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

by Margaret Sidney

  When the three boys saw Polly coming in again, they welcomed her with a cordial shout, for one and all, after careful measurement of her, had succumbed entirely to Polly; and each was unwilling that the others should get ahead of him in her regard.

  “This is your seat, Polly,” said sister Marian, touching the chair next to her own.

  Thereupon a small fight ensued between the little Whitneys, while Jasper looked decidedly discomfited.

  “Let Polly sit next to me,” said Van, as if a seat next to him was of all things most to be desired.

  “Oh, no, I want her,” said little Dick.

  “Pshaw, Dick! you’re too young,” put in Percy. “You’d spill the bread and butter all over her.”

  “I wouldn’t either,” said little Dick, indignantly, and beginning to crawl into his seat; “I don’t spill bread and butter, now, Percy, you know.”

  “See here,” said Jasper, decidedly, “she’s coming up here by father and me; that is, sister Marian,” he finished more politely, “if you’re willing.”

  All this while Polly had stood quietly watching the group, the big, handsome table, the bright lights, and the well-trained servants with a curious feeling at her heart—what were the Little-Brown-House-People doing?

  “Polly shall decide it,” said sister Marian, laughing. “Now, where will you sit, dear?” she added, looking down on the little quiet figure beside her.

  “Oh, by Jappy, please,” said Polly, quickly, as if there could be no doubt; “and kind Mr. King,” she added, smiling at him.

  “That’s right; that’s right, my dear,” cried the old gentleman, pleased beyond measure at her honest choice. And he pulled out her chair, and waited upon her into it so handsomely that Polly was happy at once; while Jasper, with a proud toss of his dark, wavy hair, marched up delightedly, and took the chair on her other side.

  And now, in two or three minutes it seemed as if Polly had always been there; it was the most natural thing in the world that sister Marian should smile down the table at the bright-faced narrator, who answered all their numerous questions, and entertained them all with accounts of Ben’s skill, of Phronsie’s cunning ways, of the boys who made fun for all, and above everything else of the dear mother whom they all longed to help, and of all the sayings and doings in the Little Brown House. No wonder that the little boys forgot to eat; and for once never thought of the attractions of the table. And when, as they left the table at last, little Dick rushed impulsively up to Polly, and flinging himself into her arms, declared:

  “I love you!—and you’re my sister!” Nothing more was needed to make Polly feel at home.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Whitney, and nodded to herself in the saying, “it was a good thing; and a comfort, I believe, has come to this house this day!”

  19

  Brave Work and the Reward

  And on the morrow came Polly’s music teacher!

  The big drawing-room, with its shaded light and draped furniture, with its thick soft carpet, on which no footfall could be heard, with all its beauty and loveliness on every side, was nothing to Polly’s eyes, only the room that contained the piano!

  That was all she saw! And when the teacher came he was simply the Fairy (an ugly little one, it is true, but still a most powerful being) who was to unlock its mysteries, and conduct her into Fairyland itself. He was a homely little Frenchman, with a long curved nose, and an enormous black moustache, magnificently waxed, who bowed elaborately, and called her “Mademoiselle Pep-paire” but he had music in his soul, and Polly couldn’t reverence him too much.

  And now the big piano gave out new sounds; sounds that told of a deep purpose and strong patience. Every note was struck for mother and the home brood. Monsieur Tourtelotte, after watching her keenly out of his little black eyes, would nod to himself like a mandarin, and the nod would be followed by showers of extra politeness, expressing his appreciation of her patient energy and attention.

  Every chance she could get, Polly would steal away into the drawing-room from Jappy and the three boys and all the attractions they could offer, and laboriously work away over and over at the tedious scales and exercises that were to be stepping-stones to so much that was glorious beyond. Never had she sat still for so long a time in her active little life; and now, with her arms at just such an angle, with the stiff, chubby fingers kept under training and restraint—well, Polly realized, years after, that only her love of the Little Brown House could ever have kept her from flying up and spinning around in perfect despair.

  “She likes it!” said Percy, in absolute astonishment, one day, when Polly had refused to go out driving with all the other children in the park, and had gone resolutely, instead, into the drawing-room and shut the door. “She likes those hateful old exercises and she doesn’t like anything else.”

  “Much you know about it,” said Jappy; “she’s perfectly aching to go, now Percy Whitney!”

  “Well, why doesn’t she then?” said Percy, opening his eyes to their widest extent.

  “’Cause,” said Jasper, stopping on his way to the door to look him full in the face, “she’s commenced to learn to play, and there won’t anything stop her.”

  “I’m going to try,” said Percy, gleefully. “I know lots of ways I can do to try, anyway.”

  “See here, now,” said Jasper, turning back, “you let her alone! Do you hear?” he added, and there must have been something in his eye to command attention, for Percy instantly signified his intention not to tease this young music student in the least.

  “Come on then, old fellow,” and Jasper swung his cap on his head, “Thomas will be like forty bears if we keep him waiting much longer.”

  And Polly kept at it steadily day after day; getting through with the lessons in the schoolroom as quickly as possible to rush to her music, until presently the little Frenchman waxed enthusiastic to that degree that, as day after day progressed and swelled into weeks, and each lesson came to an end, he would skip away on the tips of his toes, his nose in the air, and the waxed ends of his moustache fairly trembling with delight:

  “Ah, such patience as Mademoiselle Pep-paire has! I know no other such little Americaine!”

  “I think,” said Jasper, one evening after dinner, when all the children were assembled as usual in their favorite place on the big rug in front of the fire in the library, Prince in the middle of the group, his head on his paws, watching everything in infinite satisfaction—“I think that Polly’s getting on in music as I never saw anyone do; and that’s a fact!”

  “I mean to begin,” said Van, ambitiously, sitting up straight and staring at the glowing coals. “I guess I will to-morrow,” which announcement was received with a perfect shout—Van’s taste being anything rather than of a musical nature.

  “If you do,” said Jappy, when the merriment had a little subsided, “I shall go out of the house at every lesson; there won’t anyone stay in it, Van.”

  “I can bang all I want to, then,” said Van, in no way disturbed by the reflection, and pulling one of Prince’s long ears, “you think you’re so big, Jappy, just because you’re thirteen.”

  “He’s only three ahead of me, Van,” bristled Percy, who never could forgive Jappy for being his uncle, much less the still greater sin of having been born three years earlier than himself.

  “Three’s just as bad as four,” said Van.

  “Let’s tell stories,” began Polly, who never could remember such goings on in the Little Brown House; “we must each tell one,” she added, with great enthusiasm, “and see which will be the biggest and the best.”

  “Oh, no,” said Van, who perfectly revelled in Polly’s stories, and who now forgot his trials in the prospect of one, “you tell, Polly—you tell alone.”

  “Yes, do, Polly,” said Jasper; “we’d rather hear you.”

  So Polly launched out into one of her gayest and finest; and soon they were in such a peal of laughter, and had reached such heights of enjoyment, that Mr. King popped his
head in at the door, and then came in, and took a seat in a big rocking-chair in the corner to hear the fun go on.

  “Oh dear!” said Van, leaning back with a long sigh, and wiping his flushed face as Polly wound up with a triumphant flourish, “how ever do you think of such things, Polly Pepper?”

  “That isn’t anything,” said Jappy, bringing his handsome face out into the strong light; “why, it’s just nothing to what she has told time and again in the Little Brown House in Badgertown” and then he caught sight of Polly’s face, which turned a little pale in the firelight as he spoke; and the brown eyes had such a pathetic droop in them that it went to the boy’s very heart.

  Was Polly homesick? and so soon!

  20

  Polly Is Comforted

  Yes, it must be confessed. Polly was homesick. All her imaginations of her mother’s hard work, increased by her absence, loomed up before her, till she was almost ready to fly home without a minute’s warning. At night, when no one knew it, the tears would come racing over the poor, forlorn little face, and would not be squeezed back. It got to be noticed finally; and one and all redoubled their exertions to make everything twice as pleasant as ever!

  The only place, except in front of the grand piano, where Polly approached a state of comparative happiness, was in the greenhouse.

  Here she would stay, comforted and soothed among the lovely plants and rich exotics, rejoicing the heart of old Turner the gardener, who, since Polly’s first rapturous entrance, had taken her into his good graces for all time.

  Every chance she could steal after practice hours were over, and after the clamorous demands of the boys upon her time were fully satisfied, was seized to fly on the wings of the wind to the flowers.

  But even with the music and flowers the dancing light in the eyes went down a little; and Polly, growing more silent and pale, moved around with a little droop to the small figure that had only been wont to fly through the wide halls and spacious rooms with gay and springing step.

  “Polly doesn’t like us,” at last said Van, one day, in despair.

  “Then, dear,” said Mrs. Whitney, “you must be kinder to her than ever; think what it would be for one of you to be away from home even among friends.”

  “I’d like it first-rate to be away from Percy,” said Van, reflectively; “I wouldn’t come back in three, no, six weeks.”

  “My son,” said his mamma, “just stop and think how badly you would feel, if you really couldn’t see Percy.”

  “Well,” said Van, and he showed signs of relenting a little at that; “but Percy is perfectly awful, mamma, you don’t know; and he feels so smart too,” he added, vindictively.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Whitney, softly, “let’s think what we can do for Polly; it makes me feel very badly to see her sad little face.”

  “I don’t know,” said Van, running over in his mind all the possible ways he could think of for entertaining anybody, “unless she’d like my new book of travels—or my velocipede,” he added.

  “I’m afraid those wouldn’t quite answer the purpose,” said his mamma, smiling—“especially the last; yet we must think of something.”

  But just here Mr. King thought it about time to take matters into his hands. So, with a great many chucklings and shruggings when no one was by, he had departed after breakfast one day, simply saying he shouldn’t be back to luncheon.

  Polly sat in the drawing-room, near the edge of the twilight, practicing away bravely. Somehow, of all the days when the home feeling was the strongest, this day it seemed as if she could bear it no longer. If she could only see Phronsie for just one moment! “I shall have to give up!” she moaned. “I can’t stand it!” and over went her head on the music-rack.

  “Where is she?” said a voice over in front of the piano, in the gathering dusk—unmistakably Mr. King’s.

  “Oh, she’s always at the piano,” said Van. “She must be there now, somewhere,” and then somebody giggled. Then came in the loudest of whispers from little Dick, “Oh, Jappy, what’ll she say?”

  “Hush!” said one of the other boys; “do be still, Dick!”

  Polly bounced up straight and whisked off the tears quickly. Up came Mr. King with an enormous bundle in his arms; and he marched up to the piano, puffing with his exertions.

  “Here, Polly, hold your lap,” he had only strength to gasp. And then he broke out into a loud burst of merriment, in which all the troop joined, until the big room echoed with the sound.

  At this, the bundle opened suddenly, and—out popped Phronsie!

  “Here I am! I’m here, Polly!”

  But Polly couldn’t speak; and if Jasper hadn’t caught her just in time, she would have tumbled over backward from the stool, Phronsie and all!

  “Aren’t you glad I’ve come, Polly?” asked Phronsie, with her little face close to Polly’s own.

  That brought Polly to. “Oh, Phronsie!” she cried, and strained her to her heart; while the boys crowded around, and plied her with sudden questions.

  “Now you’ll stay,” cried Van; “say, Polly, won’t you.”

  “Weren’t you awfully surprised?” cried Percy; “say, Polly, awfully?”

  “Is her name Phronsie?” put in Dick, unwilling to be left out, and not thinking of anything else to ask.

  “Boys,” whispered their mother, warningly, “she can’t answer you; just look at her face.”

  And to be sure, our Polly’s face was a study to behold. All its old sunniness was as nothing to the joy that now transfigured it.

  “Oh!” she cried, coming out of her rapture a little, and springing over to Mr. King with Phronsie still in her arms. “Oh, you are the dearest and best Mr. King I ever saw! but how did you make mammy let her come?”

  “Isn’t he splendid!” cried Jasper, in intense pride, swelling up. “Father knew how to do it.”

  But Polly’s arms were around the old gentleman’s neck, so she didn’t hear. “There, there,” he said, soothingly, patting her brown, fuzzy head. Something was going down the old gentleman’s neck, that wet his collar, and made him whisper very tenderly in her ear, “Don’t give way now, Polly; Phronsie’ll see you.”

  “I know,” gasped Polly, keeping down her sobs; “I won’t—only—I can’t thank you!”

  “Phronsie,” said Jasper, quickly, “what do you suppose Prince said the other day?”

  “What?” asked Phronsie, in intense interest, slipping down out of Polly’s arms, and crowding up close to Jasper’s side. “What did he, Japser?”

  “Oh-ho, how funny!” laughed Van, while little Dick burst right out, “Japser!”

  “Be still,” said Jappy, warningly, while Phronsie stood surveying them all with grave eyes.

  “Well, I asked him, ‘Don’t you want to see Phronsie Pepper, Prince?’ And do you know, he just stood right upon his hind legs, Phronsie, and said: ‘Bark! yes, Bark! Bark!’”

  “Did he really, Japser?” cried Phronsie, delighted beyond measure; and clasping her hands in rapture, “all alone by himself?”

  “Yes, all alone by himself,” asserted Jasper, vehemently, and winking furiously to the others to stop their laughing; “he did now, truly, Phronsie.”

  “Then mustn’t I go and see him now, Japser? yes, pretty soon now?”

  “So you must,” cried Jasper, enchanted at his success in amusing; “and I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, no,” cried Phronsie, shaking her yellow head. “Oh no, Japser; I must go by my very own self.”

  “There Jap, you’ve caught it,” laughed Percy; while the others screamed at the sight of Jasper’s face.

  “Oh, Phronsie!” cried Polly, turning around at the last words; “how could you!”

  “Don’t mind it, Polly,” whispered Jasper; ’twasn’t her fault.”

  “Phronsie,” said Mrs. Whitney, smilingly, stooping over the child, “would you like to see a little pussy I have for you?”

  But the chubby face didn’t look up brightly as usual: and the next mom
ent, without a bit of warning, Phronsie sprang past them all, even Polly, and flung herself into Mr. King’s arms, in a perfect torrent of sobs. “Oh! let’s go back!” was all they heard.

  “Dear me!” ejaculated the old gentleman, in the utmost amazement; “and such a time as I’ve had to get her here, too!” he added, staring around on the astonished group, none of whom had a word to say.

  But Polly stood like a statue! All Jasper’s frantic efforts at comfort utterly failed. To think that Phronsie had left her for any one!—even good Mr. King! The room seemed to buzz, and everything to turn upside down—and just then, she heard another cry—“Oh, I want Polly, I do!”

  With a bound, Polly was at Mr. King’s side, with her face on his coat, close to the little tear-stained one. The fat, little arms unclasped their hold, and transferred themselves willingly to Polly’s neck; and Phronsie hugged up comfortingly to Polly’s heart, who poured into her ear all the loving words she had so longed to say.

  Just then there was a great rush and a scuffling noise; and something rushed up to Phronsie “Oh!” And then the next minute, she had her arms around Prince’s neck, and he was jumping all over her and trying as hard as he could to express his overwhelming delight.

  “She’s the cunningest little thing I ever saw,” said Mrs. Whitney, enthusiastically, afterward, aside to Mr. King. “Such lovely yellow hair, and such exquisite brown eyes—the combination is very striking. How did her mother ever let her go?” she asked impulsively, “I didn’t believe you could persuade her, father.”

  “I didn’t have any fears, if I worked it rightly,” said the old gentleman, complacently. “I wasn’t coming without her, Marian, if it could possibly be managed. The truth is, that Phronsie had been pining for Polly to such an extent, that there was no other way but for her to have Polly; and her mother was just on the point, although it almost killed her, of sending for Polly—as if we should have let her go!” he cried in high dudgeon; just as if he owned the whole of the Peppers, and could dispose of them all to suit his fancy! “So you see, I was just in time; in the very nick of time, in fact!”