Part 8

“Can I ever wear my new shoes again?” asked the child, gravely, looking dismally at the black bundle before her.

“Oh, yes; my goodness, yes!” cried Polly; “as quick again as ever; you'll be around again as smart as a cricket in a week--see if you aren't!”

“Will it go on?” asked Phronsie, still looking incredulously at the bundle, “and button up?”

“Yes, indeed!” cried Polly, again; “button into every one of the little holes, Phronsie Pepper; just as elegant as ever!”

“Oh!” said Phronsie; and then she gave a sigh of relief, and thought no more of it, because Polly had said that all would be right.

MAMSIE'S BIRTHDAY

“Run down and get the cinnamon, will you, Joey?” said Polly; “it's in the 'Provision Room.”

The “Provision Room” was a little shed that was tacked on to the main house, and reached by a short flight of rickety steps; so called, because as Polly said, “'twas a good place to keep provisions in, even if we haven't any; and besides,” she always finished, “it sounds nice!”

“Come on, Dave! then we'll get something to eat!”

So the cinnamon was handed up, and then Joel flew back to Davie.

And now, Polly's cake was done, and ready for the oven. With many admiring glances from herself, and Phronsie, who with Seraphina, an extremely old but greatly revered doll, tightly hugged in her arms was watching everything with the biggest of eyes from the depths of the old chair, it was placed in the oven, the door shut to with a happy little bang, then Polly gathered Phronsie up in her arms, and sat down in the chair to have a good time with her and to watch the process of cooking.

There was a bumping noise that came from the “Provision Room” that sounded ominous, and then a smothered sound of words, followed by a scuffling over the old floor.

“Boys!” called Polly. No answer; everything was just as still as a mouse. “Joel and David!” called Polly again, in her loudest tones.

“Yes,” came up the crooked stairs, in Davie's voice.

“Come up here, right away!” went back again from Polly. So up the stairs trudged the two boys, and presented themselves rather sheepishly before the big chair.

“What was that noise?” she asked; “what have you been doing?”

“Twasn't anything but the pail,” answered Joel, not looking at her.

“We had something to eat,” said Davie, by way of explanation; “you always let us.”

“I know,” said Polly; “that's right, you can have as much bread as you want to; but what you been doing with the pail?”

“Nothing,” said Joel; “'twouldn't hangup, that's all.”

“And you've been bumping it,” said Polly; “oh! Joel, how could you! You might have broken it; then what would mamsie say?”

“I didn't,” said Joel, stoutly, with his hands in his pockets, “bump it worse'n Davie, so there!”

“Why, Davie,” said Polly, turning to him sorrowfully, “I shouldn't have thought you would!”

“Well, I'm tired of hanging it up,” said little Davie, vehemently; “and I said I wasn't a-goin' to; Joel always makes me; I've done it for two million times, I guess!”

“Oh, dear,” said Polly, sinking back into the chair, “I don't know what I ever shall do; here's Phronsie hurt; and we want to celebrate to-morrow; and you two boys are bumping and banging out the bread pail, and--”

“Oh! we won't!” cried both of the children, perfectly overwhelmed with remorse; “we'll hang it right up.”

“I'll hang it,” said Davie, clattering off down the stairs with a will.

“No, I will!” shouted Joel, going after him at double pace; and presently both came up with shining faces, and reported it nicely done.