“Polly gits th’ letters,” said old Mr. Beebe.
“Yes, an’ they hope he’s comin’, an’ th’ father, over to Hingham again this summer,” said Mrs. Beebe. “Well, I could tell lots more, but I sha’n’t, ’cause I’ve got to get back an’ git on my other apun an’ red up my kitchen,” and she waddled off.
“It’s th’ most remarkable story I ever heerd,” said Mrs. Goodsell, getting off from the bench, seeing there was no more to be gained.
“So you see why David Pepper run so like lightnin’,” cried old Mr. Beebe, “he was afraid th’ organ man was goin’ down by th’ little brown house, an’ he wanted to get home an’ see that Phronsie didn’t get took off.”
“Well, I don’t blame him,” said Mrs. Goodsell, with a nod from her large head, “an’ I don’t myself much like organ-grinders snoopin’ round. Why, there he is now—an’ th’ monkey’s comin’ in th’ door!”
CHAPTER XXX
THE LETTER
THE little wrinkled face of a monkey appeared, dragging a chain at the end of which came his master. He had set the organ up against the little shop.
Mrs. Goodsell, not knowing how she got there, was standing on the bench, her calico gown whipped tightly around her, the shawl-ends wound over that, and screaming loudly. Old Mrs. Beebe hurried in with both hands raised, while the little shoemaker, trying to drive out both the monkey and the man, didn’t succeed in doing either, but got tangled up with the chain.
“Pa—Pa, let him go!” cried Mrs. Beebe, wringing her hands. “I’ll get th’ broom,” disappearing to come back with it, when she found things in a much worse state. For the monkey, shaking the chain free from both the little shoemaker and his master, was now on the upper shelf in the row that occupied one side of the shop, twitching off the covers of the boxes, and throwing down the shoes and rubbers and slippers in a heap to the floor.
In the midst of all this confusion, David Pepper opened the door.