“I’m sure I don’t know where my seat is,” said the old woman
helplessly, and she began to fumble in her black silk bag, “th’ man
give me somethin’ an’--”

Joel was dashing off to the others, but thinking better of it, turned
back. “I’ll find it for you,” he cried, “give me the bag,” and not
waiting for permission, he seized it and getting down on his knees, he
emptied it of all its contents on the grass.

It was all done before Ben could do more than cry, “Joel!”

The old woman sank down on her knees beside Joel, as he pawed among the
collection of articles spread on the grass. Strange to say she seemed
more curious to see if he would find it than disturbed at the way her
bag was emptied.

“Here ’tis!” he held it up joyfully.

“You’re a real good boy,” exclaimed the old woman gratefully. “Now I’ll
put the things back.”

“I’ll help,” said Joel, falling to on the work. So together everything
was all snug and safe once more in the black silk bag, and the old
woman hung it on her arm again, and got up to her feet.

“It’s No. 12,” said Joel, squinting at the little piece of pasteboard.
“I’ll find it for you,” and he pranced along, Ben and the old woman
following, his black eyes eagerly scanning the seats. “21--20,” he ran
on, “15--14--why--it’s next to Mamsie!”

Sure enough. They helped the little old woman, her poke bonnet settling
over her eyes on the ascent, up to the middle row, and down she sat by
Mrs. Pepper. When she found who it was in the next seat, she leaned
forward and said in a loud whisper, “Your boy, the littlest one, is an
awful good boy. He helped me consid’able.” She had not then learned
that there was a third Pepper boy, still smaller.

Mrs. Pepper beamed on her, and was just saying, “I am so glad,” when
Joel, on her other side, burst out, “Oh, I was bad--her bottle flew
off--and it smelt bad, and I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident,” said Ben hastily. And the old woman, when she saw
Mrs. Pepper’s face, hurried to say, “’Twarn’t much spilt, an’ anyway
I’ve got enough left,” and just then, so many people came hurrying in
that there was such a great commotion in finding seats, as to absorb
all attention. And the first thing Joel knew, a trembling hand was laid
across Mrs. Pepper’s lap. “There’s a dime,” said the little old woman,
“I brought it for peanuts. And you can buy some for us all.”

Joel hopped to his feet, his eyes sparkling.

“I’ll go with him,” said Ben.

“No, no,” roared Joel, clutching the dime. “She said me--I’m going
alone,” and he began to wriggle out of his seat.

Ben looked at Mrs. Pepper in dismay, as she said quietly, “Yes, you may
go, Joel, by yourself. I can trust you.”

“She says I may,” Joel was already working his way over the rows. He
turned to send a delighted smile back, and Mrs. Pepper nodded. “I can
trust you,” she said again.

“All them children yours?” asked the little woman presently, craning
her neck to see the row of heads the other side of Mrs. Pepper.

“All but one,” said Mrs. Pepper, “and he is a Badgertown boy.”

“My sakes! hain’t you had a sight o’ trouble though, to bring up such a
lot o’ young ones.”

Mother Pepper turned clear around in her seat. “Trouble?” she repeated,
and her black eyes shone, “why I never should think of such a thing!
Why, they are my _children_.”

“Yes, that’s jest what I say--and such a lot o’ them,” affirmed the
little old woman, bobbing her poke bonnet with emphasis, as Joel came
rushing back swinging a big bag of peanuts.

“You see I thought I’d get peanuts. There’s a sight o’ nourishment in
chewin’ of ’em,” she said, taking the bag, “so I didn’t bring nothin’
to eat.” She emptied out a small handful into her lap. “There, boy,”
and she handed the bag back to Joel, “you an’ your folks can have th’
rest, an’ we can sit an’ chew on ’em together.”

“And we have a great deal of luncheon,” said Mrs. Pepper, “and it will
be very nice to have you eat with us.”

And just then the band marched in, smart in bright red coats and gilt
helmets--with a blare of trumpets, to announce the approach of the
grand procession.

CHAPTER XXVII

MORE ABOUT THE CIRCUS

“I hain’t never ben to a circus,” said the little old woman, after the
splendor of the grand procession had swept around the ring, and she
caught her breath.

“We have never been to one,” said Mrs. Pepper, looking down the length
of her row of absorbed faces.

“Is that so? Why, I thought ev’rybody had had a chance at one, ’xcept
me-- An’ I says, ‘Now, next time it comes to Cherryville, I’ll go.’ I’d
ben a-savin’ up for it, for circuses don’t wait for folks to turn back
an’ grow young. Look at them ponies--did you ever see sech mites!”

She leaned forward, her withered face suddenly looking as if she had
indeed “turned back to grow young.”

“You’re pokin’ me in the back somethin’ dreadful,” said a woman
in front, with an indignant face over her shoulder. The head was
surmounted with a hat topped off with a big pink bow wound around a
higher bunch of yellow roses.

“I s’pose so,” said the little old woman, “but I have to poke, to get
the best of that contraption on your head--I’ve got to see; that’s what
I come for.”

The woman with the hat flounced back and threw her head up higher yet.

“I guess I’ll have to stand up,” said the little old woman, tired of
twisting first one side and then the other.

Mrs. Pepper, her mind down the line where Phronsie in absorbed delight
over the ponies, was sitting between Polly and David, had no eyes for
her neighbor’s distress. Now she laid her hand on the rusty black
shawl. “I’m so much taller,” she said, and before anybody quite knew
it, the little old woman was in the seat next to Joel, and Mother
Pepper’s black eyes were gazing over the “contraption” of a hat.

And, then, after the ponies, came the elephants--the big one and the
little one. Phronsie shivered when the old one marched ponderously
into the ring, and threw herself over into Polly’s lap.

“He won’t hurt you,” whispered Polly, her arms about her.

“And he isn’t half as bad as Polly’s rhododendron,” said Ben, leaning
forward to talk across.

Polly turned a cold shoulder to Ben. “See the little elephant,
Phronsie--see him!”

“Is there a little one?” said Phronsie, uncovering one blue eye
fearfully.

“Yes, indeed,” said Polly, “and he’s such a dear little elephant,
Phronsie. Do look!”

“He’s a dear little el’phunt,” cooed Phronsie, bringing both eyes into
view. But she sighed after the ponies, now careering on the other side
of the big ring, drawing the little chariot gay with ribbons and flags,
and a small boy and a smaller girl riding in state.

“I wish they’d come again,” she said, pulling Polly’s head down to
whisper in her ear.

“Perhaps they will,” said Polly encouragingly, “and if they don’t,
there’ll be something else just as splendid.”

Phronsie folded her hands in her lap and sat quite still. Could
anything be as splendid as those sweet little ponies? And she sighed
again. But Polly had said so, and it must be true.

Meantime David, who had scarcely dared to breathe through the whole
show, screamed right out.

Everybody turned and stared, and a nervous woman down in the front
said, “Gracious! somebody’s sick--get th’ doctor.” And one of the funny
men in a white coat with red spots all over it, and a hat with holes
where his eyes came, looked up as he was walking down beneath the seats
saying things to make people laugh.

“Toss me that boy,” he roared, snapping a little whip he carried under
his arm, “and I’ll eat him up.”

And at that, Joel screamed, “You sha’n’t eat my brother--I’ll smash
you!” And everything was in a commotion. And a man in a red coat, with
a good many brass buttons on it, rushed up and said: “You’re disturbing
the show--I’ll put you out if you make any more trouble.”

And Mrs. Pepper leaned over past the little old woman. Polly caught one
glimpse of Mamsie’s distressed face, and she swept Phronsie over into
Ben’s lap.

“Oh, Davie--what is it?” she cried, huddling him up against her, as he
buried his face in her neck.

“The bears! Joel has always wanted to see some--they’re coming!”

Joel, with no heart for bears or anything else, was still shaking his
little brown fists and declaring that he wouldn’t let any one eat up
his brother, while Big Bruin and Mrs. Bruin and two small Bruins were
doing their best down in the ring to make the parade lively.

“Oh, Davie!” cried Polly, so mortified that she forgot herself, “you
shouldn’t have screamed. We’re so ashamed!” While Mother Pepper said,
quietly, “Joel,” and down went his little fists, and he stopped right
in the middle of a word.

David was so still that Polly bent her hot cheek over him. “Why, Davie,
are you sick?” she cried in sudden fright.

Davie tried to say “No,” but the word wouldn’t come. And before he had
time to begin again, Mrs. Pepper had quietly worked her way past the
little old woman and Joel, and there he was in her lap.

“There, it’s all right, Davie,” she said, “Mother knows all about it.”

“I’ve made--I’ve made--you all--ashamed,” said Davie in little shivery
gasps, throwing his arms around her neck.

“You will make us very much ashamed,” said Mrs. Pepper, “unless you sit
up now, and be Mother’s good boy.”

“Will I?” David raised a little face that was quite white. The soft
waves of light hair tumbled over his forehead.

“Yes, indeed,” Mother Pepper brushed them back soothingly.

“I will be your good boy, Mamsie,” said David, sitting up in her lap,
his miserable little face brightening a bit.

“He better take some o’ this med’cine.” The little old woman tried to
pass the small bottle she picked out of her black silk bag. “I always
carry it everywhere’s I go, ef I sh’d be sick.”

But Mrs. Pepper shook her head. And Joel being now absorbed in the
bears that somehow were determined not to march with the others, but
to get up a show all by themselves, till the trainer with his little
whip had to get them into line, everything became quiet once more.

Well, after the grand parade, there was the big show when the animals
did the most surprising things, and the men and the women in spangles
and satin and velvet jumped from horses going at top speed--or through
hoops, or swung in the air like big birds.

And then there was a great to-do, everybody clambering down from the
seats--all trying to get out of the tent at once.

In and out of the crowd Miss Parrott’s coachman worked his way, with
the big lunch-basket.

“I thought you would like to have it now,” he said. And he didn’t
forget to touch his hat to Mrs. Pepper.

“I think it is time,” said Mrs. Pepper, “for I believe everybody is
hungry,” with a smile that included the little old woman next to Joel.

“I’ll show you a place where you can sit and eat, and not have many
people around,” said Simmons, going off with the big basket, and all
the Peppers hurried down from their seats to follow. But not before
Mrs. Pepper took hold of Joel’s little calico sleeve. “Help her down,
Joey,” she said, nodding her head toward the little old woman.

“I want to go with Dave,” grumbled Joel.

“Help her down, Joel,” said Mother Pepper distinctly.

“And I’ll help her, too,” cried Davie, turning back.

“So you shall,” Mrs. Pepper beamed at him, so that he forgot for the
first time how he had made them all ashamed.

And Joel on one side and Davie on the other, made the little old woman
say when she was safely down from her seat on the middle row, “My
sakes, I never had no gret likin’ for boys before. What’s your name,
anyhow?”

Joel, who was frantic to hurry along, as the others and Miss Parrott’s
coachman were well ahead, had no time to answer questions. So Davie
said, “He’s Joel Pepper, and I--”

“Pepper? What a name!” interrupted the little old woman with a snort.

Davie’s face got very red.

Luckily Joel didn’t hear; all his mind was bent on getting along
faster as he beat his hands together aching to pull the little old
woman on by her rusty shawl.

“Joel is a good-enough name,” said the little old woman. “My husband’s
father was Joel, but Pepper is a perfectly dreadful name.”

“Pepper is just a perfectly splendid name!” David stopped short by her
side, and looked at her out of flashing blue eyes.

“My sakes alive!” exclaimed the little old woman, stopping aghast,
“I sh’d as soon ’xpect a hummin’ bird to dare me, as you. Now ef
it had ’a’ ben him,” she shook her black silk bag at Joel, who was
marching on. Joel looked back and screamed, “Come on!” which they did,
redoubling their speed.

“Now, my name is a sensible one,” said the little old woman, “Jones.
But Pepper--I sh’d as soon think of salt and mustard.”

David, finding it harder and harder to escort a person determined to
find fault with his name, had all he could do to keep himself from
deserting altogether. But knowing that Mamsie would feel badly if he
did, and remembering how he had made them all ashamed, he marched on,
by her side; but his head was tossed up, and his cheeks were very red.

But in the excitement of getting into the corner of the field around
the big lunch-basket that Simmons put in their midst, no one noticed
him but Mother Pepper.

“Tell Mother,” whispered Mrs. Pepper, under cover of getting the good
things unpacked.

“Mamsie,” said David desperately, “that lady is a bad old lady. Don’t
make me sit next to her,” he begged.

“Why, Davie boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper in surprise. “I think she is
quite a nice little woman.”

“Oh, no,” Davie shook his head. “She’s been saying awful things. She
doesn’t like us to be called Pepper.”

Mrs. Pepper burst into a cheery laugh. “Well, that’s not being bad,”
she said. “Now perhaps I shouldn’t like her name, if I knew what it
was.”

“I know it,” said Davie, “she told me--it’s Jones.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I never did like it,” said Mrs. Pepper, “so
you see, Davie, it isn’t so much matter if people’s names don’t suit
other folks. But the people themselves have got to be just right. Now
run along and be nice to her. She is poor and old. Remember that, Davie
boy.”

There was everything in that fine big lunch-basket. First came a
table-cloth and napkins as fresh and sweet as if they had been packed
away in lavender, as indeed was the case. Then seven little cups--and a
big jar of lemonade, piles of bread and butter and cold chicken, cake,
and biscuits. Was ever such a feast spread out for hungry people at a
circus!

Jimmy, who hadn’t said a word all through the show, but had absorbed it
with all his eyes and ears, now hung back from the group and leaned up
against the wall of a shed a little distance away. He was watching the
merry party with longing.

Ben, helping Polly to spread the table-cloth on the grass, looked off
and saw him.

“Give us a hand, Jimmy,” he said.

Jimmy started, then stopped, hanging back.

“Come on,” said Polly, “and take hold of this other corner, please.”

So there Jimmy was, and the table-cloth being spread, the articles
from the basket were soon in place, everybody being handy at getting
them out, Joel and David especially so, while Phronsie got in between,
laughing and crowing happily under the impression that she was helping
very much.

“I think I will visit with you,” said Mother Pepper, sitting down on
the grass next to the little old woman. There was a happy look in her
black eyes, and a soft color began to come on her cheek, “and let the
children take care of things.”

The little old woman raised her withered face and regarded her
curiously. “You ain’t a bit of a fussbudget,” she said.

“No?” replied Mother Pepper. Then she laughed and said, “Why should I
be?”

“La! you shouldn’t be. But a woman who’s got a raft o’ young ones most
generally is.”

“They are my _children_,” said Mrs. Pepper softly, and her happy eyes
roved over the little bunch of Peppers. Bursts of laughter came from
the group, in which Jimmy’s voice could now and then be heard.

“Who’s that boy?” abruptly demanded the little old woman.

“That’s Jimmy Skinner, a Badgertown boy,” said Mrs. Pepper.

“Oh, then he ain’t a Pepper?”

“No. Well, children,” Mrs. Pepper got up to her feet, “you are all
ready now, aren’t you? We better begin, for we want as much time as we
can spare to see the animals, you know.”

At mention of the “animals” there was great excitement, Joel beating
his hands together and shouting, “Let’s begin--let’s begin!”

“Oh, Mamsie, please sit here,” cried Polly, patting one end of the
table-cloth, “and Mrs.--”

“Jones,” said Davie, coming to the rescue, “that’s Mrs. Jones,” and he
held out a hand to help the little old woman up from the grass.

“Jones I am--but I ain’t no Missis,” said the little old woman, getting
up stiffly to her feet. “My! but I feel like a wooden-jointed doll!
I’m Susannah Jones--that’s th’ handle to my name. Well, where’ll I set?”

“Right next to Mamsie,” said Polly.

Miss Susannah Jones let her pale eyes rove all around the circle.
“What?” she said in a puzzled way. “Where?”

“Why, here,” said Polly, with a little laugh, and leading her to Mrs.
Pepper. “This is Mamsie,” and she laughed again.

Miss Susannah opened her thin lips. She was just about to say, “Well,
of all the queer names, _that_ is!” when, glancing at Davie’s face, she
thought better of it. And besides it was no worse than Pepper. So she
sat down and the feast began.

Mrs. Pepper, glancing across the table-cloth at Jimmy, saw something
that made her say, “Come here a minute,” and as he shuffled around to
her side, she whispered to him, “What is it that makes you afraid to
save your cake?”

Jimmy’s freckled face got very red. He scrubbed his rusty shoes back
and forth in the grass. Then he said, “I didn’t want you folks to see.”

“You want to give it to somebody?”

Jimmy nodded his tow head, glad enough that he didn’t have to speak any
more.

“You may,” said Mrs. Pepper kindly, “do just as you like with it.”

“May I?”

“Indeed you may,” declared Mother Pepper. “So don’t hide your cake
under the table-cloth--but keep it on your plate, and you shall have a
paper to do it up in when we all get through.”

“I don’t want no paper,” said Jimmy bluntly.

“Oh, Jimmy, you can’t carry it home in your hand.”

“I ain’t going to carry it home--and the boy won’t mind.”

“The boy?” Mrs. Pepper looked very puzzled.

“There’s a boy over there,” Jimmy pointed off in the direction of the
big red cart standing in the field, “and he keeps looking and looking
at us--and I guess he’s hungry.”

Mrs. Pepper turned a swift eye in that direction. “Jimmy,” she said, “I
think you are right. Wouldn’t you like to carry your cake to him now?”

“Wouldn’t I just!” exclaimed Jimmy, finding a ready tongue, and
springing off on just as ready feet.

“Oh!” screamed Joel, “look at Jimmy--running off with his cake! See,
Mamsie, Jimmy is--”

“Joel!” Mother Pepper didn’t need to say more, as everybody whirled
around to see the Badgertown boy skim over the grass clutching his
slices of cake that he had been tucking under the table-cloth.

Joel ducked, and everybody else was quiet except Miss Susannah.

“That Badgertown boy is jest as bad as th’ rest o’ you,” she said,
between the bites on her own piece of cake, as Jimmy slipped back and
into his seat, but not to eat any cake.

“Well, now,” said Mrs. Pepper, when everything was cleaned up neatly,
and the big basket had been handed to Simmons, who appeared at the
right time, “we’ll start to see the animals.”

Joel screamed, “The bears--the _bears_! Oh, let’s see the bears first.”

“We will take them all in order, Joey. If the bears are at the
beginning of the line, why we will see them first.”

“The monkeys,” cried Phronsie, pulling at her mother’s hand. “Oh, I
want to see the dear sweet little monkeys, Mamsie!”

“We are going to see the monkeys, Phronsie, and all the rest of them,”
said Mrs. Pepper in a happy voice.

Polly couldn’t help jumping up and down and clapping her hands in joy,
her two brown braids flying out.

“I think we ought to visit your rhododendron, Polly,” said Ben,
catching hold of her to stop her and say it over her shoulder. But
Polly pretending not to hear, the words were lost in the babel of
delight that ensued. And Mrs. Pepper was asking the little old woman if
she would like to go with them to see the animals.

“Indeed I would,” cried Miss Susannah. “My! I was wonderin’ how in th’
world I’d ever get around amongst those anim_iles_ an’ rep_tiles_. Say,
do you Peppers family always go about th’ world lookin’ out for other
folks?”

“We don’t go about the world,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a little laugh.
“Well, now, we must start.”

As it happened the bears were first in the line, so Joel had his wish,
and he crowded up plastering his face close to their cage, in which the
beasts had been put on their return from the parade in the ring.

“That boy will get his nose clawed off,” said a man in the crowd. Mrs.
Pepper turned, “_Joel!_” she cried, just in time! Out came old Father
Bear’s paw with its five cruel claws as sharp as knives,--and a sudden
scratch went _sizz_ on the iron bars just where Joel’s face had been.

“He didn’t get me,” said Joel vindictively, staring into the wicked
little eyes of the bear snapping angrily at him.

“Now look here, Joe,” Ben broke through the crowd to him, “you’ll keep
away from the cages, or I’ll hold you every single minute.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be held,” howled Joel, squirming to get free,
“don’t hold me, Ben; I’ll be good.”

“I shall hold you,” said Ben firmly, “unless you’ll promise not to
touch the cages. Aren’t you ashamed, Joel?” he said in a lower voice.
“Everybody is looking at you.”

“I want to see the bears,” roared Joel. All the world might be looking
at him. He was in such an anguish that he didn’t care. He _must_ see
the bears!

“Well, promise,” said Ben, “and I’ll let you go.”

“I can’t see ’em,” fretted Joel, “unless I go close.”

“Yes, you can; nobody else touches the cages.”

Joel swept the crowd with his black eyes, disdainfully.

“Just look at Mamsie,” Ben leaned over and whispered this into Joel’s
ear. Mrs. Pepper, holding Phronsie’s hand, was looking at him. Her face
was white, but she smiled.

“I won’t go near those bears,” said Joel. “O dear!” He tried not to
cry, but it was no use. The tears dripped down through the fingers
clapped up to his face, and trailed all down his calico blouse.

“Now that’s all nonsense, Joe,” said Ben, releasing his hold. “You can
go just as near as I do, and all the other folks. I’ll trust you,” and
Ben slipped away to prove his words.

Joel felt somebody tugging at one of the hands over his wet little
face. “There’s a good place over there,” said Davie, pointing to a
little space where two men who hadn’t been able to forget that they
had once been boys, were holding it open for him. They spread it out a
little further so that Davie could slip in, too.

It was some time before Joel was willing to leave the bears. Father
Bear, who couldn’t forgive the boy who made him miss such a well-aimed
scratch, kept pacing up and down, growling and showing his teeth
at him--and altogether being so very fascinating, that a crowd was
continually in front of the cage, staring with open mouths and eyes. At
last Mrs. Pepper gave the word to move on.

They had the big snakes, and a lion who was old and tired out, and half
asleep in the corner of his cage, so that he wasn’t at all interesting,
and almost everything else in the animal line that the circus had
afforded, before they came to the monkeys. Phronsie saw them first.

“There they are, Mamsie!” she gave a joyful little cry.

Mrs. Pepper hurried to keep up with her, and the others followed in
close ranks, being kept in line by Ben, who brought up the rear.

A small boy who was just as anxious to see monkeys as Phronsie, rushed
in between, knocking off the pink sunbonnet. It had been so hot in the
crowd that Phronsie had untied it, and now away it went, and a big
clumsy man set his foot right on it. Jimmy saw it and tried to rescue
it, pulling at one string; but the people pushed about so that he was
knocked down and the string came off in his hand. Then the big clumsy
man saw what he was stepping on, and he got off.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jimmy’s face was full of distress, as somebody
picked up the poor little sunbonnet, and he held out the string.

“It couldn’t be helped,” said Mrs. Pepper, only glad that Phronsie was
so absorbed in delight over the monkeys that she wouldn’t know that she
had lost her sunbonnet.

And the monkeys seemed to think that something special was expected of
them, for they at once set to on so many antics that there was nothing
but crowding and pushing as everybody came up to see, and stopped to
laugh. At last a great hulking boy came up suddenly, back of David and
pushed him against the cage.

This was apparently just what one of the monkeys had been watching
for. He swung himself down from his perch, reached out a long arm, and
grabbed off David’s little cap. Then up he leaped back again, squatted
down to bite and tear it to his heart’s content.

David clapped his hands to his head, and turned very white, as a cry
went up from the crowd.

“Oh, that’s too bad!” “He’s got the little feller’s cap.” “Oh, what a
shame!” And one mother elbowed her way in through the crowd to Mrs.
Pepper, who had her arms around her boy trying to comfort him. And she
herself needed sympathy, for how could she scrape together the money
for another cap? “I know who the boy is that pushed him, and I’ll tell
his father--he’ll give him a good beating.”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Pepper, “don’t do that. Davie doesn’t want you to.
Do you, Davie dear?”

“No, I don’t,” said Davie, through his sobs. Then when he saw his
mother’s face, he wiped away the tears and managed to smile through
them. “I can go without a cap,” he said.

CHAPTER XXVIII

DAVID’S CAP

Mrs. Pepper turned away for a moment, not trusting herself to speak.

“I don’t mind it--much,” Davie pulled at her shawl, and looked
anxiously at her face as she turned back.

“Well, now,” she said comfortingly, as she led him out of the crowd.
“Mother will see how she can fix it up for you, Davie boy.”

“The monkey’s spitting out the pieces of your cap,” cried some boys
after him, and they laughed and doubled up in glee.

“Shame on you for laughing,” cried the woman who wanted to tell the
boy’s father. But it was no use to stop the crowd--they cheered and
guffawed as they pressed up closer to the cage, where the monkey on his
high perch was biting out pieces of David’s little cap, and throwing
them off toward the bars, grinning dreadfully between each bite.

Joel rushed up to see the fun. He had stayed as long as he could at the
cage of big snakes, Ben finally hauling him away, and now, with Polly
and Jimmy, they hurried up to join Mrs. Pepper and Phronsie.

“What is it?” cried Joel, thrusting in his hot little face wherever he
saw a crack of space to get it in. “Oh, what is it he’s got?”

“A boy’s cap bein’ et up,” said a man, stopping his laugh long enough
to shoot this out.

“Oh, I want to see!” By a way Joel best knew would secure a good place,
he was pretty soon worked in, till there he was in the front row with
the other boys still screaming with the fun of the thing.

There the monkey sat on a high perch, biting very slowly now in
order to make the cap last as long as possible. His little eyes were
twinkling, and his paws were kept busy to hold the cap, and fight off
the other monkeys, who now swarmed and chattered around him, in order
to seize the beautiful thing that was making the people so noisy with
delight.

“What is it he’s got?” cried Joel, wrinkling up his face trying to see
the wad in the monkey’s paw.

“A boy’s cap--he twitched it off his head. Oh, Jiminy--see!”

The monkey, fearing that the other monkeys might be too many for him to
hold his prize, took a last big bite from it, spit out the pieces, and
threw them derisively right at the bars, and into Joel’s face pressed
against them. One piece fell out at his feet; it said “--vid Pepper”
just where Mamsie had marked it on the rim of the cap.

Joel’s brown hand closed convulsively over it, and he looked wildly
around. Then he put down his head, and bolted right through the middle
of the crowd.

“Mercy sakes!” the woman screamed,--the boys who had laughed skipped
nimbly out of the way,--and nobody thought the case quite so funny as
it had been.

“Mamsie, where are you?” screamed Joel. He almost threw Polly over,
for he was beyond seeing anything or anybody in his mad rush, and Ben
wasn’t quick enough to catch him. It was Jimmy who did it.

“Let me go,” cried Joel frantically, and he kicked Jimmy’s shins. But
Jimmy’s hand was just as tight for all that, on Joel’s arm.

“He’s chewed it all up,” cried Joel wildly, as Polly and Ben ran up.
“Let me _go_!”

“No, you don’t,” and Ben got hold of the other arm, “what’s that in
your hand, Joe?”

“Dave’s cap,” Joel flung open his hand. There it was, with “--vid
Pepper” on what remained of the rim.

“Oh, Mamsie!” and the horrified little group looked up into Mother
Pepper’s face. And there was Phronsie, who hadn’t understood anything
only that she must leave the dear sweet little monkeys--and Davie, his
light hair in soft waves over his forehead, crowded up to Mrs. Pepper’s
side. His hands were tightly clasped and he closed his eyes to squeeze
back the tears.

“No, no, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, for Polly was just beginning, “Why,
Mamsie, what--” “we won’t have the story now, and see--there is Simmons
coming for us. It’s time to go home.”

When they were once in Miss Parrott’s big coach, the story all
came out. Simmons on his coachman’s box, alternately drew himself
up straighter than ever, and then shrank down in a way he couldn’t
remember doing when on duty as befitted holding his aristocratic
position in the community.

“I won’t tell her--the Missus acts bad enough as ’tis over them poor
childern. What if he did lose his cap!” Away he drove in great form
down a hundred yards or so. Then he pricked up his ears.

“Oh, Davie,” Polly was saying mournfully within the coach, “it’s too
bad! Mamsie, what shall we do!”

Simmons didn’t hear Mrs. Pepper’s reply. Down his shoulders went and he
drooped, letting the reins slacken. And then he straightened up again,
quite determined to let matters alone. But as he drove up to the little
brown house, and watched them all get out, he couldn’t help but see
Davie’s face.

He looked back over his shoulder to watch them go up the path, not
taking his gaze off till they were all in, and the green door shut.

“I s’pose I’d felt pretty bad when I warn’t no bigger’n him, to lose my
cap, if I didn’t know where to get another. Thunder!”

And before he even put up his horses, Miss Parrott had the whole story.

“I presume they keep boys’ caps down at the store, Simmons?” said Miss
Parrott quickly.

“That they do, Ma’am,” said Simmons.

“And perhaps you could tell Mr. Atkins the right size?”

“There wouldn’t be no trouble about that, Ma’am.”

There was a little transaction with money that came out of Miss
Parrott’s black silk bag, and Simmons hurried out to take care of his
horses, before he attended to the matter that now began to appear quite
important to him.

Jimmy, his hand thrust into the pockets his mother hadn’t been able
to make quite whole, turned down to the little cabin on Fletcher Road
called “Mrs. Skinner’s house.” The loss of David’s cap bothered him
dreadfully on top of the other matter connected with the circus boy.
Jimmy wasn’t able to get him out of his mind. While the cake was
rapidly disappearing, he had heard the story of being “starved and
beaten,” the boy looking for more, in a way that struck Jimmy harder
than the loss of his own treasured part of the feast.

“I can’t help him none,” he declared, with a reckless twitch of his
shoulders, “no more’n I could get a new cap for Mis Pepper’s boy.”

He stopped suddenly, “Can’t I help get a cap for David Pepper?”

He took off his own cap and scratched his head. That did no good, and
he flung the cap back. He hadn’t a penny in his pocket. He knew that
without the trouble of turning the pocket inside out. But--couldn’t he
get some work? Where?

It was a pretty small prospect before him, as all Badgertown people had
a poor opinion of his desire or ability to work.

“What’s th’ use?” he said, kicking off some small stones in the rough
road. Then he picked up one and shied it at a bird. He was astonished
to find that he was relieved after all that he hadn’t hit it, and he
kicked and scuffed more stones. That gave him an idea.

Away back, almost a year before, a farmer in the north end of the
township had asked him to “pick rocks” in a barren field to be cleared
for cultivation. Jimmy had said “Not much!”--and turned off with a
laugh. Suppose the farmer wanted him now! It wasn’t a pretty job,
Jimmy knew, breaking one’s back, and hauling and piling the stones.
But--well, he could ask; it wouldn’t do any harm to do that.

Jimmy turned in at the door. Mrs. Skinner lifted a hot red face from
the steaming wash-tub. All hours of the day were her work-times.

“Well,” she beamed in great and unusual contentment, resting her hands
on the tub rim, “and was the circus fine?”

“Prime,” said Jimmy, “I’m coming back,” slamming the door.

“I want to hear--” began his mother in terrible disappointment. But he
was already half-way down Fletcher Road.

“No,” said the farmer, just getting up from his supper, “you’re too
late. Them rocks was all picked, an’ I’m plowin’ th’ field.”

“Tell him about Badger’s land,” said his wife, gathering up the remains
of the supper.

“Oh, yes, see here,” called the farmer, “Badger wants th’ rocks picked
from his land. I guess you can get a job there.”

When Jimmy dragged himself back from “Badger’s,” the lamps and candles
had been lighted for some time in the cottages along the road. He
looked for Mrs. Pepper’s as he passed the little brown house. There
she was over by the table sewing. Jimmy had a pang as he thought how
many stitches she would have to set before Davie’s loss could be made
good. He didn’t know that a brand-new cap had been handed in, and that
after the jollification over it had spent itself, Davie had taken it up
into the loft to hang by the side of the shake-down, the first thing
his eyes would rest upon the next morning.

That next morning, the old kitchen was just the jolliest place, full of
the circus and its delightful memories. Davie, with his new cap on his
head, was prancing around, the center of observation.

“It’s a perfectly beautiful cap!” declared Polly, for nobody knows how
many times, and stopping on her way for the broom to sweep up.

“I wish the monkey had eaten mine up,” said Joel discontentedly.

“You may wear mine.” David stopped prancing, and twitched off his cap.

“No, no, Davie,” said Polly, “Miss Parrott sent you that cap, and she
wouldn’t like you not to wear it.”

“And if a monkey should eat mine,” said Joel, just as well pleased, “I
guess Miss Parrott will give me one. I don’t want yours, Dave.” With
that David clapped on his cap again, and Joel seizing him about the
waist, they spun round and round the kitchen, getting in the way of
Polly’s broom, and hindering dreadfully. All of a sudden, down fell
David, and Joel on top of him.

“I didn’t make him,” cried Joel, in dismay and hopping up, as Polly
threw down the broom and ran over.

“He didn’t make me,” gasped Davie, getting up. The new cap had fallen
off long before, and Polly had picked it up to hang it carefully on a
nail. “It was my shoe.”

“Your shoe?” repeated Mrs. Pepper over by the window. “What is the
matter with your shoe? Come here, David.” She laid down the sewing in
her lap, as David scuffed across the floor.

“Well, that does need mending,” she said, as David put his small foot
in her lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he began.

“Well, now, Mother is so glad that you didn’t get hurt with your shoe
so bad as that,” she said cheerily. “Now you must get right down to
Mr. Beebe’s and ask him to sew it up.”

“And mine needs mending, too,” cried Joel, hopping over on one foot to
her chair. “I want to go to Mr. Beebe’s.”

“No, Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a laugh, “your shoes are perfectly
sound. There now, Davie, go right down to the shoe-shop and ask Mr.
Beebe if he will please to sew it up now--because you haven’t any
other shoes--and walk carefully, child, else you’ll make it worse, and
besides, you might fall.”

“Now isn’t it nice that Davie has a new cap?” cried Polly, going to
the window, broom in hand, to watch him as he passed down the road.
Joel had run out to go as far as the gate with him, then he had turned
back to the woodshed, for Mrs. Pepper had said he must pick up some
kindlings.

“I do think folks are awfully good to us, Mamsie,” said Polly, turning
away from the window, to pause a minute before beginning to sweep
again. “Just supposing Miss Parrott hadn’t let us see that circus!” and
her cheeks paled at the very thought.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, and her busy needle stopped. “Miss Parrott is
good, and God is good, to let her do it.”

“Isn’t He?” cried Polly, with shining eyes. “And now to think that
Davie has a new cap, too!” as the busy needle now went hurrying in and
out. “But I never shall get this floor swept up, if I stop all the
time.”

Davie hurried as fast as he could, because the shoe must be mended
as soon as possible. But he had to step carefully else a bad matter
would be made worse. At last he was over the cobble-stones of the
narrow street in front of the shoe-shop, and lifting the knocker on Mr.
Beebe’s door.

“Well, well,” cried the little shoemaker, turning away from a box of
bed-slippers he was sorting to rub his hands together delightedly, “if
here doesn’t come Davie Pepper!”

“Yes,” said David, “I’ve come.”

He took off his new cap--he didn’t want to, but Mamsie had said “Never
keep a cap on when you go to see people,” and to enter the little
shoe-shop was far more than to do business; it was to visit friends. So
he held the new cap in his hands.

“And now what can I do for you, Davie?” asked little Mr. Beebe, coming
forward. “What has your mother sent you for?”

“It’s to mend my shoe,” said Davie, holding up his foot to show where
the leather flapped.

“So?” cried the little shoemaker, setting his spectacles straight.
“Well, now, you come over an’ set on th’ bench, an’ we’ll see what we
shall see about that shoe.”

So Davie hobbled over and sat on the bench, and the little shoe was
drawn off and submitted to a close examination, Davie following every
movement with anxious eyes.

“The whole o’ th’ shoe is pretty bad,” said little Mr. Beebe slowly,
pinching the well-worn leather critically.

Davie drew a long breath. “And Mamsie said would you please sew it up
now, as I haven’t any more shoes.”

“Sho!” exclaimed the little shoemaker. Then he thought better of what
he was going to say. “Yes, I’ll get right to work on it,” and pretty
soon he was stitching away and cobbling at a great rate, Davie swinging
his stocking-foot, and the other one in its rusty shoe, while the work
went on.

“Where do you suppose I went yesterday, Mr. Beebe?” asked Davie in
the midst of it. For the little shoemaker always expected the Pepper
children to entertain him when they came to the shop. “It makes work go
easier,” he said.

“Now I never can guess,” said Mr. Beebe, waxing his long thread again.

“I went to the circus,” said Davie.

“You didn’t, though!” The little shoemaker was genuinely surprised now,
and he dropped his needle to peer over his spectacles at Davie.

“Yes, I did,” said Davie, with a jubilant little crow, “and every
single one of us did, Mr. Beebe,” and he clapped his hands in delight
at the remembrance.

“Now do tell!” The little shoemaker was so overwhelmed with the news
that he forgot to pick up his needle. “Well, how did you get there?”

“In the big coach,” said Davie, bobbing his head. He didn’t think it
was necessary to designate whose vehicle, as Badgertown boasted only
one.

[Illustration: PRETTY SOON HE WAS STITCHING AWAY AND COBBLING AT A
GREAT RATE, DAVIE SWINGING HIS STOCKING-FOOT.--_Page 433._]

“Not Miss Parrott’s!” exclaimed Mr. Beebe.

“Yes,” said Davie, bobbing his head again.

“Well, I never! She didn’t go, did she?” exclaimed the little shoemaker.

“No,” this time Davie shook his head.

“I thought not. I sh’d as soon ’xpect one of th’ tombstones in th’
buryin’-ground to get sociable as her. Well, well--” here Mr. Beebe
picked up his needle and began to pull it briskly in and out of the
leather. “Now you must tell me all about it. Begin at th’ beginnin’,
Davie, an’ reel off.”

So Davie began, and the little shop got very merry, Davie stopping
every now and then to laugh at the antics of the bears, and the little
ponies and the elephants and the funny men who wore white clothes with
red spots over them, and who had holes for eyes, and who kept walking
up and down saying things to make people laugh, or who were tumbling
off all the while from the donkeys’ backs. And the little shoemaker
wanted dreadfully to stop cobbling to hear the better, but he knew Mrs.
Pepper expected her boy home, so he kept on with his work, every now
and then grunting out, “Well I never!” and “Who ever did!” and the like.

So of course no one heard the door open, and the big woman who walked
in, exclaimed, “Goodness, Mr. Beebe, what’s th’ matter!”

“There ain’t nothin’, as I know of,” said the little shoemaker, looking
up composedly, “an’ please to shet th’ door, Mis Goodsell.”

Mrs. Goodsell pushed the door to with her foot. “I thought you was
havin’ a party by the noise,” she said, coming over to sit heavily down
on the bench by David’s side. Then she whipped the shawl-ends over
across her lap and stared first at the little shoemaker and then at
Davie.

“We was,” said Mr. Beebe, “us two: we made quite a nice party; just big
enough.”

“Who is the boy?” Mrs. Goodsell turned her heavy body as far as she
could and stared worse than ever at Davie.

“That is David Pepper sitting on the bench,” said Mr. Beebe. “Now what
kind o’ shoes do you want, Mis Goodsell? You can be tellin’ me, an’
then I’ll be ready to get ’em when I’m through with this piece o’
work.”

“I d’no’s I want any shoes,” said the big woman, “I thought I’d drop in
an’ see what you’d got.”

“Well,” said the little shoemaker, “my business is to show folks who
want shoes, not to show ’em shoes ef they don’t want any.”

“But I may want ’em ef you’ve got some I like,” said Mrs. Goodsell
tartly.

As Mr. Beebe said nothing to this, but kept on with his cobbling, Mrs.
Goodsell concentrated her attention on the small boy by her side.

“Who’s your folks?” she demanded. She had faded greenish eyes, and
Davie could think of nothing but gooseberries. He tried not to look
at them, and at last turned such a helpless glance on the little
shoemaker, that Mr. Beebe came to the rescue. He had opened his mouth
to ask, “And how is your folks, Mis Goodsell?” when an organ grinder
suddenly struck up a tune just outside the shop door.

Davie sprang from the bench and hopped close to the little old man
still cobbling away.

“Oh, I must go,” he cried. “Do give me my shoe, Mr. Beebe,” holding out
a frantic hand.

“There, there, Davie,” said the little shoemaker, “you wait a minute,
an’ I’ll have your shoe done.”

“Isn’t it done enough?” said Davie, all in a tremble, “please, dear Mr.
Beebe, let me go!”

“What’s th’ matter with th’ boy?” cried Mrs. Goodsell, “I never see
anybody act so.”

“Don’t you fret yourself, Mis Goodsell,” said Mr. Beebe, “I’ll take
care o’ Davie. You set an’ be comf’table.”

“Well, I can’t be comf’table--who could be, seein’ him carryin’ on so?”
said the big woman.

Mr. Beebe, not hearing her, for he was now divided over his attempts to
soothe Davie, and to see the little shoe repaired as it should be, bent
his gray head to hear Davie, who was by this time in a frenzy to get
home, and as he kept saying, “be with Phronsie.”

“So you shall, Davie, in a minute or two, an’ don’t you worry, th’
organ man can’t get by your house in a long while with that thing on
his back. And mebbe he ain’t goin’ that way at all.”

“Oh, he will--he will!” cried Davie, in his terror guilty of
contradicting, and he beat his hands together and hopped from one foot
to the other in his distress.

Suddenly the organ man stopped the tune, and twitched a chain that
rattled on the cobble-stones. Up ran a monkey, and as the man slung the
organ on his back, the monkey followed to perch himself there, pull off
his cap and bow to a baker’s boy and a small girl with a paper bag of
groceries, both hanging on his every movement with wide open mouth and
eyes.

Davie saw all this, as he plunged over to the small-paned window, when
the tune stopped, and peered out between the rows of shoes and slippers
that were strung across it.

“He’s going!” he gave a sharp little cry. Hearing this, and seeing his
face, little Mr. Beebe stopped his work nearly as suddenly as the tune.
“There now, I’ll put on your shoe. ’Tain’t done as good as I want to,
you tell your Ma, an’ ef you come over to-morrow, I’ll finish th’ job
up good an’ splendid.” He was saying all this as he tied the shoe on
Davie’s small foot. “An’ don’t you worry a mite.”

Davie, only waiting till the string was tied, shot out and over the big
flat door-stone to the cobble-stones of the narrow street.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE STORY IN THE SHOE-SHOP

“My! How he acts!” exclaimed Mrs. Goodsell, nervously drawing her
shawl-ends closer over her lap. “Who is that boy, anyway?”

“Why, that’s David Pepper,” said the little shoemaker.

“David who?”

Mr. Beebe was craning his short neck to see through the small-paned
window what progress David was making over the cobble-stones, and he
didn’t pay much attention to the big woman sitting on the bench. So she
got clumsily up to her feet and came over to him.

“Who’d you say that boy was?” she demanded.

“Pepper--David Pepper, I told you,” said little Mr. Beebe, turning away
from the window.

“You said David--I didn’t catch the last name.”

“Well, it’s Pepper.”

“Pepper? Well, that’s a funny name. Who be his folks?”

“Now, Mis’ Goodsell,” exclaimed the little shoemaker in exasperation,
standing quite still to regard her, “do you mean to say that you don’t
know Mis’ Pepper? I thought all Badgertown knew her.”

“Well, my fam’ly ain’t Badgertown folks, you must remember,” said Mrs.
Goodsell, getting back to the bench, and flapping the shawl-ends again
across her lap, “an’ I don’t get over from Four Corners only once in a
dog’s age. How am I to know your Pepperses, pray tell?”

“Well, you’ve missed gettin’ acquainted with an awful nice woman,”
observed Mr. Beebe. “I tell you, we set by her in Badgertown, her an’
her childern.”

“Well, ef they’re as queer as that young one,” Mrs. Goodsell indicated
with her large hand the departed small boy, “I guess I hain’t anythin’
to cry over ’cause we ain’t more acquainted.”

“Ef you mean ’cause David got scared an’ run off,” the little shoemaker
stopped half across the shop on his way to begin a cobbling job, and
faced her with a gleaming eye, “I can tell you why. ’Twas enough to
make him run, I says, says I.”

“What was?” the big woman hitched forward on the bench. It was worth
coming in from “Four Corners”--a journey she detested, to hear the
little shoemaker go on like this, for generally he only passed the time
of day, and then got down to the business of selling shoes.

“Why, when he heard that organ man strike up so suddint.”

Mrs. Goodsell turned and stared at the small-paned window, in a puzzled
way.

“I don’t see nothin’ to that,” she said.

“Well, but there was a monkey.”

“S’posin’ there was--there warn’t nothin’ to that, neither.”

“Well, it might ’a’ ben like th’ other monkey--mebbe ’twas th’ same
one!” the little shoemaker slapped his fat thigh, “I wouldn’t wonder;
an’ David guessed it.”

“Ef you could stop talkin’ about your monkeys, an’ begin again, mebbe
I c’d make head or tail o’ what you’re tryin’ to tell me, Mr. Beebe,”
cried the big woman in irritation.

Little Mr. Beebe kept slapping his thigh, and declaring, “I do b’lieve
Davie guessed it,” then he suddenly waddled over to the corner, got out
a box of dilapidated shoes, picked out a pair, and sat down to work,
“Yes, I verily b’lieve he guessed it.”

Mrs. Goodsell heaved a long sigh. It was no use to ask him to begin,
for she knew he wouldn’t do it till he was ready--so she folded her
large hands over the shawl-ends.

“You see,” said little Mr. Beebe, holding up a man’s shoe to thumb it
critically, “it’s just this way, about David--O dear me! it beats all
how th’ parson does wear out his shoes. I’m afraid that’s too far gone
to mend.”

He set the minister’s shoe on his lap and regarded it mournfully.

“I guess I must be goin’,” Mrs. Goodsell made as if her mind were on
“Four Corners.”

“No, no,” cried the little shoemaker, tearing off his gaze from the
parson’s footgear, “I must tell you about Davie, for you ain’t a-goin’
away until you understand about th’ boy. You see, th’ littlest of th’
Pepper childern is a girl, an’ she ain’t much more’n a baby. You ought
to see her!” He pushed up his spectacles and beamed at her.

“Never mind,” interrupted Mrs. Goodsell, “I know about babies. Had
plenty o’ my own. Go on, Mr. Beebe.”

“Well,” the little shoemaker swallowed his disappointment at being held
up in his description of Phronsie, “everybody in the little brown house
looks out for everybody else. That’s th’ way they do; an’ although Mis’
Pepper is a hard-workin’ woman, it just beats all how pleasant they
keep. You never’d know to look at ’em how they scrimp an’ pinch.”

The big woman unfolded her hands from the shawl-ends, and slowly
regarded them. But she said nothing, and Mr. Beebe went on.

“Yes, they just hang together, an’ look out for each other.”

“I warrant so,” exclaimed Mrs. Goodsell with a sniff, “an’ do nothin’
for nobody else.”

“There’s where you’re wrong.” Little old Mr. Beebe fairly snapped it
out. “Ef there’s a fam’ly in Badgertown that does more for other
folks, I hain’t, so far, heerd th’ name.”

“I thought you said they was obleeged to scrimp,” said Mrs. Goodsell.

“What’s that got to do with it?” The little shoemaker brought this out
with such a roar that old Mrs. Beebe threw open the door into the shop.
She was just mixing bread, and her sleeves were rolled up, and little
flour dabs had flown up as far as her cap.

“Mercy me, Pa. I thought you was sick!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how do you
do, Mis’ Goodsell.”

“I ain’t sick, Ma,” replied the little shoemaker, turning his round
red face to her, “but I shall be unless you come in an’ ’xplain things
about th’ Peppers.”

“What about th’ Peppers? There hain’t nothin’ happened to ’em!” cried
Mrs. Beebe in alarm, and trotting in.

“My land, no!” declared the little shoemaker. “I wouldn’t be a-settin’
here so ca’m-like, ef any trouble had ’a’ come to them, Ma.”

“Oh, well, if they’re all right, I’ll come back as soon as I’ve mixed
my bread,” and Mrs. Beebe trotted out again.

Little Mr. Beebe began to work briskly on the minister’s shoe. As long
as Ma was coming back, it wouldn’t pay to get flustered. Meantime the
big woman plied him with questions till she had a pretty fair idea of
the little-brown-house people, and all their ages and names.

Then she drew out her big hands again from the shawl-ends and held them
up, “They’ll tell the story. I’ve worked some in my life,” she said,
“an’ I never got no time to do for other folks.”

“Prob’ly not,” said the little shoemaker drily. “Well, here’s Ma,” and
he drew a long breath of relief.

Little Mrs. Beebe had put on a fresh cap, and was now tying the strings
of a clean white apron around her ample waist, as befitted sitting down
in the shop.

“Tell about how Phronsie run off after th’ monkey,” said Mr. Beebe.

“That always makes me feel bad whenever I tell it,” said Mrs. Beebe,
with a sigh, “’cause it brings back what a dretful thing it was.
Why, we thought we’d lost her!” She leaned forward suddenly in her
chair, and the color in her cheek like that of a winter apple, seemed
suddenly to fade.

“You!” exclaimed Mrs. Goodsell, in astonishment. “Why, she warn’t
noways related. Why did you take on about it, pray tell?”

“Don’t you understand,” began Mrs. Beebe.

“No, she don’t,” declared the little shoemaker irritably, “and what’s
more, she won’t, ef you sh’d set there till the day o’ judgment.”

“But she _must_,” Mrs. Beebe pointed off her words with the fingers
of one pudgy hand marking them off on the palm of the other, “We
all--everybody in Badgertown sets a sight by those Pepper childern, an’
Phronsie--well there,” she lifted up a corner of her apron and wiped
her eyes.

“Well, go on,” said Mrs. Goodsell.

“An’ one day, we don’t ’xactly know how, Phronsie followed an organ
grinder--he had a monkey an’ he stopped an’ played in th’ Peppers’
yard--th’ little brown house, you know.”

Mrs. Goodsell nodded. “Yes, go on.”

“An’ when he went down th’ road, Phronsie went after him. Polly had
hurried back to work, an’ Mis Pepper was down to the parson’s helpin’
Mis Henderson, an’ the boys was a workin’.”

“Seems to me, they was mighty little childern for all of ’em to be
workin’,” broke in Mrs. Goodsell, incredulously.

“Th’ Peppers warn’t never too little to work,” the little shoemaker
said quickly. “They was up an’ at it, I tell you, ’nstead o’ playin’.”

“Well, go on,” said Mrs. Goodsell.

“Oh, I can’t, hardly,” gasped little Mrs. Beebe, clasping her fat
hands, “it brings it all back. You see, she--she didn’t come back, an’
then we all knew she was lost.” With that, Mrs. Beebe threw her apron
over her head and burst out crying.

The little shoemaker deserted the parson’s shoe, and skipped over to
her. “There, there, Ma,” he patted her cap with a soothing hand. “You
know she didn’t stay lost. We got her back.”

“Well, I think you’re th’ queerest folks,” exclaimed Mrs. Goodsell, “to
carry on so over somethin’ that never happened, an’ besides ’twarn’t to
your folks, neither.”

“’_Twas_ our folks, I keep tellin’ you.” Little Mrs. Beebe brought her
flushed face out from the apron and wiped off the tears. “They _was_
‘our folks’ to all Badgertown. An’ ef Phronsie had ’a’--” and her mouth
trembled.

“You see,” the little shoemaker hastened to say, “we was all a-lookin’
through th’ whole o’ Badgertown for her--an’ then to think ’twas an
out-of-town one who found her, after all.”

“Who?” cried the big woman.

“A boy, an’ he didn’t live in these parts, neither--him an’ his big
black dog got her away from th’ organ grinder an’ th’ monkey.”

“Is that so? Well, go on.”

“Yes,--now you tell th’ rest, Ma.” The little shoemaker ambled back to
his work, and picked up the parson’s shoe again.

“Well, that boy was stayin’ over to Hingham,” explained Mrs. Beebe,
pointing with her fat finger.

“Hingham don’t lay in that direction,” said Mrs. Goodsell critically,
“it’s over there,” and she waved her big hand to the opposite corner of
the shop.

“Never mind,” said Mrs. Beebe easily, “I ain’t partic’lar about Hingham
now. I’m tellin’ about th’ boy, he was stayin’ there with his father.”

“Who was his father?” Mrs. Goodsell was for getting all the
particulars, if she got any.

“Oh, he was an awful big man. I guess he was born big,” and Mrs. Beebe
shuddered. “I hain’t seen him but twice. An’ then Badgertown seemed so
little when he was drivin’ by, I was afraid he couldn’t get through.
But the boy--” here a smile ran up Mrs. Beebe’s round face--“you
never’d know from him that he was rich.”

“Was he rich?” asked Mrs. Goodsell in an awed tone.

“_Rich?_” the little shoemaker’s wife brought it out almost in a
scream, “why he could buy us all up, an’ you Four Corners folks, an’
everywhere’s around for miles and miles.”

“You don’t say!”

“But th’ boy--why, he’d come over an’ play with th’ Pepper childern
ev’ry chance he got. You see th’ father didn’t care about havin’ young
folks round, so Jasper got lonely.”

“Jasper?” interrupted the big woman.

“Yes, that was th’ boy’s name--Jasper King.”

“Oh! Well, go on.”

“He got lonely, I was sayin’, with nobody but his big dog for comp’ny,
so over he’d come to Badgertown. You just ought to hear what times they
had in th’ little brown house.”

Here Mrs. Beebe laughed. The little shoemaker laid down his work, and
joined, both of them shaking their fat sides at the remembrance.

“I’ve heerd Polly tell about them times--I tell you, she’s the one to
set off a story good,” chuckled old Mr. Beebe, “ain’t she now, Ma?”

“You’d ought to have seen ’em as I seen ’em--Pa an’ me both did,” said
the shoemaker’s wife, “that boy with one o’ Mis Pepper’s big check
apuns on tied around his neck, an’ rollin’ out bits o’ dough--an’ then
stickin’ ’em into th’ old stove. That was before Dr. Fisher give ’em
th’ new stove--an’ him as rich as Crocus.”

“Dr. Fisher rich!” cried Mrs. Goodsell, raising both hands. “Why, he’s
as poor as Job’s turkey, an’ with them two old-maid sisters on his
hands. Now I know you’ve ben stuffin’ me right along, Mis Beebe,” she
added, in an injured tone.

“Oh, I didn’t mean Dr. Fisher was rich, I said th’ boy,” cried Mrs.
Beebe, in a loud voice.

“Well, go on.”

“An’ then, he had to go--th’ boy did, for his father went back home,
an’--”

“You hain’t told about th’ gingerbread boy, Ma,” old Mr. Beebe began to
laugh again.

“That was th’ funniest of all,” said Mrs. Beebe, and she began to
laugh, too.

“What was it?” cried the big woman impatiently. “You do so much
laughin’, you an’ Mr. Beebe, it’s kinder slow work gettin’ along.”

“I know it, an’ you must ’xcuse me, Mis Goodsell,” said Mrs. Beebe,
“but them childern--well, you see Phronsie always takes it to heart
when she hears anybody’s sick, so she made a gingerbread boy an’ made
’em send it to Jasper’s father.”

“My goodness!--to a rich man--a gingerbread boy!” gasped Mrs. Goodsell.

“Yes, an’ you’d ’a’ thought ’twould ’a’ made him mad,” said Mrs. Beebe.

“Well, it did, didn’t it?” said Mrs. Goodsell, “a _gingerbread_ boy!”

“Mad? Why, he just took to that gingerbread boy like a duck to water!
An’ he come over to see Phronsie. An’ now you can’t think, they’re
a-writin’ back an’ forth, Jasper an’ th’ childern.”

“Polly gits th’ letters,” said old Mr. Beebe.

“Yes, an’ they hope he’s comin’, an’ th’ father, over to Hingham again
this summer,” said Mrs. Beebe. “Well, I could tell lots more, but I
sha’n’t, ’cause I’ve got to get back an’ git on my other apun an’ red
up my kitchen,” and she waddled off.

“It’s th’ most remarkable story _I_ ever heerd,” said Mrs. Goodsell,
getting off from the bench, seeing there was no more to be gained.

“So you see why David Pepper run so like lightnin’,” cried old Mr.
Beebe, “he was afraid th’ organ man was goin’ down by th’ little brown
house, an’ he wanted to get home an’ see that Phronsie didn’t get took
off.”

“Well, I don’t blame him,” said Mrs. Goodsell, with a nod from her
large head, “an’ I don’t myself much like organ-grinders snoopin’
round. Why, there he is now--an’ th’ monkey’s comin’ in th’ door!”

CHAPTER XXX

THE LETTER

The little wrinkled face of a monkey appeared, dragging a chain at
the end of which came his master. He had set the organ up against the
little shop.

Mrs. Goodsell, not knowing how she got there, was standing on the
bench, her calico gown whipped tightly around her, the shawl-ends wound
over that, and screaming loudly. Old Mrs. Beebe hurried in with both
hands raised, while the little shoemaker, trying to drive out both the
monkey and the man, didn’t succeed in doing either, but got tangled up
with the chain.

“Pa--Pa, let him go!” cried Mrs. Beebe, wringing her hands. “I’ll get
th’ broom,” disappearing to come back with it, when she found things in
a much worse state. For the monkey, shaking the chain free from both
the little shoemaker and his master, was now on the upper shelf in the
row that occupied one side of the shop, twitching off the covers of the
boxes, and throwing down the shoes and rubbers and slippers in a heap
to the floor.

In the midst of all this confusion, David Pepper opened the door.

“O my senses!” screamed Mrs. Goodsell from the bench, where she was
constantly hopping from one foot to the other in terrified distress,
“here’s that boy again--ah--_oof_!” as the monkey stopped his work a
second to fasten his little eyes on her.

Davie quickly closed the door and stood on the big flat stone, his
heart beating wildly. Then he opened it again. “I’ll help you,” he
said, going in.

“Davie, he’ll bite you!” screamed old Mrs. Beebe, waving her broom.

Davie shut his eyes, as he thought so, too. Then he opened them and
began to climb the lowest shelf to reach the end of the dangling chain.
The monkey stopped regarding the screaming woman on the bench, whom he
had almost made up his mind he would leap for, and peered over at the
boy, and as quick as lightning, he twitched up the chain and grinned
in Davie’s face.

“Now, you’ve done it,” exclaimed the organ man, with a word that wasn’t
pretty at all, and he glared at Davie.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Davie, sliding to the floor. His face was very
red, and his blue eyes went down in shame.

“Don’t feel bad,” old Mr. Beebe gasped out the words, and leaned, quite
spent, against the counter where he did up his bundles for customers.

“Get something to eat,” the organ man growled it out at the shoemaker’s
wife, “then he’ll come down and I’ll lick him ’most to death.”

“Oh, you mustn’t,” cried Davie, forgetting his shame to rush over to
the organ man.

“Mustn’t, hey? You stand out of th’ way, you beggar-boy, you,” looking
down contemptuously at Davie’s little patched shoes, and he pushed him
roughly off.

“You let that boy alone,” commanded old Mr. Beebe, puffing up. The man
laughed in the fat little shoemaker’s face. “Get somethin’ to eat, I
tell you,” he roared.

“Oh, I will--I will,” old Mrs. Beebe trotted off, and came back with
two doughnuts in her trembling hands.

“You hold ’em up,” said the organ man. “He won’t come down for me.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Mrs. Beebe shook all over.

“Let th’ boy hold ’em,” said the man; “he butted in there an’ lost us
th’ chain, and now he can git him down.”

David cast a wild look up at the little beast, whose sharp eyes were
roving from his master to the small boy that had interfered with the
chain.

“No, no, Davie,” began the little shoemaker--but intent only on the
organ man’s charge that he was to blame, Davie took the doughnuts out
of old Mrs. Beebe’s hands, before she realized it.

“You mustn’t whip him,” he said, looking back at the man, before he
held them up.

But he didn’t need to, for there was a sudden leap from the high shelf,
the end of the chain rattled off, and the monkey came down on Davie’s
little shoulder, knocking him to the floor in among the shoes and
slippers and rubbers scattered about.

They never knew quite how it all ended, but when Davie picked himself
up, the organ man was dragging the monkey, swallowing the last piece of
the second doughnut, out of the shop.

“He mustn’t whip him,” cried Davie, gasping from his fright, and
darting after.

“You come back,” commanded the little shoemaker. “See!” and David
having nothing to do but to obey, he was led over to look out of the
window. There was the monkey perched on the organ slung on the back of
the man, who was getting over the cobble-stones at a lively rate. “Now
you can help me to pick up these,” added old Mr. Beebe, pointing to the
havoc made in his merchandise sprawled over the floor.

Old Mrs. Beebe had sunk down in a chair, and clasped her hands.

“I’ll help you,” cried Davie, springing to the work, yet with a heavy
heart as he thought of the monkey.

Mrs. Goodsell stood quite still on the bench, her surprise not allowing
her to take her eyes off from Davie. Now she peered down at him,
gathering up the shoes, rubbers, and slippers. “I thought you was
scared of monkeys,” she said slowly. Then she put one large foot down
and began to descend to the floor.

“Did you go home, Davie?” asked the little shoemaker quickly.

“Yes,” said Davie, handing him two or three rubbers; “I did, and Mamsie
sent me back to ask you to please finish mending my shoe.”

“So I will,” said old Mr. Beebe, “as soon as we get these things
gathered up. Your Ma will look after Phronsie, I s’pose she told you.”

“Yes,” said Davie, “she did.”

“Well now, I’m glad you went home an’ told your ma there was an organ
man in Badgertown ’cause there ain’t no Jasper here now, with his big
dog. Heard anythin’ from him lately?”

“Yes,” said Davie, “Mr. Atkins gave Mamsie a letter yesterday.”

“Sho now!” exclaimed Mr. Beebe, much gratified. He ached to ask what
was in it, but for all the world he couldn’t bring himself to such a
thing.

“What did the letter say?” demanded Mrs. Goodsell.

Davie turned his blue eyes up to her. “It was Mamsie’s letter,” he said
simply.

“Yes, yes, I heerd you. Well, what did it _say_? I ain’t cur’ous, but I
jest thought I’d ask. Hey?”

But she got no answer, David being busy handing the shoes, slippers,
and rubbers up to old Mr. Beebe’s waiting hands.

“Well, of all the impident boys I ever see!” exclaimed Mrs. Goodsell,
slapping the shawl-ends indignantly around her big figure, “you beat
’em all!”

“There--there--” declared the little shoemaker, straightening up, “my
shop ain’t big enough to hold folks who talk against th’ Peppers. So,
good mornin’ to you, Mis Goodsell.”

“An’ I shake th’ dust off from my feet,” cried Mrs. Goodsell, shaking
her shawl-ends instead, “an’ I wouldn’t demean myself by stayin’, Mr.
Beebe,--what with your Pepperses an’ monkeys an’ letters.” She slammed
the door, and disdaining the flat stone, strode over the cobble-stones.

Davie, to whom her words brought a memory he was trying to put in the
background, sighed.

“Now you’re gettin’ all tired out,” said Mrs. Beebe, in a worried way.
“Don’t let him work any more, Pa.”

“Oh, no, I’m not tired,” said Davie, raising his flushed face. “I want
to put all the things back. Do let me, Mr. Beebe,” he begged. He longed
to say that it was old Mr. King’s letter to Mamsie that was bothering
him. But that belonged to Mamsie.

How could they ever let Polly go from the little brown house to
visit in the city! Mamsie had written “No” twice before to Mr. King;
but yesterday after reading this particular letter, Mother Pepper
had looked very sober. “She must think about it,” she had told the
children. Think about it! Davie didn’t imagine that it needed a second
thought. They couldn’t let Polly go! even if Jasper was sick, and the
doctor said there must be some little friend invited to cheer things
up. Oh, no, they couldn’t!

When the shoes and rubbers and slippers were all neatly put back in
their respective boxes, and on the shelf once more, old Mrs. Beebe,
who had gone off into the kitchen, came back with a blue plate on which
were two doughnuts. “Now while Pa is a-mendin’ your shoe, you can set
an’ eat ’em,” she said.

Davie, well pleased, curled up on the bench and munched the sugary
things slowly to make them last. He wanted to ask if he couldn’t take
one home for Phronsie, but then that was as good as begging one--for
old Mrs. Beebe would trot out to her big stone pot, and get him
another. So he watched his shoe having the finishing touches put to its
repairs, while he ate.

“Now says I,” the little shoemaker held up the completed work, as David
swallowed the last crumb of the doughnuts, “that job is done as good
as th’ next one, if I do say it. Now, Davie, that will last you a long
spell.”

“I am so glad.” Davie hopped off from the bench, and sitting down on
the floor, he pulled on the shoe with great satisfaction.

“That string ain’t very strong,” said Mr. Beebe, “I guess I better get
you another.” He went across the shop and pulled out a drawer.

Davie stopped trying to tie the shoestring. “Mamsie didn’t say that I
was to get a new string,” he said.

“Oh, you ain’t goin’ to buy this,” said old Mr. Beebe, coming back.
“I’m goin’ to give it to you. Give me the shoe, Davie, and we’ll see
about that string.”

So Davie pulled off his shoe, and old Mr. Beebe sat down and pretty
soon there was a brand-new shoestring in it, and the old one lay on the
floor.

“I think th’ mate to that string is pretty poor,” said the little
old shoemaker, peering at Davie’s other foot critically; “give me
that shoe, Davie,” and when it was in his hand, he pulled out the
shoestring. “Yes, it’s wore in spots,” he declared.

At last Davie was on his way home. Didn’t the shoes feel good though;
the mended one all strong and just as good as ever, and with new
shoestrings, too! He wanted to dance--but stopped suddenly. There was
Polly--was she going away for a visit to the city? He went slowly up
the path leading to the little brown house, and opened the green door.
There were Mamsie and the others, and David knew by her face what she
was going to say.

“Children,” she began, “you know how good Jasper has been to us! And
think of Phronsie!” She gathered her up in her arms to hold her tightly
to her breast, and her voice broke. “What can we ever do for him!”

“But, Mamsie,” began Ben, “Polly--we can’t--” He couldn’t get any
farther, and his head went down to hide his face on his knees.

“Oh, I’m not going!” cried Polly passionately, a little red spot coming
on either cheek. “You needn’t think of it, Ben,” and she threw her
arms around his shoulders--while Joel roared, “She isn’t going--she
isn’t!” and he ran over to throw his arms across Polly’s--till Ben was
nearly smothered. David longed to add himself to them, and he started,
but catching Mother Pepper’s eye, he settled back and held his hands
tightly together in dread of what was coming, for Mrs. Pepper was
speaking.

“Don’t say that, Polly,” she said reprovingly. “You must think, child,
before you speak.”

“Oh, I don’t want to think, Mamsie!” cried Polly, wildly, and deserting
Ben, she plunged over to Mrs. Pepper’s chair and threw herself on her
knees. “Mamsie, don’t make me go!” she begged, burying her face on
Phronsie’s small feet.

“I never should _make_ you go, Polly,” Mrs. Pepper stroked the brown
hair. “Mother feels badly enough to think of your going. It must be as
you say, Polly.”

So there it was left. And every now and then Polly would break away
from whatever she was doing, even if setting the supper-table, and rush
up in a torrent of tears. “Oh, I can’t go--Mamsie, I _can’t_!” And then
she would fly back to her work to creep up presently with “Jasper saved
Phronsie for us, Mamsie!”

“I know, Polly,” Mother Pepper would say softly, and Polly would know
that all Mamsie’s objections to the visit had not only flown away, but
that instead, there would be an approval of it if Polly should decide
to go.

“Now, children,” after the supper dishes were cleared away, and
everything was “spick and span” again, and Mother Pepper had sat down
to get a little more of the waning light to sew by before the evening
really set in, “I think,” she said, “you better have that day in the
woods to-morrow, for you have been waiting for it so long.”

“Mamsie,” cried Davie, looking up at his mother with shining eyes, “can
we _really_ go to the woods to-morrow?”

“I think so, Davie.” Mrs. Pepper smiled at him. “Don’t scream so, Joel.
Yes, you may all go to-morrow.” She looked around for Polly--who had
drawn off in a corner with Ben, their heads together and filled with
sad thoughts, as she very well knew. The day in the woods was the only
thing she could plan by which she might divert the sadness, at least
for a time.

“Mamsie,” Davie crowded up to her chair, “can we stay when we get there
in the woods--can we?” he asked, dreadfully excited.

“Yes indeed--a whole long day if you want to,” said Mother Pepper
decidedly. “Now run over and tell Polly and Ben how glad you are about
it.”

“And can we carry things to eat?” demanded Joel, precipitating himself
upon her, his black eyes waiting impatiently for her answer.

“Of course, you can take your dinner,” and Mother Pepper laughed. “Who
ever heard of spending a day in the woods without anything to eat! And
I expect you’ll be very hungry, Joel.”

“I’m hungry now,” said Joel reflectively.

“Oh, Joey--you’ve only just finished your supper,” said Mrs. Pepper. At
his words, she began to sew away brisker than ever.

“There wasn’t half enough,” said Joel, looking over his shoulder at the
cleared table set up against the wall. “Why isn’t there ever any more
to eat, Mamsie?”

“Never mind,” said Mrs. Pepper, stitching fast. “Well, now, to-morrow
you shall have a good deal. You will like the basket I shall pack for
you,” she added cheerily.

“What’s to be in it?” cried Joel, smacking his lips, “candy, and a pie?”

“O dear me! Joe--not those things,” said Mrs. Pepper.

“Then some cake,” said Joel, hanging over her knee, so that his small
elbows dragged her work down.

“No indeed,” she slipped the sewing away, but let the elbows remain,
“cake isn’t the best thing for children to eat in the woods. But, Joel,
just think, Mother is going to give you some nice thick slices of bread
and--butter.”

“Not butter?” cried Joel, quite overcome.

“Yes,” Mrs. Pepper nodded.

“And spread it thick, do, Mamsie,” cried Joel, dreadfully excited, “as
thick as that.” He took off his elbows to put his little brown hands a
good distance apart.

Mrs. Pepper laughed. “You never would relish butter again if you had it
as thick as that, Joey,” she said. “Now run over and tell Ben and Polly
all about it.”

Her work fell down for a minute, as he dashed off--and a shadow swept
across her face; but it was gone as quickly, and the needle flew all
the faster.

Joel rushed up to the two in the corner. “We are going to have butter
to-morrow, Polly Pepper,” he announced.

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ben, pulling himself out of his gloom. “You’ve
been dreaming, Joe.”

“I haven’t, either,” retorted Joel indignantly. “Mamsie said so.” He
darted across the kitchen. “Didn’t you, Mamsie?” he cried, plunging up
to her chair. “Ben says I’ve been dreaming.”

“Didn’t I do what, Joel?”

“Didn’t you say you were going to give us butter to-morrow to eat in
the woods?”

“I certainly did, Joey,” said Mrs. Pepper. She looked over his head and
nodded to the three in the corner. “Come over here, children. Wait a
minute; Phronsie.”

Phronsie, who had been undressing Seraphina for bed, always a slow
process, laid the rag doll on a chair, and came up wonderingly to her
mother’s knee.

“Now it’s just this way,” began Mrs. Pepper, looking at them all,
“to-morrow must be the very happiest day of the whole year. And in
order to get ready for it and make it happy--why, we must all begin
to-night. Now, Joel and Davie, you’d better run off to bed, so that you
can hop up bright and early in the morning.”

“I don’t want to,” Joel grumbled. But seeing his mother’s face, he
finished, “All right--come on, Dave.” Then he ran back when half-way
up the loft stairs. “Please spread it thick, Mamsie,” he begged.

“Come, Phronsie,” Polly held out her hand. She tried to make the sad
little smile a brighter one, but it was a sorrowful face, after all,
that she carried off.

“Oh, no, no,” cried Phronsie, in distress. “My child hasn’t her nightie
on,” and she ran back to the chair where Seraphina waited to be gotten
ready for bed.

“I’ll help you,” said Polly, “for you must get into your own nightie.
There, you run back and kiss Mamsie, and I’ll get Seraphina ready.”

So Phronsie, well pleased to be cuddled by Mamsie, ran back and
scrambled into Mother Pepper’s lap.

“Be a good girl, Phronsie, and don’t trouble Polly, but hop right into
bed,” said Mrs. Pepper.

“I’ll be a good girl,” cooed Phronsie, her lips against Mother Pepper’s
neck. Then she slid off from Mamsie’s lap, and was soon fast asleep in
the trundle-bed, Seraphina huddled up in her arms.

And Polly, down on her knees by the big old bed, her head on the gay
patchwork quilt, was saying, “I’ll go.”

CHAPTER XXXI

WORKING HARD TO KEEP CHEERY

Parson Henderson walked slowly between the hollyhocks, his hands folded
behind his back. His wife hurried down the narrow path to join him.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, “we are all going to feel dreadfully when
Polly has really gone.”

“We mustn’t think of ourselves,” said the parson. “Poor Mrs. Pepper!”
and he sighed.

“I know it, and yet you did right to advise her to let Polly go,” Mrs.
Henderson peered anxiously up into his face.

“I’m not a bit sorry that I did so advise,” declared Parson Henderson
firmly. “Almira, it is a clear case of the working of Providence for
that girl to have the chance.” He stopped short on the garden path.

“I know it,” cried his wife gleefully, “think of the music! Oh,
Adoniram, how Polly has longed for a chance to learn to play.”

She clasped her hands and the smile ran up to capture the anxiety in
her face.

“I do think. I think of all the good that will come of the visit.”
The parson began his walk once more, this time with a stride. Mrs.
Henderson trotted by his side, trying to keep up with him.

“Don’t go so fast, husband,” she begged.

“Yes,” as he slackened his pace, “and another thing. We ought to
consider how much the Peppers are indebted to Jasper. If it hadn’t been
for him--just think.” She ran her hand within his arm.

“That’s the reason I was able to persuade Mrs. Pepper to let Polly go,”
cried Mr. Henderson. “She put aside everything else, when she saw that
she could do this for the boy.”

“Yes--yes. Oh, I’m so glad. But, O dear,” she couldn’t for the life of
her keep from adding, “those children--can you imagine what they are
going to do without Polly!”

The parson’s face fell gloomily.

“There’s Ben,--it will come desperately hard on him,” he said.

“Ben will make up his mind to bear it--he is the oldest--and he is
such a strong boy,” said Mrs. Henderson quickly. “The one I am worrying
about the most is Davie.”

“Poor Davie will take it pretty hard, I am afraid.”

“And he will keep it all in on account of Mrs. Pepper, and it will
wear on him terribly. O dear me!” Mrs. Henderson now looked so very
miserable that her husband lost thought of the Peppers and turned to
comfort her.

“See here, Almira,” he cried, “we are acting badly, both of us. What
sort of example, pray tell, are we to the little-brown-house people.
We’ve simply got to cheer up.”

“So I will,” cried his wife, trying to smile; “I’m ashamed of myself.
And now that Polly is really going, I mustn’t stay here talking any
longer, when I could help to get her ready. There’s that old brown
merino dress of mine; it’s been up in the attic for I don’t know how
long, I shall make it over for her.” She drew her hand away from his
arm and ran down the path ahead of him. “I’ve a fine chance to get the
pattern of Polly’s calico gown, now that the children are all away in
the woods to-day.”

“The children all away in the woods!” repeated the parson in surprise.

“Yes, Mrs. Pepper told me yesterday that she was going to let them
have that treat. Polly has been wanting it so long. And it would help
to cheer things up. Oh, I am so glad I took over that little pat of
butter. O dear!” for a sudden turn in the path, and there was Miss
Jerusha, a scowl on her face.

“Of all things on this earth,” she exclaimed, lifting her long hands,
“the silliest is to send that Pepper girl to the City.”

“Don’t let us talk about it, Jerusha,” said the parson’s wife, trying
to get by.

“Talk about it! It’s time for some one to talk.” Miss Jerusha’s angular
figure successfully blocked the way. “Such goings on! Adoniram,” as her
brother came up, “what on earth did you put such a notion into that
girl’s head for! The idea of her going into those rich folks’ house!
She’ll be snubbed to death--that’s one comfort,” and Miss Jerusha gave
an unpleasant little cackle.

“Polly Pepper will never be snubbed, Jerusha,” declared the parson
decidedly. “On the contrary--”

Miss Jerusha interrupted him, “We’ll see,” she cried, the cackle
becoming a shrill laugh. Mrs. Henderson stepped off into the grass, and
hurried up into the attic, leaving the parson to get away as best he
could.

And now all Badgertown knew that Polly Pepper was going to the City on
a visit to Mr. King’s house.

Mr. Atkins took down a roll of gingham from his shelf of dry goods.
“I’ll give her enough for two dresses,” he said. “Land o’ Goshen! she
needs somethin’ to help her out. I wouldn’t be in th’ same house, with
that old Mr. King for a hundred dollars,--no, not by a long shot.”

And the little shoemaker called Davie in one day, as he was running
by. “You tell Polly that I’ve got a splendid pair o’ shoes waiting for
her,” and then he turned to old Mrs. Beebe. “She’ll set by those shoes
when she’s in th’ City,” he said complacently, “an’ goes a-walkin’ with
Mr. King.”

And Mrs. Beebe shuddered again, and said, “I can’t never imagine her
walkin’ with him, Pa.”

And then one day Mr. Tisbett drove his stage up with a great flourish
to the little brown house and Polly’s hair trunk was strapped on--and
she was almost off--when out she sprang.

“I can’t go!” she cried, “oh, I can’t!” and dashing between them all,
she flew back through the kitchen to throw herself down in a torrent of
tears by Mamsie’s bed.

No one quite knew how they got her back again--but the stage at last,
with Polly inside, rolled off, and Mother Pepper and the four little
Peppers went into the little brown house and shut the green door.

Davie ran as fast as he could, for the first time in his life not
wanting Joel, his mind intent on reaching the spot where the day in the
woods had been spent. There, under a clump of oaks on a little mossy
bank, were bits of leaves and flowers, the remains of the wreath Polly
had made to carry home to Mother. When David saw them, he threw himself
down and buried his face, in an agony of tears. “I want Polly!” he
cried.

A little bird hopped along the branch over his head to turn a sharp
eye down at him. The sun shone, and he had eaten several worms and
was perfectly comfortable. What any one could cry about, he couldn’t
understand. For his part, he felt much more like singing. And
accordingly he did, and such a lively air, all trills and high notes,
as quite astonished himself. But that only made Davie cry worse, for it
brought back the story that Polly had told them as they all sat around
her while she made the wreath, of a little bird--why, it must have been
that very one now singing over his head.

So of course the little bird, very much hurt in his feelings, at last
stopped his song and flew away. And the wood became quite still.

All of a sudden, a whoop and a shout--and a boy’s feet came tearing
through the bushes, and between the trees.

“_Joel!_” gasped David to himself. There was no time to run, and
besides Joel would see him. The only thing to be done was to burrow
deeper in the mossy bank.

“You ran away,” cried Joel, in great displeasure, and precipitating
himself on him.

David couldn’t very well say he hadn’t, so he said nothing.

“And it was mean of you,” cried Joel wrathfully, and rolling him over
to stare into his face. “Oh--oh--you’ve been crying!”

“Let me alone,” cried David crossly, and twitching away, he rolled back
again. “Go right home, and let me alone.”

“You ran away,” Joel repeated loudly, so astounded at such a reception,
that all he could do was to repeat it again, “you ran away.” This time
his round face became very sober--and in a minute down he went flat on
his face by David’s side.

Davie by this time was quite gone in misery, and he burst out, “I want
Polly!”

Joel didn’t say anything as Davie cried on. And everything was so still
that Davie forgot that he was there--until a queer little rustle made
him poke up his head. Joel was stuffing the end of his calico blouse
into his mouth and making frantic efforts to hold back his sobs. It was
now David’s turn to precipitate himself on Joel.

“I want Polly,” came in gusts from Joel, and he rolled over and over
trying to stop.

“Oh, don’t, Joel,” begged Davie, very much frightened.

“I want her,” screamed Joel, “and I’m going right straight after her
to Mr. King’s house to bring her home.” With that he hopped to his
feet. His face was dreadfully red, but he had stopped crying. “They
sha’n’t keep her there,” he declared, and his black eyes flashed
defiantly.

“Oh, Joel, you wouldn’t do that!” David, in his terror, gripped Joel’s
sleeve.

“I would, too,” declared Joel stoutly. “I shall start this minute,” and
he tore himself free, and darted down the mossy bank.

David, without stopping to think of the impossibility of such a plan
ever coming to completion, dashed after him, screaming, “Don’t, Joel,”
with all his might, and catching his foot in a rambling vine, over he
pitched headlong down a steep descent in the bank.

Joel heard him go, and rushing back to scramble down after him, he
found David picking himself up from a heap of dried leaves.

“I’m not hurt,” he said.

Joel, who had been shaking with terror, now laughed till his little
white teeth shone. “They’re all in your hair, Dave,” he said. “I’ll get
’em out,” pawing the soft light waves, in which the little dried wisps
were sticking.

“You won’t tell Mamsie I cried,” said Davie, looking up anxiously.

“I don’t know,” said Joel. Then he stopped picking the leaves out of
the soft hair. “If you won’t tell her that I did,” he began.

“Oh, I won’t--I won’t,” promised David eagerly, “not a single bit of
it, Joel.”

“We both cried, and we both won’t tell,” decided Joel in a
matter-of-fact way.

“And Mamsie will worry if we don’t get home,” said Davie, “and we
mustn’t want Polly to come back.” He twisted his small hands together,
as he regarded Joel nervously.

“But I do want Polly to come back,” declared Joel obstinately, shaking
his head.

“It will make Mamsie sick.” Davie could think of nothing better to say,
so he repeated it in a despairing voice, “It will make Mamsie sick.”

Joel scuffed the heap of dry leaves with his rusty little shoes--then
he blurted out. “I don’t want my Mamsie to be sick,” he said slowly.

“Then you won’t go after Polly to bring her back?” David didn’t dare to
breathe, as he asked it, but hung on Joel’s answer.

“No,” said Joel magnificently, “she can stay.”

Times were pretty hard in the little brown house about these days, and
Mother Pepper had all she could do to have it look as if any ray of
sunshine had ever hopped in. If the work hadn’t pressed so, it would
have been much worse. But night after night the three boys dragged
themselves up to bed in the loft, too tired to do anything but tumble
on to the shakedowns and get ready for the next day. For there was all
Polly’s work to do, and as much of it as they could accomplish to save
Mother was eagerly sought by them all.

And Phronsie, lost to everything but that Polly was gone, refused to
be comforted, and hung around her mother’s chair, or mourned for Polly
when Mrs. Pepper went down to the store, or was away to help Mrs.
Blodgett.

David, who took upon himself the task of amusing her, was almost in
despair. He had given up going to help Mr. Atkins in his store to stay
at home and take care of her. He even tried to tell stories, and racked
his brain to think how Polly would relate one. But he couldn’t make
any headway in getting her to stop crying, “I want Polly.”

At last one day Grandma Bascom waddled in.

“O me--O my!” she exclaimed, sitting heavily down on the first chair.
There sat Phronsie on the floor, the very picture of woe, and crying
into her pinafore. David was squatting in front of her, frantically
trying to draw a picture on his slate and explain it by a story.

Phronsie got up and went over to Grandma’s chair.

“I want Polly,” she said, the tears trailing down her little cheeks.

“Yes, I know,” said Grandma, who seemed to understand, even if she
couldn’t hear very well, and patting her yellow hair. “Oh, you poor
creeter, you!” she said to Davie.

“She doesn’t like my stories,” said Davie, getting up from the floor,
his cheeks very much flushed. He came over and put his mouth close to
Grandma’s cap. “And I can’t tell any good ones.”

“Well,” said Grandma, “that’s because she’s heard Polly’s stories. Ef
I was you, I wouldn’t try to tell ’em.”

“What _can_ I do?” cried Davie in despair. The flush died off, leaving
his cheeks quite white, and he twisted his small hands in distress.

Grandma Bascom gave him a keen look, then bobbed her cap wisely till
the frill quivered. “Now, Phronsie,” she said, “you must take care of
Davie. He’ll be sick if you don’t.”

“Oh, Grandma,” exclaimed David, quite horrified at such a turn of
affairs, “I’m not sick.” He tried to shout it into her ear, but she
kept on, “Davie will be sick ef you don’t take care of him, Phronsie.”

“I’ll take care of Davie,” said Phronsie, wiping away the last tear on
her pinafore, “and I shall put him to bed, so that he won’t be sick.”

“That’s my good little lamb,” said Grandma, her cap-frill bobbing worse
than ever. “Now, Davie, you go an’ curl on your ma’s bed, an’--”

“Oh, no, no,” cried Davie. “Why, I’m a big boy, and I don’t want to go
to bed in the day-time.” He was in such distress over the idea that
his voice was very sharp, and Grandma heard every word.

“You ain’t as big as the parson,” said Grandma coolly, “an’ Mis
Henderson said she put him to bed last week right in the middle o’ th’
day.” It was a long speech for Grandma to make, and she wheezed so at
the end that Davie forgot everything else and ran and got her a cup of
water.

“An’ I’m goin’ to stay here a spell, an’ Phronsie must set by th’ bed
an’ watch you,” beginning again when she got her breath, and the cup
was taken back.

Phronsie, feeling very important that she was to take care of David and
keep him from being sick, now clamored for him to get on Mamsie’s bed,
and let her tuck him up. And nothing would do but that she should take
his hand and lead him off to the bedroom.

Grandma chuckled to see them go. It presently became so still in the
old kitchen that she dozed in her chair, waking up with a start.

“I declare ef I haven’t lost myself jest for a minute,” she said. “Now
I’ll see how them blessed childern is gettin’ along.”

She opened the bedroom door softly and peeped in. Davie, with the
patchwork quilt drawn up to his chin just as Phronsie had tucked him
in, and with one arm thrown over his head, was sleeping as he hadn’t
been able to do since Polly went away. And Phronsie, curled up on the
floor, her yellow head on the old braided rug, was dreaming that she
was watching Davie and keeping him from getting sick.

Ben and Joel found them so, when they came home from Deacon Blodgett’s
where they had been piling wood. Joel rushed past Grandma Bascom like
a whirlwind. “_Sh!_” she said, raising her hand. Too late! Into the
bedroom flew Joel waving something over his head. “_Hoh!_ in bed!” he
cried. “Get up, Dave!”

“Look out!” cried Ben, “you almost stepped on Phronsie!” and he picked
her up, as Joel jumped on the bed.

“It’s for you,” he cried, shaking the arm thrown over Davie’s head.
Then the old patchwork quilt was twitched down, and something white was
thrust in its place.

“What is it?” asked Davie, his blue eyes dewy with sleep, and he
rolled over to show very pink cheeks.

“A letter from Polly,” cried Joel, waving it impatiently.

Davie flew up to sit in the middle of the bed. “_Oh!_” he cried
hungrily, “a letter from Polly!”

“Yes--yes, and it’s for you,” screamed Joel, sticking it into his hand.

Davie threw off the patchwork quilt and, tumbling off the bed, ran out
into the kitchen. “A letter from Polly--and it’s for me!” he shouted.

Just then the door opened and Mother Pepper came in to meet Ben coming
out from the bedroom with Phronsie on his shoulder. She kept saying, “I
watched Davie all the while--I did.”

It took Davie so long to open the letter with trembling fingers, that
Joel impatiently kept crying, “Do hurry, Dave!” beating on the table
for emphasis.

“Hush, Joe,” cried Ben, “we couldn’t hear the letter if it were open,
you make such a noise.”

“I’ll stop when he opens it,” said Joel. “Oh, do hurry, Dave!” and he
ran across the kitchen with Mamsie’s big bread-knife. But Davie already
had the letter out of its envelope, and spread in his hand.

They all held their breath to catch every word, and Grandma Bascom put
her hand behind her best ear, and Davie began:

  “DEAR DAVIE:

  “I just wish I could hop into the little brown house and--(O dear me!
  I wrote that crooked) see you all. To-morrow I’m going to write to
  Joel.”

“_Hooray!_” screamed Joel. He rushed up to Grandma and shouted in her
ear, “Polly’s going to write to me to-morrow!”

“Come back,” cried Ben, “if you want to hear the rest. Go on, Dave.”

“Wait for me,” roared Joel, skipping back. “Have you read any more,
Dave?” he cried anxiously.

“No,” said Davie, “I haven’t read a bit more.”

[Illustration: THEY ALL HELD THEIR BREATH TO CATCH EVERY WORD, AND
DAVIE BEGAN.--_Page 490._]

  “Well, I want to tell you how kind dear Mr. King is. (He wants me to
  call him Grandpapa.) He has a music teacher for me. Just think,
  I’m really going to learn to play on the piano--really and truly! Oh,
  Davie, I was almost afraid to touch the piano, it is so magnifesent
  (I haven’t spelled that right I know) but Grandpapa said I must not
  feel that way, so I don’t now, for of course if I were afraid of the
  piano, I never could learn to play.

  “And oh--little Dick is too cunning for anything. Phronsie would like
  to play with him.”

“I should,” said Phronsie, smoothing down her pinafore, “very much
indeed.”

  “Oh, and Prince, this morning, when Jasper asked him if he didn’t
  want to send his love to Phronsie, said just as plain as could be,
  ‘_Bark--Bark!_’”

Phronsie screamed so with delight that it was some time before Davie
could go on.

  “And now you must write to me, Davie, and tell Phronsie to write
  to me, too, all by her own self. And, oh, tell Mamsie I mended my
  stockings last week ’cause two big holes came. I must save some room
  for Jasper wants to write.

  “POLLY, with love to all in the little brown house.”

  “DEAR DAVE:

  “You must write to Polly, all of you, because I want her to like it
  here, and she won’t unless she hears often from the little brown
  house.

  “Polly just practises every chance she can get. The music teacher
  says she is the best--Polly is stopping me, so I can’t tell the rest.

                                                               “JASPER.”

Davie stood quite still, not minding when Joel twitched the letter out
of his hand, then he marched straight up to Grandma and said under her
cap-frill,

“Now I know what Phronsie would like to do,--write a letter to Polly
every day.”

Then he flew over to Mother Pepper. “You don’t need to take care of
Phronsie, I’m going to do it every single day, Mamsie, all by myself,”
he said, his blue eyes shining.

THE END

THE

FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS

By MARGARET SIDNEY

IN ORDER OF PUBLICATION

  Cloth      12mo      Illustrated

Five Little Peppers and How they Grew.

This was an instantaneous success; it has become a genuine child
classic.

Five Little Peppers Midway.

“A perfect Cheeryble of a book.”--_Boston Herald._

Five Little Peppers Grown Up.

This shows the Five Little Peppers as “grown up,” with all the
struggles and successes of young manhood and womanhood.

Phronsie Pepper.

It is the story of Phronsie, the youngest and dearest of all the
Peppers.

The Stories Polly Pepper Told.

Wherever there exists a child or a “grown-up,” there will be a welcome
for these charming and delightful “Stories Polly Pepper told.”

The Adventures of Joel Pepper.

As bright and just as certain to be a child’s favorite as the others in
the famous series. Harum-scarum “Joey” is lovable.

Five Little Peppers Abroad.

The Peppers are just as original and delightful over the ocean as in
their own home.

Five Little Peppers at School.

Of all the fascinating adventures and experiences of the “Peppers,”
none will surpass those contained in this volume.

Five Little Peppers and Their Friends.

The Peppers loved their friends very dearly. They were loyal and true
to them, and the circle constantly widened.

Ben Pepper.

This centres about Ben, “The quiet, steady-as-a-rock boy,” while the
rest of the Peppers help to make it as bright as its predecessors.

Five Little Peppers in the Little Brown House.

Here they all are, Ben, Polly, Joel, Phronsie, and David, in the loved
“Little Brown House,” with such happenings crowding one upon the other
as all children delightedly follow, and their elders find no less
interesting.

Our Davie Pepper.

The boys and girls who have loved Davie in the other volumes will
rejoice that now Our Davie has a book all his own.

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

A Little Maid of Boston Town

By MARGARET SIDNEY

12mo Cloth Illustrated by F. T. MERRILL

The opening chapters introduce us to old Boston in England. Margaret
Sidney went there in 1907 and absorbed the atmosphere of Cotton
Mather’s “St Botolph’s Town,” gathering for herself facts and
traditions. Then “St. Botolph’s Town” yields its scenic effects, and
the setting of the story is changed to Boston Town of New England.

The story is absorbing, graphic, and truly delightful, carrying one
along till it seems as if actual participation in the events had been
the lot of the reader. The same naturalness that is so conspicuous in
her famous “Pepper Books” marks this latest story of Margaret Sidney’s.
She makes characters live and speak for themselves.

  It is an inspiring, patriotic story for the young, and contains
  striking and realistic pictures of the times with which it
  deals.--_Sunday School Magazine, Nashville._

  The author presents a story, but she gives a veracious picture of
  conditions in the town of Boston during the Revolution. Parents who
  are seeking wholesome books can place this in the front rank with
  entire safety.--_Boston Globe._

  Surely Margaret Sidney deserves the gratitude of many a child,
  and grown-ups, too, for that matter, in telling in so charming,
  yet, withal, so simple a manner, of these early days in this
  country.--_Utica Observer._

  A really thrilling tale of the American Revolution. Interesting for
  both old and young.--_Minneapolis Journal._

_For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers_

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., Boston

THE JUDGES’ CAVE

_A Romance of the New Haven Colony in the Days of the Regicides_

By MARGARET SIDNEY

  12mo.      Cloth.      Illustrated.

There are few more fascinating phases of colonial history than that
which tells the wanderings and adventures of the two judges who,
because they sat in judgment over that royal criminal, Charles the
First of England, were hunted out of England into hiding in New
England, and there remained, a mystery and fugitives, in their
celebrated cave in New Haven Colony. Marcia, the heroine, is a strong
and delightful character, and the book easily takes high rank among the
most effective and absorbing stories based upon a dramatic phase of
American history.

THE LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN

_A Romance of the American Revolution_

By MARGARET SIDNEY

  12mo, cloth. Illustrated by F. T. Merrill

A delightful revolutionary romance of life, love, and adventure in old
Concord. The author knows the interesting town thoroughly.

Debby Parlin, the heroine, lived in a little house on the Lexington
Road, still standing, and was surrounded by all the stir and excitement
of the months of preparation and the days at action at the beginning of
our struggle for freedom.

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston

SALLY,

MRS. TUBBS

_An amusing and sympathetic study of a New England woman of humble
station, but noble character._

By MARGARET SIDNEY, author of the Famous “Pepper” books, etc.

=CHICAGO RECORD-HERALD says:=

What can be said is, that those who have read “Mrs. Wiggs” will
purchase “Sally, Mrs. Tubbs.” The author of this pleasant story,
who is Margaret Sidney of the “Pepper” books renown, has rightly
dedicated this tale for grown-ups to “all who love simplicity, truth,
and cheerfulness.” These virtues characterize Sally Plunkett, whose
soul-devouring ambition was “to have ’Bijah Tubbs fer life.”

As a chapter out of human life “Sally, Mrs. Tubbs” is, perhaps, as
good as “Mrs. Wiggs.” Regarded artistically, it shows the workmanship
of a more practised hand; it has a plot, and this plot pleasantly
complicated, and thus differs from its next of kin. We judge that Sally
and her ’Bijah, who, though little, is “sizable” enough to meet her
wants, will make the acquaintance of those who like a book that is
not over-intellectualized nor yet lacking in soundness of heart and
penetrating vision into human nature. “Sally, Mrs. Tubbs” will furnish
a hearty laugh and a quickened sensibility.

=BOSTON TRANSCRIPT says:=

As a brief character-sketch, “Sally, Mrs. Tubbs” deserves no little
praise for its geniality and its humor.

=BOSTON HERALD says:=

This short story of 180 pages is captivating from start to finish,
and the masculine reader takes off his hat, and the feminine reader
courtesies, to this matron of the tubs, with her homely heroism and
true kindness of heart.

  12mo. Picture Cover.

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.