Five Little Peppers and How They Grew Complete Text (Charming Classics)

by Margaret Sidney

  “And you’re the best child,” cried the old gentleman, catching her up and marching over to the other side of the room where there was a lounging chair. “There now, you and I, Phronsie, will stay by ourselves. Then my head will feel better.”

  And he sat down and drew her into his arms.

  “Does it ache very bad?” said Phronsie, in a soft little voice. Then reaching up she began to pat and smooth it gently with one little hand, “Very bad, dear grandpapa?”

  “It won’t,” said the old gentleman, “if you only keep on taking care of it, little Phronsie.”

  “Then,” said the child, perfectly delighted, “I’m going to take all care of you, grandpapa, always!”

  “So you shall, so you shall!” cried Mr. King, no less delighted than she was. “Mrs. Pepper!”

  “Sir?” said Mrs. Pepper, trying to answer, which she couldn’t do very well surrounded as she was by the crowd of little chatterers. “Yes, sir; excuse me, what is it, sir?”

  “We’ve got to come to an understanding about this thing,” said the old gentleman, “and I can’t talk much today, because my headache won’t allow it.”

  Here the worried look came into Phronsie’s face again, and she began to try to smooth his head with both little hands.

  “And so I must say it all in as few words as possible,” he continued.

  “What is it, sir?” again asked Mrs. Pepper, wonderingly.

  “Well, the fact is, I’ve got to have somebody who will keep this house. Now Marian, not a word!” as he saw symptoms of Mrs. Whitney’s joining in the conversation. “You’ve been good; just as good as can be under the circumstances; but Mason will be home in the fall, and then I suppose you’ll have to go with him. “Now I,” said the old gentleman, forgetting all about his head, and straightening himself up suddenly in the chair, “am going to get things into shape, so that the house will be kept for all of us; so that we can come or go. And how can I do it better than to have the Peppers—you, Mrs. Pepper, and all your children—come here and live, and—”

  “Oh, father!” cried Jasper, rushing up to him; and flinging his arms around his neck, he gave him such a hug as he hadn’t received for many a day.

  “Goodness me, Jasper!” cried his father, feeling of his throat. “How can you express your feelings so violently! And, besides, you interrupt.”

  “Beg pardon, sir,” said Jasper, swallowing his excitement, and trying to control his eagerness.

  “Do you say yes, Mrs. Pepper?” queried the old gentleman, impatiently. “I must get this thing fixed up to-day. I’m really too ill to be worried ma’am.”

  “Why sir,” stammered Mrs. Pepper, “I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t think of imposing all my children on you, and—”

  “Imposing! Who’s talking of imposing!” said Mr. King, in a loud key. “I want my house kept; will you live here and keep it? That is the question.”

  “But sir,” began Mrs. Pepper again, “you don’t think—”

  “I do think; I tell you, ma’am, I do think,” snapped the old gentleman. “It’s just because I have thought that I’ve made up my mind. Will you do it, Mrs. Pepper?”

  “What are you going to do, mamsie?” asked Joel, quickly.

  “I don’t know as I’m going to do anything yet,” said poor Mrs. Pepper, who was almost stunned.

  “To come here and live!” cried Jasper, unable to keep still any longer—and springing to the children. “Don’t you want to, Joe?”

  “To live!” screamed Joel. “O whickety, yes! Do, ma, do come here and live—do!”

  “To live?” echoed Phronsie, over in the old gentleman’s lap. “In this be-you-ti-ful place? Oh, oh!”

  “Oh, mamsie!” that was all Polly could say.

  And even Ben had his arms around his mother’s neck, whispering “Do” into her ear, while little Davie got into her lap and teased her with all his might.

  “What shall I do!” cried the poor woman. “Did ever anybody see the like?”

  “It’s the very best thing you could possibly do,” cried the old gentleman. “Don’t you see it’s for the children’s advantage? They’ll get such educations, Mrs. Pepper, as you want for them. And it accommodates me immensely. What obstacle can there be to it?”

  “If I was only sure twould be for the best?” said Mrs. Pepper, doubtfully.

  “Oh, dear Mrs. Pepper,” said Mrs. Whitney, laying her hand on hers. “Can you doubt it?”

  “Then,” said Mr. King, getting up, but still holding on to Phronsie, “we’ll consider it settled. This is your home, children,” he said, waving his hand at the five little Peppers in a bunch. And having thus summarily disposed of the whole business, he marched out with Phronsie on his shoulder.

  24

  Polly’s Dismal Morning

  Everything had gone wrong with Polly that day. It began with her boots.

  Of all things in the world that tried Polly’s patience most were the troublesome little black buttons that originally adorned those useful parts of her clothing, and that were fondly supposed to be there when needed. But they never were. The little black things seemed to be invested with a special spite, for one by one they would hop off on the slightest provocation, and go rolling over the floor, just when she was in her most terrible hurry, compelling her to fly for needle and thread on the instant. For one thing Mrs. Pepper was very strict about—and that was, Polly should do nothing else till the buttons were all on again, and the boots buttoned up firm and snug.

  “Oh dear!” said Polly, sitting down on the floor, and pulling on her stockings. “There, now, see that hateful old shoe, mamsie!” And she thrust out one foot in dismay.

  “What’s the matter with it?” asked Mrs. Pepper, straightening the things on the bureau. “You haven’t worn it out already, Polly?”

  “Oh, no,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “I hope not yet, but it’s these dreadful hateful old buttons!” And she twitched the boot off from her foot with such an impatient little pull, that three or four more went flying under the bed. “There now—there’s a lot more! I don’t care! I wish they’d all go! they might as well!” she cried, tossing that boot on the floor in intense scorn, while she investigated the state of the other one.

  “Are they all off?” asked Phronsie, pulling herself up out of a little heap in the middle of the bed, and leaning over the side, where she viewed Polly sorrowfully. “Every one, Polly?”

  “No,” said Polly, “but I wish they were, mean old things! when I was going down to play a duet with Jasper! We should have had a good long time before breakfast. Oh, mayn’t I go just once, mamsie? Nobody’ll see me if I tuck my foot under the piano; and I can sew them on afterwards—there’ll be plenty of time. Do, just once, mamsie!”

  “No,” said Mrs. Pepper, firmly, “there isn’t any time but now. And piano-playing isn’t very nice when you’ve got to stick your toes under it to keep your shoes on.”

  “Well, then,” grumbled Polly, hopping around in her stocking-feet, “where is the work-basket, mamsie? Oh—here it is on the window-seat.” A rattle of spools, scissors, and necessary utensils showed plainly that Polly had found it, followed by a jumble of words and despairing ejaculations as she groped hurriedly under chairs and tables to collect the scattered contents.

  When she got back with a very red face, she found Phronsie, who had crawled out of bed, sitting down on the floor in her little nightgown and examining the boot with profound interest.

  “I can sew ’em, Polly,” she said, holding up her hand for the big needle that Polly was trying to thread—“I can now, truly; let me, Polly, do!”

  “Goodness!” said Polly, with a little laugh, beginning to be very much ashamed. “What could you do with your little mites of hands pulling this big thread through that old leather? There, scamper into bed again; you’ll catch cold out here.”

  “’Tisn’t very cold,” said Phronsie, tucking up her toes under the nightgown, but Polly hurried her into bed, where she curle
d herself up under the clothes, watching her make a big knot. But the knot didn’t stay; for when Polly drew up the long thread triumphantly to the end—out it flew, and away the button hopped again as if glad to be released. And then the thread kinked horribly, and got all twisted up in disagreeable little snarls that took all Polly’s patience to unravel.

  “It’s because you’re in such a hurry,” said Mrs. Pepper, who was getting Phronsie’s clothes. And coming over across the room, she got down on one knee, and looked over Polly’s shoulder. “There now, let mother see what’s the matter.”

  “Oh dear!” said Polly, resigning the needle with a big sigh, and leaning back to take a good stretch, followed by Phronsie’s sympathizing eyes; “they never’ll be on! And there goes the first bell!” as the loud sounds under Jane’s vigorous ringing pealed up over the stairs. “There won’t be time anyway, now! I wish there wasn’t such a thing as shoes in the world!” And she gave a flounce and sat up straight in front of her mother.

  “Polly!” said Mrs. Pepper sternly, deftly fastening the little buttons tightly into place with quick, firm stitches, “better be glad you’ve got them to sew at all. There now, here they are. Those won’t come off in a hurry!”

  “Oh, mamsie!” cried Polly, ignoring for a moment the delights of the finished shoe to fling her arms around her mother’s neck and give her a good hug. “You’re just the splendidest, goodest mamsie in all the world. And I’m a hateful, cross old bear, so I am!” she cried, remorsefully, buttoning herself into her boots. Which done, she flew at the rest of her preparations and tried to make up for lost time.

  But ’twas all of no use. The day seemed to be always just racing ahead of her, and turning a corner, before she could catch up to it, and Ben and the other boys only caught dissolving views of her as she flitted through halls or over stairs.

  “Where’s Polly?” said Percy at last, coming with great dissatisfaction in his voice to the library door. “We’ve called her, I guess a million times, and she won’t hurry.”

  “What do you want to have her do?” asked Jasper, looking up from the sofa where he had flung himself with a book.

  “Why, she said she’d make Van and me our sails, you know,” said Percy, holding up a rather forlorn-looking specimen of a boat, but which the boys had carved with the greatest enthusiasm, “and we want her now.”

  “Can’t you let her alone till she’s ready to come?” said Jasper, quickly. “You’re always teasing her to do something,” he added.

  “I didn’t tease,” said Percy, indignantly, coming up to the sofa, boat in hand, to enforce his words. “She said she’d love to do them, so there, Jasper King!”

  “Coming! coming!” sang Polly over the stairs, and bobbing into the library, “Oh—here you are, Percy! I couldn’t come before; mamsie wanted me. Now, says I, for the sails.” And she began to flap out a long white piece of cotton cloth on the table to trim into just the desired shape.

  “That isn’t the way,” said Percy, crowding up, the brightness that had flashed over his face at Polly’s appearance beginning to fade. “Hoh! those won’t be good for anything—those ain’t sails.”

  “I haven’t finished,” said Polly, snipping away vigorously, and longing to get back to mamsie. “Wait till they’re done; then they’ll be good—as good as can be!”

  “And it’s bad enough to have to make them,” put in Jasper, flinging aside his book and rolling over to watch them, “without having to be found fault with every second, Percy.”

  “They’re too big,” said Percy, surveying them critically, and then looking at his boat.

  “Oh, that corner’s coming off,” cried Polly, cheerfully, giving it a sharp cut that sent it flying on the floor. “And they won’t be too big when they’re done, Percy, all hemmed and everything. There,” as she held one up for inspection, “that’s just the way I used to make Ben’s and mine, when we sailed boats.”

  “Is it?” asked Percy, looking with more respect at the piece of cloth Polly was waving alluringly before him. “Just exactly like it, Polly?”

  “Yes,” said Polly, laying it down again for a pattern—“oh, how does this go—oh—that’s it, there—yes, this is just exactly like Bensie’s and mine—that was when I was ever so little; and then I used to make Joel’s and Davie’s afterwards and—”

  “And were theirs just like this?” asked Percy, laying his hand on the sail she had finished cutting out.

  “Pre-cisely,” said Polly, with a pin in her mouth. “Just as like as two peas, Percy Whitney.”

  “Then I like them,” cried Percy, veering round and regarding them with great satisfaction—as Van bounded in with a torrent of complaints, and great disappointment in every line of his face.

  “Oh, now, that’s too bad!” he cried, seeing Polly fold up the remaining bits of cloth, and pick up the scraps on the floor. “And you’ve gone and let her cut out every one of ’em, and never told me a word! You’re a mean, old hateful thing, Percy Whitney!”

  “Oh don’t!” said Polly, on her knees on the floor.

  “I forgot—” began Percy, “and she cut ’em so quick—and—”

  “And I’ve been waiting,” said Van, in a loud wrathful key, “and waiting—and waiting!”

  “Never mind, Van,” said Jasper, consolingly, getting off from the sofa and coming up to the table. “They’re done and done beautifully, aren’t they?” he said, holding up one.

  But this only proved fresh fuel for the fire of Van’s indignation.

  “And you shan’t have ’em, so!” he cried, making a lunge at the one on the table, “for I made most of the boat, there!”

  “Oh, no, you didn’t!” cried Percy, in the greatest alarm, hanging on to the boat in his hand. “I cut—all the keel—and the bow—and—”

  “O dear me!” said Polly, in extreme dismay, looking at Jasper. “Come, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, boys.”

  “What?” asked Van, cooling off a little, and allowing Percy to edge into a corner with the beloved boat and one sail. “What will you, Polly?”

  “I’ll make you another pair of sails,” said Polly, groaning within herself as she thought of the wasted minutes, “and then you can see me cut them, Van.”

  “Will you really?” he cried, delight showing all over his flushed face.

  “Yes, I will,” cried Polly, “wait a minute till I get some more cloth.” And she started for the door.

  “Oh now, that’s too bad!” said Jasper. “To have to cut more of those tiresome old things! Van, let her off!”

  “Oh no, I won’t! I won’t!” he cried, in the greatest alarm, running up to her as she stood by the door. “You did say so, Polly! You know you did!”

  “Of course I did, Vannie,” said Polly, smiling down into his eager face, “and we’ll have a splendid pair in just—one—minute!” she sang.

  And so the sails were cut out, and the hems turned down and basted, and tucked away into Polly’s little work-basket ready for the sewing on the morrow. And then Mr. King came in and took Jasper off with him; and the two Whitney boys went up to mamma for a story; and Polly sat down in mamsie’s room to tackle her French exercise.

  25

  Polly’s Big Bundle

  The room was very quiet; but presently Phronsie strayed in, and seeing Polly studying, climbed up in a chair by the window to watch the birds hop over the veranda and pick up worms in the grass beside the carriage drive. And then came Mrs. Pepper with the big mending-basket, and ensconced herself opposite by the table; and nothing was to be heard but the “tick, tick” of the clock, and an occasional dropping of a spool of thread, or scissors, from the busy hands flying in and out among the stockings.

  All of a sudden there was a great rustling in Cherry’s cage that swung in the big window on the other side of the room. And then he set up a loud and angry chirping, flying up and down, and opening his mouth as if he wanted to express his mind, but couldn’t, and otherwise acting in a very strange and unaccountable manner.<
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  “Dear me!” said Mrs. Pepper, “what’s that?”

  “It’s Cherry,” said Polly, lifting up her head from “Fasquelle,” “and—Oh misery!” and flinging down the pile of books in her lap on a chair, she rushed across the room, flew up to the cage, and began to wildly gesticulate and explain and shower down on him every endearing name she could think of.

  “What is the matter?” asked her mother, turning around in her chair in astonishment. “What upon earth, Polly!”

  “How could I!” cried Polly, in accents of despair, not heeding her mother’s question. “Oh, mamsie, will he die, do you think?”

  “I guess not,” said Mrs. Pepper, laying down her work and coming up to the cage, while Phronsie scrambled off from her chair and hurried to the scene. “Why, he does act queerly, doesn’t he? P’r’aps he’s been eating too much?”

  “Eating!” said Polly, “oh, mamsie, he hasn’t had anything.” And she pointed with shame and remorse to the seed-cup with only a few dried husks in the very bottom.

  “Oh, Polly,” began Mrs. Pepper; but seeing the look on her face, she changed her tone for one more cheerful. “Well, hurry and get him some now; he’ll be all right, poor little thing, in a minute. There, there,” she said, nodding persuasively at the cage, “you pretty creature, you! so you shan’t be starved.”

  At the word “starved,” Polly winced as though a pin had been thrust into her.

  “There isn’t any, mamsie, in the house,” she stammered; “he had the last yesterday.”

  “And you forgot him to-day?” asked Mrs. Pepper, with a look in her black eyes Polly didn’t like.

  “Yes’m,” said poor Polly, in a low voice.

  “Well, he must have something right away,” said Mrs. Pepper, decidedly. “That’s certain.”

  “I’ll run right down to Fletcher’s and get it,” cried Polly. “T’won’t take me but a minute, mamsie; Jasper’s gone, and Thomas, too, so I’ve got to go,” she added, as she saw her mother hesitate.