“Were they as nice as dear Mrs. Beebe’s pink and white sticks?” asked Joel anxiously.

“And dear Mr. Beebe’s,” added Phronsie; “were they, Polly?”

“Yes—no; that is, they couldn’t be quite as nice, Pet. No pink and white sticks could be, you know. But they were very nice indeed, and they all lived together in a candy-jar.”

“Oh—oh! Tell about it, Polly,” they all begged.

So Polly got the little bunch of Peppers together in “the breathing-spell,” as the edge of the twilight was called, when it was too soon to light a candle, because mother Pepper couldn’t afford any light in the old kitchen except when it was absolutely necessary; and then she began:

“Yes, they all lived together in the big candy-jar.”

“Where was it?” cried Joel insistently, at which the others clamored immediately to be told the same thing.

“In the window of the little shop, just like Mr. Beebe’s, only it wasn’t Mr. Beebe’s,” said Polly.

“And was my dear, sweet Mrs. Beebe in there, and all the little shoes?” demanded Phronsie excitedly.

“No, no, Pet; I said it wasn’t Mr. Beebe’s shop, so of course Mrs. Beebe wasn’t there, nor the shoes,” answered Polly; “but it was like Mr. Beebe’s.”

“Did it have a green door?” asked Joel, “and a big knocker that went clang—clang—like this?” and he jumped up and sent out his arm after an imaginary brass knocker hanging on a big green door.

“Yes,” said Polly. “I guess my shop-door had a big knocker on it, all shiny like Mr. Beebe’s.”

“Your shop? oh! is it your shop?” broke in little Davie incredulously. “O Polly!”

“Of course it’s my shop,” cried Polly gayly, “’cause I make it up out of my head, so I own all the things in it too.”

“Oh! give me some of the candy then,” howled Joel, plunging into the middle of the group. “I want some right away, Polly.”

“Why, I’m giving you some now,” said Polly, laughing at his face. The children all looked puzzled enough.

“You see, you’re getting some of the pink and white sticks in the story; and if I didn’t make it up, you couldn’t have any. Now you must just play you’re eating candy. My, isn’t it nice!” Polly held up long imaginary pink and white sticks, and took a good bite off from one of them.

Joel’s sharp black eyes followed her closely. “I’d rather have the real sticks,” he said slowly.

“Of course,” said Polly; “but if you can’t have real ones, it’s better to have make-believe story ones. Well, now I’m going to begin.”

“Yes, go on,” said Joel, bringing down his gaze as Polly’s hands fell to her lap. “You said they were in the big candy-jar, Polly;” smacking his lips.

“Yes—oh! and it stood on the shelf that ran along inside the window; and there was a little bit of a man who kept the shop, and he had a little bit of a wife who helped him, and”—

“Why ain’t they big as Mr. Beebe, and big as Mrs. Beebe?” cried Joel, putting his hands out as far as he could reach in front of him; “I like ’em big. Why ain’t they, Polly?”

“Because they aren’t Mr. and Mrs. Beebe,” said Polly. “Now, if you are going to interrupt every minute, I can’t tell the story.”

“I wish we could hear about those pink and white sticks,” said little Davie patiently, and drawing a long sigh.

“Yes, you see the others want to hear about it, Joel,” said Polly; “and it keeps us all back when you stop me so much.”

“I want the pink and white sticks,” said Phronsie, stretching out her feet. “Please hurry, Polly.”

So Joel clapped one hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting Polly again, and she began once more.

“Yes; old Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle were little and dried up, just like two little withered nuts; and they had ever so many little Periwinkleses, and so they had to work very hard to keep shoes and stockings on their feet, and to get them enough to eat. So Mrs. Periwinkle used to make candy and doughnuts and”—

“Oo!” exploded Joel, forgetting himself. Then he clapped the other hand, too, upon his mouth.

“And then Mrs. Periwinkle would run out into the shop, and say to Mr. Periwinkle, ‘Here’s another batch of candy, my dear;’ or ‘Look what I’ve brought you,’ sliding a pan of doughnuts on the counter just in time for the folks opening the green door and coming into the shop to buy things. Well, one day a perfectly dreadful thing happened!” Polly drew a long breath, and gazed at her audience.

“What was it?” cried little Davie breathlessly. Phronsie sat quite still with clasped hands, and wide eyes fixed on Polly’s face. Joel was cramming his fists up against his mouth in great distress.

“Why, the pink and white candy sticks were gone, and there was the big jar all tumbled down on its side!” said Polly, with a very impressive air; “just think of that, children!”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the two little Peppers, while Joel nodded his stubbly black head.

“Yes, they were,” said Polly, still more impressively; “every single one of all those pink and white sticks.”

“How many were there—ugh!” cried Joel, forgetting himself. Then he clapped his hands up to his mouth again.

“Oh! I don’t know—yes, there were six—no, I guess eleven of those pink and white sticks,” said Polly thoughtfully; “six white ones and five pink ones.”

“I’d rather have had six pink ones,” said little Davie reflectively.

“Well, I’ll change them,” said Polly accommodatingly, “and let the white ones be five. Yes, that’s best after all,—there were six pink ones, children. Well, and so”—

“I’d rather have the white ones be six,” cried Joel in a roar, and dropping his fists; “they’re best, any way. Mrs. Beebe’s white ones were bigger’n the pink ones, and lots sweeter. Let the white ones be six, Polly, do!”

Thereupon an animated discussion began, as to which should be six, and which should be five, between the two boys, little David taking an unusually firm stand, as he insisted on the pink ones. So at last Polly broke in: “I’ll tell you, children, what we will do; there shall be twelve sticks, six pink and six white ones; now, that’s fine.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” cried Joel and David together. “Well, go on, Polly.”

“Now, where do you suppose those pink and white sticks could have gone to?” cried Polly, clasping her hands. “Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle hadn’t sold them—what could have become of them?”

The little Peppers shook their heads. “And the little Periwinkleses hadn’t touched them—oh, no indeed!” declared Polly in a tone of horror—“so what could really have become of them?”

“What?” It was Phronsie who asked this, and she crept into Polly’s lap, and put her little hand up on Polly’s neck.

“Well, nobody knew,” said Polly, stopping only long enough to give Phronsie a hug and ever so many kisses. “And then, what do you think, children, they found had happened to the pink and white sticks?”

At this there was great excitement, the children protesting they couldn’t guess, and wouldn’t Polly hurry and tell them? So she dashed along,—

“Well, Mr. Periwinkle said he was going to sit up that night and watch, and Mrs. Periwinkle said she was going to, and all the little Periwinkleses said they were going to do the same thing. So nobody went to bed at all.”

“Oh, dear me!” said David.

“Didn’t the littlest little Peri—what is it, Polly?” asked Phronsie in a troubled way.

“Periwinkleses,” said Polly.

“Yes, didn’t the very littlest get into the trundle-bed?” asked Phronsie.

“No, not even the littlest of the Periwinkleses,” said Polly. “She was the baby; and she sat up in Mrs. Periwinkle’s lap.”

“Oh!” said Phronsie.

“Well, along about ten o’clock,—no, I guess it was about the middle of the night,” said Polly, “all the Periwinkleses were keeping just as still as could be, you know; and there they sat on their chairs and crickets with their eyes wide open, staring at that big jar—oh! I forgot to tell you that Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle had put some more pink and white sticks in it, so as to see what would happen to them, and”—

“Were there six pink and six white ones?” screamed Joel, before the others could say a word.

“Yes, I guess there were just exactly so many,” said Polly; “and there they stood up, as tall and splendid in the jar.”

“Oo!” Joel smacked his lips.

“Well, along in the middle of the night,—nobody stirred, but all the eyes were staring at those pink and white sticks, when suddenly there was a little wee, faint noise.”

Phronsie snuggled up closer to Polly.

“It came from under the counter; and pretty soon they all heard a faint voice say, ‘Is it time to come out and do it?’”

“‘Yes,’ said another voice; ‘the clock has just struck twelve, and all the big Periwinkles and the little Periwinkleses are asleep.’”

“But they ain’t, Polly,” broke in Phronsie, suddenly sitting straight in Polly’s lap.

“I know, Pet; but these little things with the voices under the counter thought so, you see. And now I’m going to tell you all about it. Well, so out they crept—and they crept—and they crept”—

Joel and David huddled up as close as they could get to Polly, till they were almost in her lap—“And there, in the middle of the floor, were two little brown mice!”

Phronsie clapped her hands in glee.

“I’d rather have had a bear,” said Joel, falling back disappointed.

“I hadn’t,” said David; “go on, Polly, do.”

“And those two little brown mice didn’t seem to see Mr. Periwinkle and Mrs. Periwinkle and all the little Periwinkleses sitting round on their chairs and crickets, but they just danced off towards the big jar in the shop-window.”

“O Polly! are they going to take more pink and white sticks?” cried Phronsie, coming out of her glee, and looking very sober.

“You’ll see, Pet. Well, and in a minute out jumped from their hole under the counter Father and Mother Mice, oh! just as big as you please, and just as smart; and they said, ‘Wait, my children, you can’t move the jar, you’re too little;’ and with one spring apiece they were up on the shelf; and then they ran up on the top of the jar, and tumbled down inside among the pink and white sticks.”

“Oh, oh!” cried the little Peppers.

“Yes; and ‘Stand away there, my children,’ came in very faint tones from the jar, ‘or you’ll be killed;’ and one of the great big mice—it was Mr. Father Brown Mouse—stood on the very tip most top of the jar, and let his tail dangle over.

“‘Now run down, my dear,’ he said to his wife, Mrs. Mother Mouse, ‘and stand on the ground,’—he called the shelf the ground, you know,—‘and pull my tail as hard as you did last night, you know; then you must fly, just as you did last night too, when you see the jar coming, or you will be killed.’ So Mrs. Mother Mouse promised she would do it all just as he told her, and she did. And over came the jar on its side on the shelf!”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the little Peppers.

“Then in rushed the two little brown mice, and after them pell-mell the two big brown mice, to drag out the pink and white sticks. But Mr. Periwinkle hopped up, and so did Mrs. Periwinkle, and all the little Periwinkleses, and he said, ‘No, sir, and No, ma’am, and no, you little Mousiekins, you don’t take my pink and white sticks, and’”—

“O Polly!” cried Phronsie, grasping Polly’s arm, “please do let the poor, sweet little brown mousies have the pink and white sticks. Please, Polly!” she begged, dreadfully excited.

“Hoh, hoh! why, they were Mr. Periwinkle’s pink and white sticks,” cried Joel. “O Polly! I hope he took a big stick and whacked ’em.”

“Oh, no,—no!” cried Phronsie, the tears beginning to come into her brown eyes; “poor little brown mousies. Please, Polly don’t let him hurt them.”

“Well, he sha’n’t hurt them,” said Polly, relenting. Davie twisted about very uncomfortably, longing for Polly to make the naughty little brown mice give back Mr. Periwinkle’s pink and white sticks for Mrs. Periwinkle and the little Periwinkleses. But he couldn’t go against Phronsie; so he swallowed his disappointment, and said, “Do let the little brown mice go, Polly.”

“Well, I will,” said Polly, amid howls of disapproval by Joel. “Well, when Mr. Periwinkle said that, out jumped Mr. Father Brown Mouse, and Mrs. Mother Brown Mouse, and the two little brown mice, and each had a pink or a white stick in his mouth, and away they ran for their hole under the counter.”

Phronsie leaned back in Polly’s lap quite satisfied.

“Was it a white stick Mr. Father Brown Mouse had in his mouth?” asked Joel, smothering his disappointment as best he could.

“Yes, he had the white one,” said Polly, smiling at him.

“Well, Mrs. Mother Brown Mouse got the best anyway,” said Davie; “she got the pink one.”

“Hulloa!” cried Ben rushing in, his face all aglow. “Well, I declare, if you are not all up in a bunch in this dark corner. Aren’t you going to light a candle?”

Phronsie jumped out of Polly’s lap, where she was nestling like a little bird, and rushed tumultuously up to him. “O Bensie!” she screamed, clasping her hands; “we’ve had pink and white sticks, and poor, sweet little brown mousies, and I liked ’em, I did,” she cried.