“No, not a single thing,” asserted Davie, positively; “why, here’s Polly!”
“Well, children,” said Polly, running down to meet them, “why didn’t you come in when Mamsie called?”
“Oh, Phronsie found an old caterpillar,” said David, discontentedly. To have missed any of Mamsie’s calls put him out dreadfully.
“No, he’s a woolly boy,” corrected Phronsie; “see, Polly, and he’s sick.” She held up her hand for Polly to look through the cracks.
“Well, never mind, Pet,” said Polly; “Mamsie wants us now, and we must hurry, for we are all to go to Grandma Bascom’s.”
“Aren’t we going to—” began David.
“No,” said Polly, quickly. “We are going to Grandma’s, and we are going to have a real good time, Davie.”
With that she took Phronsie’s disengaged hand, “Come on,” and away they all sped into the Little Brown House.
And in five minutes it really seemed as if no such wonderful invitation had been received as that which Miss Parrott had sent down in a prim little note this morning. It had begged Mrs. Pepper to allow the four children (Ben was away at work on Deacon Blodgett’s woodpile) to drive over to Cherryville, under the care of her coachman, who had to take the big family barouche there for some slight repairs. Was ever such a wonderful treat! And just the day before they had promised Grandma Bascom, who was sick in bed with the rheumatism, to spend this very morning with her. Polly was to bake the bread and tidy up the little cottage, and the two boys were to split the kindlings and feed the hens; Phronsie’s part being to sit on the gay patched bedquilt by Grandma’s side and read aloud to her, the old lady being deaf as a post, and the book generally upside down never making any difference in the enjoyment.
“Now, then,” Mother Pepper had deserted her sewing, and was bustling around helping to get the children started.