BOOKS BY

MARGARET SIDNEY

A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill Price, $1.50

A LITTLE MAID OF BOSTON TOWN
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill Price, $1.50

THE FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS

IN ORDER OF PUBLICATION

Eleven Volumes Illustrated Price per volume, $1.50

• FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW
• FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS MIDWAY
• FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS GROWN UP
• PHRONSIE PEPPER
• THE STORIES POLLY PEPPER TOLD
• THE ADVENTURES OF JOEL PEPPER
• FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS ABROAD
• FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AT SCHOOL
• FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND THEIR FRIENDS
• BEN PEPPER
• FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS IN THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

Polly telling her stories.
“[So one of Mamsie’s bed-slippers was tied on Phronsie’s little sore foot, and Polly began]”—

THE STORIES
POLLY PEPPER TOLD

TO THE

FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS IN THE
LITTLE BROWN HOUSE

BY

MARGARET SIDNEY

AUTHOR OF “FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW,”
“A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN,” ETC., ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY
JESSIE McDERMOTT and ETHELDRED B. BARRY

BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD CO.

Registered in U. S. Patent Office.

Copyright, 1899,
BY
Lothrop Publishing Company

All rights reserved.

Forty-fourth Thousand.

TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON, BOSTON.

PRESSWORK BY BERWICK & SMITH.

TO

MARGARET MULFORD LOTHROP

WHO REPRESENTS TO THOSE WHO
KNOW HER, BOTH THE

“POLLY” and the “PHRONSIE”

OF THE

Five Little Peppers

THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED.

PREFATORY NOTE.

The author has received from mothers and other persons interested in the Pepper Family, so many requests for the Stories told by Polly Pepper (to which frequent allusion has been made in the Series called the “Five Little Peppers’” Books), that this initial volume of Polly’s earlier stories has been prepared in obedience to these requests.

Wayside, Concord, Mass.
March, 1899.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

THE
Stories Polly Pepper Told
TO THE FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS.

[I.]
THE LITTLE WHITE CHICKEN.

“You see,” said Polly, “the little white chicken was determined she would go into Susan’s playhouse.”

Phronsie sat in Mamsie’s big calico-covered rocking-chair. The last tear had trailed off the round cheek since Polly had come home and was by her side, holding her hand. The pounded toes were thrust out before her, tied up in an old cloth, and waiting for the wormwood which was steeping on the fire. Grandma Bascom, protesting that soon Phronsie wouldn’t know that she had any toes, sank into a chair and beamed at her. “You pretty creeter, you,” she cried, her cap-border bobbing heartily.

“I wish she wouldn’t talk,” grunted Joel, burrowing on the floor, his head in Polly’s lap, where her soft fingers could smooth his stubby black hair.

“’Sh!” said Polly, with a warning pinch.

“Go on,” begged Davie, hanging over her chair, intent as Phronsie on the fate of the white chicken; “did she go in, Polly; did she?”

Phronsie sat still, her eyes on Polly’s face, her fat little hands clasped in her lap, while she held her breath for the answer.

“Dear me, yes,” cried Polly quickly; “she stretched her neck like this,” suiting the action to the word, for Polly always acted out, as much as she could, all her stories, particularly on emergencies like the present one, “and peered around the corner. Susan wasn’t there, for she was up at the house sitting on a stool and sewing patchwork. But there was a black object over in the corner, and”—

“Oh, you pretty creeter, you!” exclaimed Grandma suddenly, at Phronsie, on whom she had gazed unceasingly, “so you did pound your toes—there—there—you pretty creeter!”

“Ugh—ugh! make her stop,” howled Joel, twitching up his head from its soft nest. “Oh, dear, we can’t hear anything. Stop her, Polly, do.”

“Joel,” said Polly, “hush this minute; just think how good she’s been, and the raisins. O Joey!”

“They are dreadful hard,” grumbled Joel; but he slipped his head back on Polly’s lap, wishing her fingers would smooth his hair again. But they didn’t; so he burrowed deeper, and tried not to cry. Meanwhile Phronsie, with a troubled expression settling over her face at this condition of things, made as though she would slip from the old chair. “Take me, Polly,” she begged, holding out her arms.

“Oh, no, you mustn’t, you pretty creeter,” declared Grandma, getting out of her chair to waddle over to the scene, her cap-border trembling violently, “you’ll hurt your toes. You must set where you be till you get the wormwood on.” And Davie running over to put his arms around Phronsie and beg her to keep still, the little old kitchen soon became in great confusion till it seemed as if the white chicken must be left for all time, peering in at Susan’s playhouse and the black object in the corner.

“Oh, dear me!” cried Polly at her wit’s end; “now you see, Joey. Whatever shall I do?”

[“Take me, Polly,” implored Phronsie], leaning out of the big chair at the imminent danger of falling on her nose, and two tears raced over her round cheeks. At sight of these, Polly suddenly lifted her out and over to her lap, Joel deserting that post in a trice, and wishing he was Phronsie so that he could cry and be comforted.

[“Take me, Polly,” implored Phronsie.]

“Dear, dear, dear!” exclaimed Grandma Bascom gustily, trotting off to the tin cup with the wormwood steeping on the stove. “She must have the wormwood on. Whatever’ll become of her toes if she don’t set still, I d’no. There, there, she’s a pretty creeter.”

“I don’t want any on,” said Phronsie from her nest in Polly’s arms, and contentedly snuggling down. “Please don’t let her put any on, Polly,” she whispered up against her neck.

“I’ll put it on,” said Polly soothingly. “Well, now, Phronsie,” patting the yellow head, and with an anxious look up at the old clock, “you know I can’t bake Mamsie’s birthday cake unless you have that wormwood on and sit in her chair like a good girl. And then think how very dreadful it would be to have Mamsie come home and it shouldn’t be done. Oh, I can’t think of such a thing!” Polly’s hand dropped away from the yellow hair, and fell to her lap, as she sat quite still.

Phronsie lifted her head and looked at her. “I’ll have the wet stuff on, Polly, and sit in the chair,” she said, with a long sigh; “lift me back, Polly, do; then you can bake Mamsie’s cake.”

So Phronsie was lifted back with great ado, Polly kissing her many times, and telling her how glad she would be on the morrow when Mamsie’s birthday cake would be a beautiful success, and how happy Mamsie would be to know that Phronsie helped to bake it by being such a good girl. And the little toes were wet with the wormwood, and tied up in an old cloth; and Grandma Bascom, dropping the tin cup which she was bearing back to the stove, with a clatter on the floor, created such a diversion as Polly and the boys ran to get cloths and spoons to save the precious wormwood and wipe the floor clean, that the little old kitchen rang with the noise, and it was some time before Polly could get it quieted down again.

At last Polly drew a long breath. “Well, now, children, if you’ll be very still I’ll tell you the rest about the white chicken, while I’m making Mamsie’s cake. And I’ll pull your chair, Phronsie, up to the table so you can see me.”

“Let me, let me!” screamed Joel, hopping up to lay hasty hands on the old calico-covered rocker. “I want to, Polly; let me pull it up.”

“I want to,” begged David, just as nimble on the other side.

“So you shall; you can both help,” cried Polly merrily, deep in thought over the intricacies of ‘Mirandy’s weddin’-cake receet.’

“Well,” said Grandma, seeing Phronsie on such a high road to recovery, “I’m dretful glad I found that receet. I put it in my Bible so’s to have it handy to give John’s folks when they come; they set great store by it to the weddin’: and I must go home now, ’cause I left some meat a-boilin’.” So off she waddled, Joel going to the door and gallantly assisting her down the steps and to the gate, glad to make amends. Then he rushed back.

“Now for the white chicken!” he cried, drawing a long breath, and perching on the end of the baking-table.

“Yes,” said Polly; “but you’ve got to have on one of Mamsie’s old slippers first, Phronsie.”

“Oh, ho,” Phronsie laughed gleefully, “how funny!”

[So one of Mamsie’s old cloth slippers was tied on to Phronsie’s little foot] with a bit of string through the middle, the children one and all protesting that it looked like an old black pudding-bag; [and Polly began] again, “Now,” she said absently, “I’ll tell you about the little white chicken—just as soon as I have—oh, dear me! let me see if I have all my things ready.” She wrinkled her brows and thought a minute. Joel kicked his heels impatiently against the table-side, while Davie clasped his hands tight so as not to say anything to worry Polly.

“Yes, I believe they’re all here,” said Polly, after what seemed an age to the children. “Well, there now, children, I’m ready to begin on the story. Oh, let me see, all but the big bowl;” and she ran into the buttery and brought it out, and began to mix the cake with quite an important air. Phronsie drew a long breath of delight that ended in a happy little crow. “You must know that the white chicken made up her mind that she would go into Susan’s playhouse, although”—

“You told that,” interrupted Joel, filliping at the dish where the raisins, with a plentiful sprinkling of flour, lay ready to lend their magnificence to Mamsie’s birthday cake; “go on where you left off, Polly.”

“You said she saw a black object over in the corner,” said Davie, with big eyes; “tell about that.”

“Oh, yes, so I did!” said Polly; “now, Joe, you mustn’t touch the raisins. Every single one must go into Mamsie’s cake.”

Joel drew away his hand; but it was impossible not to regard the plate, on which he kept his gaze fastened.

“Well, in crept the little white chicken,” said Polly tragically, and stirring briskly the cake-mixture with the long wooden spoon, “hoping the black object wouldn’t see her. She had to go in you see, because just outside the door, coming under the apple-trees, was a noise, and it sounded very much like a boy; and the little white chicken had rather be scared by a black object in the corner inside, than to let that boy spy her. So she crept in very softly, and was just beginning to tuck up her feet and sit down behind the door, when the black object stirred, and over went the little white chicken all in a heap.”

Joel gave a grunt of great satisfaction, and tore his eyes from the raisin-plate.

“What was it?” gasped Davie fearfully, and getting nearer to Polly’s side. Phronsie kept her wide eyes on Polly’s face, and sat quite still, her little hands folded in her lap.

“You wait and see,” said Polly gayly, and stirring away for dear life. “Well, over went the little white chicken, and”—

“You said that,” interrupted Joel; “do hurry and tell the rest.”

“Then she shut her eyes just like this,” Polly stopped stirring, and turned to Phronsie, wrinkling up her face as much like a chicken in despair as was possible. “Oh, you can’t think how she felt; she was so frightened! She tried to call her mother, but the ‘peep—peep’ that always used to be so loud and clear, stuck way down in her throat; and then she knew she never in all this world could make her mother hear because she hadn’t minded her. And outside she could hear old Mrs. Hen calling her brothers and sisters to come and get the worms she had just scratched up.”

“And wouldn’t the little white chicken ever get a worm?” broke out Phronsie in dreadful excitement; “wouldn’t she, Polly, ever?”

“No—oh, yes; she could when she was good,” said Polly at sight of Phronsie’s face.

“Make her good,” begged Phronsie, unclasping her hands to pull Polly’s gown; “oh do, Polly!”

“No, make her bad,” cried Joel insistently; “as bad as can be, do, Polly!”

“O Joel!” reproved Polly, stirring away; “whoever would want that little white chicken bad—any more than for a boy to be naughty.”

“Well, make her bad enough to be scared; and have the awful black thing be a bear, and most bite her to death, and chew her head off,” cried Joel, feeling delicious thrills at the dreadful possibilities that might happen to the chicken.

“Oh, dear me!” cried Polly in horror, “the poor little white chicken!”

“Don’t let it bite her much,” said Davie. “But do make it a bear, Polly!”

“Well, I will,” said Polly obligingly, “make it a bear, boys.”

“And don’t let it bite her any,” begged Phronsie; and she put up her lip, while the brown eyes were imploringly fixed on Polly’s face.

Joel squirmed all over the table-end. “Just such a little bear,” he remonstrated. “Hoh! he couldn’t bite much; I’d just as lieves he’d bite me,” baring his brown arm.

“No—no—no!” protested Phronsie, shaking her yellow head decidedly; “I don’t want him to bite her any, poor little white chicken;” and she looked so very near to crying, and Mamsie’s old black slipper on the pounded toes began to flap so dismally, that Polly hastened to say, “Oh! I’ll tell you, children, what I’ll do; I’ll have Tommy come out and shoot the bear right away.”

“Oh, whickety!” whooped Joel. David clasped his hands ecstatically. This was much better,—to have Tommy and the bear, than the bear and the little white chicken. Phronsie laughed delightedly, “Make him come quick, do, Polly!” she screamed.

“Hurry up!” called Joel; “O Phron! don’t talk. Do hurry, Polly!”

“Well, you see,” went on Polly, stirring away for dear life, “that when Susan went into the house to sit on the stool and do patchwork, her brother Tommy thought he would take his gun and see if he could find anything to shoot, like rabbits, and”—

“No—no,” cried Joel in alarm, twitching her sleeve, “bears, bears!”

“He didn’t expect to see a bear,” said Polly; “he went out to shoot rabbits. But he found the bear instead, you know,” catching sight of Joel’s face, which immediately cleared up, and he settled back contentedly. “Well, Tommy went along by old Mother Hen clucking and scratching, and all the rest of the chickens, except the little white one; and just as he was going by Susan’s playhouse he thought he would look in and scare the dolls with his big gun.”

“Don’t let him, Polly!” begged Phronsie in a worse fright than before. “Oh, don’t let him; don’t let him!”

“Ow! there ain’t any fun. Phron keeps stopping us all the time,” howled Joel. “Let him, Polly. Gee—whiz—bang! that’s the way I’d do,” bringing an imaginary gun to his shoulder and blazing away.

“Well, then he’d have scared the bear so he couldn’t have shot him,” said little Davie quietly.

“So he would, Davie,” said Polly approvingly, and dropping the spoon to pet Phronsie; “if Joel had been there, the bear would have got away.”

Joel, much discomfited at this, ducked suddenly and looked sheepish. “Well, go on,” he said.

“And Tommy didn’t scare the dolls, because you see he was scared himself. The first thing he saw was the little white chicken crouched down like this.” Down went Polly on the old kitchen floor, and made herself so much like a little white chicken very much frightened, that the children held their breath to see her.

“And then Tommy looked at what scared the little white chicken,” went on Polly, hopping up and beginning to stir the cake-mixture again. [“And—he—saw—the—bear!”]

[“And—he—saw—the—bear.”]

It is impossible to describe the effect this statement had on the old kitchen and its occupants; and Polly, well pleased, rushed on, dilating on how the bear looked, and how Tommy looked, and how the little white chicken looked; till, in a pause, the crackling in the old stove proclaimed all things ready for the baking of Mamsie’s birthday cake, and she exclaimed, “Deary me, I must hurry. Oh well! Tommy saw the bear getting ready to spring, just like this; and he put up his gun, like this, and it went bang—bang! and over went Mr. Bear quite, quite dead.”

“Like this?” cried Joel, tumbling off from the table-end to a heap in the middle of the old floor; “just like this, Polly?” sticking up his stubby black head to look at her.

“No—no!” cried Davie, hurrying to make another heap of himself by Joel’s side; “he stuck up his legs, didn’t he, Polly?” and out went David’s arms and legs as stiff as sticks, as he lay on his back staring at the ceiling.

“Hoh—hoh!” laughed Joel in derision; “bears don’t tumble down that way, Dave, when they’re killed; do they, Polly?”

“Yes, they do too,” contradicted little David, not moving a muscle; “don’t they, Polly?” while Phronsie tried to get out of her big chair to show, too, how she thought the bear would tumble over.

“Oh, no, Phronsie pet, you mustn’t!” cried Polly in alarm; “you’ll hurt your poor toes. Well, I think the bear looked something like both of you boys. He didn’t stick his legs up stiff, but he was on his back like Davie.”

“Well, I’m on my back,” cried Joel, whirling over; while David’s stiff little wooden legs and arms fell down in a twinkling. “Well, now you boys must get me the cinnamon,” said Polly, with a brisk eye on the old clock. “Deary me, I ought to have this cake in the oven—it’s in the Provision Room, you know.”

“And then we’ll get something to eat,” cried the two bears, hopping up to race off.

[II.]
THE PRINCESS ESMERALDA’S BALL.

“It was a most beautiful place,” cried Polly. “Oh! you can’t think, children, how perfectly beautiful it all was;” and she clasped her hands and sighed.

“Tell us,” they all begged in one breath, crowding around her chair.

“Well, I can’t till Ben gets back, because you know he wanted to hear this story;” and Polly flew out of her rapture, and picked up her needle again. “Dear me!” she exclaimed, and a wave of remorse sent the color flying over her cheek, “I didn’t mean to stop even for a minute;” and she glanced up at the old clock.

“Ben never’ll come,” grumbled Joel, racing to the window with Davie at his heels; “he’s so awful slow.”

“Well, it’s slow work,” said Polly, stitching away briskly, “to carry a great heavy molasses jug and a bag of Indian meal way up here from the store. Now, if you two boys wanted to go and meet him, you could help ever so much.”

“I went last time down to that old store,” said Joel, kicking his toes against the wall as he stared out of the window; “it’s Dave’s turn now, Polly.”

“Oh, oh!” cried little Davie, “I’ve been ever and ever so many more times, Polly; truly I have.”

“And we’ve just got through doing all our work,” went on Joel, ignoring David’s remarks; “and we had such a lot to do to-day Polly,” he added in an injured tone.

“You needn’t go if you don’t want to,” said Polly, with a fine scorn; “I said if you wanted to go.”

“Well, we don’t want to,” declared Joel loudly, and he kicked his toes triumphantly. Phronsie, curled up in a ball on the floor at Polly’s feet, while she nursed Seraphina, stared at them gravely.

“I’ll go, Polly,” she said at last, laying Seraphina, with a sigh, on the floor, and getting up to her feet.

“Oh, no, Pet! you can’t go,” said Polly quickly; “you’re too little. Why, you aren’t bigger’n a mouse, Phronsie;” and she began to laugh, but she turned a cold shoulder to the boys.

“I’m very big, Polly,” said Phronsie gravely, and standing up on her tiptoes. “See—oh, so big! and I must go down and help poor Bensie. Let me, Polly, do!” and she put up her lips, and the tears began to come into the brown eyes.

“Now you see, boys,” began Polly, casting aside her work to take Phronsie on her lap.

“Oh, I’ll go, Polly!” cried little Davie, springing forward, his face all in a flame. “I want to go; truly I do.”—

“No, I will,” howled Joel, dashing away from his window. “You’ve been ever so many times, Dave; I’m going.”

“Joel,” cried Polly, as he was rushing off, “come here a minute.”

He came back slowly, with one eye on Davie. “What do you want, Polly?” he cried impatiently.

“David wants to go,” said Polly slowly, and looking steadily into his flushed face. “Now, unless you really want to go to help Bensie, why you must stay at home.”

“I—want—to go—to help Bensie,” declared Joel insistently, with a very red face. “O Polly! I do. Let me go.” He was so near to crying that Polly said hastily, “I know, Joey, you do want to help Bensie; there, there,” and she gave him an approving little pat.

“I want to help Bensie,” cried Joel; his smiles all come again to the chubby face, and off he dashed.

“Now, Davie,” said Polly in her briskest fashion, and setting to on the long seam, “I think if I were you, I’d play with Phronsie a bit,” with a glance at the disappointed little face.

“Come on, Phronsie,” said little David, gulping down his disappointment; for now that Joel was fairly on the way to meet Ben, nothing seemed better than to be of the party. But he sat down on the floor, where Phronsie immediately crouched beside him; and in a minute the only sound in the old kitchen was the soft hum of their voices, and Phronsie’s delighted little gurgle as the play went on.

“I better be going over that story again in my mind,” said Polly to herself. “I’ve a good chance now, it’s so quiet and lovely;” and she beamed at Davie when he looked up, in a way to make his little heart glad. And then Polly was lost in the depths of her story till the old kitchen and the little brown house and the children faded away; and she was revelling in the glories of the palace, with retinues of courtiers and servants at her beck and call, and all the paraphernalia of royalty around her. For was she not the Princess Esmeralda herself? And a smile played around Polly’s lips as she stitched on, all unconscious of the task her fingers were performing.

“Hi-hi!” It was Joel shouting close to her chair, and there was Ben coming in the door with a pleased look on his face. “Now for the story,” screamed Joey, setting down the bag of meal with a bang on the table; and down tumbled Polly’s castle all around her ears. “Well, I’m glad I’ve got it fast in my mind so I can tell it good,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Yes, I’m ready;” and she smiled at Ben.

“That’s good,” said Ben heartily, “that you didn’t tell that story until I got home, Polly.”

“Did you suppose I would, Ben?” said Polly with an air of reproach.

“No, I didn’t really,” said Ben, wiping his hot face. “But it was good of you, Polly, to wait for me. And it was good of you Joe, too, to come to meet me, for I had to go around to Parson Henderson’s with a letter.”

“O Ben!” exclaimed Polly, “did you have to go all around there with those heavy things?”

“Yes,” said Ben, “I did. But you wouldn’t have had me not go, Polly; for Mr. Atkins said Parson Henderson had been for his letters very early, and this came afterwards, and he wouldn’t be there again to-day.”

“Oh no, no, of course not,” said Polly hastily. “I mean I wouldn’t have had you not go for anything in this world, Ben Pepper. You know I wouldn’t;” and she looked so distressed that Ben hastened to say most assuringly,—

“I know you wouldn’t, Polly; and don’t you think, Mrs. Henderson said it was a most important letter indeed; and if Mr. Henderson hadn’t had it to-day it would have been very bad.”

“Oh, I am so glad he got it to-day, Ben Pepper!” [Polly flew out of her chair to run and throw her arms around him.] “And you were the one to carry it to him.”

[Polly threw her arms around Ben.]

“And then when I got to the Four Corners,” went on Ben, “there was Joel running to meet me. You can’t think how good it seemed to see him!”

“O Joey! did you get clear down to the Four Corners?” cried Polly, turning to him in a transport.

“Yes, I did,” bobbed Joel, glad to think he had run every step of the way without stopping to think, and forgetting how his arms ached carrying the meal-bag. “Now, Polly, tell us the story quick, do.”

“So I will,” cried Polly merrily, rushing back to her chair and the sewing. “Oh, it’s so splendid that Ben’s back! We’ve got a whole hour now before Mamsie’s to be home. Now, then,” as the group huddled up around her. “Once upon a time, long years ago, there was one of the richest kings and queens that the world has ever seen. Why, they had so much money that nobody had ever counted it; they hadn’t time, you know. And it kept coming in until the bags of gold pieces filled up all one side of the courtyard, and they had to build great sheds to put the rest in.”

“Where’d it come from?” broke in Joel abruptly, unable to keep still at thought of such a state of affairs.

“Oh! the things they sold in the whole kingdom were so many,” said Polly; “there were millions—no, billions of bushels of corn, and wheat and rye and silks and ribbons and butter and cheese, and laces and artificial flowers and candy, and”—

“Oh, my!” cried Joel, smacking his lips.

“Like the pink sticks old Mrs. Beebe gave Phronsie the day she hurt her toe?” queried David, his mouth watering at the remembrance.

“Yes, the very same,” said Polly.

“Now, you children mustn’t interrupt every single minute,” commanded Ben; “if you do, Polly and I will go off into a corner, and she will tell me the story. And Phronsie—we’ll take her, because she hasn’t said a word.”

“Oh, we won’t—we won’t again, will we, Dave?” cried Joel, with a punch on that individual’s back.

“No,” said little David promptly; “please go on, Polly.”

“You see, everything that anybody wanted to buy—I mean the people in other countries—was all for sale in this kingdom; and big ships went sailing off ever so many times a day with the things piled in them; and when they came back the captain brought all the money he got for the things, tied up in big bags; and the ships kept coming back, ever so many a day, so that there was no hope that the gold pieces would ever be any less. And one day the king walked up and down his palace hall, wringing his hands. ‘Oh! I wish there wasn’t so much money in the world,’ he cried; ‘for pretty soon I shall be turned out-of-doors, with all the gold pieces crowding me out.’ And he looked so very sad as his wife, the queen, put her head in the doorway, that she said, ‘My dear, we will have the golden coach brought around to take us out to drive.’

“‘Don’t say golden anything to me,’ cried the king in a passion, for he was almost beside himself. ‘I’m sick of the sound of the word, my dear;’ and he beckoned her to him, and they went and sat together on the great throne at one end of the hall. It shone with diamonds and rubies and emeralds, and all manner of precious stones; and it had great curtains of twisted ropes of jewels looped up over their heads; and there they sat, and he held her hand. ‘I’m really afraid,’ and he looked in her face, ‘that something must be done, for this is a dreadful state of things.’

“‘Now, if you are going to talk business,’ said the queen tartly, ‘I think it is time to call Esmeralda.’ You see, whenever there was anything to decide in the kingdom, the king and queen never did the leastest little bit of a thing about it, without at first calling Esmeralda, and laying the case before her. So now they rang five or six golden bells in turn; and the king blew a blast on a glass horn, oh, ever so many feet long! that hung by his side of the throne; and the queen whistled on a tremendous silver whistle that hung by her side of the throne; and pretty soon [Esmeralda came running in] all out of breath. She was dressed in sea-green satin, over a white lace petticoat pinned up with diamonds, and she had a bunch of flowers in her hand that were sweet with the morning dew. She had long floating yellow hair, just like Phronsie’s;” and Polly paused long enough to glance lovingly at the small head snuggled up against her knee.

[“In came the Princess Esmeralda.”]

“‘Good-morning, father,’ and ‘Good-morning, mother,’ said the Princess Esmeralda, kneeling before her parents sitting on the throne; and she laid the flowers, with the morning dew on them, in their hands.

“‘We have summoned you, Esmeralda,’ said the king in a troubled way, ‘because we are in dire extremity, and must have your advice.’

“Esmeralda wrinkled her pretty brow, and looked very wise; but her heart beat dreadfully against her bodice and”—

“What’s a bod”—began Joel.

“Ugh!” cried Ben with a warning finger held up, as Joel ducked instantly.

“It’s a waist that princesses always wear,” said Polly; “and Esmeralda’s was all spangled with gold and silver. It shone so that no one could look at it more than a minute at a time. Well, so she said, ‘Yes, father,’ and ‘Yes, mother.’

“‘We have too much gold,’ said the king, smiting his hands together. ‘Esmeralda, I tell you truly, if it keeps coming in we shall all have to move out from this palace, and find another home. What shall we do, my child?’

“Esmeralda jumped up from her knees, and ran to the casement, and climbed up the golden seat beneath it, and peered out. There were the ships below her in the harbor, with the men taking out the bags and bags and bags of gold; and as far as her eye could reach, there were more ships and more ships and more ships all coming in, filled with bags to the very brim. She got down, and ran back. ‘It is certainly very dreadful, father and mother,’ she said, clasping her hands.

“‘Indeed it is,’ declared the king; and he began to tear his hair.

“‘Husband, don’t feel so badly,’ implored the poor queen at that sight, throwing her arms around him. ‘Esmeralda, you must think quickly, because you see we are both going quite distracted.’

“So Esmeralda said the first thing that came into her head. ‘You might tell the men to untie the bags, and pour the gold pieces into the sea at the mouth of the harbor.’

“‘The very thing!’ exclaimed the king in delight; and his face was covered with smiles. ‘Oh, what it is to have a clever child!’ and the queen fell upon Esmeralda’s neck, and kissed and kissed her.

“So then the king rang all his bells, and blew his long glass horn, and then he struck a big silver gong that was always the signal for the Lord High Chamberlain to appear. And when he popped in with his robes of office all caught up in his hands, to let him run to obey the king’s call, and his high peaked hat awry for the same reason, the king gave him the order just as Esmeralda said; and then the Lord High Chamberlain plunged out, after bowing himself before the throne five and twenty times to the marble floor; and the king said to the queen, in the greatest satisfaction, ‘My dear, we must give Esmeralda a Ball for being so clever.’

“And the queen said, ‘Yes, a Ball,’ with the greatest alacrity. And Esmeralda hopped up and down in glee, she was so happy; and she danced and danced until off flew seventy-nine of the diamonds from her lace petticoat, and rolled away into as many cracks and crevices in the corners of the marble hall. But she didn’t care; for there were bushels in her room, and a dozen or two women always sitting on their crickets, with their needles threaded with silver thread, ready to sew on more.

“So then the word went out from the palace all over the kingdom, that there was to be a Ball for the Princess Esmeralda; and all the while the golden stream was pouring out every minute from the big bags into the mouth of the harbor. And Esmeralda fell asleep every night to dream of the beautiful music, and flowers, and lights, and the gay young princes to be sent for as company from every other kingdom; for you must know that never had there been such a ball in all this world before as this one was to be. And every morning Esmeralda waked up quite, quite happy, because the Ball night was just so much nearer. And at last her dress was all ready, and laid out upon her little white bed. It was”—Polly paused most impressively to allow her hearers to take it all in properly, “it was made out of the very finest cobwebs that had all been spun in the sunshine of the palace court-yards. For this, millions of spiders had been caught by the command of the king, who had sent out an edict for that purpose; and they had been set spinning until they had made this beautiful dress of the princess. And it was trimmed around the bottom and the neck by a rainbow, and”—

“O Polly!” exclaimed Ben.

“There, Ben’s talking!” broke in Joel in huge delight. “Hoh! hoh!”

“Yes, a rainbow,” repeated Polly stoutly; “a beautiful red and green and blue and yellow rainbow. Oh! you can’t begin to think, children, how perfectly lovely Esmeralda did look when she was all dressed ready for the Ball. Well, and then the princes began to arrive. There were two hundred of them, and each one brought the princess a present. But the king had said that she should not accept anything of gold, so it had been some little trouble for them to get anything that was nice enough without having it golden. But they did, and there were two hundred presents set out in the palace hall. And Esmeralda was to walk up and down the whole length, and choose the present she liked the best out of the whole collection; and then she was to dance with the prince who had given her this present. Oh, dear me! she thought she would cry her eyes out when the king decided this must be done; for how was she to choose between so many perfectly beautiful things, and there would be one hundred and ninety-nine princes feeling very unhappy indeed. She was just going to say, ‘Oh, my father! I cannot do it;’ and then she knew the king would ring, and strike his big silver gong, and blow for the Lord High Chamberlain to take him off from the throne and put him to bed, and then the lights would be turned out, and everybody would go home, and there would be no Ball at all. She couldn’t do that, of course, as you see. So she stopped a minute to think, as she always did when she had hard questions to decide, until the king roared at her, ‘Do as I say, daughter, or out go the lights;’ and then she said the first thing that came in her head. ‘I like all the presents best, and we’ll all dance together at once.’

“‘Dear me!’ exclaimed the king, ‘how clever!’ and he screamed joyfully to the musicians to begin; and the princess and the two hundred princes all began hopping and jumping about the hall, and presently it looked so nice, the king gave his hand to the queen, and she slid down from the throne, and began to hop about too; and the Lord High Chancellor picked up his flowing robes, and danced on the tips of his toes; and the court ladies skipped back and forth; and the servants came to look in the doorways, and so did the retinues of soldiers. And they couldn’t help it, the music was so fine; and oh, dear me! it went just like this,”—and Polly broke off into a merry little tune as she sprang to her feet and held out her hands, “Come on, let us all dance!” and she seized Ben’s arms, and danced him half across the old kitchen floor.

“Take me, Polly!” begged Joel, who had tumbled over himself in surprise, and now got to his feet to run after the two spinning off so finely.

“Can’t,” said Polly over her shoulder; “you take Phronsie;” and then she began again on the gay tune—Ben whistling away for dear life as an accompaniment.

“Dave’s got her,” said Joel in great discomfiture, turning around to see little Davie and Phronsie’s pink calico gown flying along at a merry rate. “I haven’t got anybody,” seeing which Polly stopped short. “Come with us;” and she held out her hand, and Ben grasped Joel’s arm, and away they went till the old kitchen rang with the fun.

[III.]
THE STORY OF THE CIRCUS.

“You see,” said Polly, “as it rains to-day, I think we ought to have the Circus story.”

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried all the Five Little Peppers together, Ben not being ashamed to add his shout of approval too.

“Do you think you really ought to, Polly?” he asked, coming out of it, and leaving the others in the babel of rejoicing. “Won’t you want it more for some other time?”

Polly ran over and caught him by the jacket sleeve.

“I really think we ought to have it to-day, Bensie,” she whispered. “You see, they’ve been awfully good, and it’s rained for three days now, and you know there wasn’t enough mush for breakfast, and Mamsie couldn’t get any coats to do this week, ’cause Mr. Atkins didn’t dare let her have any more to sew until he’d sold what he had, and trade’s so poor.” And Polly sighed, and wiped away two tears. Ben turned away a moment, and swallowed something hard that was in his throat. Polly, at sight of this, began to laugh; and she said gayly, “Yes, indeed, we’ll have the Circus story now. Get your chairs, and let’s sit round in a ring, children.”

With that the babel of rejoicing changed into a scuffle for chairs and crickets, Joel protesting that he should sit next to Polly, and Phronsie scuttling along to crowd into Polly’s lap, till the little old kitchen fairly rang with the noise.

“Let’s sit in a ring on the floor, Polly, that’s best,” begged little David. So they all got down, and Polly had Joel on one side and Phronsie on the other; though to be sure everybody was next to everybody else, as the ring was constantly moving up closer till it was a bunch of Five Little Peppers; and everybody looked as if there had been plenty of breakfast, and all sorts of good things in the Little Brown House enough for all time to come.

“Now, you know, children,” said Polly, folding her hands in her lap, and feeling quite elegant to be sitting down in the morning telling stories; and she looked at them impressively, “I’ve promised you the Circus story for a lo-ong time.”

“Yes, we know,” said Joel, hitching impatiently. “Don’t talk, but begin.”

Polly shot him a reproving glance that made him duck behind Davie, who sat next, as she went on, “And now to-day I’m going to give it to you. I know Mamsie’d say ’twas best, everything’s all clean spick span;” and she glanced with pride around the little old kitchen that shone from top to toe.

“Mamsie’d like it,” cooed Phronsie; and she patted her pink apron down and looked at Polly to begin.

[“The Circus story,” said Polly], beginning with a great flourish, [“is about so many best and splendid things that you must keep quite still] and not interrupt me a single teenty wee bit.”

[“The circus story,” said Polly, “is about so many best and splendid things that you must keep quite still.”]

They one and all protested that they wouldn’t say a word. So she began, while each one sat as still as a mouse.

“Way far over the top of a high mountain,” said Polly, “so far that no one had ever been entirely over it, at least to come back, lived a big man. He was so large that he couldn’t have found any house in all Badgertown big enough to get into if he had tried ever and ever so much. He had arms and legs and eyes to match, you know, and feet and ears, so he could take perfectly dreadfully large steps, and he could lift as big rocks in his hands as the one hanging over Cherry Brook. Oh, and he could see with his big eyes that stood right out of his face just like cannon balls, so that nothing could hide from him, even if it tried ever so much.”

Joel twisted uneasily and wriggled up nearer to Polly’s side. “And one day the big man sat down on a spur of the mountain and dangled his feet down the side. This was his swing, you know; and he always sat there when he was thinking hard over anything, or making plans.

“Well, there he sat thinking—thinking away as hard as ever he could. And pretty soon he got up and slapped his knee, just as Mr. Tisbett does, you know; and he roared out, ‘The very thing—the very thing!’ And folks down in the valley all ran to their windows and said it thundered, and they drove into the barns and sheds and got ready for the storm. Well, after the big man stopped roaring ‘the very thing,’ and slapping his knee, he looked down the mountain, the side he lived on, you know, and the first thing he saw was a hippo—hippo—moppi—poppicus.” Here Polly paused to take breath. She was very fond of long words, and it was her great delight to wrestle with them; so now she thought she had done very well indeed, and she ran on in the best of spirits—“Oh, he was so big—there isn’t anything, children, that can tell you how big he was! Well, the big man no sooner saw him than he ran like lightning on his perfectly dreadfully large feet down his side of the mountain, and he said to the hippo—pippo—poppi—moppicus—‘Here, you, sir, put your head in this;’ and he twitched out of one of his side pockets a string. It was made of leather, and was just as strong—oh, you can’t think. Well the ‘hippo,’ I’m going to call him that for short,” said Polly suddenly, quite tired out, “took a good look all around, but he saw no way of escape; and the big man kept growing more dreadfully cross every minute he waited, so the poor hippo at last said, ‘As you please, sir,’ and he put his head into the string and was tied fast to a big tree that was one hundred and sixty-seven feet round. Then the big man laughed a perfectly dreadful laugh; and he said, when he had finished, ‘Now you are going to the Circus, sir, and see the pennies taken in at the door.’ Then he went off up to his mountain-spur again.

“And presently he looked down his side of the mountain again, and he spied a gre-at big snake, oh, a beautiful one! all green and gold stripes, and great flashing green eyes to match; for the big man watched Mr. Snake raise his head as he wriggled along, and he ran down his side of the mountain on his dreadfully large feet as quick as a flash, and stood in front of Mr. Snake, who looked this way and that for a chance to escape. But there was none, you see, for the dreadfully large feet of the big man took up all the room; so at last Mr. Snake said in a tired-out voice, just like this: ‘If you please, sir, would you move just a very little?’

“‘Put your head in here, sir,’ roared the big man at him, so that the snake shook and shook just like a leaf on one of our maple-trees in a storm. Well, and at last he had his head with the flashing green eyes, fast in a big bag, which you must know in a twinkling the big man had pulled out of his other side pocket, and then he was left to go flopping and flopping around on the ground most dismally. And then the big man scrambled up to his mountain-side again.

“Well,” said Polly with a long breath, “the next thing he saw was a gi-raffe, as much bigger than the others as you can imagine. And he got him fast, too, so he couldn’t get away; and then he went up to spy out more animals. And by the time the sun went down behind the mountain, and he couldn’t catch any more, he had two hundred creatures all tied fast to trees, or with their heads in bags. And then he sat down on a big stone to rest.”

“I should think he’d have to,” said Ben under his breath.

Polly shot him a reproving glance, and hurried on. “Well, after he was all rested nicely again, he jumped up from his stone, and looked them all in the face, that is, he looked those who were tied to trees in the face, but those with their heads in bags, of course he couldn’t, and he said, ‘My friends,’ for he thought he ought to treat them kindly, they’d been so good to him, ‘I’m going to take you to see the world a little.’ Then he untied those who were tied to the trees, and set them in a line, the hippo in front, because he had him the longest, so it was right to give him the first place, and the creatures with their heads in the bags he set in the middle, because they didn’t need to see, but could just follow the noise of the animals stepping in front of them, and then a long line of more animals. Then the big man cut down one of the large trees and switched it at the heels of the last animal, which was a rhododendron.”

“O Polly!” gasped Ben.

“Yes ’twas,” she declared positively, with red cheeks, “I’m quite sure of that word, for I saw it in the book Parson Higginson lent us; so there! Ben Pepper.”

“Well, never mind,” said Ben faintly; “go on with the story, Polly.” So Polly made her rhododendron move as swiftly as all the others in the line; and presently the whole procession, with the big man at its rear switching the heels of the last animal, was at the top of the mountain; and then he called in a loud voice, “Come, Mr. Circus-man, and get your menaj-menaj-arie.” Polly got over this very well, and hurried on glibly. “And all the people who had opened their barn-doors and houses, thinking there was to be no storm, clapped them to again in a fright. All except one man, and they screamed to him that he was risking his life; but he didn’t care, and he wouldn’t pay any attention to them. So he poked his head out of his doorway, and he screamed, ‘I’m going up the mountain to see for myself if there’s going to be a storm.’ And they all bade him good-bye, and said they were sure they should never see him again; and then they locked their doors, and padlocked them, and away he ran up the mountain.

“The big man was waiting for him; and he said to his animals, ‘Now, my friends, when that man’s head begins to show over that scrub-oak there,’ pointing to the tree, ‘do you all say, “How do you do, and how do you do, and how do you do again.”’ So the animals said they would; and as soon as the man’s head was to be seen peeping over the tree-top, as he ran pretty fast, they all said it. The Hippo roared it, and Mr. Snake grumbled it clear down half his length, and the rhi-rhino-cerus squealed it, and the elephant howled it, and the”—

“What did the rhododendron do?” asked Ben.

“And the guinea-pig—oh, I forgot to tell you there was a perfectly splendid guinea-pig in the collection,” said Polly, not taking any notice of Ben; “and he said it big and loud in his natural voice, and the monkey shrieked it, and”—

“Oh! is there a dear sweet little monkey?” cried Phronsie in a transport. “O Polly! I want him to play with, I do.”

“Oh, no, Phronsie, you can’t,” said Polly hurrying on; “the Circus-man has to have him, you know. Well, and oh, dear me! every single one of those animals said, ‘How do you do, and how do you do, and how do you do again.’ And the man took one look at them and he said, ‘Pretty well, I thank you.’

“And the big man said, ‘You’re the man for me; and I give all these animals to you, for you are the only one who isn’t afraid. Now, march, and good-by.’ And the Circus-man rubbed his eyes and looked again, and there wasn’t any big man; all that was left was the long line of animals and crawling things. So down the mountain-side the procession went. And at the foot there were sixteen red carts with yellow borders, and a cunning little carriage drawn by ever and ever so many dear sweet ponies no bigger than dogs, and then in a minute, out from behind the trees, came rushing as many as a dozen, no, two dozen big horses with long tails. And they swept up to the Circus-man to have him scratch their noses.”

The Five Little Peppers now became dreadfully excited. And Joel jumped up. “Whoop-la!” he screamed, as he pranced around and around the group on the floor, stepping high, and slapping himself as he raced along. “Come on, Dave; this is the way I’d make ’em go, all those horses.”

“Polly, do you suppose we’ll ever see a Circus?” cried little Davie with shining eyes; “ever in all this world?”

“Ever in all this world?” hummed Phronsie, while Ben set his teeth tight together and looked at her. “Yes, indeed,” declared Polly confidently, with eyes only for Ben. “Don’t look so, Ben,” she cried; “we’ll see one sometime.”

“Polly always gets her flowers,” said little Davie in a moment, in a reflective way.

“And if we don’t ever get to see a really, truly Circus,” cried Polly impulsively, “we can hear all about it same’s we have already from Mr. and Mrs. Beebe. So just think what those children must have to do, who don’t ever have anybody to tell them about it as we have.” She folded her hands in her lap and was lost in thought.

“Whoop-la! Whoopity-la! G’lang!” cried Joel with an awful noise, making his steeds put forth all their best paces, around the little old kitchen. “And I’m so glad,” Polly was saying, “that Mr. and Mrs. Beebe did see a Circus when they went down to Rockport; it’s the greatest comfort. Now, if you don’t stop, Joel, I can’t tell the rest of the story;” “and you make so much noise we can’t hear anything,” said Ben.

So Joel gave up slapping his imaginary beasts, and bounded into the middle of the group again, and the little old kitchen quieting down, Polly took up the story once more.

“Well, but you ought to have seen the big white tent that was really the home of all the animals and crawling things, when they actually got home and staid still,” exclaimed Polly, starting off. “Oh! it was quite magnificent, I can tell you. It was as big as the church-green, and it had a great flag on top that swung out in the breeze at every bit of wind, and there were rows and rows of seats all around it in a ring, and down in the middle was the place where the horses danced, and”—

“Like this?” whooped Joel, breaking away again from the bunch of Five Little Peppers on the floor. But Ben picked him by the jacket sleeve and made him sit down suddenly. “Hold on, there,” he said; “you keep still, Joe, you’re worse than a tornado. Go on, Polly, I’ll hold him,” as Polly laughed and hurried on.

“One day they were having a beautiful time; the band that always rode in the red wagon with the yellow wheels, was playing away, oh, such lovely music!” sighed Polly; “and the big tent was just crammed full of people, and the horses were dancing, and everybody was just as happy as could be, when a great big man, oh, his head was almost up to the top of the tent when he stood up straight, came up to the door and stooped down and peeked in.

“‘Go right away!’ screamed the door-man at him as cross as he could be.

[“‘Where’s the Circus-man?’ asked the great ] [big man], and he kept peeking in. ‘I sha’n’t go till I’ve seen the Circus-man.’

[“Where’s the Circus-man?” asked the great big man.]

“So somebody had to run and get the Circus-man; and they made him stop, although he was just in the midst of showing off the monkey who was having a waltz on the back of the biggest elephant; and he was pretty cross, and he marched up to the great big man, and he pretended not to know him; and he said very sharply, ‘Go right off; you’re making a perfectly dreadful noise, and you haven’t paid, and you can’t go in.’

“‘Don’t you know me, Mr. Circus-man?’ cried the great big man; and he stood up quite straight, and his eyes, that stuck out like two cannon balls, stared at him.

“‘Go right away!’ said the Circus-man angrily. ‘I never saw you before in all my life; or I’ll set the dogs on you,’ and he snapped his whip.

“‘Oh, I’ll go,’ said the great big man. ‘Good-by, Mr. Circus-man; the next time you come up to my mountain you needn’t stop to see me. Come every single one of you beasts and beastesses, and reptiles and reptilesses, and animals; it’s time to go home,’ he roared. And everybody inside the big tent screamed that it thundered, and that they’d all be killed, and the elephant knocked the monkey off from his back, and the big snake slipped out, and the rhinoceros jumped over the heads of the children who were giving him peanuts, and the hippo ran, and”—

“And the rhododendron,” said Ben—“what did he do? Don’t forget him, Polly.”

“And the gi-raffe,” said Polly, with a cold shoulder for Ben, “and all of them, they just ran and jumped and skipped and hopped and wriggled out of that tent, and the great big man was going off on his perfectly dreadfully large feet, till he was miles away in a few minutes; and off they all hurried, every single one of them, after him; and although the Circus-man chased and chased and chased after them, he never could catch them. And that’s all,” said Polly, leaning back quite exhausted.

“Well, well!” exclaimed Mother Pepper, coming in suddenly upon the absorbed little group; “now, that looks comfortable,” and her face lighted up and she beamed at Polly.

“O Mamsie!” screamed every one of the bunch, as they sprang to their feet and surrounded her.

“There was a sweet dear little monkey,” cried Phronsie stumbling up, dreadfully excited “and a gre-at big man. Take me, Mamsie,” and she snuggled up to Mother Pepper’s wet gown.

“Take care, child,” cried Mrs. Pepper, hungry to get her baby to her heart; “mother’s all wet. There, there, Polly, Mr. Atkins let me take the umbrella, so I did very well; I’ve set it in the Provision Room; that’s a good girl,” as Polly took off the big shawl and hung it up to dry.

“Now, Ben and you boys run and put some more wood in the stove, do,” cried Polly; “oh, I do so wish you had some tea, Mamsie!” and her face clouded over, and the corners of her mouth drooped.

“It’s better than tea, to see all you children,” cried Mamsie brightly. But nobody dared ask her if she had any coats and sacks to sew; for there wasn’t any big bundle, and Polly sighed and looked at Ben.

[IV.]
THE LITTLE TIN SOLDIERS.

“You must know,” said Polly, “that they had cake every day, little cunning ones, and Sundays they had pink on top of ’em.”

Nobody spoke. At last Joel managed to ask, sitting on the edge of his chair, “On every single one of the cakes, Polly Pepper?”

“Yes,” said Polly decidedly; “every single one of ’em Joey.”

“Not every Sunday?” asked Joel incredulously.

“Yes, every single Sunday; as surely as Sunday came around,” declared Polly in her most decisive fashion. “They didn’t miss once.”

“Now, I know you aren’t telling us true things,” cried Joel in a loud, insistent tone; “’cause no one ever has cake every day, and pink on top every Sunday. So there, Polly Pepper!”

“Of course I’m not telling you true, live things,” retorted Polly in her gayest tone; “I’m making ’em up out of my head as I go along. And a person could have cake every day with pink on top of ’em, if there was enough to go around.”

“Oh!” sighed little Davie, clasping his hands with a long sigh.

Phronsie never took her eyes from Polly’s face, but she said not a word.

“If you keep interrupting all the while, Joe, Polly can’t get on with her story,” said [Ben], who [was mending Mother Pepper’s washboard] over in the corner, with one ear out for the narration proceeding under such difficulties.

[Ben was mending Mother Pepper’s washboard.]

“Well, go on,” said Joel ungraciously, his mouth watering for the cake with pink on top; “but I don’t b’lieve Johnny ever had all that, every day and Sunday.”

“Well, you must believe it,” said Polly, shaking her brown head at him; “or I’m not going to sit here telling you stories. Joey Pepper, you must act as if you believed every single word I say, else you won’t be polite.”

“Oh, I’ll believe it,” exclaimed Joel in alarm at the thought of Polly’s stories ceasing. “I wish I had some of the cake with the pink on top, now, I do. Tell on, Polly.”

“And I,” said Phronsie putting out a little hand; “I wish I had some too, Polly, I do.”

“Well, we haven’t any of us got any,” said Polly. “But I’ll tell you all about Johnny’s. Sit still, Pet, you joggle me so I can’t sew straight; and these seams must be done before Mamsie gets home, else she’ll sit up to-night to do ’em.”

Polly was stitching away on one of the sacks that Mrs. Pepper had promised Mr. Atkins she would take down to the store on the morrow, her needle rushing in and out briskly; and she glanced up at the old clock. “Oh, dear me! if I don’t hurry, I sha’n’t get to the time when Johnny’s little tin soldiers ran.”

“Oh—whoppity—la!” screamed Joel in a transport, forgetting how his mouth watered for the pink-topped cakes; “tell about the soldiers, Polly; tell about them.”

“Well, I can’t if you keep interrupting me all the time, Joel,” said Polly; “I was just going to, when you stopped me about the cakes.”

“That’s just it,” said Ben over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t tell him a single thing, if he goes on like that. Take my advice, Polly, and don’t promise him another story.”

But Polly was already launched into her gayest and best narration; and Joel slipped off from his chair-edge to the floor, where he snuggled up against her feet, his head on her knees, Phronsie longing to do the same thing; but remembering what Polly had said about sewing Mamsie’s seams, she sat up very straight in her chair, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Did Johnny have tin soldiers too?” asked David, in an awe-struck tone.

“Of course, child,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “Why, he had a big house full of just everything.”

“Make Dave stop talking,” said Joel irritably; “we can’t hear anything. Do go on about the soldiers, Polly; you said you would.”

“Now, the first one of you children that says a word,” said Polly merrily, “will have to go out into the Provision Room and stay till I finish this story. I never shall get through at this rate; now remember.”

“Good for you, Polly.” Ben bobbed his approval, and set in two or three nails with smart little taps of his hammer.

“Well, Johnny made up his mind that his tin soldiers had too easy a time, because there hadn’t been anybody to fight, you know, for one thing, Johnny being off for three days fishing with the Mullen boy who lived next door, and too busy to get up a battle with any one; and so things had got to be pretty easy. And the tin soldiers were just as lazy as could be; and some of them, don’t you think, were lying on their backs on the closet shelf; and one had even rolled off, and was having a nap down in the corner where he thought nobody could see him.”

“‘Wake up there!’ hallooed Johnny, flinging wide the closet door very suddenly. ‘There’s going to be a big battle. Attention—Get ready—Form!’”

“Ugh—ugh!”—grunted Joel, starting up. Then he clapped his two brown hands over his mouth and sat down again.

Polly ran on, with an approving smile at him. “And then Johnny saw the poor little fellow fast asleep in the corner.” Here she caught sight of Phronsie opening her mouth; and she hastened to add, “And he picked him up and set him straight. ‘Now, fall into line, my men!’ he shouted at them; and before anybody knew just how, there they were, every single little tin soldier out in the garden under the grape-vine arbor and”—

“Ugh—ugh—ee!” cried Joel explosively. Then he ducked, and came up red and shining, his lips tightly pressed together.

“You’re such a good boy, Josey!” exclaimed Polly. “Now, you see how perfectly elegant it is to tell stories without having to stop every minute to explain things. Well, and there were Jack Mullen’s wooden soldiers all standing up to fight, with Jack as proud and stiff as he could be, back of them. They weren’t as nice as Johnny’s, because, you see, Jack had left his out in the rain the night his mother gave a party—he forgot to take ’em in—and the paint was all washed off, and one soldier had his legs chipped off a bit where Jack’s little cousin had tried his new knife on it, so he went lame; and another one had his gun smashed where it got stepped on by the hired man when Jack dropped it in the barn one day. But they were brave as they could be, and there they were all ranged up in battle-array when Johnny brought out his soldiers.

“‘Hoh-hoh-hoh!’ cried Johnny, prancing along, driving his soldiers down the path; their swords and guns were clanking, and they looked so smart in their scarlet coats and caps with the nodding plumes. ‘My men can beat yours any day, Jack Mullen!’

“‘You’ll see,’ cried Jack, firing up. ‘Let’s get ’em to work, that’s all I say;’ and he stuck his hands in his pockets, and laughed long and loud.

“Johnny went around among his men, and whispered something in each ear. It sounded like ‘cakes;’ and then every soldier nodded real pleased, and smacked his lips, and”—

Here there was tremendous excitement among the children, but Polly pretended not to see it; and only stopping to bite off her thread, she hurried on, “And suddenly Johnny screamed, ‘Wait a minute,’ and off he dashed and ran into the kitchen. ‘Jane—Jane! I must have sixteen—no, seventeen cakes to-day. Make ’em big, Jane, and put pink on top, same as my Sunday ones.’”

“Gee!” screamed Joel. But Davie, in alarm lest Joe should be sent off to the Provision Room and just in the most splendid part of the story, jumped off from his chair, and flung his arms around him in distress.

“‘Hurry up!’ roared Jack after him; ‘else I’ll begin the battle, and shoot every one of your men’s heads off. Bang—Bang!’” Here Polly put down the big sack a minute, and thrust up an imaginary gun to her shoulder to show exactly how Jack Mullen looked. Ben dropped the washboard, and came out of his corner to look at her.

“And sure enough,” said Polly, with kindling eyes, “he was at it when Johnny got back, red and breathless, from his run from the kitchen. So of course his tin soldiers had a perfectly awful time from the very beginning. Oh, you can’t think, children, how they did have to fight! And don’t you believe they were crowded off inch by inch down that perfectly beautiful garden-path under the grape-vine arbor, until there was only one little corner to stand on for a place of defence. And the guns banged, and the cannon roared, and the smoke was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and in and through it all were the scarlet coats and caps with the nodding plumes of the little tin soldiers. And every one of ’em was as brave as could be, and saying ‘cakes’ to himself. But there must come an end, and”—

Joel was just going to scream “No—no!—don’t let it come to an end, Polly,” when he remembered in time; and she ran on gayly, “And Johnny was hopping up and down, feeling dreadfully but trying to get up a last charge, and Jack was screaming, ‘We’ve beaten you—hurrah for my men!’ when a dozen boys jumped over the fence, and dashed right into the battle-field.

“‘The circus-carts are coming down this street,’ screamed every single one of ’em; ‘come on!’

“The tin soldiers, of course, supposed, in the din of battle and all that dreadful smoke, that a terrible charge from the wooden soldiers had come, set on by those perfectly dreadful boys; and the wooden soldiers thought that the boys were helping the tin soldiers; so each side started to run away from the other; and the tin soldiers ran the fastest because they were thinner and lighter, so they didn’t find out their mistake until too late, and they all fell into the fish-pond at the bottom of the garden. Meanwhile, after Johnny and Jack had climbed the fence and were off at the corner of the street with the twelve boys, Jane came out with seventeen little cakes with pink on top, and not finding any one, she placed the tray on the seat under the grape-vine. And the black cat, the largest one at Johnny’s house, you know, the one with the green eyes, came stepping softly up, and smelt them all over. Then she yowed for the neighbor’s gray cat, with whom she was quite sociable, and they ate them all up, every crumb.”

[V.]
CHRISTMAS AT THE BIG HOUSE.

“You must know, children,” said Polly, most impressively, “that there was to be a Christmas at the Big House.”

“Christmas!” Each of the three younger Peppers, “the children,” as Polly and Ben called them, set up a shout at the magic word. Ben set his teeth together hard, and listened. No one of them had ever seen a Christmas, or knew in the least what it was like, only from what Jasper had told them. And now Polly was to draw from her imagination, and give them a story-Christmas. No wonder at the babel that ensued.

“The Big House,” began Polly, “had ever and ever so many windows and doors to it, and it set back from the street; and there was a road up for the carriages, and another for folks to walk up—oh, and there were lots of children that belonged to the house, as many as we are,” and Polly glanced around on the bunch of little Peppers. “Well, you know the Big House had always had a Christmas every year whenever it came around; they had hung up their stockings and had trees, just like what Jasper told us of; and all sorts of nice things they’d tried time and again, so what to do this Christmas, why, none of them could think. At last Jenny, she was the biggest girl, proposed that each child should write out what he or she wanted to do most of all, and not let any one else see what was written, but fold the paper, and tuck it into Grandpapa’s white hat in the hall. Grandpapa always wore a tall white hat whenever he went out, and when he was at home the hat stood on its head on the hall-table. And no one was ever allowed to touch that hat. So the children knew it would be a perfectly safe place to drop the papers in; and then, when all were in, even the baby’s, because Jenny would write hers for Mehitable, that was the baby’s name, why Grandpapa would take the hat, and turn out all the papers and read them, and decide what they better do in order to keep Christmas. Well, every single child in the Big House had written on his paper, and put it carefully into Grandpapa’s big white hat, and [Grandpapa had taken out all the papers]; the children had seen him as they peeked out of the door into the hall, and then he went away into another room and shut himself in.

[Grandpapa had taken out all the papers.]

“‘Children,’ he said, as at last, after what seemed to them a perfect age, he opened his door and came out, ‘we will have a tree this Christmas’; then he laughed, and held up seven papers—for you must know that besides the five children who always and every day lived at the Big House, there were two cousins, a girl and a boy, who were visiting there. ‘Every single paper,’ declared Grandpapa, as soon as he could speak, ‘had “Tree” written across it.’

“Well, you see by that, the children were not tired of Christmas trees, and as soon as Grandpapa told them that they were to have one, they were quite satisfied; although Jenny did say that if she had known every one else had chosen it, she would have written some other thing on her paper. But that didn’t make any difference now, and what they all had to do was to get ready; and the next day found the whole Big House in—oh, such a bustle! You would think they never had gotten a tree ready for Christmas in all their lives, there was such a fuss made. In the first place, Grandpapa had to go out and speak to a man to send up into the country and get him a big spruce-tree of good shape, not long and spindling, but stout and with a pointed tip; for the Big House was in the city, and of course no city trees could be cut down without folks being put into jail for it. And then everybody had to sit down and count up the money they had to spend; and if that wasn’t enough, they had to go to the bank and draw out some more; that is, the big folks did. And as the children were emptying their banks to see how much they had, Grandpapa came up behind them, and dropped a gold dollar into each one’s pile.”

It was impossible for the Five Little Peppers to keep still at that; but after they were quiet once more, Polly occasioned a fresh outburst by saying, “And then Grandmamma came up behind them, and she dropped a gold dollar on each pile too.”

“Polly,” cried little Davie, quite overcome, “did they have the tree too?”

“Yes, child,” said Polly; “and dear me, lots of other things too—a big Christmas dinner for one thing.”

“O Polly!” cried Joel, “turkey and pudding?”

“O my, yes—and candy, and raisins, and everything,” declared Polly; “with flowers in the middle of the table.”

“And roast beef and fixings?” Ben for the life of him could not help asking this.

“Yes—yes,” answered Polly. “You can’t think of anything that those children didn’t have at that Christmas dinner. But I must tell you about the tree. Well, you must see it took a great while to get everything ready; besides the things that Jenny and her cousin Mary, and Jenny’s brother Tom, and his cousin Edward were making, there were ever so many presents to buy; and to get these, all the children had to go to the shops with Grandmamma and Grandpapa and with each other, and then they had to hide them in all the out-of-the-way places they could, so that no one would find them until they were hanging on the Christmas tree. Oh, there was just everything to do; and the day before Christmas they all went to the shops for the last things that had been forgotten till then. It had snowed the night before; but it was sunny and cheery on this afternoon, and the walks had a little bit of snow, too hard to clear off nicely, and just enough to slide on, when the procession came out of the Big House, and turned down the street where the shops were. Everybody was out buying things. They had little bags of money dangling by their sides, only some held their purses in their hands, and kept looking at them to be sure they were there—but oh, the shops!”

“Tell about them,” begged all the other Peppers together. “Tell every single thing that was in them,” said Joel.

“Oh! I can’t begin to tell half that was in those shops,” laughed Polly merrily. “Mercy me, Joey, there was just everything there,—drums and tin soldiers, and little boxes that had music shut up in ’em, and dolls and jews-harps, and mittens and comforters, and trains of cars, and candy and flowers, and birds in cages, and oh, boots and shoes and books and oh—just everything!” Polly brought up suddenly with a gasp, being quite tired out.

“Go on,” urged Joel breathlessly.

“She can’t—there’s too many things,” said Ben. “Never mind going over them; just tell what the folks did, Polly.”

“Well, you see, the children each wanted Grandmamma and Grandpapa to help them choose things that all the others were not to see,” said Polly; “and Grandmamma and Grandpapa couldn’t go in seven places at once; so at last one of them, it was Tom, thought of a plan. It was to rush off himself and choose something, and then come running back down the shop-length; and when the others all saw him coming, they were to hurry away from Grandmamma and Grandpapa, and let him whisper what it was into their ears so nobody else heard, and ‘Would you?’ and then if Grandmamma and Grandpapa said ‘Yes,’ away Tom would rush and buy it, whatever it was. So all the other children tried the very same plan; and don’t you believe when they asked ‘Would you?’ Grandmamma and Grandpapa always said ‘Yes, my dear.’ They did every single time.

“Well, and finally they came out of the last shop, and the lamps in the street were being lighted, and the snow under their feet shone and creaked as they stepped, and every one of the children would have slidden, if their arms had not been full of bundles clear up to their chins. And Grandpapa laughed, and said they ought to have brought an express wagon; and Grandmamma said, ‘Oh, no! she wouldn’t have them sent home if she could, it was so nice to carry bundles.’ And everybody they met had big and little white paper parcels; and people knocked into each other, the streets were so crowded and the bundles stuck out so; and so finally they got home, and all the bundles were put in one big room where the tree was; and the door was locked, and Grandmamma put the key in her black silk pocket.

“Well, in the middle of the night when that big house was still as could be, all the children were asleep in their beds, something came softly over the roof, and stopped right by the chimney. There was just a little tinkle-tinkle, like the noise Mrs. Henderson’s cow makes when she shakes her bell; and then a paw-paw, just like one of Mr. Tisbett’s horses when he puts his foot down quietly, the gray one, I mean; and somebody said, ‘Hush, there, you’ll wake up the folks;’ and before anybody could think, up springs something, with a big pack on his back, and down he goes right through the chimney.”

“I know, I know!” screamed Joel and David together; “it’s Santy Claus!”

“It’s Santy!” hummed Phronsie dreadfully excited. “Oh! I want to see him, Polly, I do.”

“Perhaps you will sometime, Phronsie, if you are a good girl,” Polly made haste to answer. “But never mind now, Pet, I must go on with the story.”

“Well, it was Santa Claus who hopped down the chimney with his pack on his back, and Mrs. Santa Claus sat in the sleigh and held the reins. And he went into every room, and looked at each sleeping child; and he could tell by its face whether he had been good or bad.”

“And had they?” cried Joel eagerly. “Say, Polly, oh, make them be good! and did Santa Claus give them a lot of presents?”

“Most of the children had been good,” said Polly; “but there was one, and he had been bad, very bad indeed. He had eaten up his brother’s piece of cake; and then he had cried and screamed for more, and made everybody unhappy. And Santa Claus stood over his bed and said, ‘Poor child.’”

“And didn’t he get any presents from Santa Claus?” cried Joel. “Do let him have a little bit of a present, Polly;” and he stuck his fingers in his eyes, trying not to cry.

“Why, how could he?” cried Polly, “when he had been bad, Joey?”

“P’raps he—he won’t—won’t eat up his brother’s cake any more?” mumbled [Joel], in great distress. Then he broke down, and [laid his head in Polly’s lap, and burst out crying.]

[Joel laid his head in Polly’s lap and burst out crying.]

“Joel—Joel!” cried Polly, shaking his arm, “it’s only a story. Stop, Joey, you’ll make Phronsie cry.”

“But I want—want that boy to get a present from Santa Claus,” sobbed Joel, unable to be comforted.

“Do fix it some way,” whispered Ben over Polly’s shoulder. “Phronsie is beginning now.” And so she was. She had gravely insisted on getting into Polly’s lap; and now she hid her face on Polly’s arm, while soft little sobs shook her figure.

“Dear me!” cried Polly aghast, “was there ever such a time! Children, now stop, both of you. I’ll tell you what Santa Claus did. He looked at Teddy sleeping there; and he said to himself, ‘Now, I’ll give this boy something to make him good, even if he is bad now. And then, if he keeps on being bad, why, he must give it back to me next Christmas; and besides, I’ll have a rod for him.’ So he slipped a toy in Teddy’s stocking and”—

“And was he good?” cried Joel, thrusting his head up quickly, and wiping his wet face on Polly’s gown.

“Yes; oh, you can’t think how good Teddy was all through that year!” said Polly happily. “His mother called him ‘Little Comfort,’ and his father said he was a little man.”

“That’s nice,” said Joel, smiling through his tears.

Phronsie, when she saw that Joel was all right, and that no one else was crying, lifted up her head from Polly’s arm, and laughed gleefully. So on Polly ran with the story.

“Well, and after Santa Claus had gone, for you know he had so many other children to go to see, and it was pink all over the sky, and the children were out of bed; why, it was the hardest thing to keep them out of that room where the tree was. And that day, oh, it was the very longest in all the days of the year! But at last it was night; and then the candles on the tree were all lighted, oh! I guess there were two hundred of them; and they gleamed out such a sparkling brightness, just like little stars, and”—

“Two hundred candles, Polly!” cried every one.

“Yes,” said Polly; “I surely believe there were two hundred candles, all lighted and winking away on that beautiful tree; and somebody, the children’s mother I believe, played on the piano, and everybody marched in line, and the big door was thrown open, and there, with its tip almost to the top of the room, was the most beautiful tree; and every branch was crowded with presents, and everybody got what was most wanted, and there were flowers everywhere. Oh! and a little bird sang—they’d put the cage at the bottom of the tree, because it was too heavy for the branches; and there sat Dicky-bird, his black eyes as big as could be, and he was stretching his throat and singing at the top of his voice. And then everybody took hold of hands, and danced around and around that most beautiful tree a whole hour I guess, and Santa Claus all the while was peeking in at the window. You see, he goes around the next night as soon as it gets dark, to see how the children like his presents. O children,” and Polly glanced out of the window, “if here doesn’t come Mrs. Beebe!”

[VI.]
MR. FATHER KANGAROO AND THE FAT LITTLE BIRD.

Phronsie was wailing dismally, sitting up in the middle of the old bed. Her face pricked, she said; and she was rubbing it vigorously with both fat little hands, and then crying worse than ever.

“O me—O my!”—cried Polly; “how you look, Phronsie!”

[“I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.]

[“I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.]

But Mamsie couldn’t come. She was sewing away for dear life, to keep the wolf from the door. So Polly curled up on the bed beside Phronsie, and fed her mouthfuls of the toast, with its unwonted richness—the sweet butter that Mrs. Henderson, the parson’s wife, sent over—while she told the doings of all the chickens in the Hendersons’ hen-coop; then gayly launched off into other stories. And this is one of the stories she told:—

“You must know,” began Polly briskly, as Phronsie leaned back against the pillow, the last morsel of toast despatched, “that the children had never seen a kangaroo, and—keep your toes in bed Phronsie;” and Polly jumped off the bed, and gave a quick pull at the bed-clothes, “oh, dear me! or the dreadful old measles will catch ’em.”

Phronsie pulled in her fat little toes where she had stuck them out from the edge of the patched bed-quilt, and huddled them under her in terror. “They’re so hot, Polly,” she wailed. “Oh, dear! will the dreadful things catch ’em? Will they, Polly?” hugging Polly around the neck.

“Not if you keep ’em in bed, child,” said Polly, patting the little bunch under the bed-quilt reassuringly; “there, stretch ’em out, Phronsie; there won’t anything hurt ’em if you keep ’em in bed.”

“Won’t they, Polly?” asked Phronsie fearfully, still huddling up in a heap.

“No, no! Come on, Mister Toes,” sang Polly gayly, pulling at them. “Doctor said you mustn’t get cold, or the measles would run in. There, that’s all right,” as Phronsie’s toes came down again; “now everything’s just splendid, and I’ll go on about my lovely kangaroo. He”—

“They’re so hot,” sighed Phronsie, wriggling all her toes; “and they prick, Polly—they do”—

“Well, we can’t help that,” said Polly; “you see, that’s the measles. And I suppose the kangaroo had prickly toes too, sometimes, Phronsie. Now I’m going to get up on the bed again, and hold your hand, and then we’ll hear all about him.” So Polly hopped up beside Phronsie, and took her hot little hand in both of her bigger ones, and began again. “You see he”—

“Please don’t let him have the—the”—broke in Phronsie, turning her flushed face eagerly toward Polly’s on the pillow, “don’t Polly,” she begged.

“Have the what?” cried Polly, racking her brains to think what she could do with her kangaroo. She must tell Phronsie a good story about him. “Well, I’ve seen the picture of him in the minister’s book, and I guess I can make up something about him that she’ll like.

“What is it that you want me not to do to him, Phronsie?” she asked.

“Don’t let him have—th—these—things—like mine?” pleaded Phronsie, the tears coming into the brown eyes. And despite all her efforts, she wriggled her toes, and cried, “Oh, it pricks so, Polly,” burrowing down deep in the old bed, and rubbing her chubby face.

“Oh, he sha’n’t have the measles!” cried Polly; “and you mustn’t do so, Phronsie,” all in one breath. And pulling Phronsie up against the pillow again, Polly seized both of the little fat hands and held them close. “There, there, just hear all about my lovely kangaroo, Phronsie; why, he ran into the forest, and he carried all the little bits of kangarooses in a bag with him.”

“Did he have a bag?” asked Phronsie. And she let her hands stay quite still in Polly’s clasp, and the two tears on her round cheeks ran down on the old quilt unheeded.

“Yes, indeed; a big bag that hung down in front of him, and whenever he called, all his little children kangarooses would run and hop, and jump into that bag.”

“Oh!” screamed Phronsie delightedly.

“Yes, and then the old father kangaroo would peek over the edge of the bag and say, ‘Lie still, my children, and don’t kick each other;’ and then he”—

“Did he tie it?” asked Phronsie anxiously, and poking up her head to peer into Polly’s face. “Please don’t let him tie it tight, Polly.”

“No; he couldn’t tie it,” said Polly, “because you see there were no strings to his bag.”

“Oh!” said Phronsie, sinking back very much relieved.

“He gripped the edges together fast, and—but the little kangarooses had cunning little places they could stick their noses out,” she hastened to add, as she caught sight of Phronsie’s face. “Oh! they liked it ever so much. And then the old father kangaroo would run—oh, such dreadful big steps he would take, Phronsie, you can’t think, as big as all across this bed in one hop!”

Phronsie’s eyes widened delightedly, and she gave a long sigh of content.

“Tell me some more,” she begged.

“Well, one day Mr. Father Kangaroo was out in the forest getting dinner. He had short little wee feet in front, and he couldn’t walk very fast you see. And”—

“Where was the mother kan—what was it, Polly?” interrupted Phronsie. “Tell me, Polly, do.”

“Kangaroo? Oh, she was in the house, working away. You see, with so many children-kangarooses, Phronsie, there was lots and lots to do,” said Polly, growing quite desperate at the thought of Mother Pepper sewing out there in the old kitchen, and all the dishes not yet washed, and everything else at a standstill. “Now, you lie still, and perhaps you’ll go to sleep while I tell the rest.”

“I can’t go to sleep,” said Phronsie, putting up her lip sorrowfully.

“Never mind,” said Polly merrily; “don’t try.—Oh, where was I?”

“You said Father Kangaroo went off to get some dinner,” said Phronsie, concluding not to cry.

“Oh, yes,—well, you see, they hadn’t any of them had any breakfast. Just think of that, Phronsie, and you’ve had toast and elegant butter;” and Polly’s mouth watered, for she hadn’t tasted any of the little pat that Mrs. Henderson sent.

“Hadn’t they?” asked Phronsie sadly.

“No, not a single bite. Well, Father Kangaroo just stalked off, that is, he hopped with great big hops, for he knew he had to get some dinner, else the little bits of kangarooses would starve to death. And pretty soon he came right into the very middle of the forest; and there under the trees, in the midst of a bramble-bush, lay a little bird,—Oh, such a cunning little bird, you can’t think, Phronsie, so fat and juicy!”

“Oh, don’t let Mr. Father Kangaroo catch the little bird, Polly!” screamed Phronsie in terror; and springing up she seized Polly’s neck with both hands, and burst into tears.

“Oh, dear me, what shall I do?” cried Polly in despair, and cuddling her up. “No, he sha’n’t eat the bird, Phronsie; now stop crying this minute, the kangaroo sha’n’t eat him, I say. I’ll make the little bird go home with him, and sing to the children kangarooses—there—there—now, says I, we’ll lie down again.”

So she patted and tucked Phronsie in again under the clothes, and wiped her face dry with the old soft handkerchief Mamsie had left under the pillow, and then she began once more.

“Deary me, where was I?—Oh, I know, I was going to have the little bird go home with Mr. Father Kangaroo.”

“Yes,” said Phronsie happily; “you were going to, Polly.”

“So [Mr. Father Kangaroo] looked sharply at the fat little bird lying there in the middle of the bramble-bush; and he [asked, ‘What’s the matter down there], little bird?’

[“What’s the matter down there?” asked Mr. Kangaroo.]

“And the little bird cocked up one eye at him just like this,” said Polly, suiting the action to the word.

Phronsie poked up her yellow head to see, and smiled gleefully.

“And the little bird piped out, ‘Oh Mr. big Kangaroo-man, I can’t get out.’”

“Oh, make him help him, Polly,” cried Phronsie very much excited, and pulling her hands out of Polly’s to clasp them together tightly. “Do, Polly, quick!”

“Yes; indeed I will, Pet. So Mr. Father Kangaroo leaned over the bramble-bush, and roared in a big voice, ‘Here, I’ll hold the brambles away with my paws, and you can jump into my bag.’”

“Oh, oh!” screamed Phronsie in delight. “And he did, and up jumped the little fat bird,” said Polly, tossing her hands out with a whir; “and in he came flopping oh, so quickly, into the big bag of Mr. Father Kangaroo. ’Twas just as nice, Phronsie, oh, you can’t think!”

“’Twas just as nice,” cooed Phronsie happily; “the little bird in the big bag. Tell some more, Polly, do.”

“Well then, you see, the big Mr. Father Kangaroo didn’t know what to do with the little fat bird; so he said, ‘Now, my dear, don’t you want to fly out of my bag and go home?’ And the little fat bird huddled down into the darkest corner of the bag and he piped out, ‘Oh, I haven’t any home, Mr. Kangaroo. A great cross old squirrel came up to my nest this morning, and ate up all my brothers and sisters, and I flew away and tumbled into the bramble-bush.’”

“Oh, dear!” cried Phronsie in dismay.

“But wasn’t it good that Mr. Father Kangaroo found the fat little bird?” cried Polly in her cheeriest fashion.

“Yes,” said Phronsie, “it was good, Polly.”

“Well, so Mr. Father Kangaroo said, ‘I’ll take you to my home.’ He didn’t know what in all the world he should do; for he had six—no, seven hungry little kangarooses, and not a bit to give them for dinner. But he couldn’t leave the poor little fat bird to starve, you know.”

“He was a good Mr. Father Kan—what is it, Polly?” declared Phronsie, clasping her hands.

“Kangaroo. Yes, wasn’t he Phronsie? So he looked down into the bag, and he said, ‘Now don’t you cry, little bird, and you shall go home with me where the cross old squirrels cannot catch you;’ for he thought he heard the little fat bird sobbing down in the dark corner.”

“And was he?” cried Phronsie.

“Perhaps so—a little wee bit. But he didn’t cry any more; for as soon as he heard Mr. Father Kangaroo say that, he chirped out, ‘Thank you, Mr. Kangaroo-man, and I’ll sing for you all the day long.’”

“That was nice in the little bird, wasn’t it, Polly?” cried Phronsie, wiggling her toes in a satisfied way.

“Yes, indeed. Well, so away they trudged—I mean Mr. Father Kangaroo trudged, and hopped, and skipped, with great long steps, and pretty soon he came to his home. And the little kangarooses saw him coming; and they all ran and hopped out to meet him, screaming, ‘O pappy! have you brought us our dinner?’”

“Oh, dear!” said Phronsie, very much troubled; “he hadn’t any dinner.”

“But just think what a dear sweet little fat bird he had brought them, who was going to sing all day long, Phronsie!”

“Yes,” said Phronsie, but she sighed. “Tell me some more, Polly, do.”

“Well, so Mr. Father Kangaroo didn’t say anything about dinner; for he thought if they saw the little bird first, and heard him sing, they would forget all about that they were hungry.”

“And did they?” asked Phronsie.

“Yes, indeed; they never thought of it again. And they hopped and danced all around the fat little bird; and he told them of good Father Kangaroo, who had saved him when he got caught in the bramble-bush, where he fell when he flew away from the cruel squirrel; and then he sang—oh, it was just lovely to hear him sing, Phronsie.” Polly lay back upon the pillow and folded her hands, lost in thought.

“Tell me some more, Polly,” cried Phronsie, pulling her sleeve.

“Oh, yes—well, then, you see, all that noise brought Mother Kangaroo in; and she just held up her paws in astonishment. And she didn’t like it very well; and she said, ‘What! bring another hungry mouth to feed, and you haven’t any dinner for us?’ and Father Kangaroo sat down in the corner, and his big head went down on his breast, and he sat still to think.”

“Don’t let Mother Kangaroo send the poor little bird away, Polly. Don’t let her do it!” protested Phronsie in distress.

“No, I won’t,” promised Polly. “Well, when Mother Kangaroo saw Father Kangaroo sitting so sad and still over in the corner, she hopped over to him, and put both her paws around his neck, and she kissed his furry cheek, ‘The little bird shall stay,’ she said, ‘and I’ll go out and get some dinner.’ And all the little children-Kangarooses took hold of paws, and danced around the fat little bird in delight.”

“Oh—oh!” cried Phronsie in delight.

“Mercy me!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, putting her head in the doorway, “I thought Phronsie was worse. Now, that’s cosey;” and she beamed at Polly in a way that made the little sunbeams sink right down into Polly’s heart.

[VII.]
THE MINCE-PIE BOY AND THE BEASTS.

“’Tisn’t time to go to bed,” grumbled Joel; “and you and Ben are going to whisper and wink your eyes as soon as I go.”

“We sha’n’t have to whisper when you are out of the way, Joe,” said Ben; “come, hurry up and start.” “Now, Joey, you promised,” said Polly reproachfully. She was aching to talk over all the splendid plans with Ben; and there were the bright bits of paper left after they had covered the nuts; and just this very night she was to set about making Phronsie’s paper doll, and Ben was to begin on a windmill for Davie, and Mamsie was to sit down at the big table drawn out from against the wall, and make Seraphina’s bonnet. And Christmas was getting so near!

“O Joe!” exclaimed Polly suddenly, in such a tone of despair that Ben said sharply, “Go along, or she’ll stop telling you stories. You won’t get another one to-morrow—sir!”

“I’ll go,—I’ll go,” cried Joel, clattering over the stairs in a trice—“I’m going, Polly—you’ll tell me another to-morrow, won’t you—won’t you, Polly?” he screamed at the top.

“Yes indeed,” cried Polly merrily, running along to the foot of the stairs leading to the loft. “That’s a good boy, Joey; I’ll tell you a good one to-morrow.”

“It’s got to be a long one,” said Joel; “not such a little squinchy one as ’twas to-day. Hoh! that was no good.”

“Hush up there,” shouted Ben at him, from the kitchen, “or you’ll wake Dave up. Come on, now, Polly.”

So Polly ran back again; and [the two pulled out the kitchen table]; and Mamsie brought her big basket, and Seraphina’s bonnet was snipped out of the piece of ribbon so long waiting for it; and Polly whisked out the bits of bright paper from the bureau-drawer in the bedroom; and Ben got out his big jack-knife, and commenced to whittle bravely; and everything was as brisk as a bee and as cheery,—and the tongues flew just as fast as the fingers, till the little old kitchen was alive with the work of getting ready for Christmas.

[The two pulled out the kitchen table.]

But on the next morning, all the signs of the coming festivity tucked carefully away, and the every-day work done up, then didn’t Polly just have to spin off a story when in marched Joel with a “Come on, Dave, Polly’s sewing; now for the story!” he whooped, and threw himself on the floor at her feet.

“O Joel”—Polly was just ready to cry out, “I can’t think of a thing.” And then she remembered that she had promised. “Dear me, Joe, what do you want?” she asked, and making her needle fly faster than ever.

“Oh, something nice—about having mince-pie,”—Joel smacked his lips, “and bears and wolves and crocodiles. Tell a good one, Polly; and it’s got to be long”—he waved his arms as far as he could—“long as that; now begin.”

“I’ll tell about a mince-pie,” said Polly, wrinkling her brows; “that’s the first thing you asked for; and”—

“And bears and wolves and crocodiles,” said Joel hastily; “I want all those; you’ve got to, Polly, ’cause I go to bed every night, and you said you would.”

“I can’t get all those things into one story,” said Polly.

“Hoh! yes you can,” contradicted Joel; “that’s just as easy. Now begin, Polly.”

“Well, once there was a boy,” said Polly, with a flourish of her needle as she put in a new thread; “and his mother had to hide the mince-pies whenever she baked any, ’cause she was afraid to leave ’em round, and”—

“Don’t tell such a story,” howled Joel in disgust; “tell something nice, Polly.” He winked his black eyes fast, and Polly thought she saw something shine in them; and then he dug his fists in them, and hid his stubby head on her lap in among her sewing.

“So I will, Joey,” she cried, dropping her work to lean over and drop a kiss on his black hair. And then it all came to her what to say; and before she knew it, she had begun again on “The Wonderful Mince-Pie Boy and the Beasts.”

“You see, it was long, long ago,” ran on Polly in her gayest fashion; “and almost anything could have happened then—why, Adolphus lived ages before this time when we are living in Badgertown; so he had all sorts of funny people as his neighbors, and they did all kinds of queer things. And the animals all talked just like boys and girls, and everybody understood them. And it was just the strangest world, you can’t think! And that’s the reason that the story is just as it is.”

“Go on,” said Joel quite himself again, and his mouth opened in an expansive smile. “Come on, Dave. Gee-whickety! Polly’s going to tell an elegant buster of a story.”

“Joel, I sha’n’t tell a single thing if you say such dreadful words,” declared Polly sternly, as little David came in, and sat down on the floor by Joel’s side.

“I won’t,” cried Joel in alarm, “say it again ever, Polly.”

“Think how badly Mamsie would feel to hear it,” said Polly reprovingly. “O Joe! how can you?” Down went Joel’s head on her lap,—

“I—won’t again—Polly,” he burst out, trying not to cry. “O Polly! I won’t—I don’t—want—Mamsie to feel bad”—and he burrowed deep in her lap.

“He won’t, Polly,” said little David anxiously, patting Joel’s stubby head with one hand, and with the other pulling Polly’s gown—“I most know he won’t say any more dreadful words.”

“See that you don’t then, Joe,” said Polly; “and both of you boys must remember that it would make Mamsie sick to hear you say any such things. Well, now for the story,—‘The Wonderful [Mince-Pie Boy and the Beasts].’”

“Oh, oh!” cried Davie in a transport, and clasping his hands. Joel sat up quite straight, and held his breath.

“The mince-pie boy lived in an old stone house,” began Polly, “all overgrown with vines. There were big trees that sent their arms clear across the top of his house, and the vines ran all over them, so that it looked for all the world as if it was a great arbor. Well, and just a little ways off, about as far as from here to Grandma Bascom’s, was a gre—at big cave. And that was all grown over with vines too, and funny dangling trees that looked as if they were upside down.”

“Oh!” laughed Joel, “how funny!” And “How funny!” said little David.

“Yes; but it wasn’t half so funny, as it was inside of the house and the cave,” said Polly, sewing away busily; “because you see the man who was Adolphus’s father owned all the wild beasts that were in the cave. And as he had them all brought out of the cave, and up to the big house sometimes, when he had company, and he wanted to amuse them, why, you know everything was made so they might show off, and the people could have a good time.”

“Tell about it,” cried Joel, crowding up to Polly’s work so closely that she couldn’t see where to set her stitches. “Take care, Joe,” she warned; “I sewed that crooked. Mr. Atkins won’t give Mamsie any more sacks to do if they’re done badly. And I want to learn to sew them all for her.” And Polly’s face was very sad as she picked out the poor work.

Joel huddled out of the way in dismay. “There, that’s all right now,” announced Polly in a minute; “you didn’t do any mischief, Joe. Let me see, where was I?”

“You said Adolphus’s father had all the wild beasts brought out of the cave, and into the house, when he had company,” cried Joel. “Oh, make him bring ’em all in now, Polly, do!”

“So he shall,” nodded Polly. “You see, boys, Adolphus’s father had lots and lots of animals in his cave; but he liked the wolves and the bears and the crocodiles the best.”

“Oh, dear me!” said Davie quite overcome.

“Now, Adolphus liked the best thing in the world,—yes, the very best thing in all the world, mince-pie. And he had it for breakfast, dinner, and supper.”

“Whick—oh, dear me!” exploded Joel.

“Yes; all the beasts liked mince-pie too, every single one of all those sixteen hundred beasts.”

“Were there sixteen hundred of ’em?” cried little David with flaming cheeks, and pushing up close to her work.

“Yes,” said Polly recklessly. “Adolphus’s father had sixteen hundred wild beasts in his cave, and”—

“Make it some more,” cried Joel. “Make him have eighteen hundred, Polly, do.”

“No,” said Polly firmly; “he hadn’t a single one more than sixteen hundred, not a single one, Joe.”

“Well, go on,” said Joel.

“But the beasts couldn’t get any mince-pie, ever,” said Polly, hurrying on.

“Why?” broke in both of the boys.

“Because Adolphus’s mother said that she couldn’t spend the time to bake mince-pies for so many beasts and beastesses, because you see, all the animals would have to have a pie apiece. And Adolphus used to go out into the front yard, and eat his pie; and all the creatures would come out of their cave, and stand in their yard, and lick their chops, and wish they had some.”

“And so do I wish I had some, Polly,” declared Joel, licking his mouth. “Did it have plums in, Polly?”

“Gre—at big ones,” declared Polly, “oh, so rich and juicy! My! there never was such a pie as those that Adolphus got every day,—one for breakfast, and one for dinner, and one for supper.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed both boys again, unable to find other words.

“Well, one day there was a great stir in the big house under the vines, and everybody far and near knew that Adolphus’s folks were going to have company. And that very same night the beasts and beastesses got together, and held a meeting. And when everybody in the big house was sound asleep, and nothing was stirring but the mice scampering up and down in the walls, all the creatures in the cave were wide awake, and talking all together.

“‘I’ll tell you what,’ said a big white polar bear”—

“What’s a polar bear?” interrupted Joel, with a shout.

[The mince-pie boy and the beasts.]

“You mustn’t interrupt,” said Polly; “it’s a bear that lives at the Poles.”

“What Poles? Are they clothes-poles?” asked Joel persistently. “Say, Polly; and did the bear help to hang out the clothes to dry?”

“No, no—don’t ask so many questions, Joe; I never shall get through if you do. This bear came from the North Pole, where it is dreadfully cold. And he loved mince-pie, oh, terribly! And he began, ‘Now, fellow bears and bearesses, and wolves, and—and—wolveresses.’”

“And crocodiles,” said Joel; “don’t forget them.”

“No, I won’t. ‘And crocodiles and croco—crocodilesses and all the rest of you,’ because, you see, he couldn’t mention them all by name, for he wouldn’t have had time for his speech if he had; ‘we must get some of that boy’s mince-pie. It isn’t fair for him to have so much, and we to have none. Now, I have a plan; and if you will all do just as I say, I will get you some mince-pie.’ So they all—the different beasts and beastesses—crowded around the white polar bear, and he spoke out his plan.

“‘You know the company is coming to the big man’s house’—the beasts always called Adolphus’s house by that name—‘and we shall be sent for as usual. Now, when we get there, let us march into the hall as if we were going to perform. But instead of that I shall go right straight up in front of the big man and that dreadful mince-pie boy, and shall roar at them: ‘I will eat off your head and scrunch your bones, unless you give me some mince-pie this minute!’”

Polly roared it out so loud, and looked so very dreadful, that Phronsie came running in from the bedroom where she had been putting on her red-topped shoes which Mamsie let her do sometimes, but not step in them for fear of hurting them. One shoe was half off, and every button of the other was in the wrong button-hole. [“O Polly!” she cried scuttling over to her]; “what was that dreadful noise?”

[“O Polly!” she cried scuttling over to her.]

“Now you see, Joel,” cried Polly, throwing down her work, and gathering up Phronsie into her lap, “I’ve scared her most to death. ’Tisn’t anything, Phronsie pet, but some bears and things Joel wanted me to tell of”—as Phronsie hid her yellow head on Polly’s arm.

“Polly made that noise with her own mouth,” said Joel; “and ’twas splendid, Phron. Make it again, Polly, do.”

“No, I sha’n’t,” said Polly. “There, there, Phronsie, don’t be scared; it was I made it, and not a truly bear.”

“If it was you, Polly,” said Phronsie, lifting her head, “and not a truly bear, I don’t mind. But please don’t make it again, Polly.”

“I won’t, Pet,” promised Polly. “Dear me! just look at your red-topped shoes. Take ’em off, or you’ll spoil them; Mamsie doesn’t like you to walk in them, you know.”

“I want to go back to the bedroom,” wailed Phronsie, “and show ’em to Seraphina. Oh, dear! can’t I, Polly? I’ll go on the tips of my toes.”

“No, I’ll carry you,” said Polly, preparing to spring up; but Joel jumped to his feet,—

“Let me, Polly; I’ll carry her. Come on, Phron.” He seized her and staggered off, depositing her on the bedroom floor, close to Seraphina lying face downward where she had been dropped in fright.

“Now go on,” he cried, springing back to huddle at Polly’s feet.

“‘I’ll scrunch your head off,’” said Polly in a stage whisper. “I can’t say it loud as I did before, boys, or Phronsie’ll hear. ‘Give me the pantry keys!’

“At hearing these dreadful words, the crocodile began to cry. ‘I’m afraid, I’m afraid,’ he said. But one of the wolves ran up and boxed his ears. ‘Nobody dares to say he is afraid here,’ he cried. ‘Yes, we are going to have those pantry keys.’”

It was impossible to describe the excitement that now seized the two boys as they huddled closer and closer to Polly, as she hurried on,—

“And when all the beasts and beastesses had promised to do just as the white polar bear should tell them, he roared at them in a perfectly dreadful voice: ‘You must all say with me, “I’ll scrunch your heads off if you don’t give me those pantry keys.”’ So they all said it after him, the crocodile weeping great tears that ran over his cheeks as he repeated the words. And then every animal went to bed; and the next night the company came to the big house under the vines, and Adolphus’s father sent for all the beasts and beastesses.”

“And did they scrunch their heads off?” screamed Joel.

“Hush—you’ll scare Phronsie again,” cried Polly.

“Did they, did they?” cried Joel, lowering his voice—“oh, make them, Polly, do, scrunch all their heads, every single one!”

“You must wait and see,” said Polly; “and don’t interrupt, or I never will get a chance to tell the story. Well, all the animals went up to Adolphus’s house, two by two; and there, in the long hall, sat all the company in tall chairs, and Adolphus in the middle. And the first thing that anybody knew, before one of them was asked to perform a single thing, the white cat that lived up at the big house, and always slept on a white satin cushion, and drank from a silver bowl, sprang into the centre of the hall, and made a bow and a curtsey. She had a green ribbon embroidered in silver tied under her chin, and she looked too perfectly splendid for anything.

“‘My master wishes me to say,’ she announced, with another low bow down to the ground, ‘that you are asked over to-night, not to show off, but to eat mince-pies.—Behold!’ And there right at her elbow were twenty-five boys dressed in green and scarlet, and all with big trays full of mince-pies, with plums sticking out all over them, and”—

“Ugh!” grunted Joel, and kicking his heels in great disgust. “Now the white polar bear can’t scrunch those people’s heads off. Hoh! that’s no story, Polly Pepper!”

[VIII.]
THE CUNNING LITTLE DUCK.

“The little duck ran away,” announced Polly, “to begin with,” to the group around her chair.

“Then he was a very naughty duck,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head.

“Tell about him!” cried Joel with a gusto.

“Yes, I’m going to,” said Polly, setting her stitches with a firm hand. “But, children, you interrupt so much that it makes me forget all what I’m going to say, when I’m telling stories.”

“Oh, we won’t; we won’t!” they all promised. “Do begin, Polly, do.”

“Well, once upon a time,” said Polly, with true story-book flourish, “no, when I was a little girl, years ago, that’s the way Grandma Bascom begins her stories”—

“But ’twasn’t years ago when you were a little girl, Polly,” said little David thoughtfully.

“Well, ’tis in a play-story,” said Polly. “And all my stories are make-believe, you know. Now, I’m an old lady, children; and I’m going to tell you about my little duck I had, oh, ever so many years ago!”

The little bunch of Peppers shouted at the idea of Polly’s being an old lady; and Joel got up and whirled around, clapping his fists together till the old kitchen rang with the noise. “Put on a big cap, Polly,” he screamed, “just like Grandma’s!”

So Polly, who dearly loved to dress up and play things, dropped her sewing, and ran off into the bedroom. “There isn’t anything I can tie on that’s like a cap,” she said, coming back, “but this; wasn’t it nice Mamsie had it?” It was a big piece of light brown paper that had done up the last batch of sacks brought home from the store for Mrs. Pepper to sew up.

“Hoh, that isn’t white!” cried Joel in disdain, while the faces of the others fell.

“Well, we must play it’s white,” said Polly. “I’m going to; and all frilled with deep lace, too.”

So the children began to smile with satisfaction once more. If Polly could play it was white and all trimmed with beautiful lace, it was all right.

“Run to the string-bag, one of you children,” said Polly, crinkling up the paper on her head to make it look as much like an old lady’s cap as possible, and nearly putting out one eye with the corner of the paper, “and tie it fast while I hold it on.”

“I will—I will!” cried little Davie, springing off.

“No, I will; I can get it twice as quick!” cried Joe, tumbling after him, and seizing his jacket. Thereupon ensued a scuffle as to which should first reach the string-bag in the Provision Room. [Joel] did, and soon [came racing back] with a very red face, and bearing it triumphantly aloft. “Here ’tis!—I got it, Polly; now I’ll tie you up.”

[Joel came racing back.]

Polly looked out from under her big paper—“Go and hang that string-bag right up again, Joey,” she said slowly.

“I got it,” said Joel stoutly.

“Go and hang it up,” said Polly.

“I—I—got—it,” said Joel faintly—“I sh’d think I might keep it, Polly,” he said in an injured tone.

“Go and hang it up this minute,” said Polly, coming entirely out from under her big paper cap and fixing her eyes on him. When Polly looked like that, it always made them think of Mamsie; so Joel turned at once, and went slowly down the steps to the Provision Room, dragging the string-bag after him. He soon came back, twisting his small hands, and trying not to cry. “Now, Davie,” said Polly pleasantly, “will you go and get me the string-bag?”

David started to run on joyful feet; but seeing Joel moping in the corner, he stopped suddenly, “I’d rather Joe went,” he said.

“No, I want you to go,” said Polly firmly; “and if you don’t hurry, I shall have to go and get it myself, and you wouldn’t want me to do that, I’m sure.”

Thus adjured, David ran as fast as his feet could carry him, and soon brought the string-bag to Polly.

“Now says I,” she cried, “somebody must tie my old cap on, and I’m going to ask Joel to do that.” And she pulled out a long string. “Come on, Joey.”

“I—didn’t—mean—to,” sobbed Joel, over in his corner. “Polly, I didn’t.”

“Well, see that you don’t run and scramble and take away Davie’s things again when he starts first,” said Polly. “Come on, Joe, I’m waiting.”

So Joel tumbled out of his corner, wiping away the tears on the back of his little red hand; and soon Polly’s cap was tied on in the most approved style, amid the shouts of the children, who all escorted her to the cracked looking-glass over the bedroom bureau, when she pronounced it “just too perfect for anything.”

“Well, now,” said Polly, drawing a long breath, and racing back to sit down and pick up her sewing, “I must hurry and tell about my cunning little duck, or I don’t know what I shall do. Now, children, you know I’m an old, old lady, and”—

“How old?” demanded Joel, who dearly loved facts and figures.

“Oh! I don’t know—most a hundred I guess,” said Polly; “well”—

“Ho—Ho! Polly’s most a hundred,” laughed Joel, and Davie burst out laughing too. “Polly’s most a hundred,” echoed Phronsie with a gurgle.

“Now, see here, children, I shall never tell this story if you keep interrupting me like that,” said Polly, pushing back her paper cap that settled over one eye. “Dear me, I didn’t s’pose it was such trouble to pretend to be old—this slides all over my head, and I can’t see to sew. Well, I once had a [cunning little duck], when I was a little girl years and years ago.”

[The cunning little duck.]

“Was he as big as that?” asked Phronsie, bringing her two fat little hands almost together in intense excitement.

“Yes,” said Polly, “and a little bigger. Well, he was all my own, you know; my grandmother gave him to me.”

“Did you have a grandmother?” asked David. “I thought you were the grandmother,” looking at the big cap with its nodding border.

“Well, so I am, but I had a grandmother too when I was a little girl. Everybody has a grandmother when they’re little.”

“Oh!” said Davie.

“Well, my grandmother gave me this little duck. Now, don’t interrupt again,” said Polly. “You see, he was so little when he was born, that I s’pose he got lost in the grass, and no one saw him; and then the cat must have stepped on him, for his leg was bent, and”—

“What’s bent?” demanded Phronsie, pushing an absorbed little face forward.

“Oh! doubled up like this,” said Joel, suiting the action to the word, and twisting his leg into as much of a knot as was possible.

“Oh, Polly!” said Phronsie gravely, “please don’t let the little duck’s leg be like Joel’s.”

“Well, you’ll see, Phronsie,” said Polly reassuringly. “I’ll fix the little duck’s leg all right. My grandma gave him to me, you know. Well, he was yellow and white, a cunning little ball, oh, so soft and puffy!”

Phronsie trembled with excitement, and she put out her little hands as if she had the duck between them. “But please fix his leg, Polly,” she breathed.

“Yes, yes, child,” said Polly quickly. “Oh, dear me! I’ve sewed that seam wrong; now that has all to come out.”

“But please fix that little duck’s leg first, Polly,” begged Phronsie, her lip quivering, “before you pick out those wrong stitches.”

“Oh, dear me, was there ever such a peck of trouble!” cried poor Polly, picking frantically at the bad stitches. Then her old paper cap, with its deep border, slid down over her eyes, and her scissors tumbled on the floor.

“Look at Polly’s cap! Look at Polly’s cap!” screamed Joel.

“It’s grandma,” said little Davie, who dearly loved to carry out all Polly’s make-believes, while Phronsie still insisted that the little duck’s leg should be fixed before anything else was done.

In the midst of all this confusion the door opened suddenly, and there was dear old Mrs. Beebe, her round face smiling over a big basket.

“Well, well, my pretty dears!” she exclaimed. “Why, what’s the matter? Polly got hurt? Oh, you poor creeters!” seeing the big paper flapping over Polly’s brown head, and all the children crowded around her chair.

“No’m,” said Polly, twitching off her big cap. And “She’s playing grandma,” said Joel and David.

“But her cunning little duck has hurt his leg,” cried Phronsie, with clasped hands flying over to Mrs. Beebe, “and Polly is going to fix it right away.”

“Yes,” said Polly at sight of her face. “I must. Boys, go and tell dear Mrs. Beebe all about it, while I take her in my lap and fix that duck’s leg.” So Joel and David, very important at the piece of work set them, ran over and poured the whole recital into good Mrs. Beebe’s ear, how Polly was playing grandmother, and they hadn’t anything to make a cap of but an old piece of brown paper that came around the sacks from the store that Mrs. Pepper brought home to sew, and how the old thing kept tumbling over Polly’s nose, so that she sewed up the seam wrong; and she was trying to pick it out, because, you see, she had to get it done before Mamsie got home, who had gone to the minister’s to help Mrs. Henderson make her soft soap; and how Phronsie almost cried because Polly said the little duck’s leg was bent in the grass, because maybe the cat stepped on it; and how that was the reason Polly was talking to her now, and fixing the leg up. And, oh, dear me! all this and much more; good Mrs. Beebe oh—ing and ah—ing at just the right times. “And that’s all,” announced little David at last, flushed and important.

Joel hung his head, “No, it isn’t,” he blurted out; “I was bad.”

“You were bad?” echoed Mrs. Beebe. “Oh, no! I guess not,” she said soothingly.

“Yes, I was,” said Joel stoutly. “I scuffled Davie, and got the string-bag first.”

David shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “He put it back,” he said.

“Polly made me,” said Joel, twisting his mouth not to cry, and with an eye to the big basket, which was not for naughty boys. “Oh, dear me!”

Old Mrs. Beebe cast a puzzled glance at him, but was saved the necessity of replying; for old Mr. Beebe came in just then, rubbing his hands. “Well, how are you all, my pretty dears? I can’t stay a minute, for my shop’s all alone, an’ folks’ll be knocking on the door an’ can’t get in. Come, Ma, give ’em the things in the basket, and then come out an’ get in the wagon.”

Mrs. Beebe gave a sigh. “Dear me,” she said, “I wish I could set awhile; but then, there’s the shop.” So she got out of her chair, and began to undo the basket. And Polly, with Phronsie radiant, and hanging to her hand, came running up, and they all crowded around the good woman. And old Mr. Beebe laughed, and shook his fat sides, and rubbed his hands together worse than ever. And at last all the things were out and on the table ready to surprise Mamsie with when she came home.

“And I guess if one of you will feel in my pockets,” he said at last, when his wife clapped to the cover of the empty basket, “p’raps maybe, now, you’d find something you’d like.”

“Let David,” said Joel, swallowing hard.

“No, let Phronsie,” said little David.

So Phronsie went up to old Mr. Beebe, who lifted her into a chair, to be on a level with the pockets in his great-coat, and oh, oh! first she drew out slowly a pink stick, and then a great thick white one of peppermint candy! And then, midst a babel of thanks from the Five Little Peppers, and one or two kisses from old Mr. and Mrs. Beebe, away the big empty basket and the two good people went to their wagon.

“I’m sure,” said Polly to herself, long after they had danced and danced around the table with its good things, “none of them care for the little duck now; so I can fly to my sewing, and have a good time to pick it out, and do it right.” So she settled herself in the old chair in the corner, the children in great excitement still circling around the gifts which they were not to touch till Mamsie got home.

“I choose that,” said Joel, smacking his lips; “that big fat doughnut, all crisp and brown. O whickets!”

“Joel,” said Polly over in her corner, “what did you say?”

Joel hung his head. “And I choose that,” said Davie, pointing to some gingerbread, dark and moist, while he carefully licked the remnant of pink stick in his hand, for Phronsie had insisted on sharing her candy with them all, the minute the Beebes had gotten into their green wagon, “what do you choose, Phronsie?”

“I like this,” said Phronsie, holding up a sticky wad of pink stick in her fat little hand, and smiling with a very much smeared face.

“Oh, deary me!” cried Polly at sight of her. “Well, I s’pose it’s no use to wash her up till it’s all gone. Well, I am thankful I didn’t have to tell all the rest about that dreadful little duck.”

[IX.]
THE OLD TEA-KETTLE.

The rain dripped most dismally on the roof of the Little Brown House. It had rained just so, without any appearance of stopping, for three days, and Phronsie held a sad little face against the window-pane.

“Won’t it ever stop, Polly?” she asked.

“Yes, I s’pose so,” said Polly dismally; “though I don’t know when. Mamsie, did you ever see it rain so long?”

[“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Pepper], looking up from her stocking-mending over in the corner, “plenty of times, Polly. If folks don’t worry over the weather and talk about it, it’s all right. Fly at your baking, child, and let the rain take care of itself.”

[“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Pepper.]

“It’s so dark,” said Polly discontentedly, “we can’t see anything,” as she went into the buttery for the flour.

“It’s so dark,” grumbled Joel, trying to make a box over in the corner, and catching her tone, “can’t see anything.”

Davie sighed, and went over to his mother’s corner, and stood there with a very long face.

“There, now you see, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, as Polly came back with the flour-sieve and the bread-bowl, and set them on the kitchen table.

Polly looked around the kitchen with a startled air. “Oh, I’m awfully sorry!” she cried, a wave of color flying up to her brown hair, “Mamsie, I truly am.” Then she rushed over to Joel, who was banging petulantly at a refractory nail, “Look out, you’ll pound your thumb,” and she kneeled down beside him.

“Don’t care,” said Joel crossly; “can’t see anything. Mean old rain spoils everything.”

“Joel!”—it was Mother Pepper who spoke, and her black eyes flashed sternly,—“that’s wicked. Don’t you let me hear you say such things again.”

“O Mamsie!” began Polly.

“And a boy who talks about the rain in such a way, is not only wicked but foolish. I think he had better go into the Provision Room, and shut the door, and sit down and think by himself for a while.”

“O Mamsie!” exclaimed Polly imploringly.

“Go straight along, Joey,” said Mrs. Pepper; “and when you feel right about it, you may come back.”

Joel laid down his clumsy hammer, and his round face working dreadfully, he stumbled off, and down the rickety steps, and presently they could hear him shut the old door fast.

“O Mamsie—Mamsie!” Polly sprang to her feet, and rushed tumultuously across the room, and threw herself at Mrs. Pepper’s feet. “It’s all my fault,” she sobbed, burying her face in the blue-checked apron—“and I am the one who ought to be sent into the Provision Room.”

“You’re too big to send there, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper sadly; “why, you’re ten years old.” She laid down her mending, and her toil-worn hands smoothed the brown hair gently.

“But I made Joel say the bad things,” cried Polly gustily, her shoulders shaking with her efforts not to cry aloud.

Phronsie, who had turned in her chair where she had been looking out of the window, at the unusual disturbance in the old kitchen, now got down very gravely, and came over to Mother Pepper’s corner.

“What is the matter with Polly?” she asked with wide, disapproving eyes.

“Mamsie will take care of Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.

“She’s sick, I guess,” said little Davie wonderingly.

At that Phronsie uttered a low cry, “Oh, don’t let my Polly be sick—don’t let her, Mamsie!” then she screamed in dismay.

“Polly,” said Mother Pepper, putting the stockings into the big mending-basket with a hasty hand, and drawing Phronsie to her lap, “now I guess you’ll have to do your best, my child, to set matters right.—There, there, Phronsie, stop screaming,—Polly’s all well.”

Polly felt for the first minute as if she could never lift her head and speak cheerily to the children. Oh, how much she would give to be Phronsie’s age, and be cuddled and allowed to have her cry out! But Mamsie’s words! She swallowed hard the terrible lump in her throat, wiped off the tears, and said brokenly, “I’m all right,—there, see, Pet,” and put up her head.

When Phronsie saw that Polly could really move, she stopped screaming; and Davie began to smile, “I guess she ain’t sick.”

“No, indeed,” said Polly, finding it easier to control herself since she had begun, and hopping to her feet; “I’m going back to my baking,” she cried.

“So do,” cried mother Pepper approvingly, with a little smile over at Polly, that ran right down into the sad little heart.

“May I bake?” cried Phronsie, the last tear rolling off by itself in a lonely fashion. “May I, Polly, may I?” and she scrambled down from her mother’s lap, and ran over to the table.

“Yes, indeed,” cried Polly, delighted at the change in affairs.

“Then I shall,” said Davie; “at least when Joel gets out. May I call him, Mamsie?” he begged.

“No,” said Mrs. Pepper, picking up the stocking again, and attacking the biggest hole; “Joel must wait till he knows he’s right.”

“Then, I don’t want to bake yet,” said David with a sigh.

Polly flew around at her preparations for baking, making a great clatter with the things, and keeping up a cheery little chat with Phronsie. But all the while her heart was sore over Joel sitting lonely and disconsolate in the old Provision Room. It seemed as if she could not bear it another minute longer, when suddenly she heard the door open slowly, and his feet coming over the rickety steps. Mrs. Pepper mended steadily on, and did not turn her head. Polly held her breath, as Joel, without a glance for any one else, marched straight past the baking-table, and over to Mamsie’s side.

“I’m sorry I was bad, Mamsie,” he began. But he never got any further, for Mother Pepper had him in her arms, and there he was cuddled to his heart’s content. And Polly deserted the baking-table, leaving Phronsie to work her own sweet will among the materials, while she rushed over and dropped a kiss on Joel’s stubby head, telling him it was she who was so naughty, and she never was going to do it again. And little David clasped his hands, and beamed at them all in great satisfaction.

“Now you had better see what Phronsie is about,” advised Mrs. Pepper wisely.

“I don’t care,” cried Polly in a glad recklessness, and plunging over to the baking-table, with both boys at her heels. “Oh, my goodness me! what have you been doing, Phronsie?”

“Baking a cake,” hummed Phronsie, in a state of bliss. She had upset the flour-pan in trying to pull it toward her; and what didn’t fly over the floor was on her face and pinafore, while she patted the yeast in the cracked cup with her spoon.

“Hoh—hoh—how you look!” laughed Joel and David, “just like the old ash-man, with that brown flour all over your face.”

But Phronsie didn’t care; so while Polly shook off the flour, and cleaned things up, taking great care to get the yeast-cup the length of the table away from the little fingers, she was singing all the time, “I’m going to bake a cake—Polly said so.”

At last the bread was made, and, covered with an old towel, was set down to rise by the stove; Phronsie’s cake was set in her own little tin patty-pan, and tucked into the oven; and then the three children stood and looked at each other. It was still dark, the rain going patter—patter—patter worse than ever on the roof.

“Mamsie, do you mind if I tell them a story?” asked Polly, looking at them all.

“No, indeed,” cried Mrs. Pepper cheerily. “Just the very thing, Polly. I’m glad you thought of it. I sh’d like to hear it too, myself.”

“Would you, Mamsie?” cried Polly, quite delighted.

“Yes, indeed. Seems as if my needle would go in and out faster if I could hear something meanwhile,” replied Mother Pepper.

So Polly, feeling quite important at being about to tell a story that Mother Pepper was to listen to, gathered the three children in a knot about her on the floor ready to begin.

“I wish Ben was here,” began Joel.

“It’s good Ben has wood to saw at Mr. Blodgett’s,” spoke up Mrs. Pepper quickly. “He’s in that nice tight woodshed, so the rain won’t hurt him: and just think, children, of the money he’ll bring home.”

Polly couldn’t help but give a little sigh. How perfectly lovely it would be if she weren’t a girl, but could go off and earn money just like Ben to keep the little brown house going! But Mother Pepper didn’t hear the sigh, it was such a tiny one, as Polly saw by glancing over at her. And so away flew the story-teller as fast as she could, on her entertainment.

“Now, children,” began Polly, hoping Mamsie would like the story, and racking her brains to make it up as she went along, “I’m going to tell you to-day about an old Tea-Kettle.”

“Hoh! hoh!” jeered Joel, knocking his heels together; “that isn’t any story.”

“That’s funny,” laughed little David, looking over at the Pepper tea-kettle humming away on the stove. “Was it like ours, Polly?”

“Yes,” said Polly, “as like as two peas. Well, this Tea-Kettle lived in a house where there weren’t any children, only an old woman and a cat.”

“It’s Grandma Bascom she means,” shouted Joel, very much disappointed. “Don’t tell about any one we know, Polly; we’ve seen her old tea-kettle lots of times, and”—

“And I sh’d think it would be better to let Polly tell the story in her own way,” said Mother Pepper, “if there is to be any story.”

“Oh, she may—she may!” cried Joel, casting an alarmed glance over his shoulder on the comfortable figure in the old chair, mending away. “Go on, Polly,—do go on.”

“Well, it isn’t Grandma Bascom,” said Polly, “this old woman isn’t. My old woman with the Tea-Kettle and the cat lived on the edge of a wood and”—

“And there were bears and hyenas and dreadful things there,” cried Joel delightedly. “I know now,—and you’re going to have ’em come out nights and bite her.”

“No,” said Polly, “we’ve had so many bears lately, you don’t want any more, Joe.”

“Yes I do too,” contradicted Joel flatly; “we can’t have too many bears. I sh’d think you might give ’em to us, Polly,” he added wheedlingly.

“Well, there aren’t any in this story,” declared Polly firmly. “Wait till I get through; you’ll like it, I guess.”

“Yes; wait till she gets through,” echoed Davie. “Go on, Polly, please.”

Phronsie patted her pink pinafore, and pulled it into shape patiently. Polly hurried on.

“Well, this old woman who lived on the edge of the wood used to go out every single day, and pick up pieces of branches of trees to burn. You see, she didn’t have any children to go for her. And the cat stayed home to mind the house, and there was nobody to talk to but the old Tea-Kettle.”

“Oh, dear me!” said David.

“Now, the old Tea-Kettle was cross sometimes,” said Polly; “she was so very old.”

“How old?” interrupted Joel.

“Oh! I don’t know. Fifty years, I guess,” said Polly at a venture.

“And she was black all over, oh! as black as she could be—blacker’n anything I see round here,” said Polly, glancing at the rusty little shoes stuck out before her. “Well, and she was tired too, besides being black; because, you see, she had sung and hummed and buzzed every single day for all that long time just in that one spot. Oh! she was so tired, she just wanted to roll down on the floor, and off and away to see the world. And one morning the old woman put on her big black cap over her white one, and took down her thick stick with a knob on the end of it.

[“‘Mind the house now,’ she said to the cat], who sat by the fire. And off she went to the wood to get her branches and sticks.

[“Mind the house, now,” she said to the cat.]

“Suddenly there was a big noise just like this,”—and Polly gave a hiss as near like a bubbling-hot tea-kettle as she could manage,—“and then a voice said ‘Hem.’

“‘Oh! that’s you, Mrs. Tea-Kettle,’ said the cat, without turning her head.

“‘Who else would it be but me?’ said the old Tea-Kettle sharply; ‘when there’s not a soul comes in here day after day. Come, you cross thing, why don’t you talk?’ for the cat looked as if she were going to sleep that very minute.

“‘I haven’t anything to talk about,’ said the cat sleepily.

“‘Well, I have,’ snapped the Tea-Kettle—‘puff—puff,—and I’m very angry indeed. And I’m tired of staying in this old place day after day. And I tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to jump right down, and go off to see the world. Yes I am.’

“‘You can’t,’ said the cat, still not turning her head; ‘for you haven’t any legs.’

“‘As if that was any matter,’ snorted the old Tea-Kettle. Then she raised her lid, and sent out angry little whiffs of steam, so that the cat moved uneasily. ‘I don’t have to depend on legs, like you great lazy things. I can roll just as good.’ With that she gave a great lunge, and over she went on her fat side, and off with a bang to the floor. The cat, not knowing which way she might come, wisely sprang for the old table, and peered at her over the side. Like this,” said Polly, hanging over an imaginary table-edge.

The children screamed with delight, and Mamsie set a whole row of stitches briskly into place while she smiled contentedly over her needle. “‘Oh you bad, naughty thing!’ cried the cat; ‘Phif—spit—meow! to do such things and run away while the mistress is gone.’

“‘I can’t help it,’ said the old Tea-Kettle, rolling busily on toward the door, while a pool of hot water trailed off into little streams on the floor. ‘I’m tired to death sitting in a hump on that old stove day in and day out. You can go out and see the world. It’s all very well for you to talk.’

“‘I have to mind the house,’ said the cat, sitting up stiffly on the table, her tail lashed around her body, and her green eyes staring at the old Tea-Kettle.

“‘Nonsense!’ The Tea-Kettle had got through puffing, because, you see, there wasn’t any steam left in her; and now she began to roll along more slowly. At last she knocked up against the door with a bump.

“‘You can’t get out,’ exclaimed the cat, ‘anyway, for you don’t know how to open the door.’ And she laughed softly under her whiskers to herself sitting there on the table.

“The old Tea-Kettle lifted its long nose angrily in the air. ‘Jump down this minute,’ she cried, ‘and open it for me. Come, I’m in a hurry, for I’m going to see the world.’

“‘I sha’n’t open the door,’ declared the cat with great composure,” said Polly, feeling very glad she had slipped over the big word so well; “‘so there!’ and she lashed her tail stiffer than ever around her legs.

“The old Tea-Kettle cried and whimpered and begged, but it was no use. The cat sat up like a wooden cat, and just stared at her. At last the Tea-Kettle rolled over on her side, and laid her long turned-up nose on the floor.

“‘I’m afraid she’s dead,’ said the cat to herself. ‘And’”—

“And was she dead?” asked little Davie; “was she, Polly?”

“You’ll see,” she cried, “pretty soon. Well, so the cat was so awfully afraid the poor old Tea-Kettle was dead, that she stepped down from the table, and went and bent over and looked at her. And no sooner had she touched her with her paw to feel and be sure about it, than the old Tea-Kettle hopped up as quick as a wink; and the cat flew back, and then she had to run, oh, so dreadfully fast! because the Tea-Kettle began to roll at her. And round and round the room they went, and the Tea-Kettle kept always between the table and the cat, so she couldn’t jump on that; and she couldn’t hop on the stove because it was hot; so she had to open the door. And before she could shut it, there was the Tea-Kettle close behind her!”

“And did she get away?” cried Joel; “clear off to see the world?”

“Yes,” said Polly; “and she never came back. She screamed out as she rolled down the long hill before the cottage door, ‘Goo-d—by—o-old—o-o-ld—cat.’”

“Oh, dear, dear!” said both boys. And “Go-o-d—by—ol-d—cat,” sang Phronsie.

“And did she ever come—oh, see—see!” screamed Joel looking up, and nearly upsetting David as he jumped clear past him, “blue sky—see—come on, Dave, out-doors!”

[X.]
THE PINK AND WHITE STICKS.

“Were they as nice as dear Mrs. Beebe’s pink and white sticks?” asked Joel anxiously.

“And dear Mr. Beebe’s,” added Phronsie; “were they, Polly?”

“Yes—no; that is, they couldn’t be quite as nice, Pet. No pink and white sticks could be, you know. But they were very nice indeed, and they all lived together in a candy-jar.”

“Oh—oh! Tell about it, Polly,” they all begged.

So Polly got the little bunch of Peppers together in “the breathing-spell,” as the edge of the twilight was called, when it was too soon to light a candle, because mother Pepper couldn’t afford any light in the old kitchen except when it was absolutely necessary; and then she began:

“Yes, they all lived together in the big candy-jar.”

“Where was it?” cried Joel insistently, at which the others clamored immediately to be told the same thing.

“In the window of the little shop, just like Mr. Beebe’s, only it wasn’t Mr. Beebe’s,” said Polly.

“And was my dear, sweet Mrs. Beebe in there, and all the little shoes?” demanded Phronsie excitedly.

“No, no, Pet; I said it wasn’t Mr. Beebe’s shop, so of course Mrs. Beebe wasn’t there, nor the shoes,” answered Polly; “but it was like Mr. Beebe’s.”

“Did it have a green door?” asked Joel, “and a big knocker that went clang—clang—like this?” and he jumped up and sent out his arm after an imaginary brass knocker hanging on a big green door.

“Yes,” said Polly. “I guess my shop-door had a big knocker on it, all shiny like Mr. Beebe’s.”

“Your shop? oh! is it your shop?” broke in little Davie incredulously. “O Polly!”

“Of course it’s my shop,” cried Polly gayly, “’cause I make it up out of my head, so I own all the things in it too.”

“Oh! give me some of the candy then,” howled Joel, plunging into the middle of the group. “I want some right away, Polly.”

“Why, I’m giving you some now,” said Polly, laughing at his face. The children all looked puzzled enough.

“You see, you’re getting some of the pink and white sticks in the story; and if I didn’t make it up, you couldn’t have any. Now you must just play you’re eating candy. My, isn’t it nice!” Polly held up long imaginary pink and white sticks, and took a good bite off from one of them.

Joel’s sharp black eyes followed her closely. “I’d rather have the real sticks,” he said slowly.

“Of course,” said Polly; “but if you can’t have real ones, it’s better to have make-believe story ones. Well, now I’m going to begin.”

“Yes, go on,” said Joel, bringing down his gaze as Polly’s hands fell to her lap. “You said they were in the big candy-jar, Polly;” smacking his lips.

“Yes—oh! and it stood on the shelf that ran along inside the window; and there was a little bit of a man who kept the shop, and he had a little bit of a wife who helped him, and”—

“Why ain’t they big as Mr. Beebe, and big as Mrs. Beebe?” cried Joel, putting his hands out as far as he could reach in front of him; “I like ’em big. Why ain’t they, Polly?”

“Because they aren’t Mr. and Mrs. Beebe,” said Polly. “Now, if you are going to interrupt every minute, I can’t tell the story.”

“I wish we could hear about those pink and white sticks,” said little Davie patiently, and drawing a long sigh.

“Yes, you see the others want to hear about it, Joel,” said Polly; “and it keeps us all back when you stop me so much.”

“I want the pink and white sticks,” said Phronsie, stretching out her feet. “Please hurry, Polly.”

So Joel clapped one hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting Polly again, and she began once more.

“Yes; old Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle were little and dried up, just like two little withered nuts; and they had ever so many little Periwinkleses, and so they had to work very hard to keep shoes and stockings on their feet, and to get them enough to eat. So Mrs. Periwinkle used to make candy and doughnuts and”—

“Oo!” exploded Joel, forgetting himself. Then he clapped the other hand, too, upon his mouth.

“And then Mrs. Periwinkle would run out into the shop, and say to Mr. Periwinkle, ‘Here’s another batch of candy, my dear;’ or ‘Look what I’ve brought you,’ sliding a pan of doughnuts on the counter just in time for the folks opening the green door and coming into the shop to buy things. Well, one day a perfectly dreadful thing happened!” Polly drew a long breath, and gazed at her audience.

“What was it?” cried little Davie breathlessly. Phronsie sat quite still with clasped hands, and wide eyes fixed on Polly’s face. Joel was cramming his fists up against his mouth in great distress.

“Why, the pink and white candy sticks were gone, and there was the big jar all tumbled down on its side!” said Polly, with a very impressive air; “just think of that, children!”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the two little Peppers, while Joel nodded his stubbly black head.

“Yes, they were,” said Polly, still more impressively; “every single one of all those pink and white sticks.”

“How many were there—ugh!” cried Joel, forgetting himself. Then he clapped his hands up to his mouth again.

“Oh! I don’t know—yes, there were six—no, I guess eleven of those pink and white sticks,” said Polly thoughtfully; “six white ones and five pink ones.”

“I’d rather have had six pink ones,” said little Davie reflectively.

“Well, I’ll change them,” said Polly accommodatingly, “and let the white ones be five. Yes, that’s best after all,—there were six pink ones, children. Well, and so”—

“I’d rather have the white ones be six,” cried Joel in a roar, and dropping his fists; “they’re best, any way. Mrs. Beebe’s white ones were bigger’n the pink ones, and lots sweeter. Let the white ones be six, Polly, do!”

Thereupon an animated discussion began, as to which should be six, and which should be five, between the two boys, little David taking an unusually firm stand, as he insisted on the pink ones. So at last Polly broke in: “I’ll tell you, children, what we will do; there shall be twelve sticks, six pink and six white ones; now, that’s fine.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” cried Joel and David together. “Well, go on, Polly.”

“Now, where do you suppose those pink and white sticks could have gone to?” cried Polly, clasping her hands. “Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle hadn’t sold them—what could have become of them?”

The little Peppers shook their heads. “And the little Periwinkleses hadn’t touched them—oh, no indeed!” declared Polly in a tone of horror—“so what could really have become of them?”

“What?” It was Phronsie who asked this, and [she crept into Polly’s lap, and put her little hand up on Polly’s neck.]

[She crept into Polly’s lap, and put her little hand up on her neck.]

“Well, nobody knew,” said Polly, stopping only long enough to give Phronsie a hug and ever so many kisses. “And then, what do you think, children, they found had happened to the pink and white sticks?”

At this there was great excitement, the children protesting they couldn’t guess, and wouldn’t Polly hurry and tell them? So she dashed along,—

“Well, Mr. Periwinkle said he was going to sit up that night and watch, and Mrs. Periwinkle said she was going to, and all the little Periwinkleses said they were going to do the same thing. So nobody went to bed at all.”

“Oh, dear me!” said David.

“Didn’t the littlest little Peri—what is it, Polly?” asked Phronsie in a troubled way.

“Periwinkleses,” said Polly.

“Yes, didn’t the very littlest get into the trundle-bed?” asked Phronsie.

“No, not even the littlest of the Periwinkleses,” said Polly. “She was the baby; and she sat up in Mrs. Periwinkle’s lap.”

“Oh!” said Phronsie.

“Well, along about ten o’clock,—no, I guess it was about the middle of the night,” said Polly, “all the Periwinkleses were keeping just as still as could be, you know; and there they sat on their chairs and crickets with their eyes wide open, staring at that big jar—oh! I forgot to tell you that Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle had put some more pink and white sticks in it, so as to see what would happen to them, and”—

“Were there six pink and six white ones?” screamed Joel, before the others could say a word.

“Yes, I guess there were just exactly so many,” said Polly; “and there they stood up, as tall and splendid in the jar.”

“Oo!” Joel smacked his lips.

“Well, along in the middle of the night,—nobody stirred, but all the eyes were staring at those pink and white sticks, when suddenly there was a little wee, faint noise.”

Phronsie snuggled up closer to Polly.

“It came from under the counter; and pretty soon they all heard a faint voice say, ‘Is it time to come out and do it?’”

“‘Yes,’ said another voice; ‘the clock has just struck twelve, and all the big Periwinkles and the little Periwinkleses are asleep.’”

“But they ain’t, Polly,” broke in Phronsie, suddenly sitting straight in Polly’s lap.

“I know, Pet; but these little things with the voices under the counter thought so, you see. And now I’m going to tell you all about it. Well, so out they crept—and they crept—and they crept”—

Joel and David huddled up as close as they could get to Polly, till they were almost in her lap—“And there, in the middle of the floor, were two little brown mice!”

Phronsie clapped her hands in glee.

“I’d rather have had a bear,” said Joel, falling back disappointed.

“I hadn’t,” said David; “go on, Polly, do.”

“And those two little brown mice didn’t seem to see Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle and all the little Periwinkleses sitting round on their chairs and crickets, but they just danced off towards the big jar in the shop-window.”

“O Polly! are they going to take more pink and white sticks?” cried Phronsie, coming out of her glee, and looking very sober.

“You’ll see, Pet. Well, and in a minute out jumped from their hole under the counter Father and Mother Mice, oh! just as big as you please, and just as smart; and they said, ‘Wait, my children, you can’t move the jar, you’re too little;’ and with one spring apiece they were up on the shelf; and then they ran up on the top of the jar, and tumbled down inside among the pink and white sticks.”

“Oh, oh!” cried the little Peppers.

“Yes; and ‘Stand away there, my children,’ came in very faint tones from the jar, ‘or you’ll be killed;’ and one of the great big mice—it was Mr. Father Brown Mouse—stood on the very tip most top of the jar, and let his tail dangle over.

“‘Now run down, my dear,’ he said to his wife, Mrs. Mother Mouse, ‘and stand on the ground,’—he called the shelf the ground, you know,—‘and pull my tail as hard as you did last night, you know; then you must fly, just as you did last night too, when you see the jar coming, or you will be killed.’ So Mrs. Mother Mouse promised she would do it all just as he told her, and she did. And over came the jar on its side on the shelf!”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the little Peppers.

“Then in rushed the two little brown mice, and after them pell-mell the two big brown mice, to drag out [the pink and white sticks.] But Mr. Periwinkle hopped up, and so did Mrs. Periwinkle, and all the little Periwinkleses, and he said, ‘No, sir, and No, ma’am, and no, you little Mousiekins, you don’t take my pink and white sticks, and’”—

[The pink and white sticks.]

“O Polly!” cried Phronsie, grasping Polly’s arm, “please do let the poor, sweet little brown mousies have the pink and white sticks. Please, Polly!” she begged, dreadfully excited.

“Hoh, hoh! why, they were Mr. Periwinkle’s pink and white sticks,” cried Joel. “O Polly! I hope he took a big stick and whacked ’em.”

“Oh, no,—no!” cried Phronsie, the tears beginning to come into her brown eyes; “poor little brown mousies. Please, Polly don’t let him hurt them.”

“Well, he sha’n’t hurt them,” said Polly, relenting. Davie twisted about very uncomfortably, longing for Polly to make the naughty little brown mice give back Mr. Periwinkle’s pink and white sticks for Mrs. Periwinkle and the little Periwinkleses. But he couldn’t go against Phronsie; so he swallowed his disappointment, and said, “Do let the little brown mice go, Polly.”

“Well, I will,” said Polly, amid howls of disapproval by Joel. “Well, when Mr. Periwinkle said that, out jumped Mr. Father Brown Mouse, and Mrs. Mother Brown Mouse, and the two little brown mice, and each had a pink or a white stick in his mouth, and away they ran for their hole under the counter.”

Phronsie leaned back in Polly’s lap quite satisfied.

“Was it a white stick Mr. Father Brown Mouse had in his mouth?” asked Joel, smothering his disappointment as best he could.

“Yes, he had the white one,” said Polly, smiling at him.

“Well, Mrs. Mother Brown Mouse got the best anyway,” said Davie; “she got the pink one.”

“Hulloa!” cried Ben rushing in, his face all aglow. “Well, I declare, if you are not all up in a bunch in this dark corner. Aren’t you going to light a candle?”

Phronsie jumped out of Polly’s lap, where she was nestling like a little bird, and rushed tumultuously up to him. “O Bensie!” she screamed, clasping her hands; “we’ve had pink and white sticks, and poor, sweet little brown mousies, and I liked ’em, I did,” she cried.

[XI.]
[THE OLD STAGE-COACH.]

“G’lang!” shouted Joel; “’twas just like Mr. Tisbett’s, I know, Polly—wasn’t it?” he screamed, coming up bright and shining after a race around the kitchen, in which he cracked an imaginary whip, and called to a make-believe pair of horses that were prancing this way and that and causing him no end of trouble.

“Yes,” said Polly; “it was something like Mr. Tisbett’s.”

“Make it just exactly like his,” begged Joel, crowding up to Polly.

[“Take care, Joe,” she warned;] “you most made me upset that dish of potatoes. Go away now like a good boy, until I get ready to tell the story;” and she bustled off into the pantry again.

[“Take care, Joe,” she warned.]

Joel set up another prancing around the kitchen. This time little Davie joined in; and Phronsie came flying up in the rear, with very red cheeks and Seraphina upside down in her arms.

“Goodness me!” exclaimed Polly, coming out again with both hands full. “What a racket!”

“It’s Mr. Tisbett’s stage-coach,” announced Joel with a flourish, and cracking his whip. “Hooray, there—get out of the way or you’ll be run over! Any passengers?—want to get in, ma’am?”—with a bow to Polly.

“No,” said Polly; “thank you, I’m not going away anywhere to-day, Mr. Tisbett.”

“G’lang then!” and away they swept off rattling and lumbering along, and Polly was left in peace to get supper; for Mamsie would come home tired and hungry before long.

But at last everything was ready; and the children, tired of play, began to tease Polly for the story she had promised them; and Joel drove Mr. Tisbett’s big stage-coach into the corner, and tied the horses fast.

So Polly had to begin it right away. “Well, you know I told you it was a big stage-coach.”

“Yes, yes, we know,” said Joel, flopping down on a cricket, and folding his chubby hands. “Now go on.”

“You see, there were four horses to this stage-coach,” announced Polly, watching to see the effect of this on Joel.

“Whickets!” cried Joel, springing off from his cricket. “O Polly—four horses!”

“Yes, there were,” declared Polly, “four horses,—two black ones and two white ones.”

Joel stood perfectly still, and did not speak a word for several minutes, quite overcome at this. So Polly seized the opportunity to rush along as fast as she could in the story. “Well, and there was a funny old man who drove the stage-coach. He wasn’t in the least like our Mr. Tisbett; he was little and round, and he had a squeaky voice; and he always said, ‘Pay me your money before you get in, ma’am,’ like this,” said Polly, her voice going up in a funny little squeal, “which isn’t the leastest bit in the world like our nice, good Mr. Tisbett.”

“He lets me ride sometimes when I don’t pay any money,” said little Davie reflectively.

“And once,” said Phronsie, pushing back her yellow hair to gaze into Polly’s face, “he let Mamsie and me ride oh—away far off—up to the store, I guess.”

“I know,” said Polly, “he did, Pet. Oh! our Mr. Tisbett is just as dear as he can be. Well, this stage-driver was sometimes just like a snapping-turtle. I guess he had the tooth-ache, maybe.”

“Oh, dear me!” said David, with a lively remembrance of his experience in that direction.

“Anyway, he was cross sometimes,” said Polly; “so, you see, people didn’t say much to him; but they just paid down their money into his hands, and hopped in as soon as ever they could.”

“How do you know two of the horses were black?” demanded Joel abruptly, and coming up behind her.

“Oh! goodness me, Joe, how you scared me!” exclaimed Polly with a jump. “Why, because I make ’em so in the story.”

“Were they big? and did they dance and prance like this?” demanded Joel, kicking out behind, and then going through as wonderful evolutions as he thought his steeds could accomplish if he held the reins.

“Yes, I s’pose they could do everything,” said Polly; “but I want to tell the story now.”

“When I’m a big man I’m going to be a stage-driver,” announced Joel in a loud voice, “and I shall have six horses; so there, Polly Pepper.”

“Well, one day this great big stage-coach I’m telling you about,” said Polly, hurrying on with the story, as it was almost time for Mamsie to come, “was just as full as it could be, and there were two people upon the box with the funny old driver.”

[The old stage-coach.]

“That’s me—one of ’em is,” declared Joel; “and you—you may sit up there too, Dave.”

“Yes, I’m going to sit there too,” said little David, hugging himself in great satisfaction.

“There was a fat old woman who took up most of one whole seat; and she had a parrot in a big cage, tied over with a newspaper, all except a hole at the top so she could breathe. And the old woman kept leaning over and peeping into this hole, and asking, ‘Hey, pretty Polly; how are you now?’ and Polly Parrot always screamed back, ‘Polly wants a cracker,—Polly wants a cracker.’”

“And didn’t anybody give her a cracker, Polly?” asked Phronsie.

“No,” said Polly, “they didn’t. Well, and”—

“Why didn’t somebody give her a cracker?” persisted Phronsie gravely.

“Oh! because they didn’t have any, and then—besides, oh, she had plenty of seeds in her cage. Well, so”—

“Did she like seeds?” asked Phronsie, pulling Polly’s arm gently to make her pay attention.

“Yes, I guess so,” said Polly absently. “Well, so you see”—

“Please let somebody give her a cracker, Polly,” said Phronsie in a grieved little voice that made Polly stop at once.

“Oh! I will, Pet,” cried Polly at sight of her face. “Yes indeed, that old green parrot shall have a cracker. The little thin man in the corner of the stage-coach felt in his pocket, and he found one, and he gave it to her.”

“I think he was nice,” said Phronsie, in great relief.

“Well, let me see—where was I?” said Polly, wrinkling her brows. “Oh! well, in the other side of the stage-coach, sitting with their backs to the horses”—

“Two of them were black and two were white,” said Joel.

“Yes;” Polly hurried on to get him off from the horses; “well, there were three boys crowded into the seat; and they had a basket they were carrying to their grandmother, and there was a chicken-pie in it.”

“Oh, my!” exclaimed all the little Peppers together.

“Yes; and it was rich, and fat, and juicy,” said Polly, for her life not being able to keep from saying it.

“O Polly! I want some, I do,” broke in little David imploringly. Joel was just going to say so himself, but he caught Polly’s eye.

“Well, you can’t have any,” she said grimly. And she set her teeth together hard. How splendidly she could make a chicken-pie if she ever had the chance! Why couldn’t the little brown house ever have anything? And for a moment she drooped her shoulders in a sorry little fashion, and all the brightness went out of her round face.

“We never have anything,” said little Davie plaintively.

“Never,” said Phronsie sadly, shaking her yellow head. And there they sat, two sorry little figures, just ready to cry.

“Be still,” said Joel, with a savage pinch on Davie’s arm.

“Ow!”

“Well, you’re making Polly sick.”

At the word “sick” Phronsie raised her head. “Are you sick, Polly?” she cried, getting into her lap.

“No; that is—I was naughty,” said Polly, waking out of her dream.

“Oh, you’re not naughty, Polly,” cried Phronsie, kissing her. “You couldn’t be.”

“Yes, I was,” declared Polly; “just as naughty as I could be, and I ought to be put in the corner.”

The idea of Polly’s being put in the corner so astonished the children that no one spoke, so she plunged into the story as fast as she could. “Well, now, you know the little thin man I told you about over in the other corner, who gave Polly parrot a cracker, had a”—

“Yes, I know,” said Phronsie, patting her pinafore in a satisfied way. “He was a nice man, Polly, and I like him.”

“Well, he had a big black dog with him, and it was under his seat.”

“Oh, dear!” cried all the children together.

“Yes; well, there were some other passengers in the stage-coach, and”—

“Never mind about them, tell about the big black dog,” begged Joel.

“Yes; tell about the big black dog,” begged the other two.

“Well, I will. Now, the big black dog smelt the chicken-pie, you see, before the stage-coach had rattled on many miles.”

“Oh, dear!” cried the children.

“Yes; you see all these passengers were going down to Bayberry, and it was an awfully cold day, and everybody was all wrapped up in big woolen shawls, and they had their caps pulled down over their ears, and they all had mittens on. Oh! and the chicken-pie dish was hot when the boys’ mother gave it to them to carry to their grandmother. It was just out of the oven, you know; so they took turns in carrying the basket on their knees. It kept their hands warmer, you know.”

“That was nice,” said little Davie reflectively.

“Wasn’t it? Well, they were all going along as fine as you please,” cried Polly, racing on in the story, “when all of a sudden,—Whoa!—Gee—whoop—whoa-a!” called Polly in a very loud voice; and she pulled hard on an imaginary pair of reins, and held in two pairs of fiery steeds.

“I can stop ’em better’n that,” screamed Joel, springing to his feet. “Here, give me the reins.” So he whoaed, and pulled, and roared, and at last announced that the horses were brought up standing, and the big stage-coach was quite still.

“Thank you, Joel,” said Polly; “well, then, down jumps the fat little cross stage-driver from his box, and he comes up to the door. ‘Fly out of here,’ he says, ‘every one of you.’

“‘What must we get out for?’ asked the woman with the parrot. You see, she was very fat and she didn’t wish to be hurried out in this way.

“‘Get out this minute,’ roared the little cross old driver, ‘or I’ll tumble the stage over, ma’am.’

“So she got out with a great deal of trouble, and set her cage, with the parrot in it, all tied up in a newspaper, except a hole in the top for him to breathe by”—

“Please don’t let them spill out his cracker, Polly,” said Phronsie anxiously.

“No, I won’t, Pet. You see, the little thin man stuck it in very tight in the bars over the seed-cup, Phronsie.”

“Polly, I like that little thin man very much, I do,” declared Phronsie in a burst of enthusiasm.

“So do I, Phronsie. Well, and then the other passengers all got out; they had to, you see, because the cross little stage-driver was screaming and roaring at them, you know, and last of all the three boys with the chicken-pie-basket got out. And they set it on the grass, very carefully under a bush by the roadside; and then they ran with all the rest of the people to see what the matter was with the stage-coach. Everybody ran but the big black dog.”

“Now I know that he is going to eat up the boys’ grandmother’s chicken-pie,” cried Joel—“oh, dear me!”

“Hush,—don’t tell things till I get to ’em, Joe,” cried Polly, who dearly loved to announce all the startling surprises in her stories with as much of a flourish as possible.

“Well, I most know he is,” said Joel, subsiding into a loud whisper. “Ain’t he, Polly?”

“Maybe. Well, now, you know everybody was peering and looking this way and that, all over the big stage-coach. ‘I don’t see anything broken,’ said the little thin man, getting down on his knees on the hard frozen ground to examine it underneath.

“‘And neither do I,’ said the big fat woman very angrily; ‘and I’m just going to get in again.’

“‘No you won’t, either, ma’am,’ declared the cross little stage-driver; ‘for this is my stage-coach, and I tell you I heard something crack.’

“‘’Twas a piece of a stone in the road, I guess,’ said the thin little man, getting up from his knees, and brushing the dirt off.

“‘Or a stick you ran over most likely,’ said another.

“But the little old stage-driver said, ‘No,’ very crossly; ‘it wasn’t either of these things.’ It sounded just like the bottom of his stage-coach cracking, and he wasn’t going to have it smashed. And he kept them all out there in the cold, till he looked over and under and around it very carefully. At last, as he couldn’t find anything, not even the smallest, tiniest bit of a crack, he let them get in again. So the big fat woman picked up her parrot in the cage, with the newspaper tied over it, all except a hole in the top for it to breathe through, and everybody else got their things and clambered in,—all but the three boys, who couldn’t find the chicken-pie they were carrying to their grandmother, that was under the bush by the roadside.”

“Oh, dear me!” they all exclaimed, while Phronsie clasped her small hands in despair, and sat quite still.

“No, it wasn’t there,” declared Polly, shaking her brown head,—“not so much as a scrap of the crust, nor a bit of the dish, nor a single speck of the basket. And oh, how those boys did feel!”

“What did they do?” cried Joel, feeling such a calamity not to be borne.

“They just couldn’t do anything,” said Polly. “And down they sat on three stones by the roadside. And everybody had stopped getting in, and turned to help look for the pie. And pretty soon they all heard a dreadful noise.”

“What was it?” asked Phronsie fearfully.

“Oh! now I know it is the chicken-pie coming back; and those three boys can take it to their grandmother,” exclaimed little David joyfully.

“Hoh—hoh—a chicken-pie can’t come back like that,” said Joel, with a snort.

“And the little thin man came skurrying out of the bushes, and dragging after him his big black dog,” said Polly with a fine flourish, “who smelt of chicken-pie all over his face; and he wouldn’t look at anybody, and especially the three boys sitting on their stones by the roadside; but he rolled his eyes up like this,” Polly looked off sideways, and up at an imaginary sky; “and his master, the thin little man, said, and he dragged him by his collar up in front of those boys, ‘Now, sir, say you’re sorry you’ve eaten up all that pie;’ and that dog said, ‘Bark—bark!’ just as loud, oh, you can’t think!”

Phronsie screamed in great excitement, and clapped her hands together to think of the big dog. Then she grew very sober. “But what will the boys do, Polly?”

“And the grandmother?” finished Joel and David together.

“Oh! the little thin man said, ‘Hold your hands, boys;’ and then he dropped one—two—three—four—five—six gold pieces into them.”

“Gold?” screamed Joel excitedly.

“Yes, real, true shiny gold,” cried Polly, nodding away; “enough to buy two dozen chicken-pies, all richer and juicier and better than the one the boys were carrying to their grandmother.”

“‘Now let’s all hop into the stage-coach,’ cried the little thin man—Why, here’s Mamsie!”

[XII.]
MR. NUTCRACKER; THE STORY THAT WASN’T A STORY.

“Come on!” whooped Joel, rushing into the kitchen, and tossing his cap in the corner; “my chores are all done; now tell the story, Polly, tell the story!” he clamored.

“Oh, dear me!” began Polly in a vexed tone, and looking up at the old clock in the corner. Then she remembered what Mamsie had said once, “If you promise anything, do it cheerfully.” “I will, Joey,” she finished, a smile running over her face; “just wait one minute;” and she flew into the buttery.

“I can’t wait a single bit of a minute,” grumbled Joel.

But Polly was back almost before he could say another word. “Now, says I,” she cried, “we’ll have the story, Joe.”

“It’s got to be a long one,” declared Joel, a remark he never failed to make on like occasions.

“All right,” said Polly gayly. “Now, I thought up something you’ll like, I guess, for this story; it’s about Mr. Nutcracker!”

“Jolly!” exclaimed Joel, hugely pleased; “I guess I shall, Polly;” and ripples of satisfaction ran over his round cheeks. “Well, do hurry!”

“I’ve got to do some work,” said Polly, pausing a moment to think; “I can’t ever sit down to tell stories in the daytime without I’m working,—ever in all this world, Joe Pepper. And Mamsie has just taken all the sacks home to Mr. Atkins; she finished ’em last night. Whatever’ll I do?” she wrinkled her brows, and stood lost in thought.

“You might mend our stockings,” said Joel, knocking one set of toes impatiently against the other. “Do hurry, Polly, and think of something,” he implored, his face falling.

“Mamsie’s done those,” said Polly. “I peeked into the mending-basket after breakfast; and they’re all finished and rolled up into little balls.”

“Well, come on, then,” said Joel, thoroughly out of patience; “if there isn’t any work, do tell the story, Polly.”

“It doesn’t seem right to be sitting down in the morning, without I am working,” said Polly slowly; “I don’t know when I’ve done it. But there really isn’t any sewing; and the biscuits I was going to make can be done just as well by and by; so I s’pose I can tell you the story now, Joey.”

“Come on, then!” shouted Joel, throwing himself flat on the floor, and drumming with his heels. “Do hurry up, Polly Pepper!”

So Polly sat down on the floor, feeling still very queer to be telling stories in the daytime without a needle in her fingers, and Joel squirmed along and laid his head in her lap. “I’m glad you ain’t sewing,” he declared in great satisfaction; “’cause now you can smooth my hair.”

[So Polly smoothed and patted his stubby head in a way that Joel liked] to have Mamsie do, and presently she began:

[So Polly smoothed and patted his stubby head in a way that Joel liked.]

“Mr. Nutcracker had a house”—

Rap—rap—came somebody’s fingers on the old green door.

“Oh, bother!” cried Joel, jumping up. And Polly skipped, too, in surprise; for visitors didn’t come very often to the little brown house door, and they both ran as fast as they could to open it.

An old man stood on the flat door-stone, leaning both hands on a knobby old stick; and his head, underneath his torn hat, was bobbing as he trembled with age. The children stared at him in dismay. “I’m very hungry,” he said, looking at Polly; “I haven’t eaten anything to-day; can’t you give me a bite?”

Oh, dear! Polly looked at Joel in dismay. There wasn’t anything in the house, except some cold potatoes that Mrs. Pepper was going to fry for dinner, and Polly’s biscuits, as she called them by courtesy, that were still to be made, as the bread had given out.

“We haven’t anything”—she began, in a faltering voice.

“Why, Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Joel loudly, and crowding past her to get a better view of their visitor; “we have too—lots and lots;” for Joel never could bear to have people think they were poor.

“Where is it?” asked Polly, turning on him. Then she flew around again, for the old man was sinking down on the flat stone. “Oh, dear me! don’t please, poor old man,” she begged, trying to help him up to his feet again.

“I’m very hungry,” he quavered, shaking over his stick.

“Come into the house,” said Polly, with both hands under his arm—“Joe, take his other arm—and you can sit in our Mamsie’s big chair; it’s splendid, and it will rest you.”

The old man nodded, and set his poor trembling feet just where Polly told him to; and at last, Joel puffing and pushing on his side with a great deal of importance, he was helped into the kitchen, and set down in Mother Pepper’s big calico-covered chair over in the corner.

“That’s so nice,” he said with a deep sigh, and resting his head on his shaking hands.

“Joel,” said Polly, drawing off that individual into the entry with great difficulty, as he had no eyes or ears for anything but their visitor, “I’m afraid he’s going to die, he’s so very hungry. I must get him something to eat. Now I’m going to bake my biscuits; Mamsie’d let me give him some of those, I know.”

“No, no!” cried Joel; “you’ve got to tell me about Mr. Nutcracker, Polly,” seizing her gown.

“For shame, Joe!” cried Polly warmly, “when that poor old man is maybe going to die because he hasn’t had anything to eat. What would Mamsie say if she could hear you?”

Joel ducked his stubby head, and kicked the floor with his toes in a shamefaced way. “Well, you may, Polly,” he cried; “and I’ll help you,” he added, brightening up, and running into the kitchen after her.