“I will, I will,” nodded Mother Pepper, smiling at her baby. So hand in hand Polly and Phronsie hurried off, and Mrs. Pepper went back to the kitchen window to watch for the Parrott coach, which having in any case to pass on this road to Cherryville, would waste no time in stopping at the Little Brown House.
“So I can give him the message, as well as to send word to Miss Parrott, that the children can’t go,” she said, as she picked up her neglected work to fly at it faster than ever; for that coat and the other three finished ones must be taken to Mr. Atkins just as soon as all were completed. Notwithstanding her hurry, Mrs. Pepper stopped once or twice to brush something away from her black eyes, that seemed to trouble her. At last she said, “Bless them—pleasure and good times will come to them sometime,—they must!” And then her needle flew faster than ever, to make up for lost time.
“Now, boys,” said Polly, when the four children had scampered down the lane, bringing up breathlessly at the door of the little cottage, “you must go right to work, after you’ve said ‘Good morning,’ to Grandma, on splitting the kindlings in the shed, and pile ’em up nicely. And, Joel, don’t ask her any questions; you know how to do it all.”
“Grandma may want ’em done different to-day,” said Joel, stoutly.
“No, she won’t,” said Polly, decidedly; “shoo, there!” this to an old hen who stepped out to the flat door-stone, as Polly opened the door.
“Let me shoo ’em! I’ll do it,” cried Joel, excitedly, pushing past Polly and flapping his arms; “shoo, there; scat you!”
“So will I,” cried David, following suit, and screaming with all his might, the poor old hen flying wild and squawking dismally.
Phronsie sat right down on the old flat stone. “Don’t let ’em do it, Polly,” she begged; “Grandma’s poor old biddies; Polly, please stop them,” lifting a distressed little face.
“Boys,—boys!” called Polly. But they had raced around the cottage. Meantime a big white hen stepped out from under the old kitchen table and hopped leisurely out past Phronsie sitting on the door-stone.
“Misery me!” exclaimed Polly, “there’s ever so many in here. Grandma didn’t see them probably when she shut the door. There, make her go off, Phronsie. Shoo—shoo!” and Polly flew around the little old kitchen brandishing a dish-towel, thereby making two or three other hens waddle and squawk in great distress.