“I’m sure I’m glad to,” said Mary Pote, going off to the roadside after her, and sinking down under an old scrub oak, over which blackberry vines scrambled at their own sweet will. Mrs. Pepper sat down on the other end of the stone, and placed the bundle of coats Mr. Atkins had given her, on the grass at her feet.
“When I get my breath enough, I’ll tell you,” said Mary Pote, “what I was following you for.”
Mrs. Pepper folded her hands in her lap, and let her gaze wander off to the hills encircling Badgertown. It was hard to remember when she had done a thing like this, idling of a morning on a roadside stone.
“Well now,” said Mary Pote, “I’m getting my second wind and I’ll begin. Miss Parrott sent me down to say that she wanted to have you and the children go to the circus to-morrow at Cherryville.”
“To the circus!” Mrs. Pepper hastily turned her gaze from the hills and turned to Mary Pote in blank amazement.
“To the circus, I said,” Mary Pote nodded and picked off a spear of grass to break into small bits and scatter in her lap, “though if all is told, I b’lieve it’s a sight more of a menagerie than any other show. Anyway, Miss Parrott told me to tell you that she was going to send you all to it, if you’d go.”
“Not all of us?” said Mrs. Pepper incredulously.
“Every single one of you. I’ll give you her very words,—‘Mary Pote, you go down and say to Mrs. Pepper that I want her and all the children to go to the circus to-morrow. Mind, Mary Pote, Mrs. Pepper and every one of the Five Little Peppers.’ There you have it.” She picked off a second spear of grass and sent the bits after the others.
Mrs. Pepper drew a long breath. “Oh, I don’t think I can,” she said.
“I wouldn’t think, if I was you,” said Mary Pote, “I never do when Miss Parrott says a thing, but I just get up and do it.”