“Where’s she goin’?” asked old Mrs. Beebe.
“She’s gone to get her doll,” said Polly, as Phronsie ran into Mamsie’s bedroom. When Seraphina wasn’t played with, she was laid in the bottom drawer of the old bureau, where the precious red-topped shoes were kept. And, presently, out came Phronsie hugging Seraphina and telling her all about the doughnuts and good Mrs. Beebe, who was her own dear, sweet Mrs. Beebe, until the old lady sat back and laughed till the tears came, and David and Polly had finished their doughnuts. And, then, back came old Mr. Beebe and Joel, who was in a great state of excitement, whooping it all out as soon as he got within the door. “Mr. Beebe’s going to take us to ride,” he screamed, “can’t we go, Polly,—say, can’t we,—can’t we?”
“Yes, do let ’em,” said Mrs. Beebe, “I’m goin’ to set an’ be comfortable in your Ma’s chair, an’ you go too, Polly,” she added. “There’s plenty of room, th’ boys can set in the back o’ th’ wagon.”
“Oh, I can’t,” said Polly, with a wistful glance out of the window at the big green wagon and the old white horse; “I’ve got to pick out basting-threads.”
“Can’t you leave ’em, Polly?” asked the old lady, kindly, with a glance at the flushed face.
“No,” said Polly, pushing back the brown rings of hair from her forehead, “because Mamsie wants to take the coats home to Mr. Atkins to-day. I ought not to have stopped so long,” she said remorsefully.
Old Mrs. Beebe gave a sigh, “I ain’t any good at pickin’ bastin’s,” she said; “my fingers is all thumbs at such work. Well, Polly, you fly and get th’ others ready, an’ then sometime Pa’ll come an’ give you a drive.”
So Polly flew to get Phronsie’s things on. Joel already was in the big wagon hallooing for David to hurry up. And then Seraphina’s bonnet must be tied on, for, of course, she must go too. And at last the three children, Phronsie carrying the remains of her doughnut to eat on the way, were off. Old Mrs. Beebe watched them from the window, and Polly hurried back up the path to fly to work over the basting-threads.
XII
AT THE PARSONAGE
POLLY PEPPER drew a long breath and stepped up on the flat stone before the parsonage door. Even then it was not too late to turn and run home! But Mamsie—oh, that would never do, for hadn’t Mrs. Pepper sent her with the blue bowl that had contained the little pat of butter, and her thanks for it! And if she, Polly, should turn her back on it all and run home, why, it would be such a dreadful thing and disgrace the Little Brown House forever. No, she must go through with it, and face Miss Jerusha, if, as she dreaded, that lady should come to the door. So she lifted the big brass knocker, and let it fall with a clang.