Part 6

It was just at this moment that Joel paused to take breath and to let his pair of horses exactly like Mr. Tisbett’s, go up hill comfortably, and the words, “a piano” striking his ear, he threw down his reins, and plunged over to Polly.

“Oh, play for us now,” he begged, for nothing beside Polly’s stories ever gave so much joy as to hear Polly drum on the old kitchen table, running her fingers swiftly up and down along its entire length, while she hummed and sang the tune. “Play, Polly, do!” he teased.

“Oh, I can’t,” said Polly, with flushed cheeks.

“Please, Polly.” Little Davie, tired by driving a horse even exactly like dear Mr. Beebe’s, jumped off from his wagon, and added his entreaties, so Polly allowed herself to be pulled and pushed over to the old table. “Well, what shall I play?” she said. “Oh, wait, I must put the dishes away first.”

“Yes, clear off the piano,” said Joel, sticking out two ready little arms to help; “that’s Polly’s piano,” he announced, just as if stating an entirely new fact.

“No, no, Joe,” cried Polly, warningly, “I’ll do it,” and “I’ll help; oh, let me,” begged Jasper.

So the two older ones put away the pile of clean breakfast dishes left standing until the cupboard shelf--which Polly had just washed down, should be dry,--was ready for them, which now being the case, they were all neatly set in place.

“There, now, that’s all done,” said Jasper, rubbing his hands in great satisfaction. “Come, Phronsie,” and Polly started to shut the cupboard door.

“But I want to look at them,” said Phronsie, in gentle remonstrance and putting up her hand to stop Polly.

“Oh, no, Pet,” said Polly, “you’ve seen them enough; come away, child.”

“But, I haven’t seen them enough, Polly,” contradicted Phronsie, “my dear Mamsie’s dishes, and I want to look at them some more, I do.”

“Don’t you want to hear Polly play on the piano?” asked Jasper. “Come, Phronsie, she’s going to.”

“Is Polly going to play on the piano?” asked Phronsie, her hand dropping down and taking off her gaze from the old cupboard shelves.

“Yes, she is, Phronsie,” said Jasper.

“Then, I want to hear her play very much indeed,” said Phronsie, turning away from the old cupboard, “and I can look at my Mamsie’s dishes to-morrow.”

Joel, who had been clamoring for Polly to hurry and come, now set up a dreadful racket on the old table as he drummed his impatience, “I’m a soldier!” he cried. “Come on, Dave, I’m captain!”

“Oh, hurry, Polly,” cried Jasper, bursting into a laugh, “he won’t stop until you play. Hold up, there, Joe,” he shouted, “Polly’s coming.”

“So I must,” laughed Polly, “or the house will come down.”

“Will the house come down, Polly?” asked little Phronsie, anxiously, as she hurried over clinging to Jasper’s hand.

“Oh, no, Phronsie,” said Polly, quickly. “I shouldn’t have said so,” she added reproachfully.

“Dear me, it couldn’t ever come down,” declared Jasper. “Why, it’s as strong as anything. It’s going to last just forever.”

“And I’m going to live here, I am, just forever, too,” declared Phronsie, hopping over the uneven floor.

“Well, now, what shall I play?” asked Polly, with quite an air, and pushing the sleeves of her brown calico gown up further over her wrists.

“Oh, play that jiggy, wiggly piece,” said Joel, who never could remember the names of Polly’s wonderful flights of melody.

“Oh, Joel, I don’t want that to-day,” said Polly, wrinkling up her cheeks in disdain.

“That was splendid,” retorted Joel, “and I liked it when the organ man played it.”

“Did another organ man come by here?” asked Jasper, in a whisper to Polly.

“No,” said Polly, in a low voice, and her cheek turned pale at the remembrance of the dreadful time when Phronsie followed one to see the monkey.

Jasper drew a long breath of relief.

“He stopped at Mr. Beebe’s, one day when we were there, and dear Mrs. Beebe gave him five cents to play for us,” finished Polly.

“Oh!” said Jasper, quite relieved.

“And I like that best of all,” Joel was saying in a loud injured voice, “and Polly won’t play it.”

“Oh, I will, I will,” cried Polly, quite overcome with remorse, and then Jasper ran over to bring a chair and place it in front of the old table, and Polly sat down, and began with quite a flourish. And before she got through, she forgot all about how she hadn’t wanted to play that piece, and there she was singing away for dear life, and presently she ended by gay little trills and a “bang,--bang!”

“Hooray!” cried Joel, capering about. “Now play another one, and we’re going to dance. Come on, Phron!” trying to seize her hand.

“Hold on,” cried Jasper; “you’ve had your choice, now let Davie say what he’d like, Joe.”

“Yes, that’s the way to do,” said Polly, approvingly, and trying to whirl around on her piano stool, which she couldn’t do very well as it was a stiff wooden chair. “Each one just take turns and choose. But then, O dear me, we ought to have let you choose first, Jasper, ’cause you’ve come over from Hingham to spend the day with us; O dear me!” Poor Polly, who dearly loved to be hospitable, was now so mortified not to do Mamsie credit by having good manners, that the color went clear up to her brown hair, and she sat quite still in distress.

“See here,” said Jasper, quickly, “I didn’t want to choose first, for I’m not company, Polly; I’m just living in the Little Brown House to-day, and I’m your big brother.”

“Oh, oh!” screamed Joel, forgetting all about his desire to dance, and deserting Phronsie to rush over to Jasper, “are you our big brother, Jappy? are you really?”

“Yes,” said Jasper, eagerly, “I am; that is, if you’ll all have me,” and his gray eyes shone.

“Oh, we will, we will,” screamed Joel. “Oh, Dave, Jappy’s our big brother. Now we’ve got two.”

And presently, the three younger little Peppers were clinging to him, for Phronsie was soon acquainted with the blissful news by Davie screaming it rapturously into her ear. And Polly hopped off from her piano stool to seize Jasper’s hand, declaring, “Oh, how fine! Jappy’s really to be our big brother. Ben’ll be so glad,” and so the compact was signed at once.

“Well, now, we must begin and choose what Polly is to play,” said Jasper at last, when this was all settled, and feeling very fine and big to be considered one of the Little-Brown-House family; “who’s next,--Davie?”

“Yes,” said David, “I am,” and he came over to the old table, where Polly was seating herself again before her piano. “Please play that little brook piece, Polly,” he said softly.

“Oh, how nice,” said Jasper, approvingly; “what’s the name, Polly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, with rosy cheeks, and beginning to play.

“She just makes it,” said little Davie, and coming around back of Polly, to gaze up into Jasper’s face, “and then she plays it, and the water runs all over the stones; you’ll see,” and having communicated this piece of information, he hurried back to slip up close to Polly on her other side again.

“Did you make it up in your head, Polly?” cried Jasper, admiringly. “O dear me, I wish I could ever do that. All I can do is to play stupid old pieces that I learn.”

“Oh, this isn’t much, Jasper, only Davie likes it,” said Polly, all in a tremor at having Jasper find out that she made it up.

“Well, I don’t like it,” said Joel, hanging back discontentedly from the group; “it’s dreadful soft and squashing; I’d rather have something nice.”

“Look here, sir,” Jasper turned on him, “you’ve had your piece, Joe. Now I just know that I shall like this best.”

To have Jasper like the new choice best invested it at once in Joel’s mind with new interest, and he drew nearer, not taking his black eyes off once from the new big brother’s face.

And Polly, since she must play her own piece, made up in her head, remembered what Mother Pepper always said, “Do everything just the best you know how, Polly.” And so she sat quite straight, and sang away, and made her fingers run up here and there, all along the old table front, and she even put in a great many more tumbles of the water over the stones, than little Davie had ever dreamed of. And then she sat back in the old wooden chair and drew a long breath.

“O dear me!” exclaimed Jasper, excitedly, “I’d give anything, Polly Pepper, to play like that; and to think you made it up out of your own head. It’s too splendid for anything!” and his eyes shone.

“Isn’t it?” Little David ran out of his place by Polly’s side over again to Jasper. “Isn’t it, Jappy?” he cried, his blue eyes very big, and hopping up and down in front of him.

“I should say it was!” cried Jasper, taking Davie’s hands for a good spin in the middle of the floor; “it’s just too splendid for anything, Davie Pepper,” he repeated, enthusiastically.

“I like it,” said Joel, veering around. Then he ran over to the two whirling about. “He’s my big brother’s much as yours, Dave Pepper,” and he crowded in to get hold of Jasper’s hand, and spin too.

“So you shall,” declared Jasper, well pleased to be adopted into all the comradeship of the Little Brown House. “Now, then, Joe; I’ll give you a spin that is one!”

And Polly flew off from her piano stool and ran over with Phronsie for the fun, and there they all were, capering about, until, flushed and out of breath, the whole bunch of children stopped short.

“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, pushing back the little rings of brown hair from her forehead, “that was just splendid, only I’m afraid we’ve tired Phronsie to death,” throwing her arms about her.

“I’m not tired, Polly,” panted Phronsie, her cheeks very pink; “please do so some more.”

“Come, now!” cried Polly, “you mustn’t dance any more. You’re all tired out. Mamsie wouldn’t want you to.”

That Mamsie wouldn’t want her to was sufficient reason why Phronsie shouldn’t dance any more at present, so she dropped her little pink calico skirt that she had gathered up, and stood still obediently.

“I’ll tell you,” said Jasper, seeing her face, “what you might do, when you’re rested; when it’s my turn to choose a piece for Polly to play, then you can dance to it.”

Everybody shouted at that, they were so pleased to find that Phronsie was not really to be disappointed, and Phronsie, dreadfully excited, began to hop up and down, “Polly’s going to play, and I’m going to dance, I am.”

And then she chose her piece, for of course it was her turn next. And it was just what Polly and the two boys knew it would be, the goodnight song Mrs. Pepper used to croon to her baby, “Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber.”

“Oh, yes, Phronsie, I’ll play, ‘Hush, my dear,’” said Polly, who saw the words coming long before Phronsie opened her red lips. And Phronsie very gravely stood close to her side, while Polly sang it through and through; each time that she tried to stop, Phronsie would say “again” and pull Polly’s brown calico gown.

At last, Joel was worn out waiting for Polly to get through, and Davie was in a condition that was not much better, so Jasper broke in, “Now it’s my turn to choose” and the one he begged for was “Old Kentucky Home.”

“I think that’s beautiful,” said Polly, pushing back her sleeves, to begin afresh, while Phronsie, seeing that she was not to get any more “Hush, my dear,” went off to sit down on her little stool and think it all over. She was only roused by Jasper singing out, “Now, then, for your dance, Phronsie!” and there he was holding out his hand.

So Phronsie hurried off to her dance, and Polly began on the liveliest of jigs, every now and then looking over her shoulder, to be sure to keep good time; for Phronsie, who always wanted to make cheeses when very happy, would puff out, without a bit of warning, the skirt of her little pink calico gown in the very midst of the measure, and down she would sink to the old floor, to bob up and dance again.

“It’s perfectly awful to keep time to her,” said Polly, who dearly loved to be exact about things, especially with a tune.

“I know it,” said Jasper, sympathetically, “but oh, she’s so sweet!”

“Isn’t she?” cried Polly, with shining eyes, and beginning to play away with new vigor.

But at last Phronsie must be stopped, for Mamsie would surely say so if she were home. And then Polly had to hold her, as with flushed cheeks she begged to be taken up into her lap, and then the music-stool was taken away and the grand piano became an old kitchen table once more.

“And now,” said Polly, “if Ben would only come, we could have our baking, Jasper. O dear, I wish he would!”

“I’m going to watch outside,” said Joel, prancing off to the door.

“That won’t make him come any quicker,” said Jasper. “Can’t we help about something, Polly?” He wrinkled his brows and gazed around the old kitchen.

“No,” said Polly, following his gaze, “there isn’t anything to do, but--” then she stopped.

“Oh, what?” cried Jasper, eagerly, and hanging over her chair where she sat with Phronsie.

“Oh, you can’t do it,” said Polly, wishing she had bitten the end of her tongue before she had spoken.

“But we can, Polly,” insisted Jasper, “I know we can. Do tell what it is,” he begged.

“Why, Mamsie is going to ask Ben to fill the tub in the ‘Provision Room’ with water to wash to-morrow, and I’m going to help her.”

“Oh, Polly, do you wash things?” asked Jasper, looking admiringly at her fingers, now smoothing Phronsie’s yellow hair.

“Yes, indeed!” answered Polly, proudly. “I can do them real nicely, Mamsie says.” Then she blushed at her own praise and hung her head.

“Oh!” exclaimed Jasper, “how I wish I could help! Does Ben wash things, too?”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” said Polly. “You ought to see him. He ties on one of Mamsie’s aprons. Ben washes all the sheets; they’re the biggest things, you know. And he wrings them out, and then we all go outdoors and have great fun pinning them to the line. And Phronsie has a little string; haven’t you seen the hook out on the side of the woodshed? And we fasten it up for her, and she washes all her doll’s clothes. Oh, it’s such fun!” Polly clasped her hands around her knees and drew a long breath.

“You do have such good times,” said Jasper, enviously. “O dear me, and I’ve never had a sister or brother.”

Down dropped Polly’s hands, “Oh, I forgot,” she said.

“I mean a little sister, or near my own age,” corrected Jasper. “Sister Marion is just as nice as she can be,” and his gray eyes glowed. “You ought to see her, Polly; you’d love her dearly, but she’s ever so much older than I am.”

Polly regarded him sorrowfully. Then she brightened up. “Well, Mamsie will let you come here all the time you can,” she cried, meaning from this minute on to do everything she could to make a boy happy who hadn’t any sisters near his own age, nor any brothers at all. To do this nothing was so good as to let him join them in a baking frolic. “Oh, I do wish Ben would come,” she said again, for about the fifth time, just as Joel, out on the path, screamed out, “Oh, here he is!” and dashed off, Davie, as usual, at his heels to meet Ben.

Jasper was just springing over the rickety steps leading down into the “Provision Room.” “Polly,” he called, “where’s the pail to fill the tub with?” And Polly, racing after to get it for him, where it hung behind the door, of course, they didn’t either of them hear Joel’s cry nor see him run down the road with Davie. So the first thing the two knew, Ben’s face appeared. “Halloa!” he cried. “Oh, are you filling that old tub?”

“Yes,” said Polly, “we are; and now you won’t have to break your arms over it, Bensie.”

“Well, I guess I’m not going to let you fill that tub, Jasper,” said Ben, decidedly. “No, sir--ee!” and he made a lunge at the pail now in Jasper’s hand.

“And I guess I’m not going to let you have this pail,” cried Jasper, merrily, and squaring off, “No, sir--_ee_!”

And there they were going round and round in the middle of the “Provision Room,” the pail swinging wildly out from Jasper’s arm. At last, in one unlucky moment, down he tripped, and Ben rolled over him, and the pail flew off and ran away by itself.

“Hooray!” Joel and David, who had both run after Ben, now seized it together. “Let me have it,” screamed Joel. “I’m going to fill Mamsie’s tub.”

“We didn’t either of us get it, you see,” said Jasper, bursting into a laugh, and sitting still on the earthen floor. “Oh, Ben, to see your face,” and he laughed harder than ever.

“’Tisn’t worse than yours,” said Ben; “it can’t be, Jasper. Yours is dirty from top to bottom.”

“Well, that’s because you rolled me in the dirt,” said Jasper, coolly, and rubbing his face. “Well, I think we’ll need to get into the tub, instead of the clothes,” he added.

“Oh, I’ll get you a towel and the basin,” said Polly; “then you can wash your faces. Misery me! how you both look!” she exclaimed, as she ran out to get it all ready for them.

“Joe,” called Ben, as Joel and David hurried off dragging the big pail, which banged over the rickety steps, “don’t you get that water; Jasper and I are coming out for it.”

And in a minute or two, there the two boys were, all washed up, fresh and clean, out by the big barrel into which a rain-spout ran to collect the water so that Mrs. Pepper could wash the clothes, with Polly and Ben helping her.

And between them they made very quick work over filling the big tub. And then--after the hands were all washed up spick and span,--“Oh, now for the baking!” exclaimed Ben, with great satisfaction, and hanging up the towel by the sink.

“Yes, now for the baking!” they all exclaimed. And soon the old kitchen was the scene of a great excitement, till it thrilled with life in every corner. And the fire burned with clear little winks of light that seemed to say, “Go right ahead, and be as jolly as you want to, I’m with you in everything!”

And the flour bag was brought out from the old cupboard. It took two of the boys to get it, although it wasn’t a big bag by any means, nor was it anywhere near being full. It was brown flour, to be sure, but Jasper declared that was ever so much nicer than if it were white. And the little tins--they were just as clean and shining as they could be, for Polly always kept them so. Besides, she had given them an extra rubbing over that very morning to have them ready. But now, of course, they must have the dish-towel whisked over them again, to be actually sure that they were all right. Oh, the old kitchen was a very busy place, any one could see, with something for all the fingers to do. Even Phronsie was provided for in that respect, for she was polishing up the little tin biscuit cutter most carefully.

“But, dear me!” Polly stopped in the midst of all this merry bustle. “Oh, how could I forget!” Then she dashed into the bedroom and threw open the middle drawer of the old bureau, just above the one where Phronsie’s red-topped shoes were always kept. And she pulled out one of Mrs. Pepper’s clean blue-checked aprons. “Here,” as she ran back to Jasper, “I must tie it around your neck--Mamsie said so--before you began to bake.”

“That’s fine,” exclaimed Jasper, as the big apron fell down in folds almost to his feet, and Polly tied the strings around his neck. “Now, says I, you’ll see what biscuits I’m going to make!” and he brandished the rolling pin.

And then Phronsie must sit up to the table and have a small piece of dough to make little biscuits all alone by herself. And she patted the lump into shape, turning it over and over to push it here and there before she cut one out with the top of the small tin salt-shaker that Polly took off for her, and singing softly to herself all the while. This she did so many times that at last Joel looked up from his end of the table. “Look at Phron,” he cried, “she hasn’t cut one single one out yet!”

“Hush, Joe.” Polly, with a tin plate covered with small lumps of dough that were going to be the most beautiful biscuits in good time, in her hand, turned quickly as she was just going to slip them into the hot oven, and ran up against Ben. “O dear me!” as he put up his hand, but away went the tin plate, falling bottom upward, and all the little lumps hitting the floor.

“O dear, that’s my fault,” cried Ben, in great distress. “Polly, I’m dreadfully sorry--” and getting down to pick them up.

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” cried Polly; “never mind, Ben,” as she saw his face. Jasper and the others immediately left the baking table to hurry to the scene.

“We can scrape them off,” said Ben, ruefully, and getting a knife to begin operations.

“But they’ve been on the floor,” said Polly, “and they’ll never be so nice,” and she sighed.

“Well, let’s make some more,” said Jasper, “and throw these away, Polly. That’s easy enough.”

“But we can’t throw them away,” said Polly, in horror, “and we haven’t very much flour in the bag,” and she leaned over to look into it. “Mamsie said that was all we could take.”

“Then we must cut off the tops of the biscuits, Polly,” said Ben; “there’s no other way.”

“And Dave and I’ll eat ’em,” said Joel, briskly.

“Well, you must have a sharp knife then, Ben,” said Polly. “Wait, I’ll get it.” So she ran and got Mamsie’s special one in the little drawer under the sink that Mrs. Pepper always used when there was any meat (which wasn’t often) to cut up, and all the bunch of children watching, the tops of the little biscuits were slowly cut off by Ben.

“They’re dreadfully small,” grumbled Joel, who thought it a great waste. “You might have given them to Dave and me.”

“For shame, Joel!” said Polly; “you couldn’t ever have eaten them unless Ben had pared them. O dear me, they are small,” her face falling, “but I guess they’ll be good.”

“I’m sure they will,” said Jasper, “and, Polly, they’ll be so cunning on the plate. Do put them on the blue one that is up in the cupboard there.” He nodded his head over to the corner where the few best dishes were kept.

“Oh, we couldn’t take that down, Jasper,” said Polly, quickly, “not unless Mamsie says we may.”

“And if you don’t hurry and get those biscuits in the oven, you can’t put them on any plate,” broke in Ben, wisely.

“That’s so,” laughed Jasper. So Polly started again with her tin plate of little lumps of dough. And the oven door was flung wide, and in they slipped, and then the door banged, good and hard, and all they had to do was to bake as nicely as possible till they were a lovely brown.

“Oh, I hope they’ll be good,” said Polly, anxiously coming back to the table to oversee operations.

“Oh, I guess they will,” said Ben, comfortingly.

“I can’t do anything with mine, Polly,” said Jasper, patting and punching the lumps of dough in his hand at a great rate. “It sticks dreadfully,--see there! It’s in no end of a mess.”

“That’s because you want some more flour on your fingers,” said Polly, holding out the little bowl in which was a sprinkling of flour for just that very purpose; “there, Jasper, stick them in.”

“Is that so?” cried Jasper, freeing one set of fingers to get the others in a worse plight. “Ow; it’s all sticking to my other hand. I’ve just spoiled it, Polly.” He held out the little wad hanging to his thumb and finger and gazed at Polly in dismay.

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” said Polly, picking it off to set it on the bread-board; “it’ll come as good as can be after you get some more flour on your fingers, and--”

“Your biscuits’s burning!” screamed Joel, sniffing. “They are--burning--Polly!”

But she didn’t need this second shout to make her run and fling the oven door open, Jasper hurrying after, his fingers all over dough, and all the others following.

“O dear, dear!” he mourned. “Now I made you stop. Oh, Polly, I _am_ so sorry!” kneeling down beside her. “Here, let me pull them out.”

“Oh, Jasper, you’ll burn your hands,” she cried. But he already had the tin plate out; “whew!” dropping it just in time on the old table.