Old Mr. Beebe picked up one of Marianna’s old shoes. “I couldn’t do that,” he said; “an’ besides, Mis’ Phipps, there ain’t nothin’ to mend. She’s run ’em all out.”
“Humph—that’s all nonsense,” ejaculated Marianna’s mother. But seeing that she couldn’t get anything out of the little shopkeeper but that one statement, she had the old shoes done up in a newspaper, and counting out the price of the new ones in quarters and ten-cent pieces, she took her departure, saying, “I shouldn’t let her wear those home ef I warn’t goin’ to make a call on th’ way this aft’noon.” Then she peered into the room back of the shop, “I must say good-by to Mis’ Beebe.”
This took some minutes, as the smell of the dinner and the table all set made it impossible for Mrs. Phipps to leave it without a strong effort to include herself and her daughter in the family for that one meal, but old Mrs. Beebe, not looking at it in just that way, Mrs. Phipps twitched Marianna’s hat straight and hauled her off without any good-by after all.
But oh! what a good dinner the little shopkeeper had sitting at the head of his table, with old Mrs. Beebe, her pink cap ribbons flying, at the other end, and the three little Peppers, their plates filled with splendid pieces of stewed beef and dumplings. How the spoons and forks flew! till even Joel couldn’t eat any more, and Davie was obliged to give up the effort to see the bottom of his plate cleared. And after dinner—well then, why, Phronsie must have her nap. “For we can’t have Polly come running in, and not have this blessed little creeter’s eyes as bright as buttons,” said the little old lady.
“Oh, I’m not tired,” protested Phronsie, vigorously.
“No, that would never do,” declared old Mrs. Beebe, just as decidedly. “Now then, Phronsie child, you shall curl up on Pa’s sofa, an’ I’ll cover you with my plaid shawl; then, says I, you’ll be asleep in forty winks.”
To curl up on Pa’s sofa, and, best of all, to have spread over her dear Mrs. Beebe’s plaid shawl, was after all something well worth thinking about. So Phronsie allowed herself to be patted into place, and Mrs. Beebe pulled down the old green paper shade and waddled softly out. In five minutes she thrust her cap in around the half-opened door. There lay Phronsie, one little hand grasping tightly the old frayed fringe, fast asleep as anything.
Meantime old Mr. Beebe had a hard time enough with the two boys! Joel’s task of carrying the green boxes from under the chintz valance to the shelf was soon finished, but as he wouldn’t do anything till Davie could join in it, and the snarl of strings was apparently (no matter how diligently worked over) not much nearer unravelling than when begun, and little David could not be persuaded to leave it, the old gentleman was in despair.
“Come, Davie,” he said for the third time. But David shook his head and kept picking away. He didn’t mean to be disobedient, but all his mind intent on helping dear good Mr. Beebe, it never entered his head to leave his task until completed.
At last Joel flung himself flat on the floor, and waving both feet in the air, gave a loud cry of disapproval. “He’s a naughty boy,” he said, “and I shall tell Mamsie he wouldn’t mind you.”