Part 10

Little David hung his head. That affair about the shoe-strings still troubled him, and he meant to tell Mamsie as soon as he got home, but Joel saved him all words at present.

“We’ve been as good as pie,” he declared. That made him think of that delightful dinner. “We had some, Polly,” he cried, “little ones,” and he smacked his lips.

“And they were all juice,” said little Davie, reflectively, from the other side.

“Yes, and Mrs. Beebe has saved one for you and one for Ben ’cause you couldn’t come to dinner,” said Joel.

“Has she?” cried Polly, radiantly. “Oh, isn’t that too good of her! And Ben does so love little pies.”

“I wish she’d saved me one,” said Joel. “So do I love ’em.”

“Why, you ate yours up, Joey,” said little Davie, craning his neck around Polly to regard him with surprise.

“I know it,” said Joel, bursting into a laugh, “but I wish I had another.”

“Well, if you’ve had one of dear Mrs. Beebe’s little pies, Joe,” said Polly, laughing too, “that’s quite enough,” as they scrambled up to the green door.

And Phronsie opened her eyes the minute they all swarmed into the room back of the little shop, old Mr. and Mrs. Beebe joining the ranks, and sat up quite straight on Pa’s old sofa, and put out her arms with a little crow--“Oh, Polly, take me!” tangled up as she was in the old plaid shawl. And then after they had all sobered down after the delight over Polly’s coming, the old lady exclaimed suddenly, “Dear me, I must set th’ table for supper, so’s to be all ready for Ben.”

“Oh, let me help,” cried Polly, putting Phronsie down and flying after her.

“Let me too,” piped Phronsie, stumbling after.

“And me--and me!” echoed Joel and David.

And old Mrs. Beebe laughing and saying “Yes, come along all of you,” the whole bunch of Peppers rushed here and there quite overcome with delight, all getting hold of the table-cloth at once, so that nobody could pull it straight.

“See here,” said Polly, when she had whirled around and around the table, first pulling one corner and then another straight, to have it immediately whisked away; “we can’t ever do it this way. Now, only one of you must help me, and the others stand still. Take care, Joe, you’ll tear it!”

“It’s all hanging on the floor,” declared Joel.

“Well, that’s because you twitched it so,” said Polly, in vexation, and running around the table again to examine it for herself. “O dear me, so it is. Well now, Joel, you let it alone, and Davie and I will straighten it.”

“I don’t want to fix it,” said Joel, quite well pleased to have nothing to do with it, and only longing for the time to come when the dishes should be placed on the table. So Polly and little David patted and pulled it quite straight and smoothed out all the crinkles. “Now,” said Polly with a long breath, stepping back to review the work, “doesn’t that look just fine though!”

Then Joel made a rush for the pantry door. “I’m going to get the dishes,” he shouted.

“Oh, no, you mustn’t, Joe,” cried Polly, in alarm. “I’m going to take them down; you might break them.”

“I ain’t goin’ to have those dishes for supper to-day,” said old Mrs. Beebe. “I’m goin’ to set out my best chiney.”

“You’re going to set out your best china!” gasped Polly, and looking over at the corner cupboard, not believing that she could have heard straight.

“Yes,” said old Mrs. Beebe, nodding till her pink cap ribbons trembled violently, “I am, for I hain’t used ’em since th’ minister took tea here when he first come to Badgertown, an’ that’s ten years ago; an’ I was thinkin’ th’ other day I wish’t I had a chance to set ’em out.”

“But s’posing we should break them.” Polly came over to say this in an awe-struck voice, while the boys, quite impressed with all this, crowded up to hear the whole of it, Phronsie was spinning around the room making a merry little cheese and humming softly to herself. It was quite enough for her to be at supper at her dear sweet Mrs. Beebe’s and to have Polly safely there.

“Oh, you won’t break any of ’em,” said the little old lady, confidently, and going over to the corner cupboard; “I shall give th’ childern some mugs, but you and Ben shall have a nice cup an’ saucer, an’ we’ll have th’ cake-plate and th’ glass pudding-dish,” and her eyes shone.

Polly turned quite pale. It was perfectly splendid, but oh, if anything should happen to those two cups and saucers that Ben and she were to have! But she had no time to worry about it, as old Mrs. Beebe now handed down from one of the shelves a china mug. “There,” she said, “that’s for Phronsie’s place. I used to drink out of it when I wasn’t any bigger’n she is. ‘From a Friend,’” read the old lady, turning the mug around so that they all could get the best view.

“Let me see--I want to see ‘From a Friend,’” screamed Joel, crowding up, while little Davie edged up to gaze at the faded gilt letters.

“Yes, my mother’s uncle give it to me. He said I was a good girl. I warn’t no bigger’n Phronsie, an’ she’s a good girl, so I’m goin’ to let her drink out of it to-day.”

“Phronsie, you’re going to drink out of ‘From a Friend,’” screamed Joel, deserting old Mrs. Beebe and the china mug to run and twitch her pink pinafore.

When Phronsie understood that she was really to have her milk in that splendid china mug that her dear sweet Mrs. Beebe used to drink out of when she was a little girl, her delight knew no bounds. And she went and stood by the table-edge, quite satisfied not to move, so long as she could look at it where Polly had placed it ready for supper.

“I wish I could have a ‘From a Friend’ to drink out of,” grumbled Joel.

“Hush, for shame, Joe!” said Polly. But old Mrs. Beebe had heard. “Well, now I must see what I can get for you, Joel,” she said kindly. “An’ then Davie must have one, too.”

“Yes, you must get Dave one, too,” said Joel, hopping from one set of toes to the other in delight.

“You can take Pa’s cup; he hain’t used that for years,” said Mrs. Beebe. She handed down a great coffee cup. The handle was snipped and the flowers around the edge were much worn.

“The saucer’s broke, but you don’t need one,” said Mrs. Beebe, setting the cup within Joel’s awe-struck hand.

“What’s that?” asked Joel, running one finger over the edge of the cup that covered the top a little way.

“Oh, that was when Pa had a beard. He used to wear his hair all round his mouth,” said old Mrs. Beebe; “but he shaved it all off a good many years ago. An’ the saucer’s got broke, so we set th’ cup up on th’ shelf. But I’m goin’ to let you drink out of it, now, Joel.”

Joel, vastly pleased to have something used by a big man with hair all round his mouth, marched with it to the table. “There, that’s mine,” he announced. “It’s a great deal better than any old ‘From a Friend.’”

Little Davie held his hands closely clasped together. Would the corner cupboard hold any more such splendid things to drink out of as Joel and Phronsie had received. He scarcely breathed when--“There, says I, Davie, now what do you think!” and a little mug was held before him. It had two shining lustre bands running around it and between them was a yellow band, and on it, for all the world, was in big letters of gilt “_For David._”

When David saw those words, he seized the little mug, and screamed right out, “It’s for me to drink out of!” and held it close to his blue eyes big with joy.

“That was my Grandpa’s,” said old Mrs. Beebe, in as great a delight. “An’ his name was David--David Brown. An’ now to think you are goin’ to drink out o’ it to-day, you preety creeter, you!” and she beamed at him.

“Oh, David!” exclaimed Polly, hurrying over to him, “do be careful. Oh, dear Mrs. Beebe, I don’t believe he ought to have it.” But Davie hugged his treasure tightly to his bosom, and went unsteadily over to put it on the table.

“He won’t break it,” said Mrs. Beebe; “an’ besides, I’m goin’ to give it to him ’cause o’ th’ name, when I get through with bein’ able to look up an’ see it up there in that cupboard. An’ now you come an’ help me set out th’ cups and saucers for Ben an’ you.”

“Oh, here he comes!” cried Polly, with a glance through the glass door opening into the little shop. “Oh, Ben!” and with a bound she flew off to meet him.

“Hooray!” Joel deserted his treasure, but little Davie and Phronsie had been so absorbed in theirs that they hadn’t heard a word.

“Well,” cried Ben, his cheeks glowing and his big blue eyes alight, as he came in with Polly and Joel hanging to him, and old Mr. Beebe, rubbing his hands in satisfaction, bringing up the rear. And he had hardly spoken to dear old Mrs. Beebe before Joel dragged him off to the table. “I’ve got a cup all to myself; see, Ben, see--see--and a big man used to drink out of it with hair all round his mouth; and it’s mine. And Phronsie got a ‘From a Friend,’ and I like mine best.”

“Hulloa!” exclaimed Ben, “and so Pet has got one, too,” and he bent to kiss her.

“Yes,” hummed Phronsie, putting a little finger gently on it, “and I like it, Bensie, very much, I do.”

“Well, see Davie’s,” cried Polly, getting hold of Ben’s jacket to pilot him around the table; “only think of this ‘For David,’” and she held the shining little lustre mug up.

“Well! well!” exclaimed Ben, quite overcome; while old Mr. Beebe nodded and smiled over the heads of the Five Little Peppers as pleased as the children themselves.

“And see our cups,” cried Polly, at last, pointing to the corner cupboard where the whole array of ancient flowered china was spread forth. “You and I are each going to have one of those! Dear Mrs. Beebe told me so her own self.”

“An’ now, says I, I must get ’em down, an’ then you an’ me, Polly, will set on th’ supper. We’ll have it early ’cause Ben must be hungry.”

“I am,” said Ben, “awfully hungry. I believe I could eat a bear--every bit of him!”

“Oh, Ben,” screamed Joel, swarming over him excitedly, “not his head, Ben, and his legs, and every single smitch of him.”

“Yes, _sir_!” declared Ben, recklessly. “I’m so hungry, Joe, there wouldn’t be any bear when I got through.”

VIII

AT THE PETERS FARM

“Halloa, Joel!” Mr. Atkins left the bundle of brown sugar he was doing up for the Widow Smollett, and hurried around the counter to the door. “Wait a minute.” But Joel was off on the wind.

“I never see such a boy for getting over the ground,” the storekeeper exclaimed, discomfited, turning back to his customers.

“I’m goin’ by the Little Brown House, an’ I’ll tell Mis’ Pepper anythin’,” volunteered a man, waiting his turn to be served.

“Well, you tell her I’ve got a job for Joel,” said the storekeeper, getting nimbly back of the counter again, to resume work on the brown-sugar bundle.

“Pshaw!--what can that little chap do?” said the man, jamming one hand deep in his trousers pocket and laughing.

“He’s little, but he’s smart as a cricket,” said Mr. Atkins.--“No, I hain’t had any eggs brought in to-day, Miss Bassett.--Good land o’ Goshen, Hiram, all them Pepperses have got git up an’ git to ’em.--No, I said I hadn’t had any brought in to-day. I was just a-tellin’ Miss Bassett so.”

“And I sh’d as soon set a cricket to work,” said Hiram, still laughing, “but I’ll take th’ message all right to Mis’ Pepper.”

“An’ them children’ll do more some day for Badgertown ’n all o’ us folks put together. That’s my Bible belief,” declared Mr. Atkins, snapping the string off short.--“There’s your sugar, Mrs. Smollett, four cents a pound; it orter be four an’ a half, but I hain’t riz on it yet.--I’ll wait upon you,” in reply to an irate question, as to how long he was expected to stand there “doin’ nothin’,” from an impatient applicant for saleratus.--“Yes, well, you tell Mrs. Pepper I’ve got a job for Joel; that’s all you’ve got to do, Hiram.--Now, I’ll ’tend to you first; you’ve ben waitin’ some time.” And he turned off to a customer at the end of the counter.

And Hiram’s several bundles having been done up, and deposited in his wagon, Mr. Atkins felt quite relieved in his mind, and very sure that Joel would be down as soon as ever the message got to him.

Which happened exactly so. There he was, with David at his heels, and pounding on the counter. “What is it, Mr. Atkins?” he cried, his black eyes sparkling in excitement. It was the very first time in his life that a job had ever been waiting for him in this important way.

“There’s a person been in here, Joel,” said Mr. Atkins, “this morning who wants a boy to help him; and I thought of you, ’cause I knew you wanted to be like Ben an’ help your Ma.”

“Yes, I do,” said Joel, standing very tall, “and I’m going to have a job and be like Ben; just exactly like Ben, Mr. Atkins,” and his black eyes shone.

Little David could not conceal his admiration, and beamed on him affectionately.

“So you shall,” declared the storekeeper, with great enthusiasm, “and I got you this job, Joel. I expect you’re goin’ to be master smart at it.”

“I’m going to be. Oh, what is it--what you said?” declared Joel, with energy, and getting up now to his tiptoes.

“Master smart,” repeated Mr. Atkins, with emphasis. “Well, now, Joel, you’ve got to begin your job to-morrow at Old Man Peters’s.”

“What?” Down went Joel to stand flat, and his hands left off pounding the counter to fall to his sides.

“Old Man Peters was a-goin’ to get another boy,” Mr. Atkins was talking in a perfect stream, now; “but I spoke for you, Joel. An’ you’ve got to go an’ take that job, ’cause it’s the only one there is to be had,” and he shot a keen glance into Joel’s black eyes.

“I ain’t going to work for Old Man Peters,” declared Joel, in a great dudgeon, and marching to the door, his hands now thrust into his pockets, and his head quite high. “Come on, Dave.”

“See here, Joel.” The storekeeper leaned over his counter. “You come here a minute.”

“I ain’t going to work for Old Man Peters,” declared Joel, stoutly, standing quite still to regard the storekeeper with anything but pleasure.

Just as decidedly, “Yes, you will,” Mr. Atkins said; “’cause if you don’t, you can’t help your Ma, and be big like Ben.”

“I ain’t going,” began Joel. Then his voice died down, “O dear me, I ain’t,--I ain’t.”

“I don’t blame ye,” broke in two or three voices. “I wouldn’t do a stroke for sech a skin-flint,” added another. The storekeeper cast a reproachful glance in that direction, and said sharply, “I’m a-talkin’ to Joel Pepper just at present.”

Joel was wringing his small hands now, the picture of distress as he stood in the middle of the store, with little Davie quite gone in despair at this dreadful state of affairs, huddling up against him.

“To help Mamsie.” He could do it if he would only take this job that Mr. Atkins had gotten for him, and “be big like Ben.” “O dear me!” Joel didn’t see any of the men, nor the one sympathetic woman who hovered on the edge of the group to see how matters would turn out. He was lost to everything around him. And when at last Mr. Atkins said very coldly, “Oh, well, if you don’t want to help your Ma, Joel, why--” He burst out, “Oh, I do, I do,” and dashed up to seize the storekeeper by the arm, and hang to it screaming, “I’ll go to Old Man Peters’s, Mr. Atkins, I will!”

“That’s a good boy, Joel,” said the storekeeper, quite mollified, who had really been quite put to his wits to find something that one of the brood in the Little Brown House might do to help eke out the store of pennies that kept the wolf from the door. And lately, when Mrs. Pepper brought back the coats she made, he was struck with dismay, to see how white her cheek was, and how tired the bright eyes looked.

“She’s getting all beat out,” he said on one such occasion to his wife, as he locked up for the night and went home, which only consisted in going into the extension of the store built on to accommodate the growing needs of his family.

“Can’t you find her somethin’ for th’ boys to do, ’Biah?” said that good woman, setting the tea-pot down after taking off a cupful for herself. “No halfway stuff for me,” she always said; then it must be filled to the brim for Mr. Atkins, who couldn’t bear it strong.

“Ben’s doin’ all he can,” said the storekeeper, sitting down heavily. “Well, I never have ben on my legs so much as to-day, Jane.”

“I don’t mean Ben,” said Mrs. Atkins, quickly, and taking up the tea-pot to pour the boiling water in. “I’m sure that boy’ll work himself to death if somebody don’t stop him. I’m talkin’ of Joel an’ David.”

“Them little chaps,” cried her husband; “what are you thinkin’ of, Jane? The idea o’ settin’ them to work.”

“Now, there’s lots o’ work small fingers can do,” observed Jane, nowise dashed, and tipping up the tea-kettle deftly, she poured the boiling water in. “That won’t keep you awake, ’Biah,” she said, with a glance of scorn for the cup she set beside his plate.

“An’ if Mrs. Pepper breaks down, why, I can’t tell what would happen to those Little-Brown-House folks.” She suddenly took up one corner of her brown checked apron, and do what she would to prevent it, Mr. Atkins distinctly heard a sniffle, as she abruptly disappeared in the pantry.

“I can’t help it, Jane; I’m sure ’tain’t my fault.” The storekeeper turned uneasily on his chair, put in a spoonful of sugar too much in his tea, then tried to cover up the mistake by getting in a double portion of milk. “You’ll have to get me another cup, Jane,” at last he called to his wife, who on that summons hastily emerged from the pantry, trying to look gay of countenance as if the conversation had been of the cheeriest description.

“Now, ’Biah,” she said, her heart smiting her at a sight of his face, “don’t you worry no more about th’ Pepperses; th’ Lord’ll provide,” and she twitched up his cup, poured off the contents in the sink, and came back with a fresh one steaming hot.

“Th’ Lord ain’t a-goin’ to take care o’ folks in Badgertown, so long as He’s put other people here to look after ’em,” said the storekeeper, this time with a careful hand to deal himself the right seasoning for his cup, “an’ I do b’lieve I better find somethin’ for Joel to do. He’s awful smart, Jane.”

“That’s so,” said Mrs. Atkins, getting into her seat opposite her husband. Then she wiped her eyes again, for Jane had a tender place in her heart. “But don’t let it be too hard,” she begged.

“I’ll have to take what I can get,” said Mr. Atkins, stirring his tea, and beginning to feel a bit relieved at the prospect of lightening the burden settling down on the Little Brown House.

“I’ll ask every one who comes into th’ store to-morrow, Jane, an’ somewhere’s there must be a boy wanted to do chores, I’ll be bound.”

“So do,” nodded his wife, and, delighted to see him more cheerful, she took a long draught from her black-looking tea, and switched off the conversation into more entertaining gossip.

But no matter how much Mr. Atkins pushed his inquiries among his customers to unearth the needs of a small boy to do chores in or around Badgertown, not only to-morrow but several days thereafter passed, and no one seemed ready to acknowledge any such need. At last the storekeeper was reduced to despair, and to cudgel his brains for some other plan to give timely assistance to a person who would not accept money.

At this moment, the rattle of wagon wheels and a sudden plunge as a long-suffering horse was brought to a quick stop by a loud and angry “Whoa!” proclaimed the arrival of a rich but by no means desirable customer.

“Now I suppose ‘Old Man Peters’ will want a pail o’ lard for nothin’,” muttered the storekeeper, his vexation noways alleviated by the sight of a customer who usually brought into his shop more plague than profit.

When the trifling matters of trade that always lengthened out by long dickering were at last brought to a conclusion, and Mr. Eli Peters buttoned up in his waistcoat pocket his wallet that had not suffered greatly in the business transaction, much to the storekeeper’s disgust, he paused, and said in a sharp high key, “You don’t know of a boy, d’ye, Atkins, that I can hire?”

“What kind of a boy?” demanded the storekeeper, irritably.

“Oh, a smart, likely one; he don’t need to be big. Ye don’t know of one, do ye?”

“I know a smart, likely boy as ever stepped,” said Mr. Atkins, determined not to give any names, “but I don’t know as he could do your work, Mr. Peters.”

Old Mr. Peters’s little ferret eyes gleamed. “Hey, well, who is’t?” He tapped on the floor with his stick that he always carried in the wagon to help his progress as soon as he stepped on the ground. “Who is’t? Come, speak up lively, I hain’t no time to lose; time’s money.”

“I guess it is,” said the storekeeper, with a snap to his thin lips, and a lively memory of the half-hour wasted over this unprofitable customer, whom, after all, it never would do to offend.

“Well, this boy I know of is smart enough, my gracious, but he ain’t big enough to work hard. What you want to set him at?”

“Oh, little odd jobs,” said the old man, carelessly; “some of ’em in th’ house to help th’ women folks.”

“Oh, if that’s the case,” said Mr. Atkins, who was friendly to Mrs. Peters and Miss Miranda,--“as different from that old Scrooge,” he had said in the privacy of his home, “as light is from darkness,”--“why, I’ll give you his name; it’s Joel Pepper.”

“Oh, that boy.” Old Man Peters’s eager face fell, and the light in the ferret eyes went out. “I d’no’s I want him,” he said slowly.

“_Not want one o’ them Pepper children!_” exclaimed the storekeeper, in astonishment, as if the greatest blessing the earth could yield had been ignored. “Well, I never!”

“I don’t think I like that Joel,” said Mr. Peters, beginning to work his way to the door.

“Well, I can tell you that Joel Pepper is th’ smartest boy around here for miles and miles,” cried the storekeeper, taking up quick cudgels, “an’ I don’t b’lieve his Ma would let him come to you anyway,” he added with venom. “So, we’ll say no more about it; she’s awful particular where any o’ ’em go,” he added, not caring if his words did lose him, for good and all, the chance of seeing the rich old man darken his door again.

“Hey, what’s that?” squeaked Old Man Peters, this quite deciding him, and suddenly whirling about. “Well, I’m willing to try Joel, only he come to my house once, his Ma sent him on an errant, an’ he was awful sassy.”

“Sassy, was he?” Then Mr. Atkins laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Well, I guess that’s all right; you don’t mind what a shaver as little as him says, I s’pose.”

“I d’no’s I do,” replied the old man, grudgingly; “well, send him along; tell him to come to-morrow.” And he stumped out, untied his old horse, upon whom, as soon as he got into the wagon, he bestowed a stinging blow from the whip, and rattled off at a smart rate down the road.

The storekeeper leaned his hands on the counter. “Sassy, was he?” he ejaculated with delight. “Well, I guess Joel can take care o’ hisself wherever he goes. An’ it’s th’ only place there is. Yes, I’ll advise him to try it.”

And on the morrow, sure enough, Joel, as tidy as possible (for although the material might be well worn down to its bones, Mrs. Pepper always kept the clothes of the children clean and wholesome), set forth on his long walk to old Mr. Peters’s house. The worst of it was, that David was not allowed to go. He had not been asked by the prospective employer, so, of course, he must stay at home, and he now plastered his face against the small-paned window as Joel went out of the old kitchen and off to his work. He felt very big, and he tried to walk just like Ben, pushing up his little shoulders sturdily, holding his head high, and clutching his bundle of dinner, that Polly had put up for him, under his arm.

“Make it a big one, do, Polly,” he had begged, prancing after her as she went to the bread-pantry.