Part 80

“Do you say yes, Mrs. Pepper?” queried the old gentleman impatiently. “I must get this thing fixed up to-day. I'm really too ill to be worried ma'am.”

“Why sir,” stammered Mrs. Pepper, “I don't know what to say. I couldn't think of imposing all my children on you, and--”

“Imposing! Who's talking of imposing!” said Mr. King in a loud key. “I want my house kept; will you live here and keep it? That is the question.”

“But sir,” began Mrs. Pepper again, “you don't think--”

“I do think; I tell you, ma'am, I do think,” snapped the old gentleman. “It's just because I have thought that I've made up my mind. Will you do it Mrs. Pepper?”

“What are you goin' to do, mamsie?” asked Joel quickly.

“I don't know as I'm going to do anything yet,” said poor Mrs. Pepper, who was almost stunned.

“To come here and live!” cried Jasper, unable to keep still any longer--and springing to the children. “Don't you want to, Joe?”

“To live!” screamed Joel. “Oh whickety, yes! Do ma, do come here and live--do!”

“To live?” echoed Phronsie, over in the old gentleman's lap. “In this be-yew-ti-ful place? Oh, oh!”

“Oh, mamsie!” that was all Polly could say.

And even Ben had his arms around his mother's neck, whispering “Do” into her ear, while little Davie got into her lap and teased her with all his might.

“What shall I do!” cried the poor woman. “Did ever anybody see the like?”

“It's the very best thing you could possibly do,” cried the old gentleman. “Don't you see it's for the children's advantage? They'll get such educations, Mrs. Pepper, as you want for them. And it accommodates me immensely. What obstacle can there be to it?”

“If I was only sure 'twas best?” said Mrs. Pepper doubtfully.

“Oh, dear Mrs. Pepper,” said Mrs. Whitney, laying her hand on hers. “Can you doubt it?”

“Then,” said Mr. King, getting up, but still holding on to Phronsie, “we'll consider it settled. This is your home, children,” he said, waving his hand at the five little Peppers in a bunch. And having thus summarily disposed of the whole business, he marched out with Phronsie on his shoulder.

POLLY'S DISMAL MORNING

Everything had gone wrong with Polly that day. It began with her boots.

Of all things in the world that tried Polly's patience most were the troublesome little black buttons that originally adorned those useful parts of her clothing, and that were fondly supposed to be there when needed. But they never were. The little black things seemed to be invested with a special spite, for one by one they would hop off on the slightest provocation, and go rolling over the floor, just when she was in her most terrible hurry, compelling her to fly for needle and thread on the instant. For one thing Mrs. Pepper was very strict about--and that was, Polly should do nothing else till the buttons were all on again, and the boots buttoned up firm and snug.

“Oh dear!” said Polly, sitting down on the floor, and pulling on her stockings. “There now, see that hateful old shoe, mamsie!” And she thrust out one foot in dismay.

“What's the matter with it?” said Mrs. Pepper straightening the things on the bureau. “You haven't worn it out already, Polly?”

“Oh no,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “I hope not yet, but it's these dreadful hateful old buttons!” And she twitched the boot off from her foot with such an impatient little pull, that three or four more went flying under the bed. “There now--there's a lot more. I don't care! I wish they'd all go; they might as well!” she cried, tossing that boot on the floor in intense scorn, while she investigated the state of the other one.

“Are they all off?” asked Phronsie, pulling herself up out of a little heap in the middle of the bed, and leaning over the side, where she viewed Polly sorrowfully. “Every one, Polly?”

“No,” said Polly, “but I wish they were, mean old things; when I was going down to play a duet with Jasper! We should have had a good long time before breakfast. Oh, mayn't I go just once, mamsie? Nobody'll see me if I tuck my foot under the piano; and I can sew 'em on afterwards--there'll be plenty of time. Do, just once, mamsie!”

“No,” said Mrs. Pepper firmly, “there isn't any time but now. And piano playing isn't very nice when you've got to stick your toes under it to keep your shoes on.”

“Well then,” grumbled Polly, hopping around in her stocking-feet, “where is the work-basket, mamsie? Oh--here it is on the window-seat.” A rattle of spools, scissors and necessary utensils showed plainly that Polly had found it, followed by a jumble of words and despairing ejaculations as she groped hurriedly under chairs and tables to collect the scattered contents.

When she got back with a very red face, she found Phronsie, who had crawled out of bed, sitting down on the floor in her little nightgown and examining the boot with profound interest.