“The little duck ran away,” announced Polly, “to begin with,” to the group around her chair.

“Then he was a very naughty duck,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head.

“Tell about him!” cried Joel with a gusto.

“Yes, I’m going to,” said Polly, setting her stitches with a firm hand. “But, children, you interrupt so much that it makes me forget all what I’m going to say, when I’m telling stories.”

“Oh, we won’t; we won’t!” they all promised. “Do begin, Polly, do.”

“Well, once upon a time,” said Polly, with true story-book flourish, “no, when I was a little girl, years ago, that’s the way Grandma Bascom begins her stories”—

“But ’twasn’t years ago when you were a little girl, Polly,” said little David thoughtfully.

“Well, ’tis in a play-story,” said Polly. “And all my stories are make-believe, you know. Now, I’m an old lady, children; and I’m going to tell you about my little duck I had, oh, ever so many years ago!”

The little bunch of Peppers shouted at the idea of Polly’s being an old lady; and Joel got up and whirled around, clapping his fists together till the old kitchen rang with the noise. “Put on a big cap, Polly,” he screamed, “just like Grandma’s!”

So Polly, who dearly loved to dress up and play things, dropped her sewing, and ran off into the bedroom. “There isn’t anything I can tie on that’s like a cap,” she said, coming back, “but this; wasn’t it nice Mamsie had it?” It was a big piece of light brown paper that had done up the last batch of sacks brought home from the store for Mrs. Pepper to sew up.

“Hoh, that isn’t white!” cried Joel in disdain, while the faces of the others fell.

“Well, we must play it’s white,” said Polly. “I’m going to; and all frilled with deep lace, too.”

So the children began to smile with satisfaction once more. If Polly could play it was white and all trimmed with beautiful lace, it was all right.

“Run to the string-bag, one of you children,” said Polly, crinkling up the paper on her head to make it look as much like an old lady’s cap as possible, and nearly putting out one eye with the corner of the paper, “and tie it fast while I hold it on.”

“I will—I will!” cried little Davie, springing off.

“No, I will; I can get it twice as quick!” cried Joe, tumbling after him, and seizing his jacket. Thereupon ensued a scuffle as to which should first reach the string-bag in the Provision Room. Joel did, and soon came racing back with a very red face, and bearing it triumphantly aloft. “Here ’tis!—I got it, Polly; now I’ll tie you up.”

Polly looked out from under her big paper—“Go and hang that string-bag right up again, Joey,” she said slowly.

“I got it,” said Joel stoutly.

“Go and hang it up,” said Polly.

“I—I—got—it,” said Joel faintly—“I sh’d think I might keep it, Polly,” he said in an injured tone.

“Go and hang it up this minute,” said Polly, coming entirely out from under her big paper cap and fixing her eyes on him. When Polly looked like that, it always made them think of Mamsie; so Joel turned at once, and went slowly down the steps to the Provision Room, dragging the string-bag after him. He soon came back, twisting his small hands, and trying not to cry. “Now, Davie,” said Polly pleasantly, “will you go and get me the string-bag?”

David started to run on joyful feet; but seeing Joel moping in the corner, he stopped suddenly, “I’d rather Joe went,” he said.

“No, I want you to go,” said Polly firmly; “and if you don’t hurry, I shall have to go and get it myself, and you wouldn’t want me to do that, I’m sure.”

Thus adjured, David ran as fast as his feet could carry him, and soon brought the string-bag to Polly.

“Now says I,” she cried, “somebody must tie my old cap on, and I’m going to ask Joel to do that.” And she pulled out a long string. “Come on, Joey.”

“I—didn’t—mean—to,” sobbed Joel, over in his corner. “Polly, I didn’t.”

“Well, see that you don’t run and scramble and take away Davie’s things again when he starts first,” said Polly. “Come on, Joe, I’m waiting.”

So Joel tumbled out of his corner, wiping away the tears on the back of his little red hand; and soon Polly’s cap was tied on in the most approved style, amid the shouts of the children, who all escorted her to the cracked looking-glass over the bedroom bureau, when she pronounced it “just too perfect for anything.”

“Well, now,” said Polly, drawing a long breath, and racing back to sit down and pick up her sewing, “I must hurry and tell about my cunning little duck, or I don’t know what I shall do. Now, children, you know I’m an old, old lady, and”—

“How old?” demanded Joel, who dearly loved facts and figures.

“Oh! I don’t know—most a hundred I guess,” said Polly; “well”—

“Ho—Ho! Polly’s most a hundred,” laughed Joel, and Davie burst out laughing too. “Polly’s most a hundred,” echoed Phronsie with a gurgle.

“Now, see here, children, I shall never tell this story if you keep interrupting me like that,” said Polly, pushing back her paper cap that settled over one eye. “Dear me, I didn’t s’pose it was such trouble to pretend to be old—this slides all over my head, and I can’t see to sew. Well, I once had a cunning little duck, when I was a little girl years and years ago.”

“Was he as big as that?” asked Phronsie, bringing her two fat little hands almost together in intense excitement.

“Yes,” said Polly, “and a little bigger. Well, he was all my own, you know; my grandmother gave him to me.”

“Did you have a grandmother?” asked David. “I thought you were the grandmother,” looking at the big cap with its nodding border.

“Well, so I am, but I had a grandmother too when I was a little girl. Everybody has a grandmother when they’re little.”

“Oh!” said Davie.

“Well, my grandmother gave me this little duck. Now, don’t interrupt again,” said Polly. “You see, he was so little when he was born, that I s’pose he got lost in the grass, and no one saw him; and then the cat must have stepped on him, for his leg was bent, and”—

“What’s bent?” demanded Phronsie, pushing an absorbed little face forward.

“Oh! doubled up like this,” said Joel, suiting the action to the word, and twisting his leg into as much of a knot as was possible.

“Oh, Polly!” said Phronsie gravely, “please don’t let the little duck’s leg be like Joel’s.”

“Well, you’ll see, Phronsie,” said Polly reassuringly. “I’ll fix the little duck’s leg all right. My grandma gave him to me, you know. Well, he was yellow and white, a cunning little ball, oh, so soft and puffy!”

Phronsie trembled with excitement, and she put out her little hands as if she had the duck between them. “But please fix his leg, Polly,” she breathed.

“Yes, yes, child,” said Polly quickly. “Oh, dear me! I’ve sewed that seam wrong; now that has all to come out.”

“But please fix that little duck’s leg first, Polly,” begged Phronsie, her lip quivering, “before you pick out those wrong stitches.”

“Oh, dear me, was there ever such a peck of trouble!” cried poor Polly, picking frantically at the bad stitches. Then her old paper cap, with its deep border, slid down over her eyes, and her scissors tumbled on the floor.

“Look at Polly’s cap! Look at Polly’s cap!” screamed Joel.

“It’s grandma,” said little Davie, who dearly loved to carry out all Polly’s make-believes, while Phronsie still insisted that the little duck’s leg should be fixed before anything else was done.

In the midst of all this confusion the door opened suddenly, and there was dear old Mrs. Beebe, her round face smiling over a big basket.

“Well, well, my pretty dears!” she exclaimed. “Why, what’s the matter? Polly got hurt? Oh, you poor creeters!” seeing the big paper flapping over Polly’s brown head, and all the children crowded around her chair.

“No’m,” said Polly, twitching off her big cap. And “She’s playing grandma,” said Joel and David.

“But her cunning little duck has hurt his leg,” cried Phronsie, with clasped hands flying over to Mrs. Beebe, “and Polly is going to fix it right away.”

“Yes,” said Polly at sight of her face. “I must. Boys, go and tell dear Mrs. Beebe all about it, while I take her in my lap and fix that duck’s leg.” So Joel and David, very important at the piece of work set them, ran over and poured the whole recital into good Mrs. Beebe’s ear, how Polly was playing grandmother, and they hadn’t anything to make a cap of but an old piece of brown paper that came around the sacks from the store that Mrs. Pepper brought home to sew, and how the old thing kept tumbling over Polly’s nose, so that she sewed up the seam wrong; and she was trying to pick it out, because, you see, she had to get it done before Mamsie got home, who had gone to the minister’s to help Mrs. Henderson make her soft soap; and how Phronsie almost cried because Polly said the little duck’s leg was bent in the grass, because maybe the cat stepped on it; and how that was the reason Polly was talking to her now, and fixing the leg up. And, oh, dear me! all this and much more; good Mrs. Beebe oh—ing and ah—ing at just the right times. “And that’s all,” announced little David at last, flushed and important.

Joel hung his head, “No, it isn’t,” he blurted out; “I was bad.”

“You were bad?” echoed Mrs. Beebe. “Oh, no! I guess not,” she said soothingly.

“Yes, I was,” said Joel stoutly. “I scuffled Davie, and got the string-bag first.”

David shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “He put it back,” he said.

“Polly made me,” said Joel, twisting his mouth not to cry, and with an eye to the big basket, which was not for naughty boys. “Oh, dear me!”

Old Mrs. Beebe cast a puzzled glance at him, but was saved the necessity of replying; for old Mr. Beebe came in just then, rubbing his hands. “Well, how are you all, my pretty dears? I can’t stay a minute, for my shop’s all alone, an’ folks’ll be knocking on the door an’ can’t get in. Come, Ma, give ’em the things in the basket, and then come out an’ get in the wagon.”

Mrs. Beebe gave a sigh. “Dear me,” she said, “I wish I could set awhile; but then, there’s the shop.” So she got out of her chair, and began to undo the basket. And Polly, with Phronsie radiant, and hanging to her hand, came running up, and they all crowded around the good woman. And old Mr. Beebe laughed, and shook his fat sides, and rubbed his hands together worse than ever. And at last all the things were out and on the table ready to surprise Mamsie with when she came home.

“And I guess if one of you will feel in my pockets,” he said at last, when his wife clapped to the cover of the empty basket, “p’raps maybe, now, you’d find something you’d like.”

“Let David,” said Joel, swallowing hard.

“No, let Phronsie,” said little David.

So Phronsie went up to old Mr. Beebe, who lifted her into a chair, to be on a level with the pockets in his great-coat, and oh, oh! first she drew out slowly a pink stick, and then a great thick white one of peppermint candy! And then, midst a babel of thanks from the Five Little Peppers, and one or two kisses from old Mr. and Mrs. Beebe, away the big empty basket and the two good people went to their wagon.

“I’m sure,” said Polly to herself, long after they had danced and danced around the table with its good things, “none of them care for the little duck now; so I can fly to my sewing, and have a good time to pick it out, and do it right.” So she settled herself in the old chair in the corner, the children in great excitement still circling around the gifts which they were not to touch till Mamsie got home.

“I choose that,” said Joel, smacking his lips; “that big fat doughnut, all crisp and brown. O whickets!”

“Joel,” said Polly over in her corner, “what did you say?”

Joel hung his head. “And I choose that,” said Davie, pointing to some gingerbread, dark and moist, while he carefully licked the remnant of pink stick in his hand, for Phronsie had insisted on sharing her candy with them all, the minute the Beebes had gotten into their green wagon, “what do you choose, Phronsie?”

“I like this,” said Phronsie, holding up a sticky wad of pink stick in her fat little hand, and smiling with a very much smeared face.

“Oh, deary me!” cried Polly at sight of her. “Well, I s’pose it’s no use to wash her up till it’s all gone. Well, I am thankful I didn’t have to tell all the rest about that dreadful little duck.”