Part 3

Phronsie still stood just where Polly left her. Two hundred candles! oh! what could it mean! She gazed up to the old beams overhead, and around the dingy walls, and to the old black stove, with the fire nearly out, and then over everything the kitchen contained, trying to think how it would seem. To have it bright and winsome and warm! to suit Polly--“oh!” she screamed.

“Goodness!” said Polly, taking her head out of the old cupboard in the corner, “how you scared me, Phronsie!”

“Would they ever go out?” asked the child gravely, still standing where Polly left her.

“What?” asked Polly, stopping with a dish of cold potatoes in her hand. “What, Phronsie?”

“Why, the candles,” said the child, “the ever-an'-ever so many pretty lights!”

“Oh, my senses!” cried Polly, with a little laugh, “haven't you forgotten that! Yes--no, that is, Phronsie, if we could have 'em at all, we wouldn't ever let 'em go out!”

“Not once?” asked Phronsie, coming up to Polly with a little skip, and nearly upsetting her, potatoes and all--“not once, Polly, truly?”

“No, not forever-an'-ever,” said Polly; “take care, Phronsie! there goes a potato; no, we'd keep 'em always!”

“No, you don't want to,” said Mrs. Pepper, coming out of the bedroom in time to catch the last words; “they won't be good to-morrow; better have them to-night, Polly.”

“Ma'am!” said Polly, setting down her potato-dish on the table, and staring at her mother with all her might--“have what, mother?”

“Why, the potatoes, to be sure,” replied Mrs. Pepper; “didn't you say you better keep them, child?”

“Twasn't potatoes--at all,” said Polly, with a little gasp; “twas--dear me! here's Ben!” For the door opened, and Phronsie, with a scream of delight, bounded into Ben's arms.

“It's just jolly,” said Ben, coming in, his chubby face all aglow, and his big blue eyes shining so honest and true; “it's just jolly to get home! supper ready, Polly?”

“Yes,” said Polly; “that is--all but--” and she dashed off for Phronsie's eating apron.

“Sometime,” said Phronsie, with her mouth half full, when the meal was nearly over, “we're going to be awful rich; we are, Ben, truly!”

“No?” said Ben, affecting the most hearty astonishment; “you don't say so, Chick!”

“Yes,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head very wisely at him, and diving down into her cup of very weak milk and water to see if Polly had put any sugar in by mistake--a proceeding always expectantly observed. “Yes, we are really, Bensie, very dreadful rich!”

“I wish we could be rich now, then,” said Ben, taking another generous slice of the brown bread; “in time for mamsie's birthday,” and he cast a sorrowful glance at Polly.

“I know,” said Polly; “oh dear! if we only could celebrate it!”

“I don't want any other celebration,” said Mrs. Pepper, beaming on them so that a little flash of sunshine seemed to hop right down on the table, “than to look round on you all; I'm rich now, and that's a fact!”

“Mamsie don't mind her five bothers,” cried Polly, jumping up and running to hug her mother; thereby producing a like desire in all the others, who immediately left their seats and followed her example.

“Mother's rich enough,” ejaculated Mrs. Pepper; her bright, black eyes glistening with delight, as the noisy troop filed back to their bread and potatoes; “if we can only keep together, dears, and grow up good, so that the little brown house won't be ashamed of us, that's all I ask.”

“Well,” said Polly, in a burst of confidence to Ben, after the table had been pushed back against the wall, the dishes nicely washed, wiped, and set up neatly in the cupboard, and all traces of the meal cleared away; “I don't care; let's try and get a celebration, somehow, for mamsie!”

“How are you going to do it?” asked Ben, who was of a decidedly practical turn of mind, and thus couldn't always follow Polly in her flights of imagination.

“I don't know,” said Polly; “but we must some way.”

“Phoh! that's no good,” said Ben, disdainfully; then seeing Polly's face, he added kindly: “let's think, though; and perhaps there'll be some way.”

“Oh, I know,” cried Polly, in delight; “I know the very thing, Ben! let's make her a cake; a big one, you know, and--”

“She'll see you bake it,” said Ben; “or else she'll smell it, and that'd be just as bad.”