Chapter 8

"No, no," said Polly, on her knees on the floor, "we must leave all that till Jasper comes back. Come, Alexia, help me look over these."

"Oh, bother!" cried Alexia, in great disdain, "I don't want to poke over those old things. You know yourself it's no earthly use; we'll never find it in all this world, Polly Pepper."

There was a queer little sound, and Alexia, whirling around, saw Polly Pepper in a little heap down in the middle of the green branches.

"Oh, misery! what have I done?"--rushing over to her and shaking her arms. "Oh, Polly, do get up, we _will_ find it, I'm positively sure; do get up, Polly." But Polly didn't stir.

"Oh, dear me!" wailed Alexia. "Polly, _please_ get up." She ran all around her, wringing her hands. "Oh, what did I say it for! Polly, Polly Pepper, we'll find it, as sure as anything. We can't help but find it. Polly, do get up."

She flung herself down on her knees and began to pat the white face. Polly opened her eyes and looked at her.

"What did you say such dreadful things for, Alexia?" she said reproachfully.

"Oh, I couldn't help it," exclaimed Alexia remorsefully. "There! Oh, dear me! you've scared me 'most to death, Polly Pepper. Do get up." So Polly sat straight, and Alexia fussed over her, all the while repeating, "We will find it, Polly."

"Dear me!" said Polly, "this isn't hunting for that ten-dollar bill."

"Well, what's the use?" began Alexia. "Oh, yes, of course we'll find it," she brought herself up quickly. "Now, Polly, I tell you." She sprang to her feet. "Let's clear a place in this corner"--and she rushed over to it--"and then pick up every branch and shake it, and put it over here. Then we'll know surely whether that horrid thing is on the floor or not."

"So we shall," cried Polly, getting up on her feet; "that's fine, Alexia!" And they set to work so busily they didn't hear when the boys came back from their search. But the first moment she saw Jasper's face, Polly knew that the hunt was unsuccessful, and the next minute Joel threw himself into her arms and hugged her closely.

"Oh, Polly," he sobbed, "it's gone, and it's my fault."

"Cheer up, old fellow," said Jasper, clapping him on the back; "we'll find it yet."

Van and Percy stood dismally by, knocking their heels against the arbor side, and feeling quite sure they should burst out crying in another minute, if Joel didn't stop.

Polly patted his poor head and cuddled it in her neck. "Oh, Joey, we'll find it," she said, swallowing a big lump in her throat; "don't cry, dear," while Alexia sniffed and wrung her hands, fiercely turning her back on them all.

"Now, boys," said Jasper, in his cheeriest fashion, "we'll all set to work on these vines that are left. Come on, now, and let's see who will work the fastest."

"I will," announced Van, rushing over to twitch down the green drapery that had been such a piece of work for the gardeners to put up. Percy said nothing, but set to work quietly, lifting each branch to peer under it.

"Take care," warned Jasper, pausing a minute in his own work to look over at Van's reckless fingers; "you must shake each one as you pull it down, before you throw it out on the grass, else we'll have all our work to do over again. Oh, Alexia, are you coming to help?"

"Of course I am," declared Alexia. "Oh, Van, what a piece of work you are making!"

Polly was whispering to Joel, "We ought to help," when Van gave a shout, "I've found it! I've found it!"

"Hurrah!" Jasper leapt down from the railing and plunged up in great excitement to Polly and Joel. "There, old fellow, what did I tell you?" he cried with glowing face, and clapping Joel on the back again.

"Phoh!" exclaimed Percy, in great contempt, "he hasn't, either; it's only a bit of green paper."

"I thought I had," said Van, quite crestfallen, and flinging down the dingy bit; "it looked just like it."

It was too much; and Joel, who had hopped out of Polly's lap, flung himself on the floor and cried as if his heart would break. They couldn't get him out of it, so Jasper just picked him up and marched off to the house with him to give him to Mother Fisher.

And the next morning, search as hard as they could--and everybody was hunting by that time--not a trace of the ten-dollar bill could be discovered. And Mrs. Chatterton took pains to waylay Joel in the hall or on the stairs at all possible opportunities, and ask him, with a smile at his swollen nose and eyes (for he had cried so he could hardly see), if he had found it yet. But these chances became very few, for it was Jasper's and Polly's very especial business to keep guard over Joel, and try to divert him in every way. Meantime the hunt went on. And the third day, when it became perfectly apparent to the entire household that the banknote was in such a clever hiding-place that no one could find it, Joel, his tears all gone, marched into Mr. King's writing-room and up to his big table, and without a bit of warning burst out:

"I want to sell tin!"

"Eh, what?" exclaimed the old gentleman, looking over his glasses. "What is that you are saying, Joey, my boy?"

"I want to sell tin," said Joel bluntly.

_"Want to sell tin!"_ ejaculated old Mr. King, in amazement.

"Yes, sir, just like Mr. Biggs; he got lots of money. May I, Grandpapa? Please say I may." Joel ran around the writing-table to plant himself by the old gentleman's chair.

"Oh, my goodness!" exclaimed Mr. King, leaning back in dismay, "whatever can you mean, my boy?"

"Grandpapa"--Joel laid a brown hand on the velvet morning-jacket, and brought his black eyes very close to the gentleman's face--"I've got to earn that ten dollars; I've got to, Grandpapa, 'cause I lost it." Joel's voice broke here, but he recovered it and dashed on, "And I can't do it unless you will let me sell tin. _Please,_ Grandpapa dear. Mr. Biggs used to, in Badgertown, you know, and he took me with him sometimes on his cart, so I know how; and I can sell a lot. I can wheel it in my express wagon, and--" Joel by this time was running on so glibly, under the impression that if he didn't stop, Mr. King would be induced to say yes, that the old gentleman was forced to put up his hand peremptorily.

"There, there, Joey, my boy," he said, settling his glasses that had slipped to the end of his nose, and taking Joel's hand. "Now, then, let's hear all about the matter."

And in a minute or two Joel was perched on the old gentleman's knee, and they were having the most sociable time possible. And before long Joel forgot he hadn't laughed for oh, such a long while, and lo and behold! Grandpapa said something so very funny that they both burst out into a merry peal, that rang out into the wide hall beyond.

"Joel is actually laughing," exclaimed Polly, coming soberly down the stairs; and she was so overcome by the joyful sound that she sat right down on the step. "Oh, dear me, how perfectly lovely!" she breathed, folding her hands in delight.

"Isn't it!" Jasper slipped into a seat on the step by her side. "Now everything is going to be fine when Joe can laugh!"

"Just hear him," cried Polly, pricking up her ears to catch the blissful sound, "and Grandpapa, too. Oh, Jasper!"

"I know it," said Jasper, in great satisfaction. "Father has been so pulled down because Joe took it so hard."

"Well, you see, Joel couldn't help it," cried Polly, "because it was careless, just as Mamsie said, to leave anything without handing it to the person."

"Of course," assented Jasper quickly. "Mrs. Fisher is right; but I'm sure any one is likely to do it, and Joel was in such a hurry that day, everybody pulling at him this way and that to get letters."

"I know it," said Polly, delighted to hear Joel's part taken, "and just think how he worked before, Jasper. He helped such a perfect lot getting the flower-table ready."

"He helped everywhere," declared Jasper, bringing down his hand with emphasis on his knee. "I never saw anybody work as Joe did."

"And now to think that he has lost that money!" mourned Polly, her head drooping sorrowfully over her closed hands. "Oh, dear me, Jasper!"

"But just hear him laugh," cried Jasper, springing up; "it's going to be all right now, Polly, I do believe. Come, let's go and hunt some more for the banknote."

So they both flew off from the stairs to begin the search for the money again. For no one stopped--dear me, not a bit of it!--the hunt for the hidden ten-dollar bill. Everybody but Phronsie and little Dick searched and prowled in every nook and corner where there was the least possible chance that the ten-dollar bill could be in hiding. They had both been so sleepy on the evening of the garden party when the loss had been announced, that it fell unheeded on their ears. And afterward all the household was careful to keep the bad news from them. So the two children went on in blissful unconsciousness of Joel's trouble, while the grand hunt proceeded all around them.

When Joel emerged from Grandpapa King's writing-room, he was hanging to the old gentleman's hand and looking up into his face and chattering away.

"You know it means work," said old Mr. King, looking down at him.

"I know, Grandpapa," said Joel, bobbing his stubby, black head.

"And you must keep at it," said the old gentleman decidedly, "else no pay. There's to be no dropping the job, once you take it up. If you do, you'll get no money. That's the bargain, Joe?"--with a keen glance into the chubby face.

"Oh, I will, Grandpapa, I will," declared Joel eagerly, and hopping up and down; "I'll do every single speck of the work. Now do let us hurry and get the book."

"Yes, we'll hurry, seeing our business arrangement is all settled," laughed the old gentleman. "Now, then, Joel, my boy, we'll go down-town and buy the blank book, so that I can set you to work at once," and he grasped the brown hand tightly, and away they went.

And in ten minutes everybody knew that Joel was going to make a list of all the books in a certain case in old Mr. King's writing-room, and that Grandpapa and he were already off down-town to buy a new blank book for the work. And at the end of it--oh, joy!--Joel was to have a crisp ten-dollar bill to replace the one he had lost.

XI

RACHEL

"Here she comes!" roared Mr. Tisbett. The townspeople, hurrying to Badgertown depot to see the train bearing the new little girl sent on by Mrs. Fisher to their parson's care, crowded up, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson smilingly in the center of the biggest group.

"Oh, husband, I do pity her so!" breathed the parson's wife. "Poor thing, she will be so shy and distressed!" The parson's heart gave a responsive thrill, as he craned his neck to peer here and there for their new charge. "She hasn't come. Oh, dear me!"--as a voice broke in at his elbow.

"I'm here." The words weren't much, to be sure, but the tone was wholly self-possessed, and when the parson whirled around, and Mrs. Henderson, who had been looking the other way, brought her gaze back, they saw a little girl in a dark brown suit, a brown hat under which fell smooth braids of black hair, who was regarding them with a pair of the keenest eyes they had either of them ever seen.

"Oh--oh--my child--" stammered Mr. Henderson, putting out a kind hand. "So you have come, Rachel?"

"Yes, I am Rachel," said the child, looking up into his face and laying her hand in the parson's big one; then she turned her full regard upon the minister's wife.

Mrs. Henderson was divided in her mind, for an instant, whether to kiss this self-possessed child, as she had fully arranged in her mind beforehand to do, or to let such a ceremony go by. But in a breathing space she had her arms about her, and was drawing her to her breast.

"Rachel, dear, I am so glad you have come to us."

Rachel glanced up sharply, heaved a big sigh, and when she lifted her head from Mrs. Henderson's neck, there was something bright that glistened in either eye; she brushed it off before any one could spy it, as the parson was saying:

"And now, where is your bag, child--er--Rachel, I mean?"

Rachel pointed to the end of the platform. "I'll go an' tell 'em to bring it here."

"No, no, child." The parson started briskly.

"Let us all go," said Mrs. Henderson kindly, gathering Rachel's hand up in one of hers. "Come, dear." So off they hurried, the platform's length, the farmers and their wives looking after them with the greatest interest.

"My, but ain't Mrs. Henderson glad to get a girl, though!"

"Yes, she sets by her a'ready."

"Sakes alive! I thought she was a poor child," exclaimed one woman, who was dreadfully disappointed to lose the anticipated object of charity.

"So she is," cried another--"as poor as Job's turkey, but Mr. King has dressed her up, you know, an' he's goin' to edicate her, too."

"Well, she'll pay for it, I reckon. My! she looks smart, even the back of her!"

And before very long, Rachel had been inducted into her room, a pretty little one under the eaves, neat as a pin in blue-and-white chintz covering, around which she had given a swift glance of approval. And now she was down in the parsonage kitchen, in a calico gown and checked apron; her own new brown ribbons having been taken off from her braids, rolled up carefully, and laid in the top drawer, the common, every-day ones taking their places.

Peletiah and Ezekiel were each in a corner of the kitchen, with their pale blue eyes riveted on her.

"Well, dear," Mrs. Henderson greeted her kindly, "you have changed your gown very quickly."

A tall, square-shouldered woman stalked in from the little entry.

"Oh, Jerusha," exclaimed Mrs. Henderson pleasantly, "this is the little girl that Mrs. Fisher sent us. Rachel, go up and speak to Miss Jerusha."

Rachel went over obediently and put out her hand, which the parson's sister didn't seem to see. Instead, she drew herself up stiffer than ever, and stared at the child.

"Ah, well, I hope she won't forget that she's very poor, and that you've taken her out of pity," said Miss Jerusha.

Rachel started back as if shot, and her black eyes flashed. "I ain't poor," she screamed. "I ain't goin' to be pitied."

"Yes, you are, too," declared Miss Jerusha, quite pleased at the effect of her words, and telling off each syllable by bringing one set of bony fingers down on the other emphatically; "in fact, you're a beggar, and my brother----"

"I ain't, ain't, ain't!" screamed Rachel shrilly, and, flinging herself on her face on the floor, she flapped her feet up and down and writhed in distress. "I want to go home!" she sobbed.

The boys, for once in their lives, actually started, and presently they were across the kitchen, to their mother, kneeling by Rachel's side.

"Don't let her go," they said together.

"She isn't going," said Mrs. Henderson, smoothing the shaking shoulders, but Rachel screamed on.

"Dear me!" The parson hurried in at the uproar, his glasses set up on his forehead where his nervous fingers had pushed them. "What is the matter?"

"That poor child," answered Miss Jerusha, pointing a long finger over at the group in the middle of the kitchen, "is acting like Satan. I guess you'll repent, brother, ever bringing her here."

"'Twas Aunt Jerusha," declared Peletiah bluntly, "and I wish she'd go home."

"Hush, hush, dear," said his mother, looking up into his face.

There was an awful pause, the parson drew a long breath, then he turned to his sister.

"Jerusha," he said, "I wish you would go into the sitting-room, if you please."

"An' let you pet that beggar child," she exclaimed, in shrill scorn, but she stalked off.

Mr. Henderson went swiftly across the kitchen and knelt down by his wife.

"Rachel"--he put his hand on the little girl's head--"get directly up, my child!"

Rachel lifted her eyes, and peered about. "Has she gone--that dreadful, bad, old woman?"

"There is no one here but those who love you," said the minister. "Now, child, get directly up and sit in that chair." He indicated the one, and in a minute Rachel was perched on it, with streaming eyes. Peletiah, having started to get a towel, and in his trepidation presenting the dish-rag, the parson dried her tears on his own handkerchief.

"Now, then, that is better," he said, in satisfaction, as they all grouped around her chair.

"Rachel, there mustn't be anything of this sort--tears, I mean--again. That lady is my sister, and----"

_"Your sister!"_ screamed Rachel, precipitating herself forward on her chair in imminent danger of falling on her nose, to gaze at him in amazement.

"Yes"--a dull red flush crept over the minister's face--"and--and whatever she says, Rachel, why, you are not to mind, child."

"She ain't a-goin' to sass me," declared Rachel stoutly.

"Well, I don't believe she will again; let us hope not," said Mr. Henderson, in a worried way. "However, you are not to cry; remember that, Rachel, whatever happens," he added firmly: "you are to be happy here; this is your home, and we all love you."

"You do?" said Rachel, much amazed, looking at them all. "Oh, well, then, I'll stay." And slipping down from her chair, she seized Mrs. Henderson's apron. "What'll I do? Mrs. Fisher told me how to wash dishes. May I do 'em?"

"Yes, and the boys shall wipe them," said Mrs. Henderson, and pretty soon there was a gay little bustle in the old kitchen, the parson staying away from the writing of the sermon to see it.

But Peletiah and Ezekiel were much too slow to suit Rachel, who got far ahead of them, so she flew to the drawer in the big table where she had seen them get the dish-towels, and, helping herself, she fell to work drying some of the big pile in the drainer in the sink.

"I don't see how you can go so fast," observed Peletiah, laboriously polishing up his plate.

"Well, I don't see how you can go so slow," retorted Rachel, with deft passes of the towel over the cup. "My! I sh'd think your elbows had gone to sleep."

"They haven't gone to sleep," said Peletiah, who was always literal; and setting down his plate, half-dried, on the table, he turned over one arm to investigate.

"Of course not, you little ninny," said Rachel lightly. "I didn't----"

"Rachel, Rachel!" said the parson's wife, over by the table. She was getting her material together for baking pies, and she now added gently, "We don't call each other names, you must remember that, child."

"Oh!" said Rachel. She stopped her busy towel a minute to think, then it flapped harder and faster, to make up for lost time.

"Well, go ahead," she said to Peletiah, "and wipe your plate."

So Peletiah, letting his elbows take care of themselves, picked up his plate and set to work on its surface again; and pretty soon the dishes were all declared done, the pan and mop washed out, and hung up.

"What'll I do next?" Rachel smoothed down her apron and stood before the baking-table, a boy on either side.

"Now, boys," said Mrs. Henderson, pausing in her work of rolling out the pie crust, "I think you had better take Rachel down to see Grandma Bascom. I've told her she's coming to-day, and she's quite impatient to see her. And, Rachel, you can tell her about Mrs. Fisher and Polly and the boys. And oh, Rachel, be sure to tell her about Phronsie; she does just love that child so!"

The parson's wife leaned on the rolling-pin, and a bright color came into her face.

"I'll tell her," said Rachel, a soft gleam in her eyes, and smoothing her apron.

"And, Peletiah, go into the buttery, and get that little pat of butter done up in a cloth, and give it to Grandma. I do wish my pies were baked"--and she fell to work again--"so I could send her one."

So Peletiah went into the buttery and got the pat of butter, and the three started off. The parson stepped away from the doorway into the entry, where he had been silently watching proceedings, and went over to the window.

"Come here, Almira." He held out his hand.

She dropped her rolling-pin and ran over to his side. He drew her to him.

"See, dear," he said.

Rachel and the two boys were proceeding over the greensward leading down the road. She had one on either side; and, wonder of wonders, they were all hand in hand.

"We're going to see your Gran," said Rachel, a very sober expression settling over her thin little face.

"What?" said Peletiah.

"Your Gran; that's what your mother said."

"Oh, no, she didn't," contradicted Peletiah; "we are going to Grandma Bascom's."

"Well, that's the same thing," said Rachel; "she's your Gran, isn't she?"

"She's Grandma Bascom," repeated Peletiah stolidly.

"Oh, dear me! of course! But she's _your_ Gran, isn't she?"--her tongue fairly aching to call him "ninny" again.

"No, she isn't; she isn't any one's Gran--she's just Grandma Bascom."

"Oh!" said Rachel. Perhaps it wasn't so very bad as she feared. She would wait and see.

"She's dreadfully deaf," remarked Peletiah.

"What's that?"

"She can't hear unless you scream."

Rachel burst into a loud laugh, but it was very musical; and before they knew it, although they were very much astonished, the two boys were laughing, too, though they hadn't the least idea at what.

"I'm glad of it," announced Rachel, when she had gotten through. "I love to scream. Sometimes it seems as if I'd die if I couldn't. Don't you?"

"No, I don't," said Peletiah, "ever feel so."

"Don't _you?"_ Rachel leaned over to peer into Ezekiel's face.

"No, I don't, either," he said.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Rachel, catching her breath. "Well, let's run." And before either boy knew what was going to happen, she was hauling them along at such a mad pace as they had never before in all their lives indulged in.

The butter-pat slipped out of Peletiah's hand, gone on the wind, and landed on the roadside grass.

"Wasn't that a good one!" cried Rachel, her eyes shining, as she brought up suddenly. "Oh, my! ain't things sweet, though!"--wrinkling up her nose in delight.

"I lost the butter-pat," observed Peletiah, when he could get his breath.

"I never see anything so beautiful," Rachel was saying, over and over. Then she flung herself flat on the grass, and buried her nose in it, smelling it hungrily. "Oh, my!"

"I lost the butter-pat," observed Peletiah again, and standing over her.

"And I'm a-goin' to live here," declared Rachel, in a transport, and wriggling in the sweet clover, "if I'm good. I'm goin' to be good all the time. Yes, sir!"

"I lost the butter-pat," repeated Peletiah.

"Butter-pat?" Rachel caught the last words and sprang to her feet.

"Oh, yes, I forgot; we must hurry with the butter-pat. Come on!" and she whirled around on Peletiah. "Why, where--?" as she saw his empty hands.

"I lost the butter-pat," said Peletiah. "I've been telling you so."

"No, you haven't," contradicted Rachel flatly.

"Yes, I have," said Peletiah stolidly.

"No such thing." Rachel squared up to him, her black eyes flashing. "You haven't said a single word, you bad, wicked boy."

"Yes, I have," repeated Peletiah, ready to say it over for all time; "I've told you so a great many times."

Rachel looked at him, and put up both hands. The only thing proper to do under such circumstances was to shake him smartly, but it seemed so like attacking a granite post, and besides, he was the minister's son, and she was going to be good, else they must send her away (so Mrs. Fisher had said), so her arms flopped down to her side, and hung there dismally. And she burst out:

"Where did you lose it, you nin--? I mean--oh, dear me!--where, I say?"--frowning impatiently.

"Back there," said Peletiah, pointing down the road. "You pulled me along so, it flew out of my hand."

Rachel set her teeth together hard.

"Come on!"

She seized a hand of each boy, Ezekiel being a silent spectator all the time; and if they went fast before, this time, in retracing their steps, it might be called flying, till a little spot on the roadside grass showed the object of their search. Peletiah's breath was gone entirely by this time, and he sank down by its side without a word, his brother following suit.