Our Davie Pepper

MRS. PEPPER turned away for a moment, not trusting herself to speak.

“I don’t mind it—much,” Davie pulled at her shawl, and looked anxiously at her face as she turned back.

“Well, now,” she said comfortingly, as she led him out of the crowd. “Mother will see how she can fix it up for you, Davie boy.”

“The monkey’s spitting out the pieces of your cap,” cried some boys after him, and they laughed and doubled up in glee.

“Shame on you for laughing,” cried the woman who wanted to tell the boy’s father. But it was no use to stop the crowd—they cheered and guffawed as they pressed up closer to the cage, where the monkey on his high perch was biting out pieces of David’s little cap, and throwing them off toward the bars, grinning dreadfully between each bite.

Joel rushed up to see the fun. He had stayed as long as he could at the cage of big snakes, Ben finally hauling him away, and now, with Polly and Jimmy, they hurried up to join Mrs. Pepper and Phronsie.

“What is it?” cried Joel, thrusting in his hot little face wherever he saw a crack of space to get it in. “Oh, what is it he’s got?”

“A boy’s cap bein’ et up,” said a man, stopping his laugh long enough to shoot this out.

“Oh, I want to see!” By a way Joel best knew would secure a good place, he was pretty soon worked in, till there he was in the front row with the other boys still screaming with the fun of the thing.

There the monkey sat on a high perch, biting very slowly now in order to make the cap last as long as possible. His little eyes were twinkling, and his paws were kept busy to hold the cap, and fight off the other monkeys, who now swarmed and chattered around him, in order to seize the beautiful thing that was making the people so noisy with delight.

“What is it he’s got?” cried Joel, wrinkling up his face trying to see the wad in the monkey’s paw.

“A boy’s cap—he twitched it off his head. Oh, Jiminy—see!”

The monkey, fearing that the other monkeys might be too many for him to hold his prize, took a last big bite from it, spit out the pieces, and threw them derisively right at the bars, and into Joel’s face pressed against them. One piece fell out at his feet; it said “—vid Pepper” just where Mamsie had marked it on the rim of the cap.

Joel’s brown hand closed convulsively over it, and he looked wildly around. Then he put down his head, and bolted right through the middle of the crowd.

“Mercy sakes!” the woman screamed,—the boys who had laughed skipped nimbly out of the way,—and nobody thought the case quite so funny as it had been.

“Mamsie, where are you?” screamed Joel. He almost threw Polly over, for he was beyond seeing anything or anybody in his mad rush, and Ben wasn’t quick enough to catch him. It was Jimmy who did it.

“Let me go,” cried Joel frantically, and he kicked Jimmy’s shins. But Jimmy’s hand was just as tight for all that, on Joel’s arm.

“He’s chewed it all up,” cried Joel wildly, as Polly and Ben ran up. “Let me go!”

“No, you don’t,” and Ben got hold of the other arm, “what’s that in your hand, Joe?”

“Dave’s cap,” Joel flung open his hand. There it was, with “—vid Pepper” on what remained of the rim.

“Oh, Mamsie!” and the horrified little group looked up into Mother Pepper’s face. And there was Phronsie, who hadn’t understood anything only that she must leave the dear sweet little monkeys—and Davie, his light hair in soft waves over his forehead, crowded up to Mrs. Pepper’s side. His hands were tightly clasped and he closed his eyes to squeeze back the tears.

“No, no, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, for Polly was just beginning, “Why, Mamsie, what—” “we won’t have the story now, and see—there is Simmons coming for us. It’s time to go home.”

When they were once in Miss Parrott’s big coach, the story all came out. Simmons on his coachman’s box, alternately drew himself up straighter than ever, and then shrank down in a way he couldn’t remember doing when on duty as befitted holding his aristocratic position in the community.

“I won’t tell her—the Missus acts bad enough as ’tis over them poor childern. What if he did lose his cap!” Away he drove in great form down a hundred yards or so. Then he pricked up his ears.

“Oh, Davie,” Polly was saying mournfully within the coach, “it’s too bad! Mamsie, what shall we do!”

Simmons didn’t hear Mrs. Pepper’s reply. Down his shoulders went and he drooped, letting the reins slacken. And then he straightened up again, quite determined to let matters alone. But as he drove up to the little brown house, and watched them all get out, he couldn’t help but see Davie’s face.

He looked back over his shoulder to watch them go up the path, not taking his gaze off till they were all in, and the green door shut.

“I s’pose I’d felt pretty bad when I warn’t no bigger’n him, to lose my cap, if I didn’t know where to get another. Thunder!”

And before he even put up his horses, Miss Parrott had the whole story.

“I presume they keep boys’ caps down at the store, Simmons?” said Miss Parrott quickly.

“That they do, Ma’am,” said Simmons.

“And perhaps you could tell Mr. Atkins the right size?”

“There wouldn’t be no trouble about that, Ma’am.”

There was a little transaction with money that came out of Miss Parrott’s black silk bag, and Simmons hurried out to take care of his horses, before he attended to the matter that now began to appear quite important to him.

Jimmy, his hand thrust into the pockets his mother hadn’t been able to make quite whole, turned down to the little cabin on Fletcher Road called “Mrs. Skinner’s house.” The loss of David’s cap bothered him dreadfully on top of the other matter connected with the circus boy. Jimmy wasn’t able to get him out of his mind. While the cake was rapidly disappearing, he had heard the story of being “starved and beaten,” the boy looking for more, in a way that struck Jimmy harder than the loss of his own treasured part of the feast.

“I can’t help him none,” he declared, with a reckless twitch of his shoulders, “no more’n I could get a new cap for Mis Pepper’s boy.”

He stopped suddenly, “Can’t I help get a cap for David Pepper?”

He took off his own cap and scratched his head. That did no good, and he flung the cap back. He hadn’t a penny in his pocket. He knew that without the trouble of turning the pocket inside out. But—couldn’t he get some work? Where?

It was a pretty small prospect before him, as all Badgertown people had a poor opinion of his desire or ability to work.

“What’s th’ use?” he said, kicking off some small stones in the rough road. Then he picked up one and shied it at a bird. He was astonished to find that he was relieved after all that he hadn’t hit it, and he kicked and scuffed more stones. That gave him an idea.

Away back, almost a year before, a farmer in the north end of the township had asked him to “pick rocks” in a barren field to be cleared for cultivation. Jimmy had said “Not much!”—and turned off with a laugh. Suppose the farmer wanted him now! It wasn’t a pretty job, Jimmy knew, breaking one’s back, and hauling and piling the stones. But—well, he could ask; it wouldn’t do any harm to do that.

Jimmy turned in at the door. Mrs. Skinner lifted a hot red face from the steaming wash-tub. All hours of the day were her work-times.

“Well,” she beamed in great and unusual contentment, resting her hands on the tub rim, “and was the circus fine?”

“Prime,” said Jimmy, “I’m coming back,” slamming the door.

“I want to hear—” began his mother in terrible disappointment. But he was already half-way down Fletcher Road.

“No,” said the farmer, just getting up from his supper, “you’re too late. Them rocks was all picked, an’ I’m plowin’ th’ field.”

“Tell him about Badger’s land,” said his wife, gathering up the remains of the supper.

“Oh, yes, see here,” called the farmer, “Badger wants th’ rocks picked from his land. I guess you can get a job there.”

When Jimmy dragged himself back from “Badger’s,” the lamps and candles had been lighted for some time in the cottages along the road. He looked for Mrs. Pepper’s as he passed the little brown house. There she was over by the table sewing. Jimmy had a pang as he thought how many stitches she would have to set before Davie’s loss could be made good. He didn’t know that a brand-new cap had been handed in, and that after the jollification over it had spent itself, Davie had taken it up into the loft to hang by the side of the shake-down, the first thing his eyes would rest upon the next morning.

That next morning, the old kitchen was just the jolliest place, full of the circus and its delightful memories. Davie, with his new cap on his head, was prancing around, the center of observation.

“It’s a perfectly beautiful cap!” declared Polly, for nobody knows how many times, and stopping on her way for the broom to sweep up.

“I wish the monkey had eaten mine up,” said Joel discontentedly.

“You may wear mine.” David stopped prancing, and twitched off his cap.

“No, no, Davie,” said Polly, “Miss Parrott sent you that cap, and she wouldn’t like you not to wear it.”

“And if a monkey should eat mine,” said Joel, just as well pleased, “I guess Miss Parrott will give me one. I don’t want yours, Dave.” With that David clapped on his cap again, and Joel seizing him about the waist, they spun round and round the kitchen, getting in the way of Polly’s broom, and hindering dreadfully. All of a sudden, down fell David, and Joel on top of him.

“I didn’t make him,” cried Joel, in dismay and hopping up, as Polly threw down the broom and ran over.

“He didn’t make me,” gasped Davie, getting up. The new cap had fallen off long before, and Polly had picked it up to hang it carefully on a nail. “It was my shoe.”

“Your shoe?” repeated Mrs. Pepper over by the window. “What is the matter with your shoe? Come here, David.” She laid down the sewing in her lap, as David scuffed across the floor.

“Well, that does need mending,” she said, as David put his small foot in her lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he began.

“Well, now, Mother is so glad that you didn’t get hurt with your shoe so bad as that,” she said cheerily. “Now you must get right down to Mr. Beebe’s and ask him to sew it up.”

“And mine needs mending, too,” cried Joel, hopping over on one foot to her chair. “I want to go to Mr. Beebe’s.”

“No, Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a laugh, “your shoes are perfectly sound. There now, Davie, go right down to the shoe-shop and ask Mr. Beebe if he will please to sew it up now—because you haven’t any other shoes—and walk carefully, child, else you’ll make it worse, and besides, you might fall.”

“Now isn’t it nice that Davie has a new cap?” cried Polly, going to the window, broom in hand, to watch him as he passed down the road. Joel had run out to go as far as the gate with him, then he had turned back to the woodshed, for Mrs. Pepper had said he must pick up some kindlings.

“I do think folks are awfully good to us, Mamsie,” said Polly, turning away from the window, to pause a minute before beginning to sweep again. “Just supposing Miss Parrott hadn’t let us see that circus!” and her cheeks paled at the very thought.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, and her busy needle stopped. “Miss Parrott is good, and God is good, to let her do it.”

“Isn’t He?” cried Polly, with shining eyes. “And now to think that Davie has a new cap, too!” as the busy needle now went hurrying in and out. “But I never shall get this floor swept up, if I stop all the time.”

Davie hurried as fast as he could, because the shoe must be mended as soon as possible. But he had to step carefully else a bad matter would be made worse. At last he was over the cobble-stones of the narrow street in front of the shoe-shop, and lifting the knocker on Mr. Beebe’s door.

“Well, well,” cried the little shoemaker, turning away from a box of bed-slippers he was sorting to rub his hands together delightedly, “if here doesn’t come Davie Pepper!”

“Yes,” said David, “I’ve come.”

He took off his new cap—he didn’t want to, but Mamsie had said “Never keep a cap on when you go to see people,” and to enter the little shoe-shop was far more than to do business; it was to visit friends. So he held the new cap in his hands.

“And now what can I do for you, Davie?” asked little Mr. Beebe, coming forward. “What has your mother sent you for?”

“It’s to mend my shoe,” said Davie, holding up his foot to show where the leather flapped.

“So?” cried the little shoemaker, setting his spectacles straight. “Well, now, you come over an’ set on th’ bench, an’ we’ll see what we shall see about that shoe.”

So Davie hobbled over and sat on the bench, and the little shoe was drawn off and submitted to a close examination, Davie following every movement with anxious eyes.

“The whole o’ th’ shoe is pretty bad,” said little Mr. Beebe slowly, pinching the well-worn leather critically.

Davie drew a long breath. “And Mamsie said would you please sew it up now, as I haven’t any more shoes.”

“Sho!” exclaimed the little shoemaker. Then he thought better of what he was going to say. “Yes, I’ll get right to work on it,” and pretty soon he was stitching away and cobbling at a great rate, Davie swinging his stocking-foot, and the other one in its rusty shoe, while the work went on.

“Where do you suppose I went yesterday, Mr. Beebe?” asked Davie in the midst of it. For the little shoemaker always expected the Pepper children to entertain him when they came to the shop. “It makes work go easier,” he said.

“Now I never can guess,” said Mr. Beebe, waxing his long thread again.

“I went to the circus,” said Davie.

“You didn’t, though!” The little shoemaker was genuinely surprised now, and he dropped his needle to peer over his spectacles at Davie.

“Yes, I did,” said Davie, with a jubilant little crow, “and every single one of us did, Mr. Beebe,” and he clapped his hands in delight at the remembrance.

“Now do tell!” The little shoemaker was so overwhelmed with the news that he forgot to pick up his needle. “Well, how did you get there?”

“In the big coach,” said Davie, bobbing his head. He didn’t think it was necessary to designate whose vehicle, as Badgertown boasted only one.

“Not Miss Parrott’s!” exclaimed Mr. Beebe.

“Yes,” said Davie, bobbing his head again.

“Well, I never! She didn’t go, did she?” exclaimed the little shoemaker.

“No,” this time Davie shook his head.

“I thought not. I sh’d as soon ’xpect one of th’ tombstones in th’ buryin’-ground to get sociable as her. Well, well—” here Mr. Beebe picked up his needle and began to pull it briskly in and out of the leather. “Now you must tell me all about it. Begin at th’ beginnin’, Davie, an’ reel off.”

So Davie began, and the little shop got very merry, Davie stopping every now and then to laugh at the antics of the bears, and the little ponies and the elephants and the funny men who wore white clothes with red spots over them, and who had holes for eyes, and who kept walking up and down saying things to make people laugh, or who were tumbling off all the while from the donkeys’ backs. And the little shoemaker wanted dreadfully to stop cobbling to hear the better, but he knew Mrs. Pepper expected her boy home, so he kept on with his work, every now and then grunting out, “Well I never!” and “Who ever did!” and the like.

So of course no one heard the door open, and the big woman who walked in, exclaimed, “Goodness, Mr. Beebe, what’s th’ matter!”

“There ain’t nothin’, as I know of,” said the little shoemaker, looking up composedly, “an’ please to shet th’ door, Mis Goodsell.”

Mrs. Goodsell pushed the door to with her foot. “I thought you was havin’ a party by the noise,” she said, coming over to sit heavily down on the bench by David’s side. Then she whipped the shawl-ends over across her lap and stared first at the little shoemaker and then at Davie.

“We was,” said Mr. Beebe, “us two: we made quite a nice party; just big enough.”

“Who is the boy?” Mrs. Goodsell turned her heavy body as far as she could and stared worse than ever at Davie.

“That is David Pepper sitting on the bench,” said Mr. Beebe. “Now what kind o’ shoes do you want, Mis Goodsell? You can be tellin’ me, an’ then I’ll be ready to get ’em when I’m through with this piece o’ work.”

“I d’no’s I want any shoes,” said the big woman, “I thought I’d drop in an’ see what you’d got.”

“Well,” said the little shoemaker, “my business is to show folks who want shoes, not to show ’em shoes ef they don’t want any.”

“But I may want ’em ef you’ve got some I like,” said Mrs. Goodsell tartly.

As Mr. Beebe said nothing to this, but kept on with his cobbling, Mrs. Goodsell concentrated her attention on the small boy by her side.

“Who’s your folks?” she demanded. She had faded greenish eyes, and Davie could think of nothing but gooseberries. He tried not to look at them, and at last turned such a helpless glance on the little shoemaker, that Mr. Beebe came to the rescue. He had opened his mouth to ask, “And how is your folks, Mis Goodsell?” when an organ grinder suddenly struck up a tune just outside the shop door.

Davie sprang from the bench and hopped close to the little old man still cobbling away.

“Oh, I must go,” he cried. “Do give me my shoe, Mr. Beebe,” holding out a frantic hand.

“There, there, Davie,” said the little shoemaker, “you wait a minute, an’ I’ll have your shoe done.”

“Isn’t it done enough?” said Davie, all in a tremble, “please, dear Mr. Beebe, let me go!”

“What’s th’ matter with th’ boy?” cried Mrs. Goodsell, “I never see anybody act so.”

“Don’t you fret yourself, Mis Goodsell,” said Mr. Beebe, “I’ll take care o’ Davie. You set an’ be comf’table.”

“Well, I can’t be comf’table—who could be, seein’ him carryin’ on so?” said the big woman.

Mr. Beebe, not hearing her, for he was now divided over his attempts to soothe Davie, and to see the little shoe repaired as it should be, bent his gray head to hear Davie, who was by this time in a frenzy to get home, and as he kept saying, “be with Phronsie.”

“So you shall, Davie, in a minute or two, an’ don’t you worry, th’ organ man can’t get by your house in a long while with that thing on his back. And mebbe he ain’t goin’ that way at all.”

“Oh, he will—he will!” cried Davie, in his terror guilty of contradicting, and he beat his hands together and hopped from one foot to the other in his distress.

Suddenly the organ man stopped the tune, and twitched a chain that rattled on the cobble-stones. Up ran a monkey, and as the man slung the organ on his back, the monkey followed to perch himself there, pull off his cap and bow to a baker’s boy and a small girl with a paper bag of groceries, both hanging on his every movement with wide open mouth and eyes.

Davie saw all this, as he plunged over to the small-paned window, when the tune stopped, and peered out between the rows of shoes and slippers that were strung across it.

“He’s going!” he gave a sharp little cry. Hearing this, and seeing his face, little Mr. Beebe stopped his work nearly as suddenly as the tune. “There now, I’ll put on your shoe. ’Tain’t done as good as I want to, you tell your Ma, an’ ef you come over to-morrow, I’ll finish th’ job up good an’ splendid.” He was saying all this as he tied the shoe on Davie’s small foot. “An’ don’t you worry a mite.”

Davie, only waiting till the string was tied, shot out and over the big flat door-stone to the cobble-stones of the narrow street.