Five Little Peppers And How They Grew | Page 8

old lady; "now, where do you s'pose 'tis!" and she clapped both hands to her head, to see if she could possibly remember; "no, no, child," she repeated. "Why, thcy had it down to my niece Mirandy's weddin'--'twas just elegant! light as a feather; and 'twan't rich either," she added; "no eggs, nor"-- "Oh, I couldn't have eggs;" cried Polly, in amazement at the thought of such luxury; "and we've only brown flour, grandma, you know."
"Well, you can make it of brown," said Mrs. Bascom, kindly; "when the raisins is in 'twill look quite nice."
"Oh, we haven't any raisins," answered Polly.
"Haven't any raisins!" echoed grandma, looking at her over her spectacles; "what are you goin' to put in?"
"Oh--cinnamon," said Polly, briskly; "we've got plenty of that, and--it'll be good, I guess, grandma!" she finished, anxiously; "anyway, we must have a cake; there isn't any other way to celebrate mamsie's birthday."
"Well, now," said grandma, bustling around; "I shouldn't be surprised if you had real good luck, Polly. And your ma'll set ever so much by it; now, if we only could find that receet!" and returning to the charge she commenced to fumble among her bits of paper again; "I never shall forget how they eat on it; why, there wasn't a crumb left, Polly!"
"Oh, dear," said Polly, to whom "Mirandy's wedding cake" now became the height of her desires; "if you only can find it! can't I climb up and look on the pantry shelves?"
"Maybe 'tis there," said Mrs. Bascom, slowly; "you might try; sometimes I do put things away, so's to have 'em safe."
So Polly got an old wooden chair, according to direction, and then mounted up on it, with grandma below to direct, she handed down bowl after bowl, interspersed at the right intervals with cracked teacups and handleless pitchers. But at the end of these explorations, "Mirandy's wedding cake" was further off than ever.
"Tain't a mite o' use," at last said the old lady, sinking down in despair, while Polly perched on the top of the chair and looked at her; "I must a-give it away."
"Can't I have the next best one, then?" asked Polly, despairingly, feeling sure that "Mirandy's wedding cake" would have celebrated the day just right; "and I must hurry right home, please," she added, getting down from the chair, and tying on her hood; "or Phronsie won't know what to do."
So another "receet" was looked over, and selected; and with many charges, and bits of advice not to let the oven get too hot, etc., etc., Polly took the precious bit in her hand, and flew over home.
"Now, we've got to--" she began, bounding in merrily, with dancing eyes; but her delight had a sudden stop, as she brought up so suddenly at the sight within, that she couldn't utter another word. Phronsie was crouching, a miserable little heap of woe, in one corner of the mother's big calico-covered rocking-chair, and crying bitterly, while Joel hung over her in the utmost concern.
"What's the matter?" gasped Polly. Flinging the "receet" on the table, she rushed up to the old chair and was down on her knees before it, her arms around the little figure. Phronsie turned, and threw herself into Polly's protecting arms, who gathered her up, and sitting down in the depths of the chair, comforted her as only she could.
"What is it?" she asked of Joel, who was nervously begging Phronsie not to cry; "now, tell me all that's happened."
"I was a-nailing," began Joel; "oh dear! don't cry, Phronsie! do stop her, Polly."
"Go on," said Polly, hoarsely.
"I was a-nailing," began Joel, slowly; "and--and--Davie's gone to get the peppermint," he added, brightening up.
"Tell me, Joe," said Polly, "all that's been going on," and she looked sternly into his face; "or I'll get Davie to," as little Davie came running back, with a bottle of castor oil, which in his flurry he had mistaken for peppermint. This he presented with a flourish to Polly, who was too excited to see it.
"Oh, no!" cried Joel, in intense alarm; "Davie isn't going to! I'll tell, Polly; I will truly."
"Go on, then," said Polly; "tell at once;" (feeling as if somebody didn't tell pretty quick, she should tumble over.)
"Well," said Joel, gathering himself up with a fresh effort, "the old hammer was a-shaking and Phronsie stuck her foot in the way--and--I couldn't help it, Polly--no, I just couldn't, Polly."
Quick as a flash, Polly tore off the little old shoe, and well-worn stocking, and brought to light Phronsie's fat little foot. Tenderly taking hold of the white toes, the boys clustering around in the greatest anxiety, she worked them back and forth, and up and down. "Nothing's broken," she said at last, and drew a long breath.
"It's there," said Phronsie, through a rain of tears; "and it hurts,