Our Davie Pepper

“NOW, Davie,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you must be Mother’s good boy and not feel badly because Joel cannot go.”

“I very much wish Joel could go,” said Davie, gazing out of the window disconsolately. “Oh, why couldn’t good Mrs. Brown have asked Joel, too!”

“Joel must stay at home with Polly—you wouldn’t have Polly left alone, Davie, when Ben is to help Deacon Blodgett.”

“No,” said Davie, shaking his head, “but if Polly could go, too.”

“That would be a big company on Mrs. Brown’s hands,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a little laugh. “Now, Davie, set to work and do all the things Polly wants you to do to-day, for to-morrow morning Mr. Brown is coming for us bright and early.”

David turned away from the window. He was going to sigh, but seeing Mother Pepper’s face, he smiled instead.

“What can I do, Polly?” he cried, running up to her.

Polly had her head all tied up in Mother Pepper’s big sweeping-cap. “Let me see,” she paused on her way for the broom. “Oh, you might clean out the ‘Provision Room,’ Davie.”

“I will,” said Davie, hurrying out to the woodshed to get the old broom, a rough wisp of a thing almost worn down to the handle. But it was good enough for the Provision Room.

“And I should think the potatoes needed looking over,” said Mrs. Pepper, on her way to the bedroom.

“I’ll do ’em, too,” said Davie.

“You better do the potatoes first,” said Polly, picking off her broom from its nail in the corner, “before you sweep the ‘Provision Room’ out, Davie.”

“I will,” promised Davie, hurrying out to the woodshed.

“Come, Phronsie, you and I must stay in the bedroom while Polly sweeps up the kitchen.” Mrs. Pepper picked up her big work basket from the table.

“I shall sew on my child’s dress to wear to my Mrs. Brown’s to-morrow,” hummed Phronsie, gathering up Seraphina and some scraps of calico and getting up from the kitchen floor to patter after her mother.

“O dear me!” Polly leaned on the broom-handle as the bedroom door was shut; “why can’t I ever go to spend the day somewhere?”

Two tears rolled down from the brown eyes and wet the broom-handle.

“They’ve got chickens and pigs, Mrs. Brown said so—and there’s a cunning little brook back of the farm-yard. Why can’t I go?”

Away went the old broom with a clang to the kitchen floor.

The bedroom door opened and Phronsie’s yellow head appeared.

“I thought I heard a noise—Oh, Polly, are you hurt?” she cried.

“No,” Polly rushed over to the broom and picked it up. Her cheeks were very red. “Don’t come out, Phronsie,—I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?” said Phronsie anxiously.

“Sure as I can be,” declared Polly. “Do go back—O dear!” With a glance to see that the bedroom door really was shut, Polly rushed over to Mamsie’s old calico-covered chair, and flung herself, broom and all, down before it.

“I’m the worst girl that ever lived,” she cried, stuffing her fingers up before her mouth. Suppose Phronsie should open the bedroom door again!

Just then a mouse over in the corner gave a scratch against the wainscot. Polly hopped to her feet, afraid it was the bedroom door, and wiped her eyes on the end of the sweeping-cap, that flapped down over her shoulder. Then she tucked it up, and began to send the broom flying over the dust and crumbs on the kitchen floor. Joel ran in and found her so.

“Polly,” he began wrathfully, “why can’t we go to Mrs. Brown’s house to-morrow? Why can’t we, Polly?” He laid hold of the broom-handle, so that she had to stop chasing the dust and crumbs.

“Because Mrs. Brown didn’t ask us,” said Polly coolly. “Let go of the broom, Joe. I can’t sweep when you do so.”

“Well, why didn’t she ask us?” demanded Joel in a louder key.

“Hush—Mamsie will hear you,” warned Polly, pointing to the door. “Because she didn’t want us.”

“She ought to want us,” Joel dropped his voice, but his black eyes blazed in indignation.

Polly burst into a little laugh. “When folks have company they can ask any one they want, and not ask any one they don’t want.”

“Not a single one?” persisted Joel, still hanging to the broom.

“No; not if they don’t want to,” said Polly. “Now, you must let go of the broom.”

When Polly said “must” in that tone, the little Peppers knew that it was time to obey; So Joel’s brown hands dropped from the broom-handle, and down to his side.

“Then they’ll be very mad—the folks who don’t get asked,” he said slowly.

“Of course,” said Polly lightly, and making some of the scraps from Mamsie’s sewing on the coats, fly neatly away from the broom, “but what good would that do, Joey—they couldn’t go, all the same.”

Joel stood quite still and swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Don’t you want to go, Polly?” he blurted out.

Polly turned her head, and tried to laugh. “Maybe,” she said.

“You do,” cried Joel triumphantly, “want to go awfully. There’s pigs and chickens there, and lots and lots of things, Polly Pepper! I’m going! I’ll get on behind the wagon, when Mr. Brown doesn’t know it. Oh, Polly, you come, too—I’ll help you!” He spun round and round her, broom and all.

“Joel Pepper!” cried Polly, quite aghast, and whirling with him, to lay hold of his jacket-sleeve. “Stop! Oh, Joel, aren’t you ashamed to want to go when you’re not invited?”

“You said you wanted to,” cried Joel, trying to get away. But she held him fast.

“I said ‘Maybe.’” The hot color rushed over Polly’s face at the remembrance.

“Well, that’s the same thing,” declared Joel with another twitch.

“Joel,” said Polly, and she threw down the broom. “Come outdoors—” and still holding his sleeve, she hurried him out and into the woodshed. “Now see here, I was a bad girl to want to go.”

“I’m not a bad boy to want to go,” contradicted Joel stoutly.

“Yes, you are; we’re both bad,” declared Polly; “don’t you see, it’s naughty to want something that Mamsie can’t get for us, and just think how she would feel if she knew it.”

Polly drew a long breath, and her hand shook that held to the sleeve.

Joel scrubbed his rusty little shoe on the woodshed floor. “Mrs. Brown is bad,” he said. “She ought to have asked us.”

“Stop saying that,” said Polly. “And when you have company, you can ask any one you want to.”

“I shall ask everybody,” declared Joel with a generous sweep of his hands, “just every single bit of folks.” His face brightened, “Polly, can’t I ever have company?”

“Goodness, no!” cried Polly, and she burst into a laugh; “the idea of our having company in the little brown house—Joey Pepper!”

“I wouldn’t have ’em in the house—they could stay outdoors, in the orchard.”

“Well, I think we’d both better get back to our work instead of standing here to talk about having company,” said Polly gaily. Then she stopped. “Why, Joel, perhaps you could have some company to-morrow. I do believe Mamsie would let you, after all.”

“Can I—can I?” cried Joel eagerly, and prancing all about her.

“I almost know that she will let you ask—”

“Who?” interrupted Joel with a gasp.

“Peletiah and Ezekiel.”

“Oh, I don’t want them,” howled Joel, horribly disappointed.

“Well, now you see,” said Polly; “Mrs. Brown doesn’t want us, and you think she ought to. Now here’s a chance for you to ask somebody you don’t want to.”

Joel puckered up his round cheeks and ran off to the corner of the woodshed. “Have I got to?” he asked, coming slowly back with a wry face.

“No,” said Polly coolly; “only you think Mrs. Brown is bad not to ask us.”

“Perhaps Mamsie won’t let ’em come,” he said, a comforting thought striking him.

“Oh, yes, she will,” said Polly cheerfully. “I heard her only the other day talk about asking them some time. And the Parson and Mrs. Henderson have been so good to us, Joey! Come, let’s go and ask her now.”

She grasped his jacket-sleeve and he had nothing to do but to follow.

“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, as she saw the broom lying just where she had thrown it. “Well, it won’t take a minute to ask Mamsie about your company, Joe, and then I’ll finish sweeping the kitchen,” and she threw wide the bedroom door.

There sat Phronsie on the floor at Mrs. Pepper’s feet, snipping up what she called the “trimming” to Seraphina’s new calico gown, and humming softly to herself as Mamsie set the stitches in the coat, a happy smile on her face. For pleasure was coming to two of her little ones to-morrow through the kindness of good Mr. and Mrs. Brown. When she saw Joel’s face, the smile dropped off a bit, as she remembered how he wanted to go on the beautiful visit. And Polly, too! Then the smile faded completely away.

“Mamsie,” cried Polly, rushing in and towing Joel along, “can’t Joey have some company to-morrow; can’t he, Mamsie?”

“Some company?” repeated Mother Pepper, her work dropping to her lap.

“Yes,” said Polly, “oh, it would be so nice—Peletiah and Ezekiel—can’t he ask them?”

“Ugh!” said Joel. He couldn’t help it, and he twisted up his face, just as if he’d bitten something sour.

“You said you’d like to ask them some time, Mamsie,” went on Polly, still holding Joel’s little calico sleeve fast, “and now Joey and I will be all alone—and he wants some company.”

Mamsie turned her black eyes on Joel’s face. “If Joel wants them to come, I shall be very glad. But not unless he does want them,” she finished slowly.

Joel put his little brown hands together tightly, and looked down on the floor. “Peletiah can’t play anything,” he blurted out suddenly.

“Well, Ezekiel can,” said Polly brightly.

“Huh!” exclaimed Joel contemptuously.

“Well, we’ll play ‘Old Father Dubbin,’” said Polly; “that’ll make him play, Joey,” and she gave a little laugh.

“Will you play ‘Old Father Dubbin’?” cried Joel, looking up, and he began to laugh too.

“Yes, indeed!” promised Polly, bobbing her head so that the two brown braids flew out, “and we’ll have the best party that you ever saw, Joel Pepper!”

“I’m going to have a party, Phronsie,” Joel twitched away from Polly’s grasp on his jacket sleeve, and flew over to her, “all by myself—I am,” he cried, dreadfully excited—and giving her a bear hug.

“Take care, Joel—mind the scissors!” warned Mrs. Pepper. Too late! Phronsie, having great difficulty in making one part of the scissors stay on her fat little thumb, was just holding them up, while she wriggled her fingers into the other part, when down came Joel upon them.

“’Tain’t anything—I don’t care,” he said, bobbing up, wiping away the blood with the back of one small hand. But it came dripping down his face just as fast. Mrs. Pepper with never a word, gathered him up to her lap. Then she said, “The bowl of water, Polly.”

Polly had stood like a frozen little thing. “His eye—Mamsie!” she gasped.

“I said the bowl of water, Polly,” repeated Mrs. Pepper.

How she got the bowl of water, and then a towel, Polly never knew. All she was conscious of was standing holding the bowl while Mamsie washed away the blood, Joel all the while saying, “’Tisn’t anything—I don’t care—a single bit.”

At last Joel’s black eye shone out clear and strong. Mrs. Pepper gave a deep cry of joy—and clasped her boy tighter to her breast.

Down flopped Polly in a little heap on the floor, the bowl coming with a thud that splashed the water over the rim.

“You’re spilling all the water, Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Joel, struggling away from Mother Pepper to look down at her, amazement all over his bloody little face. “Just see there, Mamsie, she’s spilt the water all over the floor!”

“Oh, Mamsie,” breathed Polly, clasping her hands on her mother’s knee, “it isn’t Joel’s eye—it isn’t!”

Mrs. Pepper’s white lips moved. She tried to say, “God is good,” but the words not coming, she smiled instead.

“It didn’t hurt any,” declared Joel stoutly, brushing off more blood from an ugly little cut just below one of those bright black eyes.

“Take care, Joey,” said Mother Pepper—holding his brown hands; “now you must just sit still. Polly, you better run and see if Dr. Fisher can come.”

“Oh, I don’t want Dr. Fisher to come,” cried Joel in great alarm. “He’ll put me to bed, and make me have the measles all over again. Don’t let him come, Mamsie!” he begged.

“Oh, you can’t have the measles again, Joel,” said Polly, getting up on her feet, and picking up the bowl.

“Can’t I?” said Joel.

“No, indeed,” said Polly decidedly; “the very idea, Joel Pepper!” and she gave a gay little laugh. Joel’s eye wasn’t hurt, and Dr. Fisher was coming. Everything would soon be all right!

Phronsie, who didn’t really know that the scissors had done anything naughty to Joel’s face, was still struggling to keep them on her fat little hand enough to snip away at the “trimming.” She began now, in a soft little voice, to talk to Seraphina lying on the floor by her side.

“You are going to have a new dress, my child, to wear to-morrow to dear Mrs. Brown’s, and you may see the little chickies, and the dear, sweet little pigs.”

“Then he can come,” said Joel on a high key, “if he won’t put me to bed and make me have the measles again,” while Polly sped out, and on the wings of the wind, over to get good Dr. Fisher.

The little Doctor was soon there, and mending Joel’s face, who kept saying it didn’t hurt, as he twisted his hands tightly together. When it was all over, he looked out over the plasters and bandage on his round face, and announced very pompously, “I’m going to have company to-morrow.”

“Are you?” said Dr. Fisher.

“Yes, I am,” said Joel, with an important air, and beginning to get down from Mrs. Pepper’s lap. “Mamsie said I might, and I must go and ask ’em now.”

“Hold on there!” the little Doctor put forth a restraining hand. “I guess I’d put off that company of yours, Joe, to another day.”

“I can’t,” said Joel, wriggling to get down to the floor. “I must go now and ask ’em. It’s my party I’m going to have while Mamsie and Dave and Phronsie are over at Mrs. Brown’s.”

“Is that it?” said Dr. Fisher. “Well now, see here, Joe,” he began, while he laid both hands on the struggling little legs.

“And we’re going to play ‘Old Father Dubbin’,” cried Joel. “Polly said we may—Oh, let me go!” He kicked and squirmed, but it was no use;—at last he sat quite still and glared at the little Doctor.

“Who ever heard of giving a party with a head tied up like yours?” Dr. Fisher burst into a hearty laugh.

“Then I’ll tear the things off,” declared Joel, vindictively, and preparing to begin the work.

“Look here, Joe,” Dr. Fisher’s eyes were now so stern behind their big spectacles that Joel’s small brown hands fell to his lap. “Just look at your mother!”

Joel whirled around in Mrs. Pepper’s lap, and peered at her over his plaster and bandages. “Mamsie, I won’t have my company,” he said humbly.

“Oh, yes, you will, Joey,” she said brightly, “you shall have a beautiful time. It’s only put off!”