Part 8

"Does she? Oh, goody," and, "O dear, how can she?" was jumbled all up by Alexia, who was now hugging and kissing Polly at a great rate.

"Tea is ready." A thin little woman, who was alternately feeling of her brooch and smoothing down her plaid silk gown as she came along the hall, announced it so suddenly that both girls jumped.

"Oh, I can't stay, Miss Barnard," said Alexia, recovering herself; "I'm going home with Polly Pepper," and without another word she ran back into the stuffy little parlor to announce that fact to her Aunt.

"And whom have we here?" demanded little Miss Barnard, who hadn't half heard Alexia, and peering out of small, near-sighted eyes into the corner where Polly stood.

"It's Polly Pepper," said Polly, coming out into the light, "and I've come for Alexia; that is--"

"To be sure, to be sure, now I know you," Miss Barnard raised her hands, "and how you grow, Polly,"--a remark the little maiden lady never failed to make when seeing any of the young folks at close enough, range to speak to. "Well, and do you want to take Alexia away? Why can't you stay to tea with her? I wish you would; my maid has quite enough prepared. Quite enough, indeed," and Miss Barnard waved her hands to indicate the extent of her larder.

"Oh, I can't, indeed, Miss Barnard," cried Polly, hastily. "And Aunty Whitney is waiting out in the carriage. Would you please tell Alexia to hurry?"

"Is Mrs. Whitney out in the carriage?" cried Miss Barnard, catching at this desirable information and letting everything else slip. "Oh, then, I must speak to her; surely I must, for I wouldn't be so rude as to let her be at my door without a word from me. Elvira," she thrust her head into the small parlor to throw a word over to Miss Rhys, who was just saying "Yes" to Alexia, "I'll be with you in a bit; I must first speak to my dear friend, Mrs. Whitney."

"It's very cold," said Polly, as the little maiden lady laid her hand on the knob of the front door. Alexia was frantically throwing on her hat and coat in the dim recesses of the back hall.

"That may be, but I wouldn't neglect my duty," said Miss Barnard, with the air of knowing what was required of her; "but perhaps I had best be careful," pausing with her hand on the knob, "so would you mind, my dear, handing my shawl; you will find it on the hat-rack at the end of the hall."

So Polly had nothing to do but to go down after it.

"The very idea," exclaimed Alexia, in smothered wrath, "to ask you to get her old shawl!"

"Hush!" begged Polly, with a warning pinch.

"And just think of her going out to see Mrs. Whitney! Come on, Polly, I know the way to the back door," and she seized Polly's arm.

But Polly got away, and carried the shawl down to Miss Barnard and laid it over the wiry little shoulders; and at last the front door was opened.

"My dear Mrs. Whitney," exclaimed the little maiden lady, skipping out to the carriage step, and holding out both hands, "you don't know how very glad I am to see you here; now do get out and have tea with Miss Rhys and me."

"Oh, it is quite impossible, Miss Barnard," said Mrs. Whitney, "thank you. Now, girlies," with a smile over the little maiden lady's head to Polly and Alexia, "step in, both of you, for we must hurry home."

"O dear, I am so sorry," cried Miss Barnard, as the girls rushed to obey; then she gave a little cackle, intended to be very winning, "perhaps some time you will come, my dear Mrs. Whitney, I should _so_ admire to have you--hee-hee."

"How Aunt can--" began Alexia, as the good-bys were said and the carriage door slammed and away they went. "Polly Pepper, I've just killed your foot, I know, but I couldn't help stepping all over you, for that dreadful woman fluttered me so. O dear, and I haven't said anything to Mrs. Whitney," and Alexia could feel her sallow cheek grow hot and red.

"I'll forgive you," said Mrs. Whitney, with a little laugh.

"And how Aunt can take up with her," finished Alexia in vexation, "O dear me, I can't see."

"She has some good qualities," said Mrs. Whitney, kindly; "we must remember that."

"Well, I don't know where they are," fumed Alexia. "She's quite the most odious person I ever saw, and I'm so tired of her everlastingly coming to see Aunt. Oh, Polly!" She gave such a cry of distress that both Polly and Mrs. Whitney turned in dismay. "I can't go, I can't go; I forgot my nose and eyes. I cried so, see how they look!" She leaned forward in the carriage to display them the better.

"Is that all?" exclaimed Mrs. Whitney, with a sigh of relief; while Polly cried, "Oh, Alexia, that's no matter," comfortingly, "and they don't show so very much; really they don't."

"And then that lace." Alexia, now that she was really on the way to be comforted, began to feel all the first distress of the accident over-whelming her again. "O dear, I am so sorry, Mrs. Whitney!" she mumbled shamefacedly.

"Now, Alexia," and Mrs. Whitney leaned over and put both hands on the anxious face, then she drew it down and set a kiss where a stream of tears had run, "do you know, dear, you will make me feel badly if you ever speak of that lace again, or worry about it, child." She turned the other cheek, and dropped a soft kiss on it. "Promise now, say you will not."

"I won't," mumbled Alexia, looking up into the blue eyes, and she didn't speak another word till safe up in Polly's room.

Then she shut the door and marched up to her.

"She kissed me, she really did, and twice, and just as if she really wanted to! And no one has ever done that but you, Polly Pepper, and I'll love her just forever!"

XI

AN AFTERNOON CALL

And so the real Christmas rang its joy-bells, passing over the King household as if such a thing as a holiday was never thought of.

Polly gave her presents to the girls of her set, and in every way she and the other members of the household kept up all the delights of the season, so far as it concerned people outside of their family. But when all the little and big white-papered gifts for her began to pour into the care of the butler who attended the door, they were carefully deposited in a little room off from the main hall, set apart for the purpose, there to lie untouched until "we have _our_ real Christmas," she said.

And as it was arranged with Polly's gifts, so it was to be the order of proceedings in regard to the presents of every other member of the family; till the little room seemed fit to burst with richness, and even Hobson despaired of getting much more in.

"We'll have to get some other place, and that's true enough," he said to himself, with a sigh, and dumping down a huge box just left at the door.

Joel, racing along the hall at the sound of the arrival, panted, "What is it? Oh, Hobson, who is it for?" all in the same breath.

"Hold on, Master Joel!" cried Hobson, and feeling of his arm gingerly, after the eager pinch from Joel's fingers. "Well, it was for you, if you must know," he said irritably. "But you can't go in," twitching the door in alarm, and trying to turn the key.

"Oh! I will too; it was mine!" cried Joel, very hot and red faced, and struggling to squeeze by the portly figure of the butler. "You've no right to put me out," he fumed.

"Mrs. Whitney gave me this key," said the butler, puffing from his exertions to keep Joel off with one hand, and to adjust the implement in its lock with the other. "And I, O bless me," as it slipped from his fingers and jingled to the floor.

"There,--goody,--O jumbo!" exclaimed Joel, pouncing on it where it fell on the edge of the rug, then he slipped away from the big hand, and, prancing off, shook the key high in the air in derision. "Now I can go in whenever I like. Whoop it up! Yes-sir-ee!"

Hobson, beyond answering, made a dive in his direction, which Joel quickly eluded, and, the bell ringing again, there could be no further attempt to rescue the key, and Joel danced off, chuckling triumphantly. And hopping through the back drawing-room on a short cut across to the side hall, he rushed up almost into the face of a big figure sitting up in state on one of the high-backed carved chairs.

"O dear me!" exclaimed Joel, backing out summarily.

"I am very glad to see you, Joel," said Madam Van Ruypen, with her best smile on, "for I'm going to wait until Mrs. Whitney gets home," and extending her hand.

Joel, forgetting his key, put hand and all into her black glove.

"Dear me," she said, looking at her palm, "what have we here, Joel?"

"It's a key," blurted Joel, recovering it quickly, "and I can't stay," feeling questions in the air, and he was for bolting out again.

"Indeed, you will stay," declared Madam Van Ruypen, coolly; "a talk with you is the very thing I want! Sit down," and she pointed a black-gloved finger over to an opposite ottoman. And Joel sat down.

"Now, my dear boy," she said as sweetly as if she had come expressly to see him, and was quite sure of her welcome, "before your aunt comes home, I want to talk with you."

"Oh, I'll go and put it back," said Joel, supposing it was all about the key, and beginning to slide off from his ottoman.

"Put what back?" demanded the old lady with sharp eyes full on him.

"The key," said Joel, fumbling it first in one set of fingers, then in the other. "I'll--" and he was on his feet.

"Sit down," said Madam Van Ruypen, pointing to the ottoman, and again Joel sat down with a decided conviction that he didn't like afternoon calls; and he gazed anxiously at the door to see if by any chance Aunty Whitney would appear.

"You see, Joel, I depend on you," Madam Van Ruypen was saying.

Joel, all his thoughts on the little room off from the hall, and the desire which now possessed him to get back the key into the butler's hands before he could go with his story to Mother Fisher, sat and swung his feet in dismal silence, every word of the old lady's falling on heedless ears.

At last she stopped short and surveyed him with smart displeasure.

"You haven't heard a word I've said," she declared sharply.

"No'm," said Joel, promptly; and, coming to himself with an awful consciousness that here was something dreadful to add to the matter of the key that now began to quite weigh him down, he stopped swinging his feet and sat stiffly on the chair.

"Well, do you come straight here," she demanded; and somehow Joel found himself off from his chair, and over by the old lady's side.

"No, not there; I want you in front where I can look at you," and she summarily arranged him to her liking. "There you are! Now, Joel,"--she surveyed him as long as it suited her, Joel not taking his black eyes from her face,--"do you know what I want this talk with you for?"

"No'm," said Joel.

"Well, I'll tell you; listen, now."

"Yes'm," said Joel, gripping his key tighter than ever.

"You'd much better give me that key," said Madam Van Ruypen, with a sudden sharp look down at his clenched hand; "you are not attending at all to what I am saying, Joel."

"Oh, no, no," cried Joel, quite alarmed, and thrusting his fistful back of him. "O dear! Let me go, ma'am, _please do_!"

Instead of this request being complied with, Madam Van Ruypen leaned over and calmly laid a black glove on his hot little fist. "Give it to me at once," she commanded; "I'll keep it for you until I've said my say."

"I can't," screamed Joel; "'tisn't mine. O dear me, I can't." Clapping his other hand on his fist to hold it tighter yet, he wriggled away in distress to stand in the middle of the floor, the old lady viewing him with fast-rising choler; at last she arrived at the height of her displeasure.

"Go away at once," she said coldly, "and send your brother David here. He's a boy of sense, and the best one, after all, to deal with, seeing Ben isn't home."

Joel, nearly blinded by the tears that now ran freely down his cheeks, stumbled out to do as he was bidden, forgetting in his misery the key still doubled up in his fist. But search high and low as he might, David could not be found. And at last Joel, quite gone in distress, rushed into Mother Fisher's room. There was no one in it, and Joel flung himself down on the wide old sofa, and cried as if his heart would break.

Meantime Madam Van Ruypen, despairing of Mrs. Whitney's return, and despite her summons to servants, unable to find a trace of Joel or David, swept out of the back drawing-room, got into her carriage, and was driven off home in a very bad frame of mind.

And Joel sobbed on until he could scarcely see out of his eyes, and still Mother Fisher didn't come. And the butler crossly set the other Christmas gifts that kept arriving, in a closet under the hall stairs, much too small a place for them, and everything was about as bad as it could be.

A smart clap on the back brought Joel up, but he hid his face behind his hands.

"Phoh! What are you crying for?" It was Van; and he was so delighted to catch Joel in this plight that he chortled over and over, "Joe Pepper's been crying!" and he began to dance around the room.

"I haven't," cried Joel, too wild to think of anything but Van's taunts, and dashing his hands aside.

"Oh, what an _awful_ whopper!" exclaimed Van, coming quite close to peer up into Joel's face, "and you don't know how you look,--just like that baboon at the Zoo, with the little squinched-up eyes!" he added pleasantly.

"I don't care--go 'way!" said Joel, crossly, and flapping out his hands, regardless of anything but the wild desire to keep Van from a close inspection. Something jingled as it fell to the floor.

"What's that?" cried Van, dancing away from Joel, and peering with bright eyes on the carpet.

"It's nothing," screamed Joel, flying down in front of the sofa, and pawing wildly along the carpet. "I tell you 'tisn't," he kept on screaming. "Go 'way this minute."

"Oh, now I know you've got something that doesn't belong to you, and you're keeping it secret from the rest of us." Van threw himself flat on the floor and tried to crowd in between Joel and the old sofa.

"I haven't; it's mine, it's--it's--Go right away!"

But struggle and push as he might, Van somehow seemed to wedge himself in; and Joel's poor eyes not allowing him to see much, it was just one minute, when--"O goody!" The key was in Van's hand, and he was dancing again in the middle of the room.

Joel sprang to his feet and tossed his stubby black hair off from his forehead, "You give that right straight back here, Van Whitney!" he shouted.

"Catch me!" cried Van. Then he swung the key tauntingly over toward Joel. "Hoh, don't you wish you may get it, Joe Pepper, don't you, now?"

For answer Joel made a blind rush at him, and there they were, flying around and around in Mother Fisher's room, Van now having all he could do to look out for himself and keep away from Joel's sturdy fists, without the care of keys. So he flung his captured prize as far as he could over into the opposite corner. And hearing it land somewhere, Joel released him, and ran blindly over where it appeared to strike. And as Van followed quickly, there really didn't seem to be any chance of recovering it, at least in peace, with another on its trail who had a sharp pair of eyes in his head.

Joel turned suddenly, and before Van had the least idea what he was about, he was seized and hustled off to Mother Fisher's closet, bundled in, the door slammed to, the key turned in the lock, and there he was.

"Now," said Joel, drawing the first long breath, "I'll get that key easy enough," and he rushed over to begin operations.

"_Let me out!_" screamed Van, in muffled accents, and banging on the closet door.

"Don't you wish you may?" Joel, pawing and prowling frantically along the floor, found time to hurl him this over his shoulder. Then he rubbed his smarting eyes and set to work with fresh vigor, not paying any further attention to Van's entreaties. At last, when it really seemed as if that key had been possessed of little fairy legs and run off, Joel pushed aside Mother Fisher's big workstand, a thing he had done at least three times before, and there it was shining up at him where it had hidden behind one of the legs!

"I've got you now," cried Joel, jubilantly pouncing on it. And this time, not daring to trust it in his hands, he thrust it deep within his pocket, and with never a thought of Van, who had stopped his cries to listen to Joel, he tore out of the room, and down the stairs, three at a time.

"Has any one seen Mamsie?" he cried of the first person he met, one of the under servants passing through the back hall.

"Why, she's gone out with Mrs. Whitney," said the maid.

"Bother!" exploded Joel, dancing impatiently from one foot to the other.

"Yes, they've gone out making calls, I s'pose," said the maid, delighted to think she had any news to impart.

Joel made a grimace at that, not having at any time a reason for liking calls, and this afternoon with a positive aversion to them. And that brought back Madam Van Ruypen unpleasantly to his mind.

"Has she gone?" he asked in a dreadful whisper; and clutching the maid's arm, "has she, Hannah?"

"Ow!" exclaimed Hannah, edging off quickly. "Yes, I told you she had; she and Mrs. Whitney, too. You don't need to pinch me to death, Master Joel, to find out."

"Oh, I don't mean Mamsie," cried Joel, impatiently. "I mean _she_,--has _she_ gone?" and pointing off toward the back drawing-room, "Say, Hannah, has she?"

"Whoever do you mean?" demanded Hannah, glancing over her shoulder in the direction indicated.

"Why, _she_," repeated Joel, stamping impatiently to enforce his words, "Madam Van Ruypen, of course."

"I didn't know she was there," said Hannah, "I'll go and see," and she started for the back drawing-room door.

"Oh, no, no," cried Joel, in a lively terror, and running after her, he laid hold of her apron string; "I don't want to know, Hannah; I don't, really."

"Why, you asked me," snapped Hannah, twitching away the apron string; "there, now, you've mussed it all up," she added in vexation, and now quite determined, if for no other reason than to spite Joel, to explore the back drawing-room, she opened the door and went in.

Joel, seeing she had escaped him, fled precipitately and, not waiting to restore the key to Hobson, a thing he had intended to do if he couldn't find Mamsie, now considered out of doors to be the only safe place for him. For of course Hannah would come for him to go back to Madam Van Ruypen sitting in dreadful state to receive him. It sent cold chills down his spine just to think of it! And he rushed madly along down by a cross cut to the green wicket gate on his way over to Larry Keep's.

"Hullo! Well, you needn't knock a chap down," as some one bumped into him.

"I didn't. 'Twas you knocked me."

"No such thing," said Larry, recovering himself, "and I was going for you; and Van, too."

At mention of Van, Joel's face dropped, and all the color rushed out of it. "O dear me, I forgot; he's in the closet."

"_In the closet?_" repeated Larry, his blue eyes opening their widest.

"Yes, I shut him up. Oh, come with me." In his distress he seized Larry's arm, and together they raced, Joel far in advance, up to the big house.

XII

VAN

Larry, keeping after Joel as well as he could, found him at the head of the back stairs, and gesticulating wildly to "Hurry, you're slow as a snail. Hush, she'll hear you!"

"Who?" cried Larry, breathlessly, as he gained his side.

"Never mind, come along." He hauled him on and into Mother Fisher's room, dashing up to the closet, turned the key with a click, and flung wide the door, "Why, he isn't here!"

"Who?" cried Larry, forgetting all about Van, and not knowing whom he was expected to see.

Joel's teeth were chattering so that he couldn't answer. "He's got out," he managed to say.

"Who?" Larry crowded up closer and peered fearfully into the closet depths.

"Why, Van," cried Joel, impatiently; "oh, well, he's got out some way. Come on," and he turned to go.

"Van!" exclaimed Larry, faintly.

"Yes, I told you so. I shut him up."

"Oh, I thought you meant in your closet," said Larry, the mad race remaining uppermost in his mind to the effect of crowding out other things that now began to assert themselves. "Well, then, he's here now."

"Phoo, no, he isn't," declared Joel, waving his fingers convincingly; "you can see for yourself. Somebody's let him out, and he's locked the door to cheat me."

But Larry was not to be convinced. "He is, I know he is," leaning forward the better to peer around within the closet.

"Take care," warned Joel, who had good reason to know Van's capabilities along that line, "maybe he's hiding in the corner, and he'll tweak you."

At this Larry, who also had occasion to know Van quite well, bounded back quite suddenly, saying, "I see a shoe sticking out," and pointing to it.

"Oh, that's Mamsie's," said Joel, determined not to believe. Then the moment he had said it he remembered that Mother Fisher's shoes were always kept in the shoe-box over in the corner. "We'll give it a pull," he said, doing his best to speak carelessly, which Larry proceeding to do, out came the leg attached which clearly belonged to Van. But it was limp, and lay just where it was dropped with a thud on the closet floor.

Joel, with his heart thumping so he could hardly breathe, sprang into the closet, twitched away Mother Fisher's long black silk gown, seized Van where he lay under its folds, and got him outside to lay him flat on the carpet.

"He's dead, I guess," said Larry, cheerfully.

"Get some water," screamed Joel, "and open the window;" meantime he slapped Van's hands smartly together and called him to open his eyes, and this not succeeding, he ran over to Mother Fisher's medicine closet, rushed back, and in his trepidation emptied a whole bottle of something all over the white face.

"That's no good," said Larry. The window now being open, he advanced with a water pitcher whose contents he promptly distributed in the same way. "See what you've done; that's castor oil."

It was no time to cast criticisms upon each other, and Joel soon had a cologne bottle, and Larry the ammonia, and in two minutes their united efforts had Van sitting up in the middle of the floor with anything but a pleased expression on his face, into which his usual color was slowly creeping.

And just then in rushed Polly.

"Whatever in the world--" she began, stopping in sheer amazement.

"See what they've done," cried Van, in a towering passion, shaking his head like a half-drowned rat, and he pointed to his clothes, from which little streams of water were running off to join the pools on the carpet. "_Tchee! Tchee!_ Get away," and he knocked the ammonia bottle out of Larry's hand.

"O dear me!" cried Polly, "pick it up, do; don't let it get spilled," as it spun off.

"Now I should just like to know what all this is about," she demanded indignantly, as she joined the group.

"Well, I guess he'd have been in a tight fix if we hadn't--" began Larry, recovering the ammonia bottle. Then he stopped short.

"Hadn't what? Go on," said Polly.

"Hadn't--hadn't--" Larry, not looking at Joel, floundered miserably.

"I'll tell you," said Van, wishing so much of the ammonia hadn't gone into his mouth, and up his nose, and stopping to cough and splutter. "O dear, wait a minute, Polly, I'll tell you!"

But Polly was fixing her brown eyes sternly on Larry and Joel, who stood with his head cast down, and wringing his hands together miserably.

"Now, you two boys must just stay in this room," at last she said decidedly, feeling quite sure there was nothing more to be gotten out of them, "and sit there," pointing to the wide sofa, "till Mamsie comes home, and--"

"No, no," howled Joel; "I'll tell, I'll tell, Polly. Don't make us sit there."