Phronsie Pepper

by Margaret Sidney

But, notwithstanding all Phronsie’s comfort, Polly knew that she would have to give hard and constant work to make this, the supreme effort of her life thus far in a musical way, a success. It was the first time that anybody outside of the highest professional lines had been asked to play with the Symphony Orchestra; and when this urgent request had been laid before Polly, she had said, “Oh, no! I cannot play well enough.”

But Mrs. Jasper King’s reputation as a pianist had gone farther than Polly knew. A request came, signed by a long list of people whose names were high in an artistic sense, fortified by the best citizens of the good old town of Berton,—itself a guaranty of anything in that line, for was it not the home of the Symphony? When this came, and Polly saw Jasper’s eyes, she gave a little gasp. “I will, dear, if you think best,” she said, looking at no one but him.

“It’s just as you say, Polly,” Jasper had answered. But his eyes shone, and he instinctively straightened up with pride. And when she had said, “O Jasper! if you think I can, I’ll do it,”—“I know you can, Polly,” Jasper had declared, and Polly had said “Yes,” and great delight reigned everywhere; and Grandpapa had patted her head, and said, “Well done, Polly! To think of all those hard hours of practice in the old days turning out like this;” and Mamsie had smiled at her in a way that only Mamsie could smile. And Polly and Jasper had hurried off to Berton the next morning, Jasper swinging the little publishing bag, on the way to the train, with a jubilant hand; and in the lapse of the hard working hours, when things eased up a bit, he had said to Mr. Marlowe (for it was Marlowe & King now, in bright gilt letters over the big door), “I am going with my wife to select the music,” for Polly was a prime favorite with Mr. Marlowe, and everything was told to him.

And Jasper and Polly went to the music-store, and ransacked the shelves, and tried various selections, for Polly was to play what she liked; and after the piece was picked out, then the two went to luncheon at the cunning little restaurant on a side street, nice and quiet, where they could talk it all over.

But sometimes, when Polly was all alone in the big music-room opening on the side veranda, she trembled all over at the terrible responsibility she had taken upon herself. It seemed so very much worse to fail now that she bore Jasper’s honored name, than if she were only unknown and simple “Polly Pepper.” And to-day she could not help showing this dismay to Phronsie.

“But Mamsie would say so,” repeated Polly over and over to herself bravely, “just what Phronsie did.” And then at it she would fly harder than ever. And every evening after the “publishing bag” had been looked over in Jasper’s and Polly’s little den, and its contents sorted and attended to for the morrow, Jasper would always say, “Now, Polly, for the music;” and Polly would fly to the piano, while he drew up a big easy-chair to her side, to settle into it restfully; and the others would hurry in at the first note, and then Polly’s concert would begin. And every night she knew she played it a little bit better, and her cheeks glowed, and her heart took comfort.

Tying on her big garden hat, Phronsie went across the road.

Phronsie put away the little sewing-bag as soon as Polly finished practising this morning, and hung it on its hook over Grandpapa’s newspaper rack,—for she always sat and sewed in the music-room mornings when Polly practised, generally making sails for the boys, just as Polly had done years ago, or clothes for Barby’s dolls,—and tying on her big garden hat, she went over across the road, and down around the corner, to the big house where Mrs. Fargo and Johnny had come to board for the summer, arriving a week earlier than they intended, as it was warm at home, and Mrs. Fargo watched jealously over Johnny’s health.

“It does seem so very nice to have you here, dear Mrs. Fargo,” she said, coming upon that lady in one of her big square rooms. For Mrs. Fargo had taken the whole upper floor of the house, and was in the depths of the misery of unpacking the huge trunks with which the rooms and hall seemed to be full, the maid busy as a bee in the process, while Johnny was under foot every other minute in a way terrible to behold. “And now I’m going to help.” She laid aside her big hat on the bed.