“Well, if Polly Pepper’s got th’ measles, I’m goin’ right down to the little brown house,” declared old Mrs. Beebe, getting up from the shoe-bench. “I’ll set out your dinner, Pa, the cold meat an’ pie, and there’s some hot soup on the stove. I’m goin’ to stay an’ help Mis Pepper,” and she waddled out.
“Well, for mercy’s sake, Mr. Beebe, try on th’ other gaiter. I’ve got to git home some time to-day,” said Mrs. Brown crossly, all hope of a doughnut coming her way now gone entirely.
The little shoemaker stood by the door of his shop thoughtfully jingling the silver pieces in his hands, after his customer had gone out.
“To think o’ Polly bein’ took! O dear, dear! I declare I forgot to give Ma some pink sticks to take to the childern.” He hurried out to the small entry, took down his coat and old cap and rammed his hands into his big pockets.
“Here they are, just as I saved ’em for Joel.” Then he locked up his little shop and ambled down the cobble-stones to overtake old Mrs. Beebe on her way to the little brown house.
But she got there first and opened the old green door without knocking. Mrs. Pepper was coming out of the bedroom with a bowl and a spoon in her hands. Her face was very white, but she tried to smile a welcome.
“Land alive!” exclaimed old Mrs. Beebe in a loud whisper. “Is Polly took?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“Well, I never!” Mrs. Beebe sank down in Mother Pepper’s calico-covered chair. “That beats all—to think that Polly’s took! Whatever’ll you do now!”
“Take care,” warned Mrs. Pepper, “she’ll hear you,” and she pointed to the bedroom.