Ben walked back and forth, his hands thrust deeply in his pockets. "It's no use, Mamsie," he came now and stood straight before her, his blue eyes fastened steadily upon her face; "I've just got to do it."
"There is no need for you to say that, Ben." Mrs. Fisher's tone was quiet, but the blood was leaping in her veins. "You're my oldest child," then her voice broke.
"And that's the reason." Ben threw his head back and took his hands out of his pockets to clench them together hard. "It would be mean as—mean as anything to let Grandpapa do anything more for me, and—"
"There's where you are wrong, Ben," cried his mother, eagerly, and guilty of interrupting, "it is Mr. King's dearest wish to provide an education for you children; you can pay him back afterward. I have accepted for the others; why not for you?"
"Because,—look at Polly. Oh, mother, think what Polly can do with her music!" His whole face was working now, and his eyes shone.
"I know it," cried Mrs. Fisher, proudly. "Polly will be able to pay him back, there is no doubt about that."
"But I'm different," added Ben, quickly, "such a dull, plodding fellow. Oh, Mamsie, what would a college education amount to for me? I'm best to buckle right down to business."
"Ben, Ben!" Mother Fisher's tone was quite reproachful now, and she seized his hand and covered it with her two strong ones. "Any one can accomplish what he sets out to. You can amount to whatever you put your mind on; and you deserve a college education if ever a boy did." She broke down now and was sobbing on his shoulder.
Ben didn't say anything, this being quite beyond him, to see his mother cry. But he patted the smooth black hair with an unsteady hand.
"To think of your giving up your chance," at last Mrs. Fisher said brokenly; "it isn't right, Ben. Can't you see you ought not to do it?"
"But it is right," said Ben, sturdily recovering himself when he saw that his mother could really talk about it. "I'm to be a business man, and I'm going to begin at the very bottom, as an errand boy, or an office boy, and work up." Here he straightened his square shoulders as if already pretty near the top of things.
"Ah, Ben, my boy," Mrs. Fisher raised her head to look at him, "all you can get in the way of education helps you on just so much."
"And I can have all these years I'd be spending at college in learning the business," Ben hurried on, feeling if he didn't say something, he should surely break down; for there was such a world of pleading in the black eyes that he didn't dare to trust himself to look into them. "Don't you see, Mother? Besides,—well, I just can't do it."
When Ben called her "Mother," it always meant something requiring grave attention. So Mrs. Fisher knew as well then as afterward that it was a decided thing that Ben was to leave school and go into a business life. All she said now was, "Come," leading the way to the roomy old sofa, where the children used often to tell their troubles or joys to her as they sat side by side.
When Ben emerged from his mother's room, he held his head high, but his breath came hard, and one fist deep in his pocket was clenched tightly.
"Halloo!"—Joel plunged into him; "where've you been?" And, not waiting for a reply, "Grandpapa says I'm to go if you'll go with me,"—he swarmed all over him in his eagerness.
"Get off, Joe!" cried Ben, roughly. It seemed as if he couldn't bear any more just then, and he gave him, without stopping to think, a little shove.
Joel looked at him with very wide eyes.
"You're always hanging on to me," went on Ben, crossly, not realizing a word he was saying. "Goodness me, a chap can't stir but you must pop up."
Joel stood perfectly still, plastered against the wall, his mouth open, but not equal to uttering a word, as Ben stalked on down the hall.
"Oh, you think you're smart, I s'pose," at last it came in a burst behind him. "Well, I don't want you to go with me, Mr. Ben Pepper—Mr. Ebenezer Pepper." Joel could hardly get the long name out, being so wholly unaccustomed to its use. "And I will tell Grandpapa I wouldn't have you go with me for anything."
"Joel!" Ben called hoarsely after him, whirling in his tracks to see Joel fly down the hall. "Oh, come back."
"You aren't going," declared Joel, savagely, and stopping long enough to snap his fingers at Ben, "no-sir-ee, not a single step!" And despite all Ben's efforts he pranced off with a final jump that defied pursuit.
Ben stood perfectly still for a moment, then strode off up to his room, where he locked the door fast, went over and sat on the side of the bed, and buried his face in his hands.
How long he sat there he never knew. The first thing that brought him to himself was Polly's voice, and her fingers drumming on the door.
"Bensie, are you here? O dear me! Do open the door."
Ben took up his head at first with the wild thought that he wouldn't answer. But then, it was Polly calling, and such a thing as a locked door between them would never do. So he staggered off as best he might, not seeing his pale face in the mirror as he went by, and slowly turned the key.
"Oh, Ben! O dear me! What is it?" Polly cried, quite aghast at his face. She huddled up to him and grasped his arm. "Tell me, Ben," and the fright at seeing him thus drove every bit of color from her face.
"Nothing," said Ben, shortly, "that is—"
"Oh, now you are sick," cried Polly, quite wildly, and with another look into his face, usually so ruddy, she tore off her hands and raced toward the stairs. "I shall call Mamsie."
"Polly, Polly!" cried Ben, rushing out after her, "you must not call Mamsie. I'll tell you all about it, Polly. Polly, do come back."
But she didn't hear anything but the first words, that Mamsie must not be called, and feeling more sure than ever by this that Ben was really sick, she redoubled her speed and rushed into Mother Fisher's room, crying, "Oh, Mamsie, do come quickly; something is the matter with Ben."
Mrs. Fisher had sat down resolutely to her sewing after the decision had been made by Ben that put aside all her hopes for his future education. She now sprang to her feet, upsetting the big work-basket, and forgetting Polly, said, "It's been too much for him."
"What's been too much?" cried Polly, hanging to Mother Fisher's hand, her heart going like a trip-hammer. "Oh, Mamsie, what is the matter with Ben?" The room seemed to go round with her and everything to turn black.
"Polly," said Mrs. Fisher, firmly, "I cannot tell you anything now. You must stay here. I am going to see Ben." And Polly, left alone, had nothing to do but throw herself on the big, old sofa, where she crouched in her distress till Mamsie should come back and tell her all about the dreadful mystery.
For that something awful had happened to Ben, Polly was now quite sure, as she lay there, her head burrowed in the big pillow, the wildest thoughts running through her brain. The first thing she knew, a hard little hand was tucked into her neck. She knew Joel's tickles, that he loved to give her, long before he sang out, "Polly Pepper, lying down in the daytime! Aren't you ashamed?"
"Oh, Joel," cried Polly, in a smothered voice; "do go away," she begged.
For answer Joel slid to his knees and crowded his chubby face into the pillow. "Are you sick, Polly?" he cried, in an awe-struck voice.
"No," said Polly, wriggling hard to keep him from seeing her face; "do, please, go away, Joey."
"I know you're sick," contradicted Joel, stubbornly; and bounding to his feet, "Where's Mamsie?" peering all around the room.
Polly didn't answer, being unwilling to tell about Ben.
"Well, I shall go and find her," declared Joel, decidedly, preparing to rush off.
"You must not," cried Polly, bounding up to sit straight. "You mustn't and you can't, because—"
"Because what?" demanded Joel, coming back to the sofa to fasten his black eyes on her face.
"Oh, because—" began Polly, again casting frantically about in her mind what to say and twisting her handkerchief with nervous fingers.
"Now I know that my Mamsie is sick and you're keeping it from me," cried Joel, in a loud, insistent voice, "and I shall go and find her; so there, Polly Pepper."
"Joel, if you do," began Polly, desperately, seizing his jacket-end; then she knew he would have to be told when she saw his face, for nothing could be worse than to let him think anything had happened to Mamsie. "I'll tell you all about it," she promised; "do sit down," and she pulled him into the corner of the big sofa by her side; "you see it's about Ben."
Joel whirled around and fixed wide eyes of astonishment upon her.
"And I don't know in the least," said Polly, brokenly, "what's the matter with him. He acts so funny, Joel, you can't think," she brought up, mournfully, while she twisted her poor handkerchief worse than ever.
Joel pushed his face up to scan her thoughtfully to see if there were anything more forthcoming.
"And to think of it—Ben—" went on Polly in a fresh gust, "he's never acted so. O dear me! What can it be, Joel?"
In her distress she forgot that she was to comfort him, and she seized his arm and clung to it.
"It's me," blurted Joel, forgetting grammar and everything else, and pulling away from her, he slipped off the sofa and began a quick pace to the door.
"Where are you going?" Polly flew after him, and although he ran smartly, she had hold of his jacket-end. "Joel Pepper, you must not go up to Ben's room. Mamsie wouldn't let me."
"But I made him bad," said Joel, his face dreadfully red and twitching violently to get free.
"You made him bad," repeated Polly, faintly, and, tumbling backward in surprise, she let the jacket-end go. "O dear me!"
"And I'm going to make him well," screamed Joel, plunging off. She could hear him clambering up over the stairs two at a time.
"If I could only go too," mourned Polly, having nothing to do but go slowly back and shut herself into Mamsie's room, as bidden.
She threw herself down again on the old sofa, and buried her face in the pillows. It was Joel who bounded in and up to her side, calling, "Oh, Polly!" that sent her flying up to sit straight. "Ben wants you," he cried excitedly.
"Oh, Joel, what is it?" she exclaimed, flying off from the sofa; "what is the matter with Ben?"
"Nothing," said Joel, in high glee. As long as Ben wasn't sick, and he had made matters right with him, the rest could wait. So downstairs Joel ran to Grandpapa, to tell him that he had made a grand mistake; that he did want Ben to go on the expedition, no more nor less than a visit to the Museum.
"I thought so, my boy," said old Mr. King, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, if I were you, I wouldn't go off half-cocked again, especially with Ben. No doubt he was in the wrong, too. There are always two sides to a thing."
"Oh, no, he wasn't," protested Joel, terribly alarmed lest Ben should be blamed. "I was cross, Grandpapa. 'Twas all my fault." He was so distressed that the old gentleman hastened to add, "Yes, yes; well, there now, that's quite enough. As I've never seen Ben treat you one-half as badly as you deserve, sir, I'll believe you. Now be off with you, Joel!" and with a little laugh and another last pat he dismissed him.
Meantime Polly was having a perfectly dreadful time up in Ben's room. It took Mrs. Fisher as well as Ben to comfort her in the least for her dreadful disappointment that Ben was not going to accept a long and thorough education at Mr. King's hands.
But all this was as nothing to Grandpapa's dismay when the truth came out. And it took more than the combined efforts of the whole household to restore him to equanimity when he saw that Ben was actually not to be moved from his resolution. It was little Doctor Fisher who finally achieved the first bit of resignation reached.
"Now, my good sir;" the little man put himself, unasked, beside the stately figure pacing with ill-concealed irritation down the "long path." It was several days since Ben had made his announcement, and Grandpapa had been hoping against all obstacles that the boy would give in at the last. But to-day even that hope slipped away.
"Let me speak a word for Ben," the little Doctor went on, raising his big spectacles just as cheerfully to the clouded face as if a warm invitation had been extended him.
"Ben needs no words from you, Doctor Fisher," said Mr. King, icily; "I really consider the least said on this subject the better, perhaps."
"Perhaps—and perhaps not," said the little man, just as cheerily. It was impossible to quarrel with him or to shake him off, and Mr. King, realizing this, kept on his walk with long strides, Doctor Fisher skipping by his side, telling off the points of what he had come to say, on his nervous fingers.
"Do you realize," he said at length, "that you would break down all Ben's best powers if you had your way with him?"
"Hold on there, man," roared the old gentleman, coming to an abrupt pause in his walk, "do you mean to say, and do you take me for an idiot, which I should be if I believed it, that the more education a boy gets, the more he injures his chances for life?"
The little man squinted at the tips of the trees waving their skeleton branches in the crisp air, then brought a calm gaze to the excited old face: "Not exactly; but I do say when you make a boy like Ben turn from the path he has marked out for himself, all the education that culture would crowd on him is just so much to break down the boy. Ben wouldn't be Ben after you got through with him. Now be sensible." He got up on his tiptoes and actually bestowed a pat on the stately shoulder. "Ben wants to go to work. Give him his head,—you can trust him; and let's you and I keep our hands off from him."
And the little Doctor, having said his say, got down on his feet again and trotted off.
All the remainder of that day Grandpapa went around very much subdued. He even smiled at Ben, a thing he hadn't done ever since the dreadful announcement that gave a blow to all his plans for the boy. And at last it began to be understood that the skies were clear again, and that things after all were turning out for the best.
"But only to think of it," Grandpapa would go on to himself in the privacy of his own room, "mountain children can be brought down and set into schools, and the Van Ruypen money do the old lady some good,—and there is Pip,—see what she has got there,—and nobody to interfere with what she'll spend on him. And I—I am balked the very first thing. And I did so mean to do well by Ben; dear, dear!"
But as the matter was now decided and out of his hands, the next thing to do was to get Ben a good place where he could begin on his business career, sure of good training. So the following day old Mr. King dropped into the office of Cabot and Van Meter, for a little private conversation.
They welcomed him heartily, as usual, dismissing other applicants for the time, and shut the door to the private office, drawing up their chairs to listen attentively.
"No business to-day," was Mr. King's announcement, "that is, in the regular way. This that I have come to see you about is quite out of the ordinary. I want a place in your establishment for a young friend of mine."
The two gentlemen looked up in amazement. It wasn't in the least like Mr. King to ask such a thing, knowing quite well that to secure such a place required much waiting for the required vacancy. It was Mr. Cabot who spoke first.
"I suppose he is experienced," he began slowly.
"Not in the least," replied old Mr. King, shortly.
"Well, er—on what do you recommend him?" ventured Mr. Van Meter.
"I don't recommend him," the old gentleman answered in his crispest manner. "Bless you, I don't go about recommending people; you know that." He looked into each face so fiercely that they both exclaimed together, "No, of course not. We quite understand."
"Well, what do you want your young friend to have with us—what kind of a position?" asked Mr. Cabot, patting one knee in perplexity.
"Anything," said Mr. King. "Give him anything to do; only get him in here. I tell you he must come, and you've got to take him." He leaned forward in his chair and struck his walking-stick smartly on the floor.
"Who is he?" demanded Mr. Van Meter, feeling that the exigency of the case demanded few words.
"Ben Pepper."
"Ben Pepper!" ejaculated Mr. Cabot. "Why, I thought he was in school."
"He was," said old Mr. King, turning on him with considerable venom, as if he were quite to blame for the whole thing, "but he has made up his mind to go into business. A very poor thing in my opinion; but since he's decided it that way, there's no more to be said," and he waved it off with a nonchalant hand.
"Not so very poor a thing to do after all." Mr. Van Meter got off from his chair, stalked up and down the office floor, bringing his hands every now and then smartly together, to emphasize his periods: "I was but a slip of a lad when I got into the business groove, and I've never been sorry I drudged it early. Now, Mr. King, it wouldn't be well to give Ben any better chance than I had. He must begin at the bottom to amount to anything."
"He wouldn't take the chance if you gave it to him," said Mr. King, dryly. "Why, there's where Ben says he belongs—at the bottom."
"Oh, yes, the children can go as long as Ben and Polly are with them," said Mother Fisher, with pride. "I'll trust them anywhere," her face said as plainly as if she had put it all into words.
"I wish I could go with them." Mrs. Whitney took her gaze from the busy fingers sorting the pile of small stockings Jane had brought up from the laundry, and went abruptly over to the window with a troubled face.
"But you can't," said Mrs. Fisher, cheerfully, nowise dismayed at the number of holes staring up at her, "so don't let us think any more of it. And Ben's big enough to take them anywhere, I'm sure. And Polly can look after their manners," she thought, but didn't finish aloud.
"You see father didn't know about this picture exhibit till Mr. Cabot's note came a half hour ago, begging him not to miss it. And if I told him of the children's plans, he'd give the whole thing up and stay at home rather than have them disappointed. He mustn't do that."
"Indeed he mustn't!" echoed Mrs. Fisher, in her most decided fashion, and putting the last stocking into place on top of the big pile on the table. "Hush! Here comes Polly!"
"Oh, Mamsie!" Polly rushed up to the work-table. "Just think what splendid fun!" She threw her arms around Mrs. Fisher's neck and gave her a big hug. "Isn't Aunty Whitney too lovely for anything to take us out to buy our Christmas presents? Dear me! What richness!"
"Polly, see here, child," Mother Fisher brought her face around to look into the rosy one; "Mrs. Whitney cannot—"
Polly tore herself away with a gasp, and stood quite still, her brown eyes fixed on Mother Fisher's face, and the color dying out of her cheek. "Do you mean we are not to go, Mamsie?" she cried, her hands working nervously; "we must!" she brought up passionately.
"You see, Polly," Mrs. Whitney came quickly away from the window. Polly at that turned and stared in dismay. O dear! To think Aunty Whitney was there, and now she would be so distressed. "It is just this way," Mrs. Whitney was hurrying on in quite as unhappy a state as Polly had feared: "Father has received word that there is a picture exhibit this afternoon, and I must go with him. I'm sorry, dear, but it can't be helped." She bent to kiss Polly's cheek where the color had rushed this time up to the brown hair.
"I'm so sorry, too," Polly burst out, clinging to Mrs. Whitney's hand. Oh, why had she given way to her passion? The tears were running down her cheeks now, "I didn't mean—" she murmured.
"Why, you are going, Polly," said Mrs. Whitney, comfortingly, and patting the brown hair.
"What?" exclaimed Polly, bringing up her head suddenly to stare into the kind face.
"Yes," laughed Mrs. Whitney, "the Christmas shopping isn't to be given up. Mrs. Fisher is going to let you and Ben take the children. Just think, Polly, that's much better than to go with me," she finished gayly.
All this time Mother Fisher had sat quite still, her black eyes fastened on Polly's face. "I don't know," she said slowly, "about their going now."
"Oh, Mrs. Fisher," cried Mrs. Whitney, in dismay, "you can't think of—" but she didn't finish, on seeing Mrs. Fisher's face. Instead, she went softly out and closed the door.
"I didn't mean—" mumbled Polly again, and then she tumbled down on her knees and hid her face on Mamsie's lap, and sobbed as hard as she could.
"Yes, that's the trouble, Polly," Mother Fisher's hands were busy smoothing the brown hair; "you didn't mean to, but you said it just the same; and that's the mischief of it, not to mean to say a thing, and yet say it."
"O dear me!" wailed Polly, burrowing deeper within the folds of the black alpaca apron. "Why did I? O dear!"
Mother Fisher's hands kept on at their task, but she said nothing, and at last Polly's sobs grew quieter. "Mamsie," she said faintly.
"Yes, dear."
"I'm so sorry."
"I know you are, child; but, Polly, there is no 'must' unless mother says so. And to fly into a passion—why, then you ought not to go at all."
"Oh, I don't want to go now, Mamsie," cried Polly, flying up to sit straight on the floor, and brushing away the tears with a hasty hand, "I really don't, Mamsie."
"Well, then you see you'll just keep the children at home," said Mrs. Fisher; "for I can't let Ben have all the care alone, and they'll be so disappointed."
Polly gave a groan and wriggled on the carpet in distress.
"You see, Polly, that's the trouble when we give way to our passion; it hurts more than ourselves," said Mother Fisher, "so I can't see but that you have got to go."
"Oh, I don't want to, Mamsie; don't make me," cried Polly, squeezing her mother's hands tightly in both of her own. "I can't go now!"
"Tut, tut, Polly," said Mrs. Fisher, reprovingly; "'can't' isn't the thing to say any more than 'must.'" And her black eyes had such a look in them that Polly ducked her head, taking refuge in the lap again.
"And now you must get up," said Mother Fisher, "and get ready, for I am going to let you and Ben take the children; that's decided."
"Oh, Mamsie!" Polly found her feet somehow, and flung her arms again around her mother's neck; "you won't trust me ever again. O dear me!"
"Yes, I will," said Mrs. Fisher, quickly, and, seizing Polly's hands, she made the brown eyes look at her; "why, Polly child, did you suppose Mother would let you go and help Ben take care of the children if she didn't know you would do everything just right? Never say such a word as that again, Polly!" and the black eyes shone with love and pride. "And now hurry, child, for here's Ben coming," as steps sounded in the hall, and then his voice asking, "Where's Mamsie?"
Polly flew up to her feet and stumbled over to the washstand. "O dear me!" she gasped, catching sight of her face in the long mirror on the way, "I can't—oh, I mean my eyes are so red, and my nose, Mamsie! Just look at it!"
"That's the trouble of crying and giving way to fits of passion," observed Mrs. Fisher, quietly; "it makes a good deal of trouble, first and last," as Ben came hurrying in.
Polly splashed the water all over her hot face with such a hasty hand that a little stream ran down the pretty brown waist, which only served to increase her dismay.
"Oh, Mamsie!" Ben was saying, "we're not to go, after all. What a pity! Polly'll be so sorry." His blue eyes looked very much troubled. To have anything make Polly sorry hurt him dreadfully.
"Oh, yes, you are going, Ben," Mrs. Fisher made haste to say.
"Why, Aunty Whitney can't go," said Ben, in surprise. "Grandpapa just said she is going out with him."
"You didn't say anything of the shopping plan, Ben?" ejaculated Mrs. Fisher, involuntarily, yet she knew she didn't need to ask the question.
"Why, no," said Ben, in amazement; "of course not, Mamsie."
"Of course not, too," said his mother, with a little laugh; "and why I asked such a stupid question, I'm sure I don't know, Ben."
All this gave Polly time to sop her face quite cool, and she had buried her red cheeks in the towel to dry them off, when Mother Fisher, having made Ben acquainted with the joyful news, called, "Come, Polly, it's time to get on your hat and coat."
"Halloo, Polly, you there?" cried Ben, whirling round, as Polly hurried into the little room next to get her out-of-door things.
"Yes," called back Polly, on her way, "I'll be ready in a minute, Ben."
"Isn't it no end jolly that we're going, Polly?" he cried, deserting his mother to hurry over to the doorway where he could stand and see Polly get ready. His blue eyes shone and his head was held very high. To think that Polly and he were to be allowed to take the children out shopping amid all the excitement of Christmas week! It was almost too good to be true! "Say, Polly, did you ever know anything like it?" He came in and pressed close to the bureau where Polly was putting on her hat.
"Yes, yes, I know. Ugh!" Polly, with all her eyes on the red-rimmed ones looking out at her from the mirror, beside what she saw of the poor swollen nose, jammed on the hat over her face and jumped away from the bureau.
"You needn't hurry so," said Ben, "'tisn't any matter if we don't start right away. Besides, I don't suppose Jane has Phronsie ready yet. But isn't it perfectly splendid that we can go alone, you and I, and, just think, Polly Pepper, can take the children?" He was quite overcome again at the idea and leaned against the bureau to think it all out.
"Yes," said Polly, in a muffled voice. But she was in the closet now, getting into her coat, because if she stayed out in the room Ben would help her into it, and then he would be sure to see her face! So Ben, although he thought it funny that Polly, who was generally bubbling over with joy at the prospect of any pleasant expedition, should be very quiet and dull in the light of such an extraordinary one, set it down to the hurry she was in getting ready.
"Oh, Polly, don't hurry so!" he cried, going over to the closet. "Here, come out here, and let me help you with that."
"Ugh, no, go right away, Ben," cried Polly, wriggling off frantically, and only succeeding in flopping up one sleeve to knock her hat farther down over her nose. "O dear me! where is the other armhole?"
"Do come out," cried Ben; "whoever heard of trying to put on a coat in a closet? Whatever makes you, Polly?"
"And I do wish you'd go away," cried Polly, quite exasperated, and setting her hat straight, forgetting all about her face.
But instead, Ben, after a good look, took hold of her two shoulders and marched her out into the room. And before Polly knew it, her other arm was in its sleeve, and he was trying to button up her coat.
"Oh, Bensie," she mumbled; "I'm so sorry I was cross."
"Never mind," said Ben, giving her a comforting pat. "Well, come on, now you're ready, Polly."
And Joel and David plunging in tumultuously into Mamsie's room, followed by Jane ushering in Phronsie all attired for the trip, the whole bunch gathered around Mother Fisher's chair for final instructions.
"See, Mamsie," piped Phronsie, crowding up closely, to hold up the little money-bag dangling by its chain from her arm; "my own purse, and I'm going to buy things."
"Don't, Phron," said Joel, "push so," and he tried to get past her to stand nearest to Mother Fisher.
"What are you doing yourself," said Ben, "I sh'd like to know, Joel Pepper?"
"Well, that was my place," said Joel, loudly, and not yielding an inch.
"Joel!" said Mrs. Fisher.
"It was my place," he grumbled. But he hung his head and wouldn't look up into Mamsie's face.
"It's my very own purse," cried Phronsie, in a joyful little key, "and I'm going to buy things, I am. See, Mamsie!" She held it up before Mrs. Fisher, and patted it lovingly, while she crowded in worse than ever.
"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Fisher, smiling down into her face, but there was no smile for Joel, and looking up he caught her black eyes resting on him in a way he didn't like.
"You may have it, Phron!" he exclaimed, tumbling back against David suddenly, who was nearly knocked over by his sudden rebound. "I'd just as lief you would. Here, get in next to Mamsie."
"And I'm going to buy you something, Mamsie," said Phronsie, standing on her tiptoes to whisper confidentially into Mother Fisher's ear.
"You are, dear?" Mrs. Fisher leaned over to catch the whisper, but not before she sent a smile over to Joel that seemed to drop right down into the farthest corner of his heart. "Now Mother'll like that very much indeed."
"And you must be s'prised," said Phronsie, bobbing her head in its big, fur-trimmed bonnet, and fastening a grave look of great importance on Mrs. Fisher's face.
"Hoh—hoh!" began Joel, who had recovered his composure. Then he thought, and stopped. And again Mother Fisher smiled at him.
"Now, children, you understand this is the first time you have ever been out shopping without Mr. King or Mrs. Whitney or me," began Mrs. Fisher, looking around on them all. "Well, it's quite time that you should make the trial, for I can trust you all." She lifted her head proudly and her black eyes shone. "I'm sure you'll all be good."
"Oh, we will, we will, Mamsie," declared all the little Peppers together. And their heads went up, too, in pride.
"So I am going to let Ben and Polly take you about in the shops. And whatever they tell you, you are to do. And remember one thing, you are not to crowd and push."
"We can't see if the big people all get in front," said Joel, grumblingly.
"Then you must go without seeing," said Mrs. Fisher, decidedly. "At any rate, you are not to crowd and push. Remember, Joel, and all of you."
"I won't," said Joel, "crowd and push. Now may we go, Mamsie?" and he began to prance to the door impatiently.
"One thing more. Come back, Joel." Mrs. Fisher waited until the group was once more quiet around her chair. "And you are none of you to handle things."
"Not when we are going to buy them?" cried Joel, in an injured tone. "Oh, Mamsie, I sh'd think we might when we are out shopping. And I've got such lots of money in my pocket-book." He swung it high, clenched in his hot little fist.
"Take care or you'll lose it if you show it like that, Joe," said Ben.
"How am I going to lose it?" demanded Joel, squaring around at Ben.
"Somebody'll pick it out of your hand if you don't look out," warned Ben.
"I guess there won't anybody pick my pocket-book. I'm going to get a pin," and he raced off to the big mahogany bureau in the corner.
"What for?" asked David, who always followed Joel's movements with attention; "what are you going to do with a pin, Joel?"
"I'm going to pin up my pocket so no old picker can get my purse," declared Joel, with energy, and running back with the biggest pin he could find on the cushion, the one Mrs. Fisher fastened her shawl with.
"Yes, and likely enough you'll forget all about it and stick your own hand in," said Ben, "then, says I, what'll you do, Joel?"
"Humph—I won't forget," snorted Joel, puckering up the pocket edge and jamming the pin through the folds; "there, I guess the pickers will let my pocket alone. Yes-sir-ee," he cried triumphantly.
"Now you remember you are not to touch things on the counters," Mrs. Fisher was saying. "I don't want my children to be picking and handling at such a time. You can look all you want to; but when you see what you would really like to buy, why, Polly and Ben must ask the saleswoman to show it to you."
"I've got my money-purse," said Phronsie, exactly as if the fact had not been announced before; "see, Mamsie," and she held it up with an important air.
"I see," said Mother Fisher, "it's the one Grandpapa gave you last birthday, isn't it, Phronsie?"
"Yes," she said, patting it lovingly. "My dear Grandpapa gave it to me, and it's my very own, and I'm going to buy things, I am."
"So you shall," said Mrs. Fisher, approvingly. All the while Joel was screaming, "Come on, Phron, we'll be late," as he pranced out into the hall and down the stairs.
"Oh, Mamsie," Polly flung her arms around Mrs. Fisher's neck, "I wish you were going too."
"Well, Mother can't go," said Mrs. Fisher, patting Polly's shoulder; "and take care, Phronsie will hear you."
"And I want to kiss my Mamsie good-by, too," said Phronsie, clambering up into Mrs. Fisher's lap, as well as she could for the fur-trimmed coat. So Mother Fisher took her up, and Phronsie cooed and hummed her satisfaction, and was kissed and set down again. And then David had to say good-by too, and Ben as well; and then Polly made up her mind she would have the last kiss, so it was some minutes before the four children got out of Mamsie's room and ran down the stairs. And there they found Joel hanging on to the newel post and howling: "You've been an awful long time. Come on!"
"We wanted to bid Mamsie good-by," said Polly, twitching Phronsie's coat straight. "Well, we're all ready now; come on, children."
Joel had thrown the big front door open with a flourish and was rushing out. When Polly said that about Mamsie, he stopped suddenly, then plunged back, nearly upsetting Phronsie, and ran over the steps as fast as he could. "Oh, Mamsie," he cried, flying up to her. Mrs. Fisher had gotten out of her chair, and was now over by the window to see her little brood go off so happy and important. "Why, Joel!" she exclaimed, "what's the matter?" as he precipitated himself into her arms.
"I want to kiss you good-by, too," howled Joel, burrowing within them; "good-by, Mamsie!"
"So you shall, Mother's boy," said Mrs. Fisher, cuddling him. "Well now, Joel, you remember all I said."
"I'll remember," said Joel, lifting a radiant face; "I'll be good all the time."
"Yes, you must, else Mother'll feel badly. Well, good-by."
Joel's good-by floated back as he raced down the stairs and overtook the group waiting for him out on the big stone steps.
"Who's keeping us waiting now, I wonder?" said Ben, as he came up panting.
"Well, I guess I'm going to bid my Mamsie good-by, too," said Joel, importantly. "Come on, Dave, let's race to the big gate!"
When Phronsie saw the two boys racing away, she wanted to run too, and started to patter off after them.
"No, no, Phronsie," said Polly, calling her back. "She'll get all tired out to begin with," she said to Ben, "then what should we do?"
"Oh, I want to race to the big gate with Joel and David," said Phronsie, coming back slowly. "Can't I, Polly? Do let me," she begged.
"No," said Polly, decidedly, "you'll get all tired out, Phronsie."
"I won't be tired," said Phronsie, drawing herself up very straight; "I won't be, Polly."
"You will be if you run and race to begin with," declared Polly, very much wishing she could join the boys herself. But she was holding Phronsie's hand by this time, and it never would do to leave her. "So we must walk till we reach the car."
Phronsie heaved a sigh, but she kept tight hold of Polly's hand, and walked obediently on.
"You see," said Polly, who never could bear to hear Phronsie sigh, "we're going shopping, Phronsie, and there's a good deal of walking we have before us, and—"
"And I have my money-bag," cried Phronsie, breaking in jubilantly, and not waiting for Polly to finish, and lifting it high as it dangled from her arm. "See, Polly, and dear Grandpapa gave it to me, he did."
"I know, pet," said Polly; "take care, now, or you'll tumble on your nose."
"And I'm going to buy my dear Grandpapa something," declared Phronsie, with a bob of her fur-trimmed bonnet; "I am, Polly."
"So you shall," cried Polly, radiantly; "now that'll be fine."
"Polly," said Ben, on her other side, "I've been thinking of something that perhaps it would be good to do."
"Oh, Ben, what is it?" she cried, all in a twitter to know, for Ben's plans, if sometimes slow, were always so good to follow.
"Why, let's us all put our money together instead of buying little things for Grandpapa, for of course we are all going to give him something, and buy one good present." It was a long speech for Ben, and he was quite glad when it was all out.
"Let's," said Polly, quite enchanted. "Oh, Ben, you do think of just the right things."
"No," said Ben, "I don't think up such nice things as you do, Polly," and he looked at her admiringly; "I can't."
"Well, your things are always best in the end, anyway," said Polly, unwilling to take so much praise, and preferring that Ben should have it.
"O dear me!" Joel, with David at his heels, came tumbling up. "You are so slow, just like snails," he grumbled.
"Just like snails," echoed Phronsie, with very pink cheeks, stepping very high, all her attention on the money-bag dangling from her wrist.
"Well, we can't go any faster, Joe," said Ben, "so you must make up your mind to be satisfied."
"Well, I'm not satisfied," declared Joel, in a dudgeon.
"So it seems," said Ben, with a little laugh.
"And it isn't the way, when people are going shopping, to run through the street," said Polly, "so when you get outside the gateway, you've got to walk, Joel. It isn't elegant to race along."
When Polly said "elegant" with such an air, the children always felt very much impressed, and little David now hung his head quite ashamed.
"I'm sorry I ran, Polly," he said.
"Oh, it's no matter in here," said Polly, "but when we get outside, then you must walk in a nice way. Mamsie'd want you to. Oh, now, Ben, go on with your plan and tell the rest."
"Oh, now you've been talking up things, you and Ben; you're always doing that, Polly Pepper," cried Joel, loudly. And he tried to crowd in between Polly and Phronsie.
"See here, you get back!" cried Ben, seizing his jacket collar; "you're not to crowd so, Joe."
"Well, you and Polly are always talking secrets," said Joel, but he fell back with Ben nevertheless, "and keeping them from Dave and me."
"Then you should have stayed with us," said Ben, calmly.
"We didn't know you were going to talk secrets," grumbled Joel.
"Oh, we've only just begun," said Polly, brightly, looking over past Phronsie, "so you'll hear it all, Joey; and Davie, too," she added, looking off to little David on the farther end of the line.
"I'm not going to stir a step away ever again," declared Joel, squirming up as close to Ben as he possibly could, "then you can't talk things without I hear them."
"You've got to give me a little more of the walk, Joe," said Ben, striding on and thrusting out his elbow on Joel's side, "else you'll go behind."
"O dear! I want to hear what you're going to say," whined Joel. But he gave way, moving up against David, who was the last in the row. "Well, do begin," he begged.
"Yes, do tell them, Ben," said Polly.
"Well, you see," said Ben, as they turned out of the big stone gateway, "we are all to give Grandpapa a present, each one, I mean."
"I am," shouted Joel, jumping up and down, "Whoopity la, whickets, I am!"
"Oh, Joel Pepper!" exclaimed Polly, looking down the row at him. Whenever Polly said "Joel Pepper," everybody felt that the case was very serious. So Joel hung his head and looked quite sheepish.
"Mamsie would be so sorry to hear you say that," went on Polly.
"Well, he isn't going to say it again," said Ben, "I don't believe."
"No, I'm not," declared Joel, his black head going up again, "never again, Polly."
"That's right," and she smiled approvingly. "Oh, now, do go on again, Ben," she said, "with your plan."
"Yes, we're all going to give Grandpapa presents," cried Joel, before Ben had time to put in a word. "I am, and I won't tell what I'm going to buy, either. You can't make me, Dave." He slapped the pocket containing his purse, but encountering the big pin, drew off his fingers. "Ow!"
"There, who's hurt now?" cried Ben, with a laugh as he looked down at the rueful face.
"Pooh—it didn't hurt any," said Joel, pulling off his glove to suck the drop of blood that came up to meet him.
David, who never could bear to see Joel hurt, pressed up to see the extent of his injury, and turned pale. Perhaps it went clear through his finger, for it was Mamsie's big shawl-pin!
"Oh, don't, Joel," cried Polly, with a grimace; "take your handkerchief, do!"
"No, I'm not going to," said Joel, squirming away, and repeating the process as another little drop appeared; "I can spit it out, and my handkerchief'll stay bad."
"Joel," said Polly, sternly, "you must not do that. Do you hear me?"
"Well, that's the last drop, anyway," declared Joel, "so I haven't got to do anything."
"Let me see," said Polly, feeling quite motherly with all her brood to look after. So the whole row stopped and Joel leaned over and thrust out his finger for Polly to examine it.
"Yes, that's all right," she said with a sigh of relief. "Well, now, we must hurry, for we have so much to do. And, Ben, do go on."
"Well, you see Grandpapa has so many things that it'll be hard to pick out five that he'd like," said Ben, "so I thought—"
"He'll like mine," interrupted Joel.
"Hold on, Joe, and wait till I get through," commanded Ben, turning on him.
"And if you interrupt again, you must walk behind, Joel," said Polly, severely.
"I don't want to walk behind," said Joel, ducking as he caught her glance.
"Well, then, you mustn't interrupt Ben again," declared Polly, in her most decided fashion.
"Oh, I won't, I won't!" he promised, much alarmed as he saw her face.
"See that you don't, then," said Ben. "Well, so it seems as if perhaps it would be a good plan to all put our money together and get Grandpapa one good thing."
"I think it would be a perfectly elegant plan," declared Polly, radiantly.
Joel stood stock-still twitching the end of Ben's coat, so that he was pulled up short. "I'm not going to put any money in," he cried in a loud tone.
"Hey? Oh, then, you don't like the plan, Joe?" said Ben, getting his coat free and whirling around on him.
"I'm not going to put any money in," repeated Joel, in the same high key.
"Well, then, you needn't," said Ben, nowise disturbed.
"Oh, Ben, then we can't any of us do it," said Polly, quite dismayed, "and it would have been so perfectly splendid." She stopped short, and Phronsie, looking up in surprise, pulled her hand gently. "Oh, Polly," she exclaimed, "are you sick?"
"Oh, the rest of us will do it," said Ben, coolly, "and Joel can stay outside."
"Oh, I'm not going to stay outside," howled Joel, throwing his arms around Ben and clinging to him in his distress. "I'm not. I'm not, Ben, don't make me."
"I don't make you," said Ben, getting himself free from Joel's frantic little hands; "if you don't want to join us, why, you'll just have to stay by yourself."
"I'm not going to stay by myself," cried Joel, in the greatest distress, "need I, Polly?" and he flew over to her. "I don't want to stay by myself, I don't."
But Ben answered instead of Polly.
"Hush now, Joel, we're to walk along quietly, else you'll have to go home. And we'll vote now, and all who don't want to get Grandpapa one big, nice present, can just stay out of the plan. Polly and I are going together in it, anyway."
Which was just the same as saying the plan would be carried out. If Polly and Ben were to join in it, all the remainder of the "Five Little Peppers" would consider it the greatest calamity to be left out, so Joel pushed as near to Ben as he could get as the whole group drew off to the curbstone to vote on the question.
"I'm in it,—I'm in it," screamed Joel, making more than one passer-by turn the head to look back at the busy little group. "Come on, Dave," twitching that individual's jacket to get him into the centre of things. "He's in it, too, Ben," he added, anxious to have that settled beyond a doubt. "David is."
"Everybody is looking at us," said Polly, whose greatest pride was to have the children appear well, and she looked quite mortified. "O dear me!" and this was only the beginning of the Christmas shopping!
"Now you must just understand, Joe," Ben laid hold of him; "we aren't going to have such carryings on. Look at Polly, how you're making her feel."
All the children now regarded Polly anxiously, Phronsie standing on tiptoe to achieve the best result. "Oh, I won't make her feel," cried Joel, much alarmed, "I won't. Please don't, Polly; I'll be good," he promised. His face worked, and he had hard work not to burst out crying.
"All right, Joey," said Polly, trying to smile, and the little pucker between her eyebrows straightened itself out at once. And she leaned over and set a kiss on the chubby cheek.
"You kissed me on the street!" said Joel, quite astounded. "Why, Polly Pepper, and you said the other—"
"Never mind," broke in Ben, hastily.
"And I couldn't help it," said Polly, happily, yet with a backward glance to see if any one saw it, for Polly deeply loved to be fine on all occasions.
"And if we are going shopping for Christmas presents," said Ben, "we must hurry up. Hush, Joe, don't say a word. Now how many want to put in their money to buy one big, nice present for Grandpapa instead of little bits of ones? Put up your hands."
Joel's hand shot up as high as he could raise it, while he stood on tiptoe, and of course Polly's went up, and so did David's. But Phronsie stood looking down at her money-bag dangling from her arm, while she patted it lovingly and crooned softly to herself.
"She doesn't understand," said Polly, so she got down until she could look into the face within the fur-trimmed bonnet. "Look up, pet; now don't you want to buy Grandpapa a big, big present with all of us?"
"I'm going to buy my dear Grandpapa a present," cried Phronsie, in a happy little voice, and, taking her gaze from the money-bag, "I am, Polly," she declared, dreadfully excited. Then she put her mouth close to Polly's rosy cheek; "I'm going to buy him a cat," she whispered.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, nearly tumbling over backward.
"Yes, I am," said Phronsie, decidedly, "a dear sweet little cat, and Grandpapa will like it, he will."
"Well, now," said Polly, recovering herself, "don't you want to put the rest of your money you were going to spend for Grandpapa's present into something big? We're all going to do that, Phronsie, and give him a nice Christmas present."
"My present will be nice," said Phronsie, gravely.
"Yes, yes, I know," said Polly, quickly, and giving the boys a look that told them to keep away from this conference; "but don't you want to help to buy this big present, too? I would, Phronsie pet, if I were you!"
"I shall give him the cat," said Phronsie, decidedly and bobbing her head.