drew a long breath of relief after he got through. He was so unaccustomed to long speeches. Polly tore open her note and stooped to read it by the dancing flames of the hall fire. To show that I forgive you, Polly, I'll go tomorrow with you all to see Jasper. Pickering. Won't Jasper be surprised? Bronzy kept exclaiming over and over, when they were once fairly in the cars, much to old Mr. King's delight, who never tired of congratulating himself on planning the outing. Grandpapa, dear, I do think it was oh so lovely in you to take us all. Well, Jasper has been working hard lately, said the old gentleman, and it will be no end of good to him, even if it doesn't agree with you, my pet, pinching Bronzy's ear. Hope it does agree with me, said Bronzy, in great satisfaction, very much indeed, Grandpapa. So it seems, said the old gentleman. Well, now, Bronzy, glancing around at the rest of his party, everything is moving on well, and I believe I'll take a bit of a nap. That is, if that youngster, with a nod toward the end of the car, will allow me to. I don't believe that baby will cry anymore, said Bronzy, with a hopeful glance, where the disturbing sounds came. He can't, Grandpapa, he's cried so much. Now do lean your head back, I'm going to put this rug under it. And Bronzy began to pull out a traveling blanket from the roll. Polly, across the car aisle, laid down her book and clambered out of her seat. Let me take baby, she said, coming up unsteadily to the pale little woman, who was endeavoring to pacify a stout, red-cheeked boy a year old, just beginning on a fresh series of roars. An old gentleman in the seat back laid down the paper he had been trying to read, to see the fresh attempts on the small disturber. He'll tire you out, Miss, said the pale little woman deprecatingly. There, there, Johnny, do be still, with an uneasy pull at Johnny's red skirt. Indeed he won't, laughed Polly merrily. Hearing this, Johnny stopped beating the window in the vain effort to get out, and deliberately looked Polly over. I like babies, added Polly, and if you'll let me to the little mother, I'm going to play with this one. And without waiting for an answer, she sat down in the end of the seat and held out her hands alluringly to Johnny. Young lady, there are babies and babies, observed the old gentleman solemnly, and leaning over the back of the seat, he regarded Polly over his spectacles with pitying eyes, and I'd advise you to have nothing to do with this particular one. But Johnny was already scrambling all over Polly's traveling gown, and she was laughing at him. And presently the pale little woman was stretched comfortably on the opposite seat, her eyes closed restfully. Well done, cried the old gentleman. I'll read my paper while the columns fell last, as the train rumbled on. The sound only broken by Johnny's delighted little gurgles, as Polly played Rabbit and Fox for his delectation. Franzi looked down the intervening space, and he'd decide at Polly's employment. Don't worry, I like it, telegraphed Polly, nodding away to her. So Franzi turned again to her watch, lest Grandpa Paz's head should slip from the blanket pillow in a sudden lurch of the cars. I'd help her if I knew how. Charlotte, several seats off, grown to herself, but that lump of a baby would only roar at me. Dear, dear, am I never to be any good to Polly? She leaned her troubled face against the window side, her chin resting on her hand, and gave herself up to the old thoughts. What did Ben say? She cried suddenly, flying away from the window so abruptly that she involuntarily glanced around to be quite sure that none of her fellow passengers were laughing at her. You may be sure, Charlotte, if you keep on the lookout, there will a time come for you to help Polly. That's what he said, and I'll hold fast to it. On and on the train rumbled. The little mother woke up with a new light in her eyes and a pink color on her cheeks. I haven't had such sleep in weeks, she said gratefully, then she leaned forward. I'll take Johnny now, she said. You must be so tired. But Johnny rode out, no, and beat her off with small fists and feet. He's going to sleep, said Polly, looking down at him snuggled up tightly within her arm, his heavy eyelids slowly drooping. Then I'll put him down on the seat and tuck him up for a good long nap. At the word sleep, Johnny screamed out, no, no, and thrust his fat knuckles into his eyes while he tried to sit up straight in Polly's lap. There they are, cried Polly, soothingly. Now fly back, little bird, into your nest. Johnny showed all the small white teeth he possessed in a gleeful laugh and burrowed deeper than before within the kind arms he tried to play bo-peep with her. You see, said Polly to the little mother's worried look, he'll soon be off in Notland, she added softly. I've never had anyone be so good to me, said Johnny's mother, brokenly, as you miss. Is Johnny your only little boy? Asked Polly to stop the flow of gratitude. Yes, miss, I've buried four children. Oh, exclaimed Polly, quite hushed. The little mother wiped away the tears from her eyes and looked out of the window, subtly fixing her gaze on the distant landscape, and the train sped on. But the worst is the father is gone. She turned again to Polly, then glanced down at her black dress. Johnny and me have no one now. Don't try to tell me, cried Polly involuntarily, if it pains you. She would have taken the thin hand in hers, but Johnny's uneasy breathing showed him still contesting every inch of progress the children's sandman was making toward him, and she didn't dare to move. It does me good, said the little woman. Somehow I must tell you, miss. And now I'm going to Fall River. Somebody told me I'd get work there in the print mills. You see, I haven't any father nor mother nor anybody belonging to Johnny's father nor me. Are you sure of getting work when you reach Fall River? Asked Polly, feeling all the thrill of a great lonely world for two such little helpless beings to be cast adrift in it. Noam, said the little woman. But it's a big mill, they say, and has to have lots of women in it, and there must be a place for me. I do think that times are going to be good now for Johnny and me. And a crash like that when the lightning begins on deadly work, a surging, helpless tossing from side to side when the hands strike blindly out on either side for something to cling to, a sudden fall, down, down to unknown depths, a confused medley of shouts and one long, shuddering scream. Oh, what, began Polly holding to Johnny through it all. And then she knew no more. End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of Five Little Peppers Grown Up. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney. Chapter 13. The Accident. A roaring sound close to her ear made Polly start and open her eyes. Johnny's fat arms were clutched around her neck so tightly she could scarcely breathe while he was screaming as hard as he could. It's a matter, cried Polly, finishing her sentence. A pair of strong arms were lifting her up and pulling her from beneath something she could not tell what that was lying heavily over her while Johnny rolled off like a ball. Oh, Ben! cried Polly gratefully as the arms carried her off. And then she saw the face above her. Why, Pickering? Are you hurt anywhere, gasped Pickering, speaking the words with difficulty? What is it, cried Polly in a dazed way? There's been an accident, said Pickering. Oh, Polly, say you're not hurt, as he said her carefully down. An accident, exclaimed Polly, and she sprang to her feet and glanced wildly around. Pickering, where? Where? She couldn't ask. Our Fronzie and Ben and Grandpa Pa. But Pickering cried at once. All right, every single one. Here comes Fronzie and Ben, too. And Fronzie running up with streaming hair and white cheeks through glad arms around her neck. Oh, Polly, are you hurt? And Ben seized her, but at that she winced, and her left arm fell heavily to her side. Where's Baby? Cried Polly, trying to cover up the expression of pain. Do somebody look after him? Charlotte has him, said Fronzie, looking off to a grassy bank by the railroad track, where Charlotte Chatterton sat with Johnny in her lap. Polly followed the glance then, off to the broken car, one end of which lay in ruins across the rails, and to the crowds of people running to the scene, in the midst of which was the fearful hush that proclaimed death. Oh, do come and help, called Polly. And before they knew it, she was dashing off and running over the grass up to the track. There was a woman, Johnny's mother. She cried, pushing her way into the crowd. Fronzie and Ben and Pickering close behind, in the seat opposite me. Two or three men were picking up a still figure they had just pried out from the ruins of the car, and dropped helplessly on its side, just as it fell when the fatal blow came. Let me see her, said Polly hoarsely. They turned the face obediently. There was a long, terrible gash on the forehead that showed death to have come instantly to Johnny's mother, and that good times had already begun for her, and her weary feet were safely at rest in the heavenly home. Polly drew a long breath, and Ben suddenly dropped a kiss on the peaceful cheek. Then she drew out her handkerchief and softly laid it over the dead face. Take her to that farmhouse. She pointed to a large white house off in the fields. I will go there, but I must help here first. Yes, Miss, said the men obediently, moving off with their burden. Polly, Polly, come away, begged Pickering in Ben. Grandpa Pa is sitting on the bank over there. Pointed Fonzie with a beseeching finger. Oh, do go to him, Polly. I'll stay and help the poor people. And no one was hurt, said Ben quickly. Only in this end of the car, see Polly, everybody is out. Pointing past the crowd into the car to the vacant seats. There was an old gentleman in this seat back of me, cried Polly in distress. Hasn't anyone seen him? Running up and down the track. An old gentleman with a black velvet cap amidst chouts of Keep out! The car is taking fire. Don't go near it. A little tongue of flame shooting from one of the windows at the further end of the car proclaimed this fact without the words. Has no one seen him? Called Polly, in a voice so clear and piercing that it rose above the babble of the crowd, and the groans of one or two injured people drawn out from the ruin and lying on the bank, waiting the surgeon's arrival. Then he must be in the car! Oh, Ben, come! We must get him out! And she sprang back toward the broken car end. Keep back, Polly, commanded Ben. I shall go, cried Pickering Dodge. But Polly ran too, and clambered with them over the crushed car seats and window frames of the ruin. He's not here, cried Ben, while the hot flames seemed to be sweeping with cruel haste down to catch them. Look! Oh, he must be! Cried Polly, while they peering into the ruin. Oh, Ben, I see a hand! But a rough grasp on her shoulder ceased her as the words left her mouth. Come out of here, missor, you'll be killed! And Polly was being borne off by rescuers who had seen her rush with the two young men in amongst the ruin. I tell you, cried Polly, struggling to get free. There is an old gentleman buried in there! I saw his hand! Everybody is out, miss! And they carried her off. But Ben and Pickering were already in a race with the flames for the possession of the old gentleman, whose body after the car seat was removed could plainly be seen. There's the axe! Cried Ben hoarsely pointing to it where it had fallen near to Pickering. Pickering measured the approach to the flames with a careful eye. He's probably dead, he said to Ben, shall we? Hand the axe! Cried Ben. Already the car was at a stifling heat and the roar of the flames grew perilously near. Would no one come to help them? Must they die like animals in a trap? While the work was to be done. Two, three, ringing blows breaking away a heavy beam, quick agile pulling up at the broken window frame and in the very teeth of the flames, young arms bore out the old body. A great shout burst from the crowd as they staggered forth with their burden. Pickering had only strength to look around for Polly before he dropped on the grass. And when he looked up, the tears were raining on his face. Oh, Pickering cried Polly, now there isn't anything more to long for. You are all right! Pickering lifted his head feebly and glanced around. The walls of the spare room at the farmhouse, gay and large flowered paper, met his eyes. Why, where am I? He began. At good farmer Higby, said Polly, and then he saw that her arm was in a sling. That's nothing, she finished, meaning his luck. It's all fixed as good as can be and has nothing to do but get well, has it, Ben? Ben popped up his head from the depths of the easy chair where he had crouched, afraid lest Pickering should revive and see him too suddenly. How are you, old fellow? He now cried, advancing toward the bed. There, don't try to speak, hurriedly. Everything's all right. Wait till you are better. How long have I been here? asked Pickering, looking at Polly's arm. Only a day, said Polly, and now you must have something to eat. Starting toward the door, I couldn't eat a mouthful, said Pickering, shutting his mouth and turning on the pillow. Indeed you will, declared Polly, hurrying on. The doctor said, as soon as you could talk, you must have something to eat, and I shall tell Mrs. Higby to bring it up. So she disappeared. Goodness me, have I had the doctor? asked Pickering, turning back to look after her. Yes, said Ben. Then he tried to turn the conversation. But Pickering broke in. Did Polly break her arm at the first, he asked, holding his breath for the answer. Yes, said Ben. Don't talk about it, with a gasp. Polly says that she's so glad it isn't her right arm, he added, with an attempt at cheerfulness. And the doctor promises it will be all right soon. It's lucky there's a good one here. Pickering groaned. It's a pity I wasn't in the old fellow's place, Ben, he said, for I've got to tell Polly how I wanted to leave him, and I'd rather die than see her face. See here, cried Ben. If you say one word to Polly about it, I'll pitch you out of the window, sick as you are. Pitch ahead, then, said Pickering, for I shall tell Polly. Not today, anyway. Now promise, said Ben resolutely. Well, but I shall tell her sometimes, said Pickering. I'd rather she knew it, but I wish we could have saved him. He's in the other room, said Ben, suddenly. Poor old thing to die like that. Die, he's as well as a fish, said Ben, sitting up in an easy chair, and to my certain knowledge, eating dried herrings and cheese at this very minute. He's eating dried herrings and cheese? repeated Pickering, nearly skipping out of bed. Why, wasn't he dead when we brought him out? No, only stunned. There, do get back, said Ben, pushing Pickering well under the blankets again. The doctor says on no account are you to get up until he came. Do keep still. He'll be here presently, with a glance at Mrs. Higbee's chimney clock. The doctor, who cares for him, cried Pickering. Nevertheless, he scrambled back again, and allowed Ben to tuck him in tightly. And presently in came Polly, and after her, a bright, apple-cheeked woman bearing a tray, on which steamed a bowl of gruel. And in less time than it takes to tell it, Pickering was bolstered up against his pillows, and obediently opening his mouth at the right times to admit of the spoonfuls Polly held out to him. And frowns he came in and perched on the foot of the fore-poster, gravely watching at all. And old Mr. King followed, drawing up the easy chair to the bedside where he could oversee the whole thing. And before it was over, the door opened, and a young man with a professional air looked in and said in great satisfaction, That's good, coming up to the bed and putting out his hand to Pickering. Here is the doctor, cried old Mr. King with a flourish of his palm. Well, Dr. Bryce, your patient is doing pretty well, I think. I should say so, answered the doctor with a keen glance at Pickering. Oh, he's all right. How is the arm? To Polly. That is all right, too, said Polly cheerfully, and trying to talk of something else. Let me feed Pickering, do, begged Franzi slipping from the bed while Dr. looks at your arm, Polly. I can wait, said the doctor, moving down to the foot of the fore-poster where he stood looking at the feeding process. And I can go in and see Mr. Lockhead, meanwhile. Pickering dodged the spoon nearly in his mouth. Who? He cried. Dear me! cried Polly, trying to save the gruel drops from falling on Mrs. Higby's crazy quilt. How you frightened me, Pickering? Who did he say? Demanded Pickering as Dr. Bryce went out. Pickering said Polly with shining eyes. Who do you think you and Ben saved so bravely? Jack Lockhead's uncle, who has just got here from Australia, and he's—Pickering gave a groan and turned on his pillow. Don't give me any more Polly, he said, putting up his hand. Polly set the spoon in the gruel bowl with a disappointed air. Never mind, said the young doctor, coming back again. He's eaten enough. Now, may I see your arm? He turned to Polly gently. We must go in the other room for that, with a nod at Pickering. A thrill went over Franzi, which she tried her best to conceal, and she turned quite pale. Polly smiled at her as she went over to the door, followed by the doctor, old Mr. King and Ben. Pickering dodged, clenched his hand under the bedclothes and looked after them, then steadfastly gazed at the large flowers blooming with reckless abandon up and down over the dark green wallpaper. Franzi, said Polly, hearing her footsteps joining the others out in the hall, will you go in and see how Charlotte is getting on with Johnny? Do dear! She whispered in Franzi's ear as she gained her side. I'd rather stay with you, Polly, said Franzi wistfully, and hold your other hand. But I do so want you to help Charlotte, said Polly beseechingly. Will you, Franzi? And she said a kiss on Franzi's pale cheek. I will, Polly, said Franzi with a sigh, but she looked back as she went slowly along to the opposite end of the hall. Please don't hurt Polly, she said imploringly to the doctor. I won't, little girl, he replied, any more than I can help. Good-bye! called Polly cheerfully, and she threw her a kiss with her right hand. Mrs. Farmer Higby stood on her flat doorstone shading her eyes with her hand. It seems as if I shan't ever get over the shock, she said to herself, looking off to the railroad track shining in the morning sunlight, to look up from my sewing and see—Lond was the first time I ever sat down to that rag rug since I had to drop it and run over and take care of Simon when they brought me word he was most cut to pieces in the mowing machine. My senses, I'm afraid, to finish the thing. The frightened look in her eyes began to deepen, and she shook as if the chill of a winter day were upon her instead of the soft air of a mild morning in spring. I want to get out in the woods and holler, she declared. As if then I'd feel better—to look up expecting to see the cars coming along real lively and pleasant just as they always do so sociable like when I'm sewing, and then, oh, dear me! she wrung her fat hands together. There all of a sudden were two of them bumping together, one and smashed into kindling wood and tether and sticking up straight in the air. Oh, my senses! I don't wonder! I thought I was going crazy, and then I let the rug fly and jumped into the middle of the floor till I heard the screaming, and I run to help, and there was that poor soul they were bringing here, and she is dead as a stone. Oh, dear, dear! Mrs. Higby turned away so that she could not see the shining railroad track, and looked off over the meadow while a happier expression came over her features. I'm awful tickled this house is big, she said, with a good degree of comfort, so as Jotham and me could take them in. Now I'm glad we didn't sell last spring when Mary Ann was married and moved down to the village. Seems if Providence was in it. Gracious, see that man run in here! I hope there ain't anything else happened! And with her old flutter upon her Mrs. Higby turned to meet a young man advancing to the doorstone, with more speed than was ordinarily exhibited by the natives of Briarley. Is this Mr. Jotham Higby's house? asked the stranger, and although he was very pale and evidently troubled, he touched his hat and waited for her answer. Yes, said Mrs. Higby, what do you want? Do excuse me, all in the same breath, but I'm all upset there was an awful railroad accident along here yesterday. You haven't come to tell of anything else bad, have you? And she was sharper than ever. No, said the young man, my friends are here. You took them in so kindly. Do show me the way to them. He was quite imperative now, moving over the flat stone and into the square entry, like one accustomed to being obeyed. Which way, he asked, glancing up the stairs. Oh, my, exclaimed Mrs. Higby. Excuse me, said the rooms upstairs, nodding like a mandarin in the direction named. Any of them, all of them. They've got them all. You can't make a mess. The young man was already opening the door of the room where Dr. Bryce was examining Polly's arm, old Mr. King and Ben looking on anxiously. Polly saw him first. Oh, Jasper, she cried with a sudden start. Take care, exclaimed Dr. Bryce, looking off from the bandages he was nicely adjusting to bestow a keen glance on Jasper. Jasper gave one hand to his father in passing, but went straight to Polly's side and laid his other hand on her shoulder. It's all right, Jasper, said Polly, seeing he couldn't speak. Doctor says my arm is doing beautifully. Well, well, said old Mr. King, trying to speak cheerfully, but only succeeding in a nervous effort. This isn't just the most successful way to give you a surprise party, Jasper, but it's the best we can do. And we had to send you a telegram for fear you'd see it in the papers. So you thought you'd come on and see for yourself, eh? As Jasper showed no inclination to talk. Yes, said Jasper, still confining himself to monosyllables. And that's the sensible thing to do, said Ben, with a grateful look at Jasper, than to wait till we are able to move on, Pickering and all. Is Pickering Dodge with you? exclaimed Jasper quickly. Polly turned in her chair and looked into his eyes. Yes, Pickering came with us expressly to see you, Jasper. Then without waiting for an answer, he is in the next room, do go and see him. Very well, said Jasper. I'll be back in a moment or two, father, going out. Pickering Dodge still lay gazing at the sprawling flowers on the wall and doing his best not to count them. The door opened suddenly. Well, well, old fellow. Jasper came up to the bedside with the air of one who had been in the habit of running in every little while. It's good to see you again, Pick, he added affectionately, laying his hand, that good right hand, on the nervous one playing with the cover lids. Of course you couldn't do what I asked Jasper no one could, said Pickering, rolling over to look at him. And I was a fool to ask it. But I might have been kinder, said Jasper, compressing his lips. Forget that, Pick. Don't say any more, said Pickering, his face fleshing. And I know it's all up with me anyway, Jasper. And he turned pale again. We pulled an old fellow out of the wreck, at least bend at the most of it, Polly wanted us to. And who do you suppose he is? Why, Jack Lockhead's uncle. Of course he'll be here soon, and it's easy to see the end. At that, Pickering bolted up in bed to a sitting position and clutched at the collar of his morning jacket with savage fingers. Don't, Pick, begged Jasper in an unsteady voice. I'm going to get up, declared Pickering deliberately. Clear out, Jasper, with a forbidding gesture, or I'll pitch in to you. You'll lie down, said Jasper decidedly. There, get in again, with a gentle push on Pickering's long legs. Aren't you ashamed of yourself, though, to act like this? Trying to speak playfully. Pickering scrambled back into bed, fuming every instant. To lie like a log here while that fellow dashes around carrying everything before him, it's abominable and atrocious. Let me out, I say. And he dashed toward the edge of the bed, nearly knocking Jasper over. Hold on there, cried Jasper, pinning down the clothes with a form hand. Don't you see, while Pickering struggled to toss them back, take care you'll tear this quilt. That I'll help you onto your feet, all in good time. And if you behave yourself, you'll be around in a match for any jacklock head under the heavens. There now will you be still. Send that dunce of a doctor to me as soon as you can, said Pickering, rolling back suddenly once more into the hollow made in the center of the foreposter. Dear me, he's sweet on Polly, too. He groaned under the clothes. Whew, exclaimed Jasper, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. I won't agree to hold you in bed again, Pick. I'll send the doctor, he added, going out. But see that you don't lose your head while I'm gone. I'll promise nothing, said Pickering softly to himself the moment the door closed and slipping neatly out of bed he took toed over and turned the key in the lock. There, snapping his fingers in the air, as if I'd have that idiot of a doctor around me. Then he proceeded to dress himself very rapidly but with painstaking care. I'm all right. And he gave himself a final shake. That doctor would have made a fool of me and kept me in bed like enough for a week, and with that jacklock head here. He gave a swift glance into the cracked-looking glass hanging over the high shelf, and with another pull at his necktie end, unlocked the door and went out. Hello. Oh, big pardon. A long figure that had just scaled the stairs came suddenly up against Pickering, stalking along the narrow hall. How do you do, said Pickering quite jauntly and extending the tips of his fingers. Just got here, I take it, lockhead. Yes, returned jacklock head. Pickering was made no more steady in his mind, nor on his feet by seeing the other's evident uneasiness. But he covered it up by a careless, well, I suppose you've come to look up your uncle, hey? Yes. Oh, yes, said jack. Of course, my uncle. Well, were any of the others hurt? Yes, one woman was killed. Pickering could not trust himself to mention Polly's broken arm yet. Jacklock head's face carried the proper amount of sympathy. No one of your party was hurt, I believe, he said quickly. Oh, look us over and see for yourself, said Pickering, beginning to feel faintish and as if he would like to sit down. And then the door at the end of the hall was opened, and out came all the others, and the doctor, who was saying, I'll just step in and look at the young man, though he's doing well enough. Oh, my gracious. Thank you, I am doing well, said Pickering, with his best society manner on and extending his hand. Much obliged, I'm sure. What I should have done without you, I don't know, of course. Send in your bill, and I shall be only too happy to make it all right. Jacklock head rushed up to Polly. No one told me his your arm. He couldn't say broken, being quite beyond control of himself. How are you, Mr. Lockhead, said old Mr. King, rather stiffly at being overlooked and putting out his courtly old hand. Oh, big pardon. Jack mumbled something about being an awkward fellow at the best and extended a shaking hand. You are anxious to see your uncle, of course, continued the old gentleman, leading off down the hall. This way, Mr. Lockhead. Of course, yes, indeed, stammered Jacklock head, having nothing to do but to follow. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of Five Little Peppers Grown Up. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney. Chapter 14. Joel. Joel threw down his books in an uneasy way. I must give it up. There's no other way, he exclaimed. Hello, Joe. You here, cried Joel, whirling in surprise. Come out of your hole, Dave, peering into the niche between the bookshelves and the bed. What are you prowling in there for? Oh, my cuff button rolled in here somewhere, said David, emerging crab-wise and lifting a red face. Give us a hand, Joe, and help pull out the bed. Plague on this room for being such a box, there, with an impatient shove. Joel burst into a fit of laughter and then stared. It was such an unusual thing to see a frown on David's placid face. Let's come over you anyway. Stand out of the way. I'll have this bed over there in a jiffy. Rolling it into the center of the small room as he spoke. David sprang to one side lightly. Woo, what a dust you kick up, he cried, stamping his clothes gingerly. So you're in your best tawgrey, exclaimed Joel, standing straight, his labors over the bed being completed. Yes, I'm going to the parrots for dinner, said David, hurrying off for the whisper room to remove the last speck of dust from his dress suit. Of course you've forgotten it, Joe, though I don't suppose you'd go anyway. No, I wouldn't go anyway, said Joel, tossing back his black ox from his forehead. You forget, David, it's the association night. David let another little frown settle on his face. No, I didn't forget that, Joe, but I do wish you'd think it possible to take a Thursday evening off once in a while for the sake of your friends if for no other reason. Well, I can't, said Joel, getting down on all fours to hump for the button, so don't let's go over old arguments. Where in time is that thing? Oh, and he came up bright and shining to his feet, holding the button between his thumb and finger. My compliments to you, presenting it to David. There, stick it in before it gets lost again and hurry off, you look pretty as a pink. Stop your nonsense, Joe, cried David sharply, who hated being reminded of his girlish beauty. Well, I'll make the usual excuses for you, goodbye. And not forgetting to pick up his walking stick with his hat, he ran off on his way to the forest for the button-ear that must go on before he presented himself at the parrot's dinner party. Joe shoved back the bed into position with one long thrust that would have been a godsend to a lagging boat crew, then dashed to the table and sat down, doggedly throwing open the first book that came to hand. I'd rather chop wood, he exclaimed in the old way, leaning his head on his hands. Who weren't those good days though in the little brown house when we had all outdoors to work in? He dropped his arms to pinch the muscles of one with his other fingers. Isn't that beautiful, he said affectionately? Then he swung them over his head, tilting his chair back restfully. What did Mamsey say he cried bringing the chair down with a remorseful thud? I'd worked myself to skin and bone but I'd go through credibly. Here goes. And by the time that David was handing in Miss Lulu Parrot to dinner, Joe clapped together his last book through on his hat and rushed out to a hasty supper at Commons en route to the Christian Association meeting. Little Perkins ran up to him at the close of the meeting. Stop a bit, Pepper, do, he begged. Johnson's gone back to his cups and we can't do anything with him. A cloud fell over Joe's face. Where is he, he asked. Oh, in the little room back. He won't show his face here and yet he can't keep away, he says. You must get your hand on him, Pepper. And Little Perkins hurried off. Joe dashed into the little room back. How do you, Johnson, putting out his hand. Come out for a walk, do, why this room is stifling. I can't, said Johnson miserably. You don't know, Mr. Pepper, I've been drinking or you wouldn't ask me. Nonsense, but I would, though, said Joe sharply. Come out, I say, Johnson, it's enough to make you drink again to stay in such a room. Johnson, not getting out of his chair, Joe went in and laid hold of his arm. It's no use, Johnson, he said. I can't talk to you here, it's too hot and close. And I do wanna walk, so let's have it together. They're buttoned up your coat, as they were well out in the hall and Johnson flung his hat on his head with a reckless hand. As they hurried down the steps, they ran against a crowd of college boys. Johnson shrank up miserably against the stone fence and tried to look as small as possible. Glance's a recognition past and Joel spoke to right and left as the boys went by. But a few hisses, low and insistent, were all he got. Do let me go, beg Johnson, still hugging the fence. You can't save me and they hate you enough for such work. Come on, roared Joel at him and plucking him off the fence with a determined hand. It's time we went for him, said one of the college boys with a backward glance at Joel and his companion. The deacon is absolutely insulting, the idea of his speaking to us. Let's have it over tonight, said another. What do you say to the others? Where's Divina? asked another. Oh, pink and white is out dining, said the first boys. My pretty little girl is safe at the parrots. Sure? As a gun, met him with a posy in his buttonhole and sweet as a little bud himself and he told me so. All right, he'll stay away late then. The parrots always have music or a dance after their dinners. Come on. The last speaker rolled up his sleeves and boxed imaginary rounds in a scientific manner in the air. Agreed? The tall fellow who proposed it looked over the whole crew. Do you all want to have it done tonight? As they came to a standstill on the pavement. Yes, yes. Hush, that cop is looking. Move on, will you? Now, not a man of you backs out, you understand. If he does, he gets worse than the deacon will. All right. We're all such jolly good fellows. We're all such jolly good fellows. Everybody smiled who passed them singing their way downtown. It always does me good to hear those students sing. They're so happy and so affectionate toward each other, said one lady, hanging on her escort's arm. He, being a college man, said rapturously, oh, yes. Joel, back in his own room, threw himself in his easy chair, first turning down the gas. Just so much less of a bill for grandpa, our debt is rolling up fast enough without burning up the money. Dear me, if Johnson drinks after this, I shall be in despair. He threw up his long legs and rested them on the mantle, while he thrust his hands in his pockets to think the better, and knock at the door. Come in, called Joel, not looking around, till a rushing sound of feet trying to step carefully called him out of himself. Now, now! Two or three swifter than the other started for the chair, but Joel was not in it. On the other side of it, looking at them, in his hands out of his pockets, he stood, saying, what do you want? I'll come on, pepper, it's no use, said a tall fellow, wiry and agile, too many against you in this little call. Come along, and he advanced on Joel. You come along yourself, Dobbs, said Joel pleasantly, and holding up a fist that looked hard to begin with, and you'll get this, that's all. Come on, fellas. Dobbs looked back and winked to the others. Now! There was a shoulder to shoulder rush, a wild tangle of arms, followed by a wilder tangle of legs, and Joel was through the ranks, his black eyes blazing, and tossing his black hair from his forehead. Do you want some more? He cried, flirting his fists in the air, or will you leave my room? Lock the door, get up, Bingley, and stop your roaring. No, we'll give it to you now, and no mistake. If you won't come quietly, you shall someway, Deacon. These were some of the smothered cries. Now! And there was another blind rush, this time over Bingley, who didn't heed the invitation to get up. Joel, watching his chance to reach the door, had no time before they were on him, and he heard the key click in the lock. It's for Mamzy now, sure, and for Polly, he said, setting his teeth hard, on they came. But Joel, in rushing through as before, was so mindful of stepping over Bingley carefully, that it lost him an instant, and a grasp firm as iron was on his arm. The others rallied and closed around him. Unhand me, yelled Joel, beating them off, but he might as well have fought tigers, unless he could knock off with cruel aim, the one hanging to his arm. It was no time to mince matters, and Joel, only careful to avoid the face, struck a terrible blow that felled Dobbs flat. Now, will you go, roared Joel, aghast at what he had done, yet swinging his arms with deadly intent on either side? Or do you want some more? There lay two valiant fellows on the floor. The rest drew off and looked at them. You'll pay for this, Deacon, they declared under their breath. I suppose so, said Joel, still swinging his arms for practice. Probably you'll wait for me with kindly intent some dark night behind a tree, as you know I don't carry a pistol. Why don't you have it out now? Come on if you want to. But no one seemed to want to. There'll be a row over this, said one or two, consulting together, as long as those thin-skinned fellows don't get up, pointing to the floor. Just wait. Suddenly the door was unlocked and the whole crew stampeded. See here, cried Joel, bounding after them. Come back and take care of your two men. But the crew disappeared. Bingley lifted his head feebly. Just like Dobbs, he said. Get us into a scrape and then cut. I just don't say anything, said Joel, rushing frantically back. I think he's dead. Oh, Bingley, I'm sorry, I hurt you too. He was rapidly pouring water into the basin and dashing it into Dobbs' unconscious face. I must go for the doctor, he groaned. Bingley, he can't be dead. You say he isn't in a flood of remorse. Bingley managed to roll over and look at his late leader. He looks it, he said. I shouldn't think you'd be sorry, Pepper. Oh, groaned Joel, quite horror-stricken and dashing the water with a reckless hand, feeling like a murderer all the time. Bingley, could you manage to do this? At last he cried in despair. I must run for a doctor, there's not a minute to lose. I wouldn't go for any doctor, advised Bingley cautiously. See, his eyelids are moving. This row will be all over town if you do. But Joel was flying off. Come back, called Bingley. I vow he's all right. He's opened his eyes, Pepper. Joel turned, saw for himself that Dobbs was really looking at him and that his lips moved as if he wanted to say something. What is it, Dobbs cried Joel, throwing himself down on his knees by Dobbs' side? Let him alone and help me up, said Bingley crossly. I've heard a great deal more. He's tough as a boiled owl. Give us a hand, Pepper. But Joel had his ear down to Dobbs' mouth. Where are the fellows, asked Dobbs in a whisper. Gone, answered Joel briefly. Gone, and left me here like a dog, said Dobbs. Yes, said Joel. They couldn't wait, my friend, observed Bingley sarcastically, for people of such trifling consequences, you and I. The deuce, you hear Bingley? exclaimed Dobbs in his natural voice and trying to get his head up. Oh, you're coming too, are you? said Bingley carelessly. Well, Dobbs, I think you'd better get on your feet and help me out since Pepper won't. For I vow I can't stir. Oh, I'll help you, declared Joel, getting up to run over and put his hands under Bingley's arms, paling as he exclaimed. I didn't mean to hurt you so, Bingley, on my honor, I didn't. You didn't, said Bingley, wincing with the pain as Joel slowly drew into his feet. It wasn't your stinger of a blow, Pepper, but some of those dastardly cats stepped all over me. I could feel them hoofing me. There, set me in that chair and I'll draw a long breath if I can. Now I shall go for the doctor, declared Joel, settling Bingley within the easy chair and making a second dash for the door. I tell you, you will not, cried Bingley from his chair. Wait a minute till I see where I'm hurt. I'm coming out of it better than I thought. Come back, Pepper. Really? Joel drew off from the door and looked at him. Yes, go and take care of Dobbs. He was only shaming, said Bingley, leaning his head comfortably on the chair back. Dobbs already was on his feet and slowly standing quite straight. Sure you don't want any help? Asked Joel, putting out his hand. Thanks, no, said Dobbs scornfully, not looking at the hand but making for the door. Let him alone, Pepper, advised Bingley. I'm being low-lived chap like that isn't hurt. You couldn't kill him. As Joel looked out anxiously to watch Dobbs' progress along the hall, at last following him along a bit. He's in his own room, thank fortune, exclaimed Joel coming back. And I suppose I can't do any more. But oh, I do wish Bingley hadn't happened. Joel leaned his elbow on the mantel and looked down at the easy chair in its occupant. Perhaps you'd rather be lying there, said Bingley, pointing to the floor. Instead, with a flopper under your ear, like the nasty one you gave me, Pepper. I'm so sorry for that, too, cried Joel in a fresh burst of remorse. I got no more, I presume, than was good for me, said Bingley, feeling the bump under his ear. And don't you worry, Pepper, for your mind must be toned up to meet those fellows. They'll be at some neat little game to pay you up for this. You may rest assured. I suppose so, said Joel, indifferently. Well, now, are you sure I can't do anything for you, Bingley? Sure as a gun, said Bingley, decidedly. I'm getting quite limbered out, so I'll go, for I know my room is better than my company, Pepper. And he dragged himself stiffly out of his chair. Don't go, said Joel, hospitably. Stay as long as you want to, I should be glad to have you. Bingley turned a pair of bright eyes on him. Thank you, he said, but Davina will be in soon, and things will have to be explained a little, and I'm not quite up to it tonight. No, I must go, moving to the door. I don't feel like making a pretty speech, Pepper, he said, hesitating a bit, or I'd express something of what's on my mind. But I think you understand. If you want to do me a favor, said Joel steadily, you'll stop calling David Davina. It makes him fearfully mad, and I don't wonder. He's so pretty, said Bingley, with a smile and wincing at the same time. We can't help it. It's a pity to spoil that lovely name. But you must, declared Joel, growing savage. I tell you, it just ruins college life for Dave, and he's so bright and leads this class, I don't see how you can. Oh, we're awfully proud of him, said Bingley, leaning heavily on the table, of course, and trot him out behind his back for praises and all that. But when it comes to giving up that sweet name, that's another thing, he added regretfully. However, I'll do it, and make the other fellows if I can. Good for you, cried Joel gratefully. Good night, Bingley. Sure you don't want any help to your room? Sure, declared Bingley, going out unsteadily and shutting the door. Joel threw himself on his knees by the side of the easy chair, and burrowed his head deep within it. Oh, if I only had Mansy's lap to lay it in, he groaned and Mansy's hands to go over it. Joe, Joe, David flung wide the door. Where are you? he cried, Joel sprained to his feet. Here's a telegram, said David, waving a yellow sheet at him. I just met the boy bringing it up. The folks were going to see Jasper on a surprise party. Something happened to the cars, and Polly has her arm broken. But that's all, delivered David, aghast at Joel's face. Polly? Oh, not Polly, cried Joel, putting up both hands and feeling the room turn around with him. Yes, Polly, said David, don't look so Joe. He begged, feeling his own cheeks getting white. It's only broken. It can't be bad, for we are not to go. Grandpa says, see? Shaking the telegram at him. But I shall go. We both must, declared Joel passionately, beginning to rush for his hat behind the door. The idea of Polly hurt and we not to go? Come on, Dave, we can catch the midnight train. Looking at his watch. But if it makes Polly worse, said David doubtfully. Joel's hand carrying the hat to his head wavered, and he finally tossed the headgear into the nearest corner. I suppose you're right, Dave, he said helplessly and sinking into a chair. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of Five Little Peppers Grown Up. This Libber Box recording is in the public domain. Five Little Peppers Grown Up by Margaret Sidney. Chapter 15, The Farmhouse Hospital. Jack Lockhead marched into his uncle's room. Well, well, well, exclaimed the old gentleman with a prolonged look and sitting straight in his chair. So this really is you, Jack? I must say I am surprised. Surprised, echoed Jack, getting his uncle's hands in both of his. Well, uncle, I cabled Crane Brothers just as soon as I got your letter that I was coming. This is the first thing I've heard of it, said old Mr. Lockhead. Well, how did you track me here for goodness sake? Well, I saw an account of your accident in the New York paper as soon as I landed, said Jack. Oh, confound those papers, exclaimed his uncle ungratefully. Well, I came near being done for, Jack, he added. In fact, I was left in the wreck, Jack shuttered. But that little girl there, pointing toward the next room, where the talking seemed to be going unbizzily, insisted that I was buried in the smash-up so they tell me and she made them come and look for me, and none too soon I take it by all accounts. The old gentleman placently tore off two or three grapes from the bunch in the basketful, put it his elbow, and ate them leisurely. Fronze is a good child, said Jack Lockhead with feeling, and an observing one, too. Fronze, who's talking of Fronze, cried his uncle, pushing back the fruit basket. It was the other one, Polly. She wouldn't let them give over till they pulled me out. So the two young men tell me, very well-meaning chaps, too, they are, Jack. You said it was a little girl, Jack managed to remark. Well, and so she is, said old Mr. Lockhead obstinately, and a nice little thing, too, I should say. Miss Pepper is twenty years old, said his nephew suddenly. Then he was sorry he had spoken. Monsons, not a day over fifteen, contradicted the old gentleman flatly, and I must say, Jack, you've been pretty expert considering the time spent in this house in taking the census. Oh, I knew her before, said Jack, angry to find himself stammering over what ought to be a simple account enough. Ahem, ahem, exclaimed the old gentleman, bestowing a keen scrutiny on his nephew. Well, never mind, he said at last. Now, let's to business. Are you strong enough, asked Jack, in duty bound, yet longing to get the talk into safe business channels? Strong enough, repeated the old gentleman and the dudgeon. I'm really better than I was before the shake-up. I'm going home tomorrow, I'd have you to know, Jack. You would better not move too soon, said his nephew involuntarily. Then he had it hastily, at least take the doctor's advice. Ahem, said his uncle again, with a shrewd smile, as he helped himself to a second bunch of grapes. Well, now, as to that matter you sent me over to London about, began Jack nervously plunging into business. Draw up that chair and put your mind on the matter and we'll go over it, interrupted old Mr. Lockhead, discarding the great bunch suddenly and assuming his commercial expression at once. So Jack drew up his chair as Bidden, and presently the financial head of the Bradbury and Graham Company and the enterprising young member who was the principal part of company were apparently lost to all else in the world but their own concerns. Meantime, Pickering Dodge was having a truly dreadful time of it. The doctor, washing his hands of such a troublesome patient had just run downstairs, jumped into his little old gig in displeasure and was now half a cross of rut worn in the open meadow, dignified by the name of the short road. Do go to bed, implored Ben, studying Pickering's pale face. Ho-ho, Pickering made out to exclaim, if I couldn't say anything original I wouldn't talk. You're only an echo to that miserable little bonky of a medical man. But you really ought to go back to bed, Ben insisted. Really ought, repeated Pickering in high disdain, as if I'd put myself again under that quack's thumb. No, sir. And snapping his fingers derisively at Ben, he straightened up jauntily on his somewhat uncertain feet. All I want is a little air, stumbling off to the window. Well, I'm going to tell Franzi that my arm is all right, said Polly, hurrying off. Besides, I want to see Johnny. It's time for me to look after that young man too, said old Mr. King, following her. I haven't heard him roar today. Come on, Jasper, you must see Johnny. As they disappeared, Ben ran over to Pickering and was aghast to find that the face laid against the window casing was deathly white and that all his shaking of the broad shoulders could not make Pickering open his eyes. Jasper, called Ben in despair. Hush, someone came hurrying up. Don't call Jasper, then Polly will know. Let me help. Ben looked up. Oh, Charlotte, that's good. Pick's done up. Call Mrs. Higby. Well, you, we must get him to bed. I'll help you, I'm strong. Charlotte held out her long arms. Ben looked them over approvingly. You're right, he said. It's better not to stir Mrs. Higby up. They are easy now, Charlotte. Put your hands under there. Your shirt won't hurt you. Sure as I can be, said Charlotte, steadily moving off in pace with Ben as they carried Pickering between them. Excuse me, Ben rushed in without knocking upon the Bradbury and Graham Company. Do you mind, to Jack? I'm awfully sorry to ask it, but I can't leave him. Well, you run to the doctors and fetch him. Mrs. Higby, the landlady downstairs, you know, will tell you where to find him. Ben was all out of breath when he got through and stood looking at young Lockhead. What's the doctor wanted for? cried Company, springing to his feet and seizing his hat from the table. Well, of course I'll go. Delighted to be of use, who for? Pickering Dodge got up too soon, keeled over, said Ben briefly. I've got to stay with him. He's in bed, and we don't want Grandpa Polly to know. But Jack Lockhead, after the first word, was half over the stairs. See her here, cried old Mr. Lockhead suddenly as Ben was rushing out. Can't I see your sister? I'm horribly lonesome, turning in his chair. That is, if her arm will let her come, he added, as a second thought struck him. Don't ask her if you think she's in pain. Doctors fixed Polly's arm, said Ben, and I know she'll like to come in and sit with you. It's a shame, and his honest face flamed with regret. I had to ask such a favour as, tuck, tuck, go along with you, commanded the old gentleman imperatively, and send Polly here. Then I'll make by the operation. And he began to chuckle with pleasure. So Ben ran off, and presently Polly, with her arm in his sling, came hurrying in. Bless my soul, cried the old gentleman, if your cheeks aren't as rosy as if you had two good arms, and this was an everyday sort of excursion for pleasure. It's so nice, said Polly, sitting down on one of Mrs. Higbee's spare room ottomans, on which the lady had worked a remarkable cat in blue worsted, reposing on a bit of green suede, to think that everybody is getting on so well, and she hugged her lame arm rapturously. I should say so, breathed old Mr. Lockhead regarding her closely. Where have they buried that woman? He demanded suddenly. Polly started. Out in the meadow, she said softly. Mrs. Higbee wanted it here, instead of in the churchyard. It is under a beautiful oak tree, Mr. Lockhead, and Mr. Higbee is going to make a fence around it, and Grandpa Polly has to put, up the stone, I suppose you mean, interrupted the old gentleman. Well, and when that's done, wipe what can be said upon it, pray tell. You don't know a thing about it. Who in Christendom the woman was, not a thing. Johnny's mother, said Polly sorrowfully, the corners of her mouth drooping. That's going to be on it, and Grandpa Polly is going to have the letters cut, telling about the accident, and Mrs. Higbee hopes that sometimes somebody will come to inquire about it. But I don't believe anybody ever will come in all this world, added Polly softly, because there is no one left who belongs to Johnny. And she told the story the pale little mother had just finished when the car went over. Old Mr. Lockhead hemmed and exclaimed impatiently, and fidgeted in his chair all through the recital. When it was over, and Polly sat quite still. What are you going to do with that horrible boy? He asked sharply. Alms house, I suppose, eh? Oh no, declared Polly in horror. Franzi's going to take him into the home. Franzi's going to take that little rat into her home, cried Old Mr. Lockhead in disgust. You don't know what you are talking of. I shall speak to Mr. King. Johnny is just a deer, cried Polly, having great difficulty not to spring from her chair and turn her back on the old gentleman then and there. But into your home, repeated Old Mr. Lockhead, his disgust gaining on him with each word. It's monstrous, it's, oh, I didn't mean our home, exclaimed Polly, obliged to interrupt him. He was becoming so furious. Johnny is going down to Demrave into the children's home. And then she began on the story of Franzi's company of children and how they lived and who they were, with many little side stories of this small creature who was too cunning for anything and that funny little boy till the old gentleman sat helplessly listening in abject silence. And the latch was lifted, and young Mr. Lockhead put his head in the doorway, looking as if he had finished a long tramp. Come in, Jack, said his uncle, finding his tongue. We've a whole orphan asylum in here, and I don't know what all. Every charity you ever heard of rolled into one. Do come in and see if you can make head or tail to it. Oh, Mr. Lockhead knows all about it, cried Polly brightly while her cheeks glowed. For he went down to Denraven with us at Christmas and he showed the children's stereo optical pictures and told them such nice stories of places that he had seen. He, my Jack, exploded the old gentleman, starting forward and pointing to his nephew. Great Caesar, he never did such a thing in his life. Ah, said Polly, shaking her brown head while she looked only at the old gentleman. You ought to have seen, sir, how happy the children were that day. My Jack went to an orphan asylum to show pictures to the children, reiterated the old gentleman, unable to grasp another idea. Do be still, Uncle, begged his tall nephew, jogging his elbow. Here, here's Polly, cried Jasper's voice, and at the same moment, in sped little Dr. Fisher, his glass is shining with determination as he gazed all over the room for Polly. My dear, dear child, he cried as he spied her, and Papa Fisher, joyfully from Polly, as she sprang from Mrs. Higby's ottoman and precipitated herself into the little doctor's arms. Softly, softly, child, he warned, you'll hurt it. Tenderly covering the poor arm with his right hand while he fumbled in his pocket with the other for his handkerchief. Dear me, and he blew his nose violently. Yes, well, you're sure you're all right except this, and he held Polly at arm's length and scanned her closely. I am all right if you will only tell me that Mamzy is well and isn't worried about us, said Polly, an anxious little pucker coming on her forehead. Your mother is as bright as a button, declared Father Fisher emphatically. Come, come, ejaculated Mr. King appearing in the doorway. This isn't just the way to take possession of Mr. Lockhead's apartment, Jasper, I don't see what you were thinking of. Come, Fisher, my room is next this way. Polly blushed red as a rose as old Mr. Lockhead said briskly, oh, I sent for her to cheer me up, but now I wish you'd all stay. Big pardon for this inroad, said little Dr. Fisher, going up to the old gentleman's chair and offering his hand. Well, well, Lockhead, to Jack, this is a surprise party all round. No, we're in road at all, at least a pleasant one. Old Mr. Lockhead kept saying, well, Polly ran up to Jasper, did Pickering's uncle come with Papa Fisher? No, said Jasper with his eyes on Jack Lockhead. The doctor was all alone, Polly. And then the door of Pickering's room opened and out came Dr. Bryce with bad news written all over his face. I fear brain fever, he said to Dr. Fisher after the introduction was over, making the two physicians acquainted, come. And the door of Pickering's room closed on them both. And twilight settled down on the old square white house and on the new-made grave under the oak in the meadow, and briarly people, by twos and threes, came in to inquire for the sick young man going away with saddened faces. And a messenger from the telegraph office drove up, just as Mr. Higbee was pulling on the boots to his tired feet for a long walk to the village, handing in the message, Mrs. Cabot and I will take the midnight train, Richard A. Cabot. And then there was nothing more to do, only to wait for the coming of Pickering's aunt and uncle. And the next day Pickering's calls were incessant for Polly, Polly. Sometimes upbraiding her as the brown eyes were fastened piteously on his wild face, and then begging her just to smile at him and remember how he had loved her all these years. And now I'm going to die, he would cry. Oh, Polly, Polly. Mrs. Cabot would wring her hands and beg at such times a world of entreaty in her voice. And then old Mr. King would interfere, carrying Polly off and declaring it was beyond all reason for her to be so annoyed. And Fronzie would climb up on the bed and lay her cool little hand gently on the hot forehead. Then the sick voice cries would drop into unintelligible murmurs while his fingers picked aimlessly at the cover, but there, he's better. Fronzie would say softly to the watchers by the bed, and I guess he is going to sleep. But the quiet only ushered in worse ravings when Pickering lived over once more the horror of the train wrecking. And then it took many strong arms to hold him in his bed. Come on, Ben, he would shout, struggling hard. Leave him alone, we shall be caught. The fire, the fire. Until his strength died away and he sank to a deathly stupor. Fronzie sat down to write a letter to Mrs. Fargo. One like it was dropped every morning into the basket, set on Mrs. Higbee's front entry table, ready for the neighbor's boy to take to the village post office. Dear Mrs. Fargo, wrote Fronzie, looking off from the wooden cradle that Mrs. Higbee had dragged down from its cobwebby corner under the garret eaves with the remark, I guess Johnny'll sleep well, all the Higbee's since the first one has been rocked in it. I must tell you that dear Pickering isn't any better. Then she glanced back again and softly jogged the cradle as Johnny turned over with a long sigh. And Papa Fisher and the other doctor don't think he is going to get well. And Mrs. Cabot cries all the time and Polly cries sometimes too, and we don't know what to do, but I guess God will take care of us. And Charlotte is going to take Johnny down to the Dunraven home in a day or two. She says she can, though I know she don't like babies, especially boy babies, she said so once, and he will be so happy. And that's all I can write today, Mrs. Fargo, because every minute I'm afraid Polly will want me. From Fronzie. And just the very minute when Fronzie was dotting the eye in her name, Mrs. Higbee came toiling up the stairs, holding her gingham gown well away from her feet. Say, she cried in a loud whisper and pausing midway to wave a large square envelope that Fronzie curled up on the hall window seat. Fronzie got down very softly and tipped over to the stair railing to grasp the clutter Mrs. Higbee thrust between the bars, going back to her old post to open it carefully. Dear Fronzie, I think God meant that I was to have Johnny for my very own, so won't you give him to me, dear? Let Charlotte bring him soon, please, for my heart is hungry for a baby to hold. I will make him happy all my life, Fronzie, so I know you will give him to Helen's mother. End of chapter 15.