“Did he have two bugs?” asked Phronsie, eying suspiciously the second morsel of dry toast that Polly was conveying to her mouth.
“Well, he would have had,” replied Polly, “if there’d been bugs enough; but there were nine other chicks, Phronsie.”
“Poor chickies,” said Phronsie, and looked lovingly at the rest of the toast and butter on the plate; and while Polly fed it to her, listened with absorbed interest to all the particulars concerning each and every chick in the Henderson hen-coop.
“Mother,” said Polly, towards evening, “I’m going to sit up with Ben to-night; say I may; do, mother.”
“Oh, no, you can’t,” replied Mrs. Pepper; “you’ll get worn out, and then what shall I do? Joel can hand him his medicine.”
“Oh, Joe would tumble to sleep, mammy,” said Polly, “the first thing—let me.”
“Perhaps Phronsie’ll let me go to-night,” said Mrs. Pepper, reflectively.
“Oh, no, she won’t, I know,” replied Polly, decisively; “she wants you all the time.”
“I will, Polly,” said Davie, coming in with an armful of wood, in time to hear the conversation. “I’ll give him his medicine, mayn’t I, mammy?” and David let down his load, and came over where his mother and Polly sat sewing, to urge his rights.
“I don’t know,” said his mother, smiling on him. “Can you, do you think?”
“Yes, ma’am!” said Davie, straightening himself up.
When they told Ben, he said he knew a better way than for Davie to watch; he’d have a string tied to Davie’s arm, and the end he’d hold in bed, and when it was time for medicine, he’d pull the string, and that would wake Davie up!
Polly didn’t sleep much more on her shakedown on the floor than if she had watched with Ben; for Phronsie cried and moaned, and wanted a drink of water every two minutes, it seemed to her. As she went back into her nest after one of these travels, Polly thought: “Well, I don’t care, if nobody else gets sick, if Ben’ll only get well. To-morrow I’m going to do mammy’s sack she’s begun for Mr. Jackson; it’s all plain sewing, just like a bag; and I can do it, I know—” and so she fell into a troubled sleep, only to be awakened by Phronsie’s fretful little voice: “I want a drink of water, Polly, I do.”
“Doesn’t she drink awfully, mammy?” asked Polly, after one of these excursions out to the kitchen after the necessary draught.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper; “and she mustn’t have any more; ’twill hurt her.” But Phronsie fell into a delicious sleep after that, and didn’t want any more, luckily.
“Here, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, the next morning, “take this coat up to Mr. Peters; and be sure you get the money for it.”
“How’ll I get it?” asked Joe, who didn’t relish the long, hot walk.
“Why, tell ’em we’re sick—Ben’s sick,” added Mrs. Pepper, as the most decisive thing; “and we must have it and then wait for it.”
“’Tisn’t pleasant up at the Peters’s,” grumbled Joel, taking the parcel and moving slowly off.
“No, no, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn’t do that,” seeing Polly take up some sewing after doing up the room and finishing the semi-weekly bake; “you’re all beat out with that tussle over the stove; that sack’ll have to go till next week.”
“It can’t, mammy,” said Polly, snipping off a basting thread; “we’ve got to have the money; how much’ll he give you for it?”
“Thirty cents,” replied Mrs. Pepper.
“Well,” said Polly, “we’ve got to get all the thirty centses we can, mammy dear, and I know I can do it, truly—try me once,” she implored.
“Well,” Mrs. Pepper relented, slowly.
“Don’t feel bad, mammy dear,” comforted Polly, sewing away briskly; “Ben’ll get well pretty soon, and then we’ll be all right.”
“Maybe,” said Mrs. Pepper; and went back to Phronsie, who could scarcely let her out of her sight.
Polly stitched away bravely. “Now if I do this good, mammy’ll let me do it other times,” she said to herself.
Davie, too, worked patiently out-of-doors, trying to do Ben’s chores. The little fellow blundered over things that Ben would have accomplished in half the time, and he had to sit down often on the steps of the little old shed where the tools were kept, to wipe his hot face and rest.
“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “hadn’t you better stop a little? Dear me! how fast you sew, child!”
Polly gave a delighted little hum at her mother’s evident approval.
“I’m going to do ’em all next week, mammy,” she said; “then Mr. Atkins won’t take ’em away from us, I guess.”
Mr. Atkins kept the store, and gave out coats and sacks of coarse linen and homespun to Mrs. Pepper to make; and it was the fear of losing the work that had made the mother’s heart sink.
“I don’t believe anybody’s got such children as I have,” she said; and she gave Polly a motherly little pat that the little daughter felt clear to the tips of her toes with a thrill of delight.
About half-past two, long after dinner, Joe came walking in, hungry as a beaver, but flushed and triumphant.
“Why, where have you been all this time?” asked his mother.
“Oh, Joe, you didn’t stop to play?” asked Polly, from her perch where she sat sewing, giving him a reproachful glance.
“Stop to play!” retorted Joe, indignantly; “no, I guess I didn’t! I’ve been to old Peters’s.”
“Not all this time!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper.
“Yes, I have, too,” replied Joel, sturdily marching up to her. “And there’s your money, mother;” and he counted out a quarter of a dollar in silver pieces and pennies, which he took from a dingy wad of paper, stowed away in the depths of his pocket.
“Oh, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, sinking back in her chair and looking at him; “what do you mean?”
Polly put her work in her lap, and waited to hear.
“Where’s my dinner, Polly?” asked Joel; “I hope it’s a big one.”
“Yes, ’tis,” said Polly; “you’ve got lots today, it’s in the corner of the cupboard, covered up with the plate—so go on, Joe.”
“That’s elegant!” said Joel, coming back with the well-filled plate, Ben’s and his own share.
“Do tell us, Joey,” implored Polly; “mother’s waiting.”
“Well,” said Joel, his mouth half full, “I waited—and he said the coat was all right;—and—and—Mrs. Peters said ’twas all right;—and Mirandy Peters said ’twas all right; but they didn’t none of ’em say anythin’ about payin’, so I didn’t think ’twas all right—and—and—can’t I have some more butter, Polly?”
“No,” said Polly, sorry to refuse him, he’d been so good about the money; “the butter’s got to be saved for Ben and Phronsie.”
“Oh,” said Joe, “I wish Mrs. Henderson would send us some more, I do! I think she might!”
“For shame, Joe!” said Mrs. Pepper; “she was very good to send this, I think; now what else did you say?” she asked.
“Well,” said Joel, taking another mouthful of bread, “so I waited; you told me to, mother, you know—and they all went to work; and they didn’t mind me at all, and—there wasn’t anything to look at, so I sat—and sat—Polly, can’t I have some gingerbread?”
“No,” said Polly, “it’s all gone; I gave the last piece to Phronsie the day she was taken sick.”
“O dear!” said Joel, “everything’s gone.”
“Well, do go on, Joe, do.”
“And—then they had dinner; and Mr. Peters said, ‘Hain’t that boy gone home yet?’ and Mrs. Peters said, ‘No’—and he called me in, and asked me why I didn’t run along home; and I said, Phronsie was sick, and Ben had the squeezles—”
“The what?” said Polly.
“The squeezles,” repeated Joel, irritably; “that’s what you said.”
“It’s measles, Joey,” corrected Mrs. Pepper; “never mind, I wouldn’t feel bad.”
“Well, they all laughed, and laughed, and then I said you told me to wait till I did get the money.”
“Oh, Joe,” began Mrs. Pepper, “you shouldn’t have told ’em so—what did he say?”
“Well, he laughed, and said I was a smart boy, and he’d see; and Mirandy said, ‘do pay him, pa, he must be tired to death’—and don’t you think, he went to a big desk in the corner, and took out a box, and ’twas full, ’most of money—lots! oh! and he gave me mine—and—that’s all; and I’m tired to death.” And Joel flung himself down on the floor, expanded his legs as only Joel could, and took a comfortable roll.
“So you must be,” said Polly, pityingly, “waiting at those Peters’s.”
“Don’t ever want to see any more Peters’s,” said Joel; never, never, never!”
“O dear!” thought Polly, as she sewed on into the afternoon, “I wonder what does ail my eyes! feels just like sand in ’em;” and she rubbed and rubbed to thread her needle. But she was afraid her mother would see, so she kept at her sewing. Once in a while the bad feeling would go away, and then she would forget all about it. “There now, who says I can’t do it! that’s ’most done,” she cried, jumping up, and spinning across the room, to stretch herself a bit, “and to-morrow I’ll finish it.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Pepper, “if you can do that, Polly, you’ll be the greatest help I’ve had yet.”
So Polly tucked herself into the old shakedown with a thankful heart that night, hoping for morning.
Alas! when morning did come, Polly could hardly move. The measles! what should she do! A faint hope of driving them off made her tumble out of bed, and stagger across the room to look in the old cracked looking-glass. All hope was gone as the red reflection met her gaze. Polly was on the sick-list now!
“I won’t be sick,” she said; “at any rate, I’ll keep around.” An awful feeling made her clutch the back of a chair, but she managed somehow to get into her clothes, and go groping blindly into the kitchen. Somehow, Polly couldn’t see very well. She tried to set the table, but it was no use. “O dear!” she thought, “whatever’ll mammy do?”
“Hello!” said Joel, coming in, “what’s the matter, Polly?”
Polly started at his sudden entrance, and, wavering a minute, fell over in a heap.
“Oh, ma! Ma!” screamed Joel, running to the foot of the stairs leading to the loft, where Mrs. Pepper was with Ben; “something’s the matter with Polly! and she’s fell; and I guess she’s in the wood-box!”
6
Hard Days for Polly
“Ma,” said David, coming softly into the bedroom, where poor Polly lay on the bed with Phronsie, her eyes bandaged with a soft old handkerchief, “I’ll set the table.”
“There isn’t any table to set,” said Mrs. Pepper, sadly; “you and Joel can get something out of the cupboard.”
“Can we get whatever we’ve a mind to, ma?” cried Joel, who followed Davie, rubbing his face with a towel after his morning ablutions.
“Yes,” replied his mother, absently.
“Come on, Dave!” cried Joel; “we’ll have a breakfast!”
“We mustn’t,” said little Davie, doubtfully, “eat the whole, Joey.”
But that individual already had his head in the cupboard, which soon engrossed them both.
Doctor Fisher was called in the middle of the morning to see what was the matter with Polly’s eyes. The little man looked at her keenly over his spectacles; then he said, “When were you taken?”
“This morning,” answered Polly, her eyes smarting.
“Didn’t you feel badly before?” questioned the doctor.
Polly thought back; and then she remembered that she had felt very badly; that when she was baking over the old stove the day before, her back had ached dreadfully; and that, somehow, when she sat down to sew, it didn’t stop; only her eyes had bothered her so; she didn’t mind her back so much.
“I thought so,” said the doctor, when Polly answered. “And those eyes of yours have been used too much; what has she been doing, ma’am?” He turned around sharply on Mrs. Pepper as he asked this.
“Sewing,” said Mrs. Pepper, “and everything. Polly does everything, sir.”
“Humph!” said the doctor; “well, she won’t again in one spell; her eyes are very bad.”
At this a whoop, small but terrible to hear, came from the middle of the bed; and Phronsie sat bolt upright. Everybody started; while Phronsie broke out, “Don’t make my Polly sick! oh, please don’t!”
“Hey!” said the doctor; and he looked kindly at the small object with a very red face in the middle of the bed. Then he added, gently, “We’re going to make Polly well, little girl; so that she can see splendidly.”
“Will you, really?” asked the child, doubtfully.
“Yes,” said the doctor; “we’ll try hard; and you mustn’t cry; ’cause then Polly’ll cry, and that will make her eyes very bad; very bad indeed,” he repeated, impressively.
“I won’t cry,” said Phronsie; “no, not one bit.” And she wiped off the last tear with her fat little hand, and watched to see what next was to be done.
And Polly was left, very rebellious indeed, in the big bed, with a cooling lotion on the poor eyes, that somehow didn’t cool them one bit.
“If ’twas anything but my eyes, mammy, I could stand it,” she bewailed, flouncing over and over in her impatience; “and who’ll do all the work now?”
“Don’t think of the work, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“I can’t do anything but think,” said poor Polly.
Just at that moment a queer noise out in the kitchen was heard.
“Do go out, mother, and see what ’tis,” said Polly.
“I’ve come,” said a cracked voice, close up by the bedroom door, followed by a big black cap, which could belong to no other than Grandma Bascom, “to set by you a spell; what’s the matter?” she asked, and stopped, amazed to see Polly in bed.
“Oh, Polly’s taken,” screamed Mrs. Pepper in her ear.
“Taken!” repeated the old lady, “what is it—a fit?”
“No,” said Mrs. Pepper; “the same as Ben’s got; and Phronsie; the measles.”
“The measles, has she?” said grandma; “well, that’s bad; and Ben’s away, you say?”
“No, he isn’t either,” screamed Mrs. Pepper, “he’s got ’em, too!”
“Got two what?” asked grandma.
“Measles! he’s got the measles, too,” repeated Mrs. Pepper, putting her mouth close to the old lady’s cap border.
“Oh the dreadful!” said grandma; “and this girl, too?” laying her hand on Phronsie’s head.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, feeling it a little relief to tell over her miseries; “all three of them!”
“I hain’t,” said Joel, coming in hoping that grandma had a stray peppermint or two in her pocket, as she sometimes did; “and I ain’t a-going to, either.”
“O dear!” groaned his mother; “that’s what Polly said; and she’s got ’em bad. It’s her eyes,” she screamed to grandma, who looked inquiringly.
“Her eyes, is it?” asked Mrs. Bascom; “well, I’ve got a receet that cousin Samanthy’s folks had when John’s children had ’em; and I’ll run right along home and get it,” and she started to go.
“No, you needn’t,” screamed Mrs. Pepper; “thank you, Mrs. Bascom; but Doctor Fisher’s been here; and he put something on Polly’s eyes; and he said it mustn’t be touched.”
“Hey?” said the old lady; so Mrs. Pepper had to go all over it again, till at last she made her understand that Polly’s eyes were taken care of, and they must wait for time to do the rest.
“You come along of me,” whispered grandma, when at last her call was done, to Joel who stood by the door. “I’ve got some peppermints to home; I forgot to bring ’em.”
“Yes’m,” said Joel, brightening up.
“Where you going, Joe?” asked Mrs. Pepper, seeing him move off with Mrs. Basc
om; “I may want you.”
“Oh, I’ve got to go over to grandma’s,” said Joel briskly; “she wants me.”
“Well, don’t be gone long then,” replied his mother.
“There,” said grandma, going into her “keeping-room” to an old-fashioned chest of drawers; opening one, she took therefrom a paper, from which she shook out before Joe’s delighted eyes some red and white peppermint drops. “There now, you take these home; you may have some, but be sure you give the most to the sick ones; and Polly—let Polly have the biggest.”
“She won’t take ’em,” said Joel, wishing he had the measles.
“Well, you try her,” said grandma; “run along, now.” But it was useless to tell Joel that, for he was half-way home already. He carried out grandma’s wishes, and distributed conscientiously the precious drops. But when he came to Polly, she didn’t answer; and looking at her in surprise he saw two big tears rolling out under the bandage and wetting the pillow.
“I don’t want ’em, Joe,” said Polly, when he made her understand that ’twas peppermints, real peppermints;” “you may have ’em.”
“Try one, Polly; they’re real good,” said Joel, who had an undefined wish to comfort; “there, open your mouth.”
So Polly opened her mouth, and Joel put one in with satisfaction.
“Ain’t it good?” he asked, watching her crunch it.
“Yes,” said Polly, “real good; where’d you get ’em?”
“Over to Grandma Bascom’s,” said Joel; “she gave me lots for all of us; have another, Polly?”
“No,” said Polly, “not yet; you put two on my pillow where I can reach ’em; and then you keep the rest, Joel.”
“I’ll put three,” said Joel, counting out one red and two white ones, and laying them on the pillow; “there!”
“And I want another, Joey, I do,” said Phronsie from the other side of the bed.
“Well, you may have one,” said Joel; “a red one, Phronsie; yes, you may have two. Now come on, Dave; we’ll have the rest out by the wood-pile.”
How they ever got through that day, I don’t know. But late in the afternoon, carriage wheels were heard; and then they stopped right at the Peppers’ little brown gate.
Five Little Peppers and How They Grew Complete Text (Charming Classics) Page 5
