Part 58

“I'm a-goin',” said Joel, who was busy as a bee with his new tools that the tree had shaken down for him, “to make Jappy the splendidest box you ever saw, Polly! I guess that'll thank him!”

“Do,” cried Polly; “he'd be so pleased, Joey.”

“And I,” said Phronsie, over in the corner with her children, “I'm goin' to see my poor sick man sometime, Polly, I am!”

“Oh, dear!” cried Polly, whirling around, and looking at her mother in dismay. “She'll be goin' to-morrow! Oh, no, Phronsie, you can't; he lives miles and miles away--oh, ever so far!”

“Does he live as far as the moon?” asked little Phronsie, carefully laying Seraphina down, and looking up at Polly, anxiously.

“Oh, I don't know,” said Polly, giving Cherry a piece of bread, and laughing to see how cunning he looked. “Oh, no, of course not, but it's an awful long ways, Phronsie.”

“I don't care,” said Phronsie, determinedly, giving the new doll a loving little pat, “I'm goin' sometime, Polly, to thank my poor sick man, yes, I am!”

“You'll see him next summer, Phronsie,” sang Polly skipping around the kitchen, “and Jappy's sister Marian, the lovely lady, and all the boys. Won't that be nice?” and Polly stopped to pat the yellow head bending in motherly attentions over her array of dolls.

“Ye-es,” said Phronsie, slowly; “the whole of 'em, Polly?”

“Yes, indeed!” said Polly, gayly; “the whole of 'em, Phronsie!

“Hooray!” shouted the two boys, while Phronsie only gave a long sigh, and clasped her hands.

“Better not be looking for summer,” said Mrs. Pepper, “until you do your duty by the winter; then you can enjoy it,” and she took a fresh needleful of thread.

“Mamsie's right,” said Ben, smiling over at her. And he threw down his book and jumped for his cap. “Now for a good chop!” he cried, and snatching a kiss from Phronsie, he rushed out of the door to his work, whistling as he went.

“Warn't Mr. Henderson good, ma,” asked Polly, watching his retreating figure, “to give Ben learning?”

“Yes, he was,” replied Mrs. Pepper, enthusiastically. “We've got a parson, if anybody has in this world!”

“And Ben's learning,” said Polly, swelling with pride, as she sat down by her mother, and began to sew rapidly, “so that he'll be a big man right off! Oh, dear,” as a thought made her needle pause a minute in its quick flying in and out.

“What is it, Polly?” Mrs. Pepper looked keenly at the troubled face and downcast eyes.

“Why--” began Polly, and then she finished very slowly, “I shan't know anything, and Ben'll be ashamed of me.

“Yes, you will!” cried Mrs. Pepper, energetically, “you keep on trying, and the Lord'll send some way; don't you go to bothering your head about it now, Polly--it'll come when it's time.”

“Will it?” asked Polly, doubtfully, taking up her needle again.

“Yes, indeed!” cried Mrs. Pepper, briskly; “come fly at your sewing; that's your learning now.”

“So 'tis,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “Now let's see which'll get their seam done first, mamsie?”

And now letters flew thick and fast from the city to the little brown house, and back again, warming Jasper's heart, and filling the tedious months of that winter with more of jollity and fun than the lad ever enjoyed before; and never was fun and jollity more needed than now; for Mr. King, having nothing to do, and each year finding himself less inclined to exercise any thoughtful energy for others, began to look at life something in the light of a serious bore, and accordingly made it decidedly disagreeable for all around him, and particularly for Jasper who was his constant companion. But the boy was looking forward to summer, and so held on bravely.

“I do verily believe, Polly,” he wrote, “that Badgertown'll see the gayest times it ever knew! Sister Marian wants to go, so that's all right. Now, hurrah for a good time--it's surely coming!”

But alas! for Jasper! as spring advanced, his father took a decided aversion to Hingham, Badgertown, and all other places that could be mentioned in that vicinity.

“It's a wretched climate,” he asserted, over and over; “and the foundation of all my ill feelings this winter was laid, I'm convinced, in Hingham last summer.”

No use to urge the contrary; and all Jasper's pleadings were equally vain. At last, sister Marian, who was kind-hearted to a fault, sorry to see her brother's dismay and disappointment said, one day, “Why not have one of the children come here? I should like it very much--do invite Ben.”

“I don't want Ben,” said Jasper gloomily, “I want Polly.” He added this in much the same tone as Phronsie's when she had rushed up to him the day she was lost, declaring, “I want Polly!”