Chapter 6

Hiram Potter now followed up his first attempt to find his voice; and trying to forget the handsome surroundings that had so abashed him, he went on now quite glibly.

"You see, sir, there's six of 'em--Jim's children."

"Dear me!" ejaculated old Mr. King.

"Yes, sir, there are." Mr. Potter's hat began to twirl uneasily again. "And the wife--she ain't strong, just got up from rheumatic fever."

"That's bad--very bad," said Mr. King.

"Those three boys of his are good," said Mr. Potter, brightening up a bit in the general gloom; "and the biggest one says he's going to be a brakeman just like his father. But the mother wants 'em all to go to school. You see, that's what Jim was working for."

"And the girl who wanted to play on the piano?" broke in Polly eagerly. Then she blushed rosy red. "Oh, forgive me, Grandpapa, for interrupting," and she hid her face on old Mr. King's arm.

"I was just going to ask about that girl, myself," said Grandpapa promptly. "Tell us about her, Mr. Potter, if you please."

Hiram Potter set his hat carefully on the floor beside his chair. It was his Sunday hat, and evidently that, with his best clothes which he had donned in honor of the occasion, were objects of great care. He scratched his head and thought deeply. "Well, now, you see, sir," he said slowly, "that's almost a hopeless case, and I wish, as sure as I sit here, that girl hadn't never thought of piano music. But it's born in her, the mother said; the girl's grandfather was a musician in the old home in Germany, and so she can't help it. Why, she's just so crazy about it, she'll drum all up and down the kitchen table to make believe that----"

"Oh Grandpapa!" cried Polly in the greatest excitement, and hopping up and down by his side, "that's just as I used to do in the little brown house,--the very same way, Grandpapa, you know."

"Yes, she did, father," cried Jasper, bobbing his head scarcely less excited, just as if old Mr. King hadn't heard the story many times.

Mr. Potter, for want of something to do to express his amazement, picked up his hat, stroked it, and set it down again, staring with all his might.

"So you did, Polly; so you did, my child," cried Grandpapa, taking her hands in both of his, and looking down into her shining eyes; "well, well, to be sure. Now, Jasper, get the tablet, and write down the address of Jim's family as quickly as you can, my boy."

So Jasper ran over to the library table, and brought back the tablet and pencil hanging to it; and pretty soon Jim's home was all described thus: "Mrs. James Corcoran, 5 Willow Court--third house from Haven Street."

"It's kinder hard to find," observed Mr. Potter slowly, "because Willow Court runs into Haven Street criss-cross, and this number isn't on the house; it's got rubbed off; but if you follow up No. 3, and come up carefully, why, there you'll be where No. 5 was."

"Oh dear me!" said Mr. King. "Well, you may describe the house, for I am going down there to-morrow, and I certainly do not wish to waste my time walking about."

Polly and Jasper looked so very decidedly "Oh, may we go too?" that the old gentleman added quickly, "And my young people will accompany me," which really left nothing more to be desired at present.

"Well, it's a yellow house," said Mr. Potter, thinking very hard, "that is, it is in spots, where the paint is on; and it's low, and runs down to the back, and sets sideways. But I tell you how you'll know it. She's got--Mrs. Jim Corcoran has--the greatest lot of flowers in her window. They're chock full, sir."

"I shall know it, then," cried Polly in great satisfaction.

"I think there's no danger, sir, but what we will find the place all right." Old Mr. King was fumbling in his pocket in great perplexity. "It never would do," he decided, pulling his hand out. "No, I must contrive to send him something. Well, now--hem--Mr. Potter," he said aloud, "and where do you live? Quite near, I presume?"

"Oh, just the other end of the town, sir," said Mr. Potter. "I live on Acorn Street."

"Acorn Street?" repeated Mr. King, wrinkling his brows, "and where may that be, pray tell?"

"It's over at the South End, sir; it runs off from Baker Street and Highland Square."

"Oh yes, yes," said the old gentleman, without much more idea than before.

"I know where it is, father," said Jasper. "Dear me! You've had to take a good bit of time to get all this information, Mr. Potter."

Mr. Potter looked down busily on the carpet, trying not to think how tired his feet were, saving some car-fare for their owner.

"Well, now what number?" The old gentleman seeming to desire his whole address, that was soon given too,--"23 Acorn Street, South End."

"And I suppose you have a family?" went on the old gentleman, determined to find out all there was to it, now he had commenced.

The little clerk began to hem and to haw, behind his hand. "No, sir, I haven't; that is, yes, I have considerable--I mean my four sisters, sir; we all live together."

"Oh--ah!" replied Mr. King. "Well, now thank you very much, Mr. Potter; and as your time is valuable, and should be paid for,"--he tucked a bill within the nervous hands.

"Oh, I couldn't take it, sir," cried Hiram Potter, greatly distressed.

"But it's your due. Why, man, I shouldn't have asked you to take all this trouble, and spend so much time after I've found you had so far to go." Mr. King was really becoming irate now, so that the little clerk didn't dare to say more. "Bless me! Say no more--say no more!"

The little clerk was too much frightened to think of another word; and finding that the interview was considered closed, he picked up his hat, and in some way, he could never remember how, he soon found himself out of the handsome house, and skipping off nimbly in the fresh air, which quite revived him.

"I could offer him only a trifle," old Mr. King was saying, "only what might repay him for his trouble and time to-night. But I shall speak to Fraser about him to-morrow, Jasper. That agent of mine is, curiously enough, in want of a clerk just at this time, and I know this little man can fit in very well, and it will get him away from that beastly office. Four sisters--oh my goodness! Well, Fraser must give him enough to take care of them."

"Oh, how fine, father!" exclaimed Jasper with kindling eyes. "And then the girl that wants to learn to play on the piano."

"Oh dear me, yes!" Old Mr. King burst into a merry laugh. "I must look after that little girl, or Polly won't speak to me, I am afraid. Will you, Polly, my child?" He drew her close to him, and kissed her blooming cheek.

"I am so very glad you are going to look out for her, Grandpapa," she cried, "because you know I did feel so dreadfully when I used to drum on the table in the little brown house," she confessed.

"I know--I know, child." Grandpapa's face fell badly, and he held her very close. It always broke him up to hear the Peppers tell of the hard times in the little brown house, and Polly hastened to add brightly, "And then you came, Grandpapa dear, and you made it all just beautiful--oh Grandpapa!" and she clung to him, unable to say more.

"Yes, yes, so I did--so I did," cried the old gentleman delightedly, quite happy again, and stroking the brown hair. "Well, Polly, my girl, it isn't anything to the good times we are always going to have. And to-morrow, you and I must go down to see after poor Jim's family."

"And Jasper?" cried Polly, poking up her head from old Mr. King's protecting arm; "he must go too, Grandpapa."

"And Jasper? Why, we couldn't do anything without him, Polly," said the old gentleman in such a tone that Jasper threw back his head very proudly; "of course my boy must go too."

And the next day, Pickering Dodge, who thought he had some sort of a claim on Jasper for the afternoon, came running up the steps, two at a time. And he looked so horribly disappointed, that old Mr. King said, "Why don't you take him, Jasper, along with us?"

Jasper, who would have much preferred to go alone with his father and Polly, swallowed his vexation, and said, "All right;" and when he saw Pickering's delight, he brightened up, and was glad it all happened in just that way after all.

"Now see here," said old Mr. King suddenly. They were turning out of Willow Court, after their visit, and Thomas had a sorry time of it, managing his horses successfully about the old tin cans and rubbish, to say nothing of the children who were congregated in the narrow, ill-smelling court. "Why don't you boys do something for those lads in there?" pointing backward to the little run-down-at-the-heel house they had just left.

"We boys?" cried Pickering faintly. "Oh dear me! Mr. King, we can't do anything."

"'Can't' is a bad word to use," said the old gentleman gravely, "and I didn't mean that you all alone should do the work. But get the other boys interested. I'm sure you can do that. Phew! Where are the health authorities, I should like to know, to let such abominations exist? Thomas, drive as fast as you can, and get us out of this hole;" and he buried his aristocratic old face in his handkerchief.

Pickering looked over at Jasper in great dismay.

"We might have our club take it up," said Jasper slowly, with a glance at Polly for help.

"Yes, why don't you, Jasper?" she cried. "Now that's what I'm going to propose that our club of Salisbury girls shall do. We're just finishing up the work for a poor Southern family."

"You've had a bee, haven't you," asked Pickering, "or something of that sort? Although I don't really suppose you do much work," he said nonchalantly, "only laugh and play and giggle, generally."

"Indeed we don't, Pickering Dodge," cried Polly indignantly, "laugh and play and giggle, the very idea!"

"And if you say such dreadful things I'll pitch you out of the carriage," cried Jasper in pretended wrath.

"Ow! I'll be good. Take off your nippers," cried Pickering, cringing back down into his corner as far as he could. "Goodness me! Jasper, you're a perfect old tiger."

"Take care, and keep your tongue in its place then," said Jasper, bursting into a laugh.

"And we work--oh, just dreadfully," declared Polly with her most positive air. "We cut out all the clothes ourselves. We don't want our mothers to do it; and sew--oh dear me!"

"You ought to see our house on club day when Polly has the bee," said Jasper. "I rather think you'd say there was something going on for those poor little Southern darkies."

"Well, I don't see how you can work so for a lot of disgusting pickaninnies," said Pickering, stretching his long figure lazily. "The whole bunch of them isn't worth one good solid afternoon of play."

Polly turned a cold shoulder to him, and began to talk with Jasper most busily about the club of boys.

"Yes, and oh, Jasper, let's have one meeting of all you boys with us girls--the two clubs together," she cried at last, waxing quite enthusiastic.

"Yes, let us," cried Jasper, just as enthusiastic; "and oh, Polly, I've thought of something. Let's have a little play--you write it."

"Oh Jasper, I can't," cried Polly, wrinkling her brows.

"Oh, yes, Polly, you can," cried Jasper; "if it's one half as good as 'The Three Dragons and the Princess Clotilde,' it will be just fine."

"Well," said Polly, "I'll try; and what then, Jasper?"

"Why, we'll give it for money--father, may we, in the drawing-room? And perhaps we'll make quite a heap to help those boys with. Oh Polly!" He seized both of her hands and wrung them tightly. "Oh, may we, father, may we?"

"Eh--what's that? Oh, yes." The old gentleman took down his handkerchief. "Dear me! what a mercy we are where we can breathe!" as Thomas whirled them dexterously past a small square. "What _are_ the health authorities about, to allow such atrocious old holes? Oh, yes, my boy, I'm sure I'd be delighted to have you help along those three lads. And it's really work for boys. Polly's going to start up something for the girl."

"How perfectly fine!" exclaimed Jasper and Polly together, now that the consent was really gained. Then they fell into such a merry chatter that Pickering, left out in the cold, began to wriggle dreadfully. At last he broke out:

"Yes, I think it would be fine too," trying to work his head into the conference, where Polly and Jasper had theirs together buzzing over the plans.

But nobody paid him the slightest attention; so he repeated his remark, with no better success.

"I should think you might turn around," at last he said in a dudgeon, "and speak to a body once in a while."

"Why should we?" cried Jasper over his shoulder. "You don't think it's worth while to work for any of those people. No, Polly, we'll let him severely alone." Then he fell to talking again, busier than ever.

"Yes, I do," cried Pickering in a high, wrathful key, "think it's worth while too, so there, Jasper King!"

"Oh, he does, I do believe, Jasper," cried Polly, looking at Pickering's face.

"Why, of course I do," said Pickering.

"And so we must let him into the plans." So Polly turned around to draw Pickering in, and old Mr. King leaned forward in his seat, and the committee of ways and means got so very busy that they didn't even know when Thomas turned in at the big stone gateway, until Polly looked up and screamed out, "Why, we are home! Why, we _can't_ be!"

"Well, we are, Polly, my child," said old Mr. King, getting out to help her with his courtliest air. "We've been gone just three hours and a half, and a very good afternoon's work it is too. For Jim's children will care twice as much for what you young folks are going to do for them as for anything I may do. Yes, Polly, they will," as he saw her face. "And I'm sure if I were in their places, I'd feel just the same way."

X JOEL AND HIS DOG

"Now, children," hummed Phronsie, pausing in the midst of combing her doll's flaxen hair, "you must keep still, and be very good; then I'll get through pretty soon," and she bowed to the several members of her numerous family set up in a row before her, who were awaiting their turn for the same attention. Then she took up the little comb which had dropped to her lap, and set herself busily to her task again.

Alexia looked in at the door of the "baby-house," as Phronsie's little room devoted to her family of dolls, was called. "Oh my goodness me!" she exclaimed, "don't you ever get tired of everlastingly dressing those dolls, Phronsie?"

Phronsie gave a sigh, and went patiently on with her work. "Yes, Alexia, I'm tired sometimes; but I'm their mother, you see."

"And to comb their hair!" went on Alexia, "Oh dear me! I never could do it in all this world, Phronsie. I should want to run and throw them all out of the window."

"Oh Alexia!" exclaimed Phronsie in horror, "throw them all out of the window! You couldn't do that, Alexia." She tightened her grasp on the doll in her arms.

"Yes, I should want to throw every one of those dreadful dolls out of the window, Phronsie Pepper!" declared Alexia recklessly.

"But they are my children," said Phronsie very soberly, trying to get all the others waiting for their hair to be fixed, into her arms too, "and dear Grandpapa gave them to me, and I love them, every single one."

"Well, now, you see, Phronsie," said Alexia, getting down on the floor in front of the doll's bureau, by Phronsie's side, "you could come out with me on the piazza and walk around a bit if it were not for these dreadfully tiresome dolls; and Polly is at school, and you are through with your lessons in Mr. King's room. Now how nice that would be, oh dear me!" Alexia gave a restful stretch to her long figure. "My!" at a twinge of pain.

"Does your arm hurt you, Alexia?" asked Phronsie, looking over her dolls up to Alexia's face.

"Um--maybe," said Alexia, nursing her arm hanging in the sling; "it's a bad, horrid old thing, and I'd like to thump it."

"Oh, don't, Alexia," begged Phronsie, "that will make it worse. Please don't, Alexia, do anything to it." Then she got up, and went over with her armful of dolls to the sofa, and laid them down carefully in a row. "I'll fix your hair to-morrow, children," she said; "now I'm going away for a little bit of a minute," and came back. "Let's go down to the piazza," she said, holding out her hand.

"You blessed child, you!" exclaimed Alexia, seizing her with the well hand, "did you suppose I'd be such a selfish old pig as to drag you off from those children of yours?"

"You are not a selfish old pig, Alexia, and I like you very much," said Phronsie gravely, trying not to hit the arm in the sling, while Alexia flew up to her feet and whirled around the room with her. "And, oh, I'm so afraid you'll make it sick," she panted. "Do stop."

"I just can't, Phronsie," said Alexia; "I shall die if I don't do something! Oh, this horrid old arm!" and she came to a sudden standstill, Phronsie struggling away to a safe distance.

"Papa Fisher would not like it, Alexia," she said in great disapproval, her hair blown about her face, and her cheeks quite pink.

"Oh dear me!" Alexia, resting the sling in the other palm, and trying not to scream with the pain, burst out, "It's so tiresome to be always thinking that some one won't like things one does. Phronsie, there's no use in my trying to be good, because, you see, I never could be. I just love to do bad things."

"Oh no, Alexia," said Phronsie greatly shocked, "you don't love to do bad things. Please say you don't;" and before Alexia could say another word, the tears poured down the round cheeks, wetting Phronsie's pinafore. And although she clasped her hands and tried to stop them, it was no use.

"There now, you see," cried Alexia, quite gone in remorse. "Oh, what shall I do? I must go and get Mrs. Fisher," and she rushed out of the room.

Phronsie ran unsteadily after her, to call, "Oh Alexia!" in such distress that the flying feet turned, and up she came again.

"What is it, Pet?" she cried. "Oh dear me! What shall I do? I must tell your mother."

"I will stop," said Phronsie, struggling hard with her tears, "if you only won't tell Mamsie," and she wiped her cheeks hard with her pinafore. "There, see, Alexia," and tried to smile.

"Well, now, come back." Alexia seized her hand, and dragged her up the stairs. "Now I'm just going to stay up here with you, if you'll let me, Phronsie, and try not to do bad things. I do so want to be good like Polly. You can't think how I want to," she cried in a gust, as she threw herself down on the floor again.

"Oh Alexia, you never could be good like Polly," said Phronsie, standing quite still in astonishment.

"Of course not," said Alexia with a little laugh, "but I mean--oh, you know what I mean, Phronsie. I want to be good so that Polly will say she likes it. Well, come on now, get your horrible old--I mean, your dolls, and--"

"I wish very much you wouldn't call them dolls, Alexia," said Phronsie, not offering to sit down; "they are my children, and I don't think they like to be called anything else."

"Well, they sha'n't hear it, then," declared Alexia decidedly, "so get some of them, and brush their hair, just as you were doing when I came in, and I'm going to read aloud to you out of one of your books, Phronsie."

"Oh--oh!" Phronsie clapped her hands in glee. Next to Polly's stories, which of course she couldn't have now as Polly was at school, Phronsie dearly loved to be read to. But she suddenly grew very sober again.

"Are you sure you will like it, Alexia?" she asked, coming up to peer into Alexia's face.

"Yes, yes, Pet, to be sure I will," cried Alexia, seizing her to half smother her with kisses. "Why, Phronsie, it will make me very happy indeed."

"Well, if it will really make you happy, Alexia," said Phronsie, smoothing down her pinafore in great satisfaction, "I will get my children." And she ran over to the sofa, and came back with an armful.

"Now what book?" asked Alexia, forgetting whether her arm ached or not, and flying to her feet. "I'm going down to your bookshelf to get it."

"Oh Alexia," cried Phronsie in great excitement, "will you--could you get 'The Little Yellow Duck'?"

As this was the book Phronsie invariably chose when asked what she wanted read, Alexia laughed and spun off, perfectly astonished to find that the world was not all as blue as an indigo bag. And when she came back two steps at a time up the stairs, Phronsie was smiling away, and humming softly to herself, while the hair-brushing was going on.

"She had a blue ribbon on yesterday--Almira did," said Phronsie, reflecting. "Now, wouldn't you put on a pink one to-day, Alexia?"

"I surely should," decided Alexia--"that pretty pale pink one that Polly gave you last, Phronsie."

"I am so very glad you said that one," said Phronsie, running over on happy feet for her ribbon-basket, "because I do love that ribbon very much, Alexia."

"Well, now then," said Alexia, as Phronsie began to tie up the pink bow laboriously, "we must hurry and begin, or we never shall see what happened to this 'Little Yellow Duck.'"

"Oh, do hurry, Alexia," begged Phronsie, as if she hadn't heard the story on an average of half a dozen times a week. So Alexia propped herself up against the wall, and began, and presently it was so still that all any one could hear was the turning of the leaves and the ticking of the little French clock on the mantel.

"Well, dear me, how funny!" and Polly rushed in; then burst into a merry laugh.

"Polly Pepper--you home!" Alexia tossed "The Little Yellow Duck" half across the room, flew to her feet again, and spun Polly round and round with her well hand.

"Yes," said Polly, "I am, and I've been searching for you two all over this house."

"Take me, Polly, do." Phronsie laid down Almira carefully on the carpet, and hurried over to Polly.

"I guess I will. Now then, all together!" and the three spun off until out of breath.

"Oh dear me!" Polly stopped suddenly. "I never thought of your arm, Alexia. Oh, do you suppose we've hurt it?" It was so very dreadful to think of, that all the color deserted her cheek.

"Nonsense, no!" declared Alexia, "that spin put new life into me, Polly."

"Well, I don't know," said Polly critically; "at any rate, we mustn't do it any more. And we must tell Papa-Doctor about it as soon as he gets home."

"Oh, what good is it to worry him?" cried Alexia carelessly. "Well, Polly, tell all the news about school," as they hurried downstairs to get ready for luncheon.

"We must tell Papa-Doctor everything about it, Alexia," said Polly in her most decided fashion, putting her arm carefully around Alexia's waist; and with Phronsie hanging to the other hand, down they went, Polly retailing the last bit of school news fresh that day.

"And, oh, Alexia, Miss Salisbury said we are not to have the picnic until you get quite well; she said so in the big schoolroom, before us all."

"Did she, Polly?" cried Alexia, immensely gratified.

"Yes, she did." Polly stood on her tiptoes at the imminent danger of going on her nose, and pulling the other's down, to get a kiss on the long sallow cheek. "She said it very distinctly, Alexia, and all the girls talked about it afterward."

"Well, she's a dear old thing," exclaimed Alexia, with remorseful little pangs at the memory of certain episodes at the 'Salisbury School,' "and I shall try--oh, Polly, I'll try so hard to be nice and please her."

Polly gave her two or three little pats on her back.

"And don't you think," cried Polly, flying off to brush her hair, and calling back through the open door, "that the boys are going to have their club meet with ours. Just think of that!"

"Oh Polly!" Alexia came flying in, brush in hand. "You _don't_ really mean it!"

"I do. Jasper just told me so. Well, hurry, Alexia, else we'll be late," warned Polly, brushing away vigorously. "Yes, Phronsie,"--for Phronsie had gone off for Jane to put on a clean apron,--"we're ready now--that is, almost."