Five Little Peppers and How They Grew by Margaret Sidney (buy e reader .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Margaret Sidney
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“Oh, I'm not very tired now,” said Polly, brightly, with a merry little laugh, “only I've never been in the cars before, and—”
“Never been in the cars before!” exclaimed Van, crowding up, while Percy made a big round O with his mouth, and little Dick's eyes stretched to their widest extent.
“No,” said Polly simply, “never in all my life.”
“Come, dear,” said sister Marian, rising quickly, and taking Polly's hand; while Jasper, showing unmistakable symptoms of pitching into all the three boys, followed with the bag.
Up the broad oak staircase they went, Polly holding by Mrs. Whitney's soft hand, as if for dear life, and Jasper tripping up two steps at a time, in front of them. They turned after reaching the top, down a hall soft to the foot and brightly lighted.
“Now, Polly,” said sister Marian, “I'm going to have you here, right next to my dressing room; this is your nest, little bird, and I hope you'll be very happy in it.”
And here Mrs. Whitney turned up the gas, and then, just because she couldn't help it, gathered Polly up in her arms without another word. Jasper set down the bag on a chair, and came and stood by his sister's side, looking down at her as she stroked the brown wavy hair on her bosom.
“It's so nice to have Polly here, sister,” he said, and he put his hand on Mrs. Whitney's neck; and then with the other hand took hold of both of Polly's chubby ones, who looked up and smiled; and in that smile the little brown house seemed to hop right out, and bring back in a flash all the nice times those eight happy weeks had brought him.
“Oh, 'twas so perfectly splendid, sister Marian,” he cried, flinging himself down on the floor by her chair. “You don't know what good times we had—does she, Polly?” and then he launched out into a perfect shower of “Don't you remember this?” or “Oh, Polly! you surely haven't forgotten that!” Mrs. Whitney good naturedly entering into it and enjoying it all with them, until, warned by the lateness of the hour, she laughingly reminded Jasper of dinner, and dismissed him to prepare for it.
When the three boys saw Polly coming in again, they welcomed her with a cordial shout, for one and all, after careful measurement of her, had succumbed entirely to Polly; and each was unwilling that the others should get ahead of him in her regard.
“This is your seat, Polly,” said sister Marian, touching the chair next to her own.
Thereupon a small fight ensued between the little Whitneys, while Jasper looked decidedly discomfited.
“Let Polly sit next to me,” said Van, as if a seat next to him was of all things most to be desired.
“Oh, no, I want her,” said little Dick.
“Pshaw, Dick! you're too young,” put in Percy. “You'd spill the bread and butter all over her.”
“I wouldn't either,” said little Dick, indignantly, and beginning to crawl into his seat; “I don't spill bread and butter, now Percy, you know.”
“See here,” said Jasper, decidedly, “she's coming up here by father and me; that is, sister Marian,” he finished more politely, “if you're willing.”
All this while Polly had stood quietly watching the group, the big, handsome table, the bright lights, and the well-trained servants with a curious feeling at her heart—what were the little-brown-house-people doing?
“Polly shall decide it,” said sister Marian, laughing. “Now, where will you sit, dear?” she added, looking down on the little quiet figure beside her.
“Oh, by Jappy, please,” said Polly, quickly, as if there could be no doubt; “and kind Mr. King,” she added, smiling at him.
“That's right; that's right, my dear,” cried the old gentleman, pleased beyond measure at her honest choice. And he pulled out her chair, and waited upon her into it so handsomely that Polly was happy at once; while Jasper, with a proud toss of his dark, wavy hair, marched up delightedly, and took the chair on her other side.
And now, in two or three minutes it seemed as if Polly had always been there; it was the most natural thing in the world that sister Marian should smile down the table at the bright-faced narrator, who answered all their numerous questions, and entertained them all with accounts of Ben's skill, of Phronsie's cunning ways, of the boys who made fun for all, and above everything else of the dear mother whom they all longed to help, and of all the sayings and doings in the little brown house. No wonder that the little boys forgot to eat; and for once never thought of the attractions of the table. And when, as they left the table at last, little Dick rushed impulsively up to Polly, and flinging himself into her arms, declared, “I love you!—and you're my sister!” Nothing more was needed to make Polly feel at home.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Whitney, and nodded to herself in the saying, “it was a good thing; and a comfort, I believe, has come to this house this day!”
BRAVE WORK AND THE REWARD
And on the very first morrow came Polly's music teacher!
The big drawing-room, with its shaded light and draped furniture, with its thick soft carpet, on which no foot-fall could be heard, with all its beauty and loveliness on every side was nothing to Polly's eyes, only the room that contained the piano!
That was all she saw! And when the teacher came he was simply the Fairy (an ugly little one, it is true, but still a most powerful being) who was to unlock its mysteries, and conduct her into Fairyland itself. He was a homely little Frenchman, with a long, curved nose, and an enormous black moustache, magnificently waxed, who bowed elaborately, and called her “Mademoiselle Pep-paire;” but he had music in his soul, and Polly couldn't reverence him too much.
And now the big piano gave out new sounds; sounds that told of a strong purpose and steady patience. Every note was struck for mother and the home brood. Monsieur Tourtelotte, after watching her keenly out of his little black eyes, would nod to himself like a mandarin, and the nod would be followed by showers of extra politeness, as his appreciation of her patient energy and attention.
Every chance she could get, Polly would steal away into the drawing-room from Jappy and the three boys and all the attractions they could offer, and laboriously work away over and over at the tedious scales and exercises that were to be stepping-stones to so much that was glorious beyond. Never had she sat still for so long a time in her active little life; and now, with her arms at just such an angle, with the stiff, chubby fingers kept under training and restraint—well, Polly realized, years after, that only her love of the little brown house could ever have kept her from flying up and spinning around in perfect despair.
“She likes it!” said Percy, in absolute astonishment, one day, when Polly had refused to go out driving with all the other children in the park, and had gone resolutely, instead, into the drawing-room and shut the door. “She likes those hateful old exercises and she don't like anything else.”
“Much you know about it,” said Jappy; “she's perfectly aching to go, now Percy Whitney!”
“Well, why don't she then?” said Percy, opening his eyes to their widest extent.
“Cause,” said Jasper, stopping on his way to the door to look him full in the face, “she's commenced to learn to play, and there won't anything stop her.”
“I'm going to try,” said Percy, gleefully. “I know lots of ways I can do to try, anyway.”
“See here, now,” said Jasper, turning back, “you let her alone! Do you hear?” he added, and there must have been something in his eye to command attention, for Percy instantly signified his intention not to tease this young music student in the least.
“Come on then, old fellow,” and Jasper swung his cap on his head, “Thomas will be like forty bears if we keep him waiting much longer.”
And Polly kept at it steadily day after day; getting through with the lessons in the schoolroom as quickly as possible to rush to her music, until presently the little Frenchman waxed enthusiastic to that degree that, as day after day progressed and swelled into weeks, and each lesson came to an end, he would skip away on the tips of his toes, his nose in the air, and the waxed ends of his moustache, fairly trembling with delight, “Ah, such patience as Mademoiselle Pep-paire has! I know no other such little Americane!”
“I think,” said Jasper one evening after dinner, when all the children were assembled as usual in their favorite place on the big rug in front of the fire in the library, Prince in the middle of the group, his head on his paws, watching everything in infinite satisfaction, “that Polly's getting on in music as I never saw anyone do; and that's a fact!”
“I mean to begin,” said Van, ambitiously, sitting up straight and staring at the glowing coals. “I guess I will to-morrow,” which announcement was received with a perfect shout—Van's taste being anything rather than of a musical nature.
“If you do,” said Jappy, when the merriment had a little subsided, “I shall go out of the house at every lesson; there won't anyone stay in it, Van.”
“I can bang all I want to, then,” said Van, noways disturbed by the reflection, and pulling one of Prince's long ears, “you think you're so big, Jappy, just because you're thirteen.”
“He's only three ahead of me, Van,” bristled Percy, who never could forgive Jappy for being his uncle, much less the still greater sin of having been born three years earlier than himself.
“Three's just as bad as four,” said Van.
“Let's tell stories,” began Polly, who never could remember such goings on in the little brown house; “we must each tell one,” she added with the greatest enthusiasm, “and see which will be the biggest and the best.”
“Oh, no,” said Van, who perfectly revelled in Polly's stories, and who now forgot his trials in the prospect of one, “You tell, Polly—you tell alone.”
“Yes, do, Polly,” said Jasper; “we'd rather.”
So Polly launched out into one of her gayest and finest; and soon they were in such a peal of laughter, and had reached such heights of enjoyment, that Mr. King popped his head in at the door, and then came in, and took a seat in a big rocking-chair in the corner to hear the fun go on.
“Oh, dear,” said Van, leaning back with a long sigh, and wiping his flushed face as Polly wound up with a triumphant flourish, 'how ever do you think of such things, Polly Pepper?
“That isn't anything,” said Jappy, bringing his handsome face out into the strong light; “why, it's just nothing to what she has told time and again in the little brown house in Badgertown;” and then he caught sight of Polly's face, which turned a little pale in the firelight as he spoke; and the brown eyes had such a pathetic droop in them that it went to the boy's very heart.
Was Polly homesick? and so soon!
POLLY IS COMFORTED
Yes, it must be confessed. Polly was homesick. All her imaginations of her mother's hard work, increased by her absence, loomed up before her, till she was almost ready to fly home without a minute's warning. At night, when no one knew it, the tears would come racing over the poor, forlorn little face, and would not be squeezed back. It got to be noticed finally; and one and all redoubled their exertions to make everything twice as pleasant as ever!
The only place, except in front of the grand piano, where Polly approached a state of comparative happiness, was in the greenhouse.
Here she would stay, comforted and soothed among the lovely plants and rich
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