Five Little Peppers Abroad by Margaret Sidney (best 7 inch ereader .txt) 📖

/> "Oh, no," said Jasper; "it's all fixed, and I'm going to stay here." And despite all Tom could say, this was the sole reply he got. So back he went, and climbed into old Mr. King's carriage again, with a very rueful face.

Old Mr. King viewed him with cold displeasure as the driver smacked his whip and off they went to join the rest of the party.

"You must go first," sang out the little doctor, as Grandpapa's carriage drove up; "you are the leader, and we'll all follow you."

"Yes, yes," shouted the parson, like a boy.

And the occupants of carriage number one saying the same thing, Grandpapa's conveyance bowled ahead; and he, well pleased to head the procession, felt some of his displeasure at the boy sitting opposite to him dropping off with each revolution of the wheels.

But Tom couldn't keep still. "I didn't want to come in this carriage, sir!" he burst out.

"Eh! what?" Old Mr. King brought his gaze again to bear upon Tom's face.

"Well, you are here now," he said, only half comprehending.

"Because Jasper won't take the place," cried Tom, setting his teeth together in distress. "That's what I got out for."

"Oh, I see," said Mr. King, a light beginning to break through.

Tom wilted miserably under the gaze that still seemed to go through and through him, and Polly looked off at her side of the carriage, wishing the drive over the Tête Noire was all ended. Old Mr. King turned to Phronsie at his side.

"Well, now," he said, taking her hand, "we are in a predicament, Phronsie, for it evidently isn't going to be such an overwhelming success as I thought."

"What is a predicament?" asked Phronsie, wrenching her gaze from the lovely vine-clad hills, which she had been viewing with great satisfaction, to look at once into his face.

"Oh, a mix-up; a mess generally," answered Grandpapa, not pausing to choose words. "Well, what's to be done, now, - that is the question?"

Tom groaned at sight of the face under the white hair, from which all prospect of pleasure had fled. "I was a beastly cad," he muttered to himself.

Phronsie leaned over Mr. King's knee. "Tell me," she begged, "what is it, Grandpapa?"

"Oh, nothing, child," said Grandpapa, with a glance at Polly's face, "that you can help, at least."

Polly drew a long breath. "Something must be done," she decided. "Oh, I know. Why, Grandpapa, we can change before we get to the halfway place," she cried suddenly, glad to think of something to say. "Can't we? And then we can all have different places."

"The very thing!" exclaimed Mr. King, his countenance lightening. "Come, Tom, my boy, cheer up. I'll put Jasper and every one else in the right place soon. Here you, stop a bit, will you?" - to the driver.

"K-lup!" cried the driver, thinking it a call to increase speed; so the horses bounded on smartly for several paces, and no one could speak to advantage.

"Make him hold up, Tom!" commanded Mr. King, sharply. And Tom knowing quite well how to accomplish this, Grandpapa soon stood up in the carriage and announced, "In half an hour, or thereabout, if we come to a good stopping-place, I shall change some of you twelve people about in the carriages. Pass the word along."

But Adela didn't ride with Polly. For rushing and pushing as the change about was effected, to get her way and be with Polly, she felt her arm taken in a very light but firm grasp.

"No, no, my dear," - it was old Mr. King, - "not that way. Here is your place. When a little girl pushes, she doesn't get as much as if she waits to be asked."

"It had to be done," he said to himself, "for the poor child has had no mother to teach her, and it will do her good." But he felt sorry for himself to be the one to teach the lesson. And so they went over the
Tête Noire to catch the first sight of Mont Blanc.

* * * * *

"I'm going to have a donkey for my very own," confided Phronsie, excitedly, the next morning, to Jasper, whom she met in the little sun-parlour.

"No!" cried Jasper, pretending to be much amazed, "you don't say so, Phronsie!"

"Yes, I am," she cried, bobbing her yellow head. "Grandpapa said so; he really did, Jasper. And I'm going to ride up that long, big mountain on my donkey." She pointed up and off, but in the wrong direction.

"Oh, no, Phronsie, that isn't the way we are going. The Montanvert is over here, child," corrected Jasper.

"And I'm going to ride my donkey," repeated Phronsie, caring little which way she was going, since all roads must of course lead to fairy-land, "and we're going to see the water that's frozen, and Grandpapa says we are to walk over it; but I'd rather ride my donkey, Jasper," confided Phronsie, in a burst of confidence.

"I guess you'll be glad enough to get off from your donkey by the time you reach the top of Montanvert," observed Jasper, wisely.

"Well, now, Phronsie, we are not going for a day or two, you know, for father doesn't wish us to be tired."

"I'm not a bit tired, Jasper," said Phronsie, "and I do so very much wish we could go to-day."

"O dear me!" exclaimed Jasper, with a little laugh, "why, we've only just come, Phronsie! It won't be so very long before we'll be off. Goodness! the time flies so here, it seems to me we sha'n't hardly turn around before those donkeys will be coming into this yard after us to get on their backs."

But Phronsie thought the time had never dragged so in all her small life; and, although she went about hanging to Grandpapa's hand as sweet and patient as ever, all her mind was on the donkeys; and whenever she saw one, - and the street was full, especially at morning and in the late afternoon, of the little beasts of burden, clattering up the stony roads, - she would beg to just go and pat one of the noses, if by chance one of the beasts should stand still long enough to admit of such attention.

"Oh, no, Phronsie," expostulated old Mr. King, when this pleasing little performance had been indulged in for a half a dozen times. "You can't pat them all; goodness me, child, the woods are full of them," he brought up in dismay.

"Do they live in the woods?" asked Phronsie, in astonishment.

"I mean, the place - this whole valley of Chamonix is full of donkeys," said Grandpapa, "so you see, child, it's next to impossible to pat all their noses."

"I hope I'm going to have that dear, sweet little one," cried Phronsie, giving up all her mind, since the soft noses couldn't be patted, to happy thoughts of to-morrow's bliss. "See, Grandpapa," she pulled his hand gently, "to ride up the mountain on."

"Well, you'll have a good one, that is, as good as can be obtained," said the old gentleman; "but as for any particular one, why, they're all alike to me as two peas, Phronsie."

But Phronsie had her own ideas on the subject, and though on every other occasion agreeing with Grandpapa, she saw good and sufficient reason why every donkey should be entirely different from every other donkey. And when, on the next morning, their procession of donkeys filed solemnly into the hotel yard, she screamed out, "Oh, Grandpapa, here he is, the very one I wanted! Oh, may I have him? Put me up, do!"

"He's the worst one of the whole lot," groaned Grandpapa, his eye running over the file, "I know by the way he puts his vicious old feet down. Phronsie, here is a cunning little fellow," he added, artfully trying to lead her to one a few degrees better, he fondly hoped. But Phronsie already had her arms up by her particular donkey's neck, and her cheek laid against his nose, and she was telling him that he was her donkey, for she thought Grandpapa would say "Yes." So what else could he do, pray tell, but say "Yes"? And she mounted the steps, and was seated, her little brown gown pulled out straight, and the saddle girth tightened, and all the other delightful and important details attended to, and then the reins were put in her overjoyed hands.

She never knew how it was all done, seeing nothing, hearing nothing of the confusion and chatter, of the mounting of the others, her gaze fixed on the long ears before her, and only conscious that her very own donkey was really there, and that she was on his back. And it was not until they started and the guide who held her bridle loped off into an easy pace, by the animal's head, that she aroused from her dream of bliss as a sudden thought struck her. "What is my donkey's name?" she asked softly.

The man loped on, not hearing, and he wouldn't have understood had he heard.

"I don't believe he has any name," said old Mr. King just behind. "Phronsie, is your saddle all right? Do you like it, child?" all in one breath.

"I like it very much," answered Phronsie, trying to turn around.

"Don't do that, child," said Grandpapa, hastily. "Sit perfectly still, and on no account turn around or move in the saddle."

"I won't, Grandpapa," she promised, obediently, and presently she began again, "I want to know his name, Grandpapa, so that I can tell my pony when I get home."

"Oh, well, we'll find out," said Grandpapa. "Here you, can't you tell the name of that donkey?" he cried to the guide holding Phronsie's bridle. "Oh, I forgot, he doesn't understand English," and he tried it in French.

But this was not much better, for old Mr. King, preferring to use none but the best of French when he employed any, was only succeeding in mystifying the poor man so that he couldn't find his tongue at all, but stared like a clod till the old gentleman's patience was exhausted.

At last Jasper, hearing what the trouble was, shouted out something from his position in the rear, that carried the meaning along with it, and Phronsie the next minute was delighted to hear "Boolah," as the guide turned and smiled and showed all his teeth at her, his pleasure was so great at discovering that he could really understand.

"Why, that's the name of my donkey," said Polly, patting the beast's rough neck. "He told me so when he helped me to mount."

"So it is mine," announced Jasper, bursting into a laugh. "I guess they only have one name for the whole lot."

"Well, don't let us tell Phronsie so," said Polly, "and I shall call mine 'Greybeard' because he's got such a funny old stiff beard and it is grey."

"And I shall christen mine 'Boneyard,'" declared Jasper, "for he's got such a very big lot of bones, and they aren't funny, I can tell you."

And so with fun and nonsense and laughter, as soon as they wound around by the little English church and across the meadows, and struck into the pine wood, the whole party of