Five Little Peppers and How They Grew Complete Text (Charming Classics)

by Margaret Sidney

  “I’m sure we should be glad, if your father’ll be willing,” she added; thinking, proudly, “My children are an honor to anybody,” as she glanced around on the bright little group she could call her own. “But be sure, Jasper,” and she laid her hand on his arm as she looked down into his eyes, “that you father is willing, that’s all.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” said the boy; “but he will be, I guess, if he feels well.”

  “Then come on Thursday,” said Polly; “and can’t we bake something then, mammy?”

  “I’m sure I don’t care,” laughed Mrs. Pepper; “but you won’t find much but brown flour and meal to bake with.”

  “Well, we can pretend,” said Polly; “and we can cut the cakes with the heart-shape, and they’ll do for anything.

  “Oh, I’ll come,” laughed Jasper, ready for such lovely fun in the old kitchen; “look out for me on Thursday, Ben!”

  So Jasper and Prince took their leave, all the children accompanying them to the gate; and then after seeing him fairly started on a smart run to catch the stage, Prince scampering at his heels, they all began to sing his praises and to wish for Thursday to come.

  But Jasper didn’t come! Thursday came and went; a beautiful, bright, sunny day, but with no signs of the merry boy whom all had begun to love, nor of the big black dog. The children had made all the needful preparations with much ostentation and bustle, and were in a state of excited happiness, ready for any gale. But the last hope had to be given up, as the old clock ticked away hour after hour. And at last Polly had to put Phronsie to bed, who wouldn’t stop crying enough to eat her supper at the dreadful disappointment.

  “He couldn’t come, I know,” said both Ben and Polly, standing staunchly up for their new friend; but Joel and David felt that he had broken his word.

  “He promised,” said Joel, vindictively.

  “I don’t believe his father’d let him,” said Polly, wiping away a sly tear; “I know Jasper would have come, if he could.”

  Mrs. Pepper wisely kept her own counsel, simply giving them a kindly caution:

  “Don’t you go to judging him, children, till you know.”

  “Well, he promised,” said Joel, as a settler.

  “Aren’t you ashamed, Joe,” said his mother, “to talk about any one whose back is turned? Wait till he tells you the reason himself.”

  Joel hung his head, and then began to tease David in the corner, to make up for his disappointment.

  The next morning Ben had to go to the store after some more meal. As he was going out rather dismally, the storekeeper, who was also postmaster, called out, “Oh, hello, there!”

  “What is it?” asked Ben, turning back, thinking perhaps Mr. Atkins hadn’t given him the right change.

  “Here,” said Mr. Atkins, stepping up to the post-office department, quite smart with its array of boxes and official notices, where Ben had always lingered, wishing there might be sometime a letter for him—or for some of them. “You’ve got a sister Polly, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Ben, wondering what was coming next.

  “Well, she’s got a letter,” said the postmaster, holding up a nice big envelope, looking just like those that Ben had so many times wished for. That magic piece of white paper danced before the boy’s eyes for a minute; then he said:

  “It can’t be for her, Mr. Atkins; why, she’s never had one.”

  “Well, she’s got one now, sure enough,” said Mr. Atkins; “here ’tis, plain enough,” and he read what he had no need to study much, as it had already passed examination by his own and his wife’s faithful eyes: “‘Miss Polly Pepper, near the Turnpike, Badgertown’—that’s her, isn’t it?” he added, laying it down before Ben’s eyes. “Must be a first time for everything, you know, my boy!” and he laughed long over his own joke; “so take it and run along home.” For Ben still stood looking at it, and not offering to stir.

  “If you say so,” said the boy, as if Mr. Atkins had given him something out of his own pocket; “but I’m afraid ’tisn’t for Polly.” Then buttoning up the precious letter in his jacket, he spun along home as never before.

  “Polly! Polly!” he screamed. “Where is she, mother?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mrs. Pepper, coming out of the bedroom. “Dear me! is anybody hurt, Ben?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ben, in a state to believe anything, “but Polly’s got a letter.”

  “Polly got a letter!” cried Mrs. Pepper; “what do you mean, Ben?”

  “I don’t know,” repeated the boy, still holding out the precious letter; “but Mr. Atkins gave it to me; where is Polly?”

  “I know where she is,” said Joel; “she’s up-stairs.” And he flew out in a twinkling, and soon reappeared with Polly scampering after him in the wildest excitement.

  And then the kitchen was in an uproar as the precious missive was put into Polly’s hands; and they all gathered around her, wondering and examining, till Ben thought he would go wild with the delay.

  “I wonder where it did come from,” said Polly, in the greatest anxiety, examining again the address.

  “Where does the postmark say?” asked Mrs. Pepper, looking over her shoulder.

  “It’s all rubbed out,” said Polly, peering at it “you can’t see anything.”

  “Do open it,” said Ben, “and then you’ll find out.”

  “But p’raps ’tisn’t for me,” said Polly, timidly.

  “Well, Mr. Atkins says ’tis,” said Ben, impatiently; “here, I’ll open it for you, Polly.”

  “No, let her open it for herself, Ben,” protested his mother.

  “But she won’t,” said Ben; “do tear it open, Polly.”

  “No, I’m goin’ to get a knife,” she said.

  “I’ll get one,” cried Joel, running up to the table drawer; “here’s one, Polly.”

  “Oh, dear,” groaned Ben; “you never’ll get it open at this rate!”

  But at last it was cut; and they all, holding their breath, gazed awestruck, while Polly drew out the mysterious missive.

  “What does it say?” gasped Mrs. Pepper.

  “Dear Miss Polly,” began both Ben and Polly in a breath.

  “Let Polly read,” said Joel, who couldn’t hear in the confusion.

  “Well, go on Polly,” said Ben; “hurry!”

  “‘Dear Miss Polly, I was so sorry I couldn’t come on Thursday—’”

  “Oh, it’s Jasper! it’s Jasper!” cried all the children in a breath.

  “I told you so!” cried Ben and Polly, perfectly delighted to find their friend vindicated fully—“there, Joey Pepper!”

  “Well, I don’t care,” cried Joe, nothing daunted, “he didn’t come, anyway—do go on, Polly.”

  “‘I was so sorry I couldn’t come—’” began Polly.

  “You read that,” said Joel.

  “I know it,” said Polly, “but it’s just lovely; ‘on Thursday; but my father was sick, and I couldn’t leave him. If you don’t mind I’ll come again—I mean I’ll come some other day, if it’s just as convenient for you, for I do so want the baking, and the nice time. I forgot to say that I had a cold, to,’” (here Jasper had evidently had a struggle in his mind whether there should be two o’s or one, and he had at last decided it, by crossing out one), “‘but my father is willing I should come when I get well. Give my love to all, and especially remember me respectfully to your mother. Your friend,

  “‘JASPER ELYOT KING.’”

  “Oh, lovely! lovely!” cried Polly, flying around with the letter in her hand; “so he is coming really and truly!”

  Ben was just as wild as she was, for no one knew but Polly just how the new friend had stepped into his heart. Phronsie went to sleep happy, hugging “Baby.”

  “And don’t you think, Baby, dear,” she whispered, sleepily, and Polly heard her say as she was tucking her in, “that Jasper is really coming; really—and the big, be-you-ti-ful doggie, too!”

  13

  Phr
onsie Pays a Debt of Gratitude

  “And now I tell you,” said Polly, the next day, “let’s make Jasper something; can’t we, ma?”

  “Oh, do! do!” cried all the other children, “let’s; but what’ll it be, Polly?”

  “I don’t know about this,” interrupted Mrs. Pepper; “I don’t see how you could get anything to him if you could make it.”

  “Oh, we could, mamsie,” said Polly, eagerly, running up to her; “for Ben knows; and he says we can do it.”

  “Oh, well, if Ben and you have had your heads together, I suppose it’s all right,” laughed Mrs. Pepper, “but I don’t see how you can do it.”

  “Well, we can, mother, truly,” put in Ben. “I’ll tell you how, and you’ll say it’ll be splendid. You see Deacon Blodgett’s goin’ over to Hingham to-morrow; I heard him tell Miss Blodgett so; and he goes right past the hotel; and we can do it up real nice—and it’ll please Jasper so—do, mammy!”

  “And it’s real dull there, Jasper says,” put in Polly, persuasively; “and just think, mammy, no young brothers and sisters!” And Polly looked around on the others.

  After that there was no need to say anything more; her mother would have consented to almost any plan then.

  “Well, go on, children,” she said; “you may do it; I don’t see but what you can get ’em there well enough; but I’m sure I don’t know what you can make.”

  “Can’t we,” said Polly—and she knelt down by her mother’s side and put her face in between the sewing in Mrs. Pepper’s lap, and the eyes bent kindly down on her—“make some little cakes, real cakes, I mean? now don’t say no, mamsie!” she said, alarmed, for she saw a “no” slowly coming in the eyes above her, as Mrs. Pepper began to shake her head.

  “But we haven’t any white flour, Polly,” began her mother.

  “I know,” said Polly; “but we’ll make ’em of brown, it’ll do, if you’ll give us some raisins—you know there’s some in the bowl, mammy.”

  “I was saving them for a nest-egg,” said Mrs. Pepper; meaning at some future time to indulge in another plum pudding that the children so loved.

  “Well, do give ’em to us,” cried Polly; “do, ma!”

  “I want ’em for a plum pudding sometime,” said Mrs. Pepper.

  “Ow!”—and Joel with a howl sprang up from the floor where he had been trying to make a cart for “Baby” out of an old box, and joined Mrs. Pepper and Polly. “No, don’t give ’em away, ma!” he screamed; “let’s have our plum pudding—now, Polly Pepper, you’re a-going to bake up all our raisins in nasty little cakes—and—”

  “Joey!” commanded Mrs. Pepper, “hush! what word did you say!”

  “Well,” blubbered Joel, wiping his tears away with his grimy little hand, “Polly’s—a-going—to give—”

  “I should rather you’d never have a plum pudding than to say such words,” said Mrs. Pepper, sternly, taking up her work again. “And besides, do you think what Jasper has done for you?” and her face grew very white around the lips.

  “Well, he can have plum puddings,” said Joel, whimpering, “forever an’ ever, if he wants ’em—and—and—”

  “Well, Joey,” said Polly, “there, don’t feel bad,” and she put her arms around him, and tried to wipe away the tears that still rolled down his cheeks. “We won’t give ’em if you don’t want us to; but Jasper’s sick, and there isn’t anything for him to do, and”—here she whispered slyly up into his ear—“don’t you remember how you liked folks to send you things when you had the measles?”

  “Yes, I know,” said Joel, beginning to smile through his tears; “wasn’t it fun, Polly?”

  “I guess ’twas,” laughed Polly back again, pleased at the return of sunshine. “Well, Jasper’ll be just as pleased as you were, ’cause we love him and want to do something for him, he was so good to Phronsie.”

  “I will, Polly, I will,” cried Joel, completely won over; “do let’s make ’em for him; and put ’em in thick; oh! thick as you can” and determined to do nothing by halves, Joel ran generously for the precious bowl of raisins, and after setting it on the table, began to help Polly in all needful preparations.

  Mrs. Pepper smiled away to herself to see happiness restored to the little group. And soon a pleasant hum and bustle went on around the baking-table, the centre of attraction.

  “Now,” said Phronsie, coming up to the table and standing on tiptoe to see Polly measure out the flour, “I’m a-going to bake something for my sick man, I am.”

  “Oh, no, Phronsie, you can’t,” began Polly.

  “Hey?” asked Joel, with a daub of flour on the tip of his chubby nose, gained by too much peering into Polly’s flour-bag. “What did she say, Polly?” watching her shake the clouds of flour in the sieve.

  “She said she was going to bake something for Jasper,” said Polly. “There,” as she whisked in the flour, “now that’s done.”

  “No, I didn’t say Jasper,” said Phronsie; “I didn’t say Japser,” she repeated, emphatically.

  “Why, what did you say, Pet?” asked Polly, astonished, while little Davie repeated, “What did you say, Phronsie?”

  “I said my sick man,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head; “poor sick man.”

  “Who does she mean?” said Polly in despair, stopping a moment her violent stirring that threatened to overturn the whole cake-bowl.

  “I guess she means Prince,” said Joel. “Can’t I stir, Polly?”

  “Oh, no,” said Polly; “only one person must stir cake.”

  “Why?” asked Joel; “why, Polly?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Polly, “’cause ’tis so; never mind now, Joel. Do you mean Prince, Phronsie?”

  “No, I don’t mean Princey,” said the child decisively; “I mean my sick man.”

  “It’s Jasper’s father, I guess she means,” said Mrs. Pepper over in the corner; “but what in the world!”

  “Yes, yes,” cried Phronsie, perfectly delighted at being at last understood, and hopping on one toe; “my sick man.”

  “I shall give up!” said Polly, tumbling over in a chair, with the cake spoon in her hand, from which a small sticky lump fell on her apron, which Joel immediately pounced upon and devoured. “What do you want to bake, Phronsie?” she gasped, holding the spoon sticking up straight, and staring at the child.

  “A gingerbread boy,” said the child, promptly; “he’d like that best; poor sick man!” and she commenced to climb up to active preparations.

  14

  A Letter to Jasper

  “Mamsie, what shall we do?” implored Polly of her mother.

  “I don’t know,” said her mother; “however did that get into her head, do you suppose?”

  “I am sure I can’t tell,” said Polly, jumping up and beginning to stir briskly to make up for lost time. “P’r’aps she heard us talking about Jasper’s having to take care of his sick father, and how hard it must be to he sick away from home.”

  “Yes,” said Phronsie, “but he’ll be glad to see my gingerbread boy, I guess; poor sick man.”

  “Oh, Phronsie,” cried Polly, in great distress, “you aren’t ever going to make a ‘gingerbread boy’ to-day! see, we’ll put in a cunning little cake for Mr. King—full of raisins, Phronsie; won’t that be lovely!” and Polly began to fill a little scalloped tin with some of the cake mixture.

  “N-no,” said the child, eying it suspiciously; “that isn’t like a ‘gingerbread boy,’ Polly; he’ll like that best.”

  “Mamsie,” said Polly, “we can’t let her make a dreadful, horrid ‘gingerbread boy’ to send Mr. King! he never’ll let Jasper come here again.”

  “Oh, let her,” cried Joel; “she can bake it, and Dave an’ I’ll eat it,” and he picked up a raisin that had fallen under the table and began crunching it with great gusto.

  “That wouldn’t be fair,” said Polly, gloomily. “Do get her off from it, mammy.”

  “Phronsie,” said Mrs. Pepper, going up back of the
child, who sat patiently in her high chair waiting for Polly to let her begin, “hadn’t you rather wait and give your ‘gingerbread boy’ to Jasper for his father, when he comes?”

  “Oh, no, no,” cried Phronsie, twisting in her chair in great apprehension, “I want to send it now, I do.”

  “Well, Polly,” said her mother, laughing, “after all it’s best, I think, to let her; it can’t do any harm anyway—and instead of Mr. King’s not letting Jasper come, if he’s a sensible man that won’t make any difference; and if he isn’t, why, then there’d be sure to something come up sometime to make trouble.”

  “Well,” said Polly, “I suppose she’s got to; and p’r’aps,” as a consoling idea struck her, “p’r’aps she’ll want to eat it up herself when it’s done. Here, Phronsie,” giving her a handful of the cake mixture, which she stiffened with flour to the right thickness, “there, you can call that a ‘gingerbread boy’ see, won’t it make a beautiful one!”

  “You needn’t think,” said Mrs. Pepper, seeing Phronsie’s delighted face, and laughing as she went back to her work, “but that that gingerbread boy’ll go.”

  When the little cakes were done, eight of them, and set upon the table for exhibition, they one and all protested that they never saw so fine a lot. Polly was delighted with the praise they received, and her mother’s commendation that she was “growing a better cook every day.” “How glad Jasper’ll be, won’t he, mamsie?” said she.

  The children walked around and around the table, admiring and pointing out the chief points of attraction, as they appeared before their discriminating eyes.

  “I should choose that one,” said Joel, pointing at one which was particularly plummy, with a raisin standing up on one end with a festive air, as if to say, “there’s lots of us inside, you better believe!”

  “I wouldn’t,” said Davie, “I’d have that—that’s cracked so pretty.”

  “So ’tis,” said Mrs. Pepper; “they’re all as light as a feather, Polly.”

  “But my ‘gingerbread boy,’” cried Phronsie, running eagerly along with a particularly ugly looking specimen of a cake figure in her hand, “is the be-yew-tifullest, isn’t it, Polly?”