THE STORIES POLLY PEPPER TOLD - at the Little Brown House E-Book

Margaret Sidney

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Times are tough in and around the Little Brown House! The widowed Mrs. Pepper has to sew all day long just to earn enough to pay the rent and to feed the five growing Peppers. But she faces poverty and trouble with a stout heart, a smiling face, and the help of her jolly brood: blue-eyed Ben, the eldest and the man of the house at the age of 11; pretty Polly, so eager to cook for the family and make everyone happy and comfortable; and the three littlest Peppers, Joel, Davie, and baby Phronsie.

The Pepper family would soon become beloved by readers all over America. Young people avidly followed the adventures of Ben, Polly, Joel, Davie, and Phronsie. While faced with many plausible trials and obstacles they remain eternally optimistic in the face of adversity, and reflect the real life issues of so many of their readers. Their universally appealing wholesome values and lives are not burdened with a heavy moralising tone which was present in many other popular works of the day.

A favorite of children, parents, and teachers for generations, this heartwarming classic first appeared in 1880. Since then, it has inspired countless young imaginations with its tender tales of the ways in which courage and good cheer can overcome adversity.

10% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
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MARGARET SIDNEY is the pen name of Harriet Mulford Stone Lothrop (June 22, 1844 – August 2, 1924). At the age of 34, she began sending short stories to Wide Awake, a children's magazine in Boston. Two of her stories, "Polly Pepper's Chicken Pie" and "Phronsie Pepper's New Shoes", proved to be very popular with readers. Ella Farman, the editor of the magazine, requested that Stone write more.
The success of Harriett's short stories prompted her to write Five Little Peppers and its 11 sequels. The original novel was first published in 1881, the year that Stone married Daniel Lothrop. Daniel had founded the D. Lothrop Company of Boston, who published Harriett's books under her pseudonym, Margaret Sidney.
Harriett and Daniel may have both had an interest in history and in famous authors. In 1883, they purchased the house in which both Louisa May Alcott and Nathaniel Hawthorne had lived. Nicknamed The Wayside, the house is located in Concord, Massachusetts. The year after Harriett and Daniel moved into the house, Harriett gave birth to their daughter, Margaret, at the age of 40.
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: the stories Polly Pepper told, Ann, ants, Araminta, arm, bad breath, bag, bags, basket, bear, beautiful, bed, Beebe, begged, Ben, better, Betty, bird, boys, Brook, Brown house, care, cheeks, chicken, children, corner, cried, cross, cry, Dave, David, Davie, dear, Dick, door, dreadful, dreadfully, end, everybody, exclaimed, eyes, fat, Father, fine, flew, glad, going, goose, Grandpapa, gray, green, hair, hand, hard, head, held, help, hiding place, hop, hopped, hundred, hurry, indeed, Jasper, Joe, Joel, Joey, jump, kitchen, kittle brown house, lady, laugh, laughed, like, little, Little, long, looked, loud, lovely, Lucy, made, Mamsie, Mamsie, man, mean, middle, minute, Mother, Mrs, Pepper, Nutcracker, old, Percy, perfect, Phronsie, Phronsie’s, pink, poor, pray, pretty, promised, queer, red, Richard, roared, robbers, screamed, shaking, shoes, show, sigh, Silly, single, sit, Sophia, splendid, sticks, stone, stories, stove, stuck, suddenly, table, tears, three, together, took, tumble, turn, umbrella, Van, voice, white, Whitney, wish, woman, work, worse, yellow,

Leseprobe

The StoriesPolly Pepper Told

To The

Five Little Peppers In TheLittle Brown House

By

Margaret Sidney

Illustrated ByJessie Mcdermott & Etheldred B. Barry

Originally Published By

Lothrop, Lee And Shepard Co., Boston[1899,]

Resurrected ByAbela Publishing, London

[2020]

The Stories Polly Pepper Told

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2020

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing,

London

United Kingdom

[2020]

ISBN-13: 978-8-XXXXXX-XX-X

email

[email protected]

website

www.AbelaPublishing.com

Polly telling her stories.“So one of Mamsie’s bed-slippers was tied on Phronsie’s little sore foot, and Polly began”—

Dedication

TO

Margaret Mulford Lothrop

Who Represents To Those WhoKnow Her, Both The

“Polly” And The “Phronsie”Of TheFive Little Peppers

This Volume Is Dedicated.

Prefatory Note

The author has received from mothers and other persons interested in the Pepper Family, so many requests for the Stories told by Polly Pepper (to which frequent allusion has been made in the Series called the “Five Little Peppers’” Books), that this initial volume of Polly’s earlier stories has been prepared in obedience to these requests.

Wayside, Concord, Mass.March, 1899.

Contents

I.The Little White Chicken

II.The Princess Esmeralda’s Ball

III.The Story of the Circus

IV.The Little Tin Soldiers

V.Christmas at the Big House

VI.Mr. Father Kangaroo and the Fat Little Bird

VII.The Mince-pie Boy and the Beasts

VIII.The Cunning Little Duck

IX.The Old Tea-kettle

X.The Pink and White Sticks

XI.The Old Stage-coach

XII.Mr. Nutcracker; the Story that wasn’t a Story

XIII.Mr. Nutcracker

XIV.The Runaway Pumpkin

XV.The Robbers and their Bags

XVI.Polly Pepper’s Chicken-pie

XVII.Phronsie Pepper’s New Shoes

XVIII.The Old Gray Goose

XIX.The Green Umbrella

XX.The Green Umbrella and the Queer Little Man

XXI.The Little Snow-house

XXII.Lucy Ann’s Garden

XXIII.The China Mug

XXIV.Brown Betty

XXV.The Silly Little Brook

XXVI.Down in the Orchard

List of Illustrations

Polly telling her stories - Frontispiece.

“Take me, Polly,” implored Phronsie.

“And—he—saw—the—bear.”

Polly threw her arms around Ben.

“In came the Princess Esmeralda.”

“The circus story,” said Polly, “is about so many best and splendid things that you must keep quite still.”

“Where’s the Circus-man?” asked the great big man.

Ben was mending Mother Pepper’s washboard.

The little tin soldiers.

Grandpapa had taken out all the papers.

Joel laid his head in Polly’s lap and burst out crying.

“I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.

“What’s the matter down there?” asked Mr. Kangaroo.

The two pulled out the kitchen table.

The mince-pie boy and the beasts.

“O Polly!” she cried, scuttling over to her.

Joel came racing back.

The cunning little duck.

“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Pepper.

“Mind the house, now,” she said to the cat.

She crept into Polly’s lap, and put her little hand up on her neck.

The pink and white sticks.

“Take care, Joe,” she warned.

The old stage-coach.

So Polly smoothed and patted his stubby head in a way that Joel liked.

“You are scaring that poor old man most to death,” said Polly.

Polly began to parade up and down the old kitchen floor.

And the pigs wouldn’t go the way he wanted ’em to.

“I guess I’ll tell you of the Runaway Pumpkin,” said Polly.

“Pumpkin! say, Pumpkin, don’t you hear me?”

Mrs. Whitney heard the noise, and ran in to see what the fun was.

The robbers and their bags.

Ben grasped it tightly under one arm and flew home.

The old gray goose holds a conversation with the black chicken.

“Oh! I am so hungry, Polly.”

“Phronsie Pepper’s new shoes.”

And there was the shoe tumbled right over her nose.

“You said so, Polly Pepper,” cried little Dick with big eyes.

Sally Brown and the old gray goose.

“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn’t tell any story just now.”

“Go right away! my daughter makes all the music I want.”

“Look within!” screamed the old woman.

“Here she is!” cried Van, throwing open the door of Jasper’s den.

Phronsie smoothed down her white apron in satisfaction.

The umbrella runs away with the queer little man.

The boys bringing home the meal and potatoes.

The little snow-house.

Lucy Ann’s garden.

She put her head in her hands, like this.

Little Dick plucked off the big bit of wet brown paper from his eye.

The beautiful man and the lovely lady on the china mug.

“O Polly, a hundred ants!” cried little Dick with an absorbed face.

Brown Betty and the ants.

Phronsie shook her yellow head mournfully.

The birds and the silly little brook.

“’Twas as big as this!”

The Little White Rabbit and Mister Fox.

THE Stories Polly Pepper Told TO THE FIVE Little Peppers

I.The Little White Chicken

“You see,” said Polly, “the little white chicken was determined she would go into Susan’s playhouse.”

Phronsie sat in Mamsie’s big calico-covered rocking-chair. The last tear had trailed off the round cheek since Polly had come home and was by her side, holding her hand. The pounded toes were thrust out before her, tied up in an old cloth, and waiting for the wormwood which was steeping on the fire. Grandma Bascom, protesting that soon Phronsie wouldn’t know that she had any toes, sank into a chair and beamed at her. “You pretty creeter, you,” she cried, her cap-border bobbing heartily.

“I wish she wouldn’t talk,” grunted Joel, burrowing on the floor, his head in Polly’s lap, where her soft fingers could smooth his stubby black hair.

“’Sh!” said Polly, with a warning pinch.

“Go on,” begged Davie, hanging over her chair, intent as Phronsie on the fate of the white chicken; “did she go in, Polly; did she?”

Phronsie sat still, her eyes on Polly’s face, her fat little hands clasped in her lap, while she held her breath for the answer.

“Dear me, yes,” cried Polly quickly; “she stretched her neck like this,” suiting the action to the word, for Polly always acted out, as much as she could, all her stories, particularly on emergencies like the present one, “and peered around the corner. Susan wasn’t there, for she was up at the house sitting on a stool and sewing patchwork. But there was a black object over in the corner, and”—

“Oh, you pretty creeter, you!” exclaimed Grandma suddenly, at Phronsie, on whom she had gazed unceasingly, “so you did pound your toes—there—there—you pretty creeter!”

“Ugh—ugh! make her stop,” howled Joel, twitching up his head from its soft nest. “Oh, dear, we can’t hear anything. Stop her, Polly, do.”

“Joel,” said Polly, “hush this minute; just think how good she’s been, and the raisins. O Joey!”

“They are dreadful hard,” grumbled Joel; but he slipped his head back on Polly’s lap, wishing her fingers would smooth his hair again. But they didn’t; so he burrowed deeper, and tried not to cry. Meanwhile Phronsie, with a troubled expression settling over her face at this condition of things, made as though she would slip from the old chair. “Take me, Polly,” she begged, holding out her arms.

“Oh, no, you mustn’t, you pretty creeter,” declared Grandma, getting out of her chair to waddle over to the scene, her cap-border trembling violently, “you’ll hurt your toes. You must set where you be till you get the wormwood on.” And Davie running over to put his arms around Phronsie and beg her to keep still, the little old kitchen soon became in great confusion till it seemed as if the white chicken must be left for all time, peering in at Susan’s playhouse and the black object in the corner.

“Oh, dear me!” cried Polly at her wit’s end; “now you see, Joey. Whatever shall I do?”

“Take me, Polly,” implored Phronsie, leaning out of the big chair at the imminent danger of falling on her nose, and two tears raced over her round cheeks. At sight of these, Polly suddenly lifted her out and over to her lap, Joel deserting that post in a trice, and wishing he was Phronsie so that he could cry and be comforted.

“Dear, dear, dear!” exclaimed Grandma Bascom gustily, trotting off to the tin cup with the wormwood steeping on the stove. “She must have the wormwood on. Whatever’ll become of her toes if she don’t set still, I d’no. There, there, she’s a pretty creeter.”

“Take me, Polly,” implored Phronsie.

“I don’t want any on,” said Phronsie from her nest in Polly’s arms, and contentedly snuggling down. “Please don’t let her put any on, Polly,” she whispered up against her neck.

“I’ll put it on,” said Polly soothingly. “Well, now, Phronsie,” patting the yellow head, and with an anxious look up at the old clock, “you know I can’t bake Mamsie’s birthday cake unless you have that wormwood on and sit in her chair like a good girl. And then think how very dreadful it would be to have Mamsie come home and it shouldn’t be done. Oh, I can’t think of such a thing!” Polly’s hand dropped away from the yellow hair, and fell to her lap, as she sat quite still.

Phronsie lifted her head and looked at her. “I’ll have the wet stuff on, Polly, and sit in the chair,” she said, with a long sigh; “lift me back, Polly, do; then you can bake Mamsie’s cake.”

So Phronsie was lifted back with great ado, Polly kissing her many times, and telling her how glad she would be on the morrow when Mamsie’s birthday cake would be a beautiful success, and how happy Mamsie would be to know that Phronsie helped to bake it by being such a good girl. And the little toes were wet with the wormwood, and tied up in an old cloth; and Grandma Bascom, dropping the tin cup which she was bearing back to the stove, with a clatter on the floor, created such a diversion as Polly and the boys ran to get cloths and spoons to save the precious wormwood and wipe the floor clean, that the little old kitchen rang with the noise, and it was some time before Polly could get it quieted down again.

At last Polly drew a long breath. “Well, now, children, if you’ll be very still I’ll tell you the rest about the white chicken, while I’m making Mamsie’s cake. And I’ll pull your chair, Phronsie, up to the table so you can see me.”

“Let me, let me!” screamed Joel, hopping up to lay hasty hands on the old calico-covered rocker. “I want to, Polly; let me pull it up.”

“I want to,” begged David, just as nimble on the other side.

“So you shall; you can both help,” cried Polly merrily, deep in thought over the intricacies of ‘Mirandy’s weddin’-cake receet.’

“Well,” said Grandma, seeing Phronsie on such a high road to recovery, “I’m dretful glad I found that receet. I put it in my Bible so’s to have it handy to give John’s folks when they come; they set great store by it to the weddin’: and I must go home now, ’cause I left some meat a-boilin’.” So off she waddled, Joel going to the door and gallantly assisting her down the steps and to the gate, glad to make amends. Then he rushed back.

“Now for the white chicken!” he cried, drawing a long breath, and perching on the end of the baking-table.

“Yes,” said Polly; “but you’ve got to have on one of Mamsie’s old slippers first, Phronsie.”

“Oh, ho,” Phronsie laughed gleefully, “how funny!”

So one of Mamsie’s old cloth slippers was tied on to Phronsie’s little foot with a bit of string through the middle, the children one and all protesting that it looked like an old black pudding-bag; and Polly began again, “Now,” she said absently, “I’ll tell you about the little white chicken—just as soon as I have—oh, dear me! let me see if I have all my things ready.” She wrinkled her brows and thought a minute. Joel kicked his heels impatiently against the table-side, while Davie clasped his hands tight so as not to say anything to worry Polly.

“Yes, I believe they’re all here,” said Polly, after what seemed an age to the children. “Well, there now, children, I’m ready to begin on the story. Oh, let me see, all but the big bowl;” and she ran into the buttery and brought it out, and began to mix the cake with quite an important air. Phronsie drew a long breath of delight that ended in a happy little crow. “You must know that the white chicken made up her mind that she would go into Susan’s playhouse, although”—

“You told that,” interrupted Joel, filliping at the dish where the raisins, with a plentiful sprinkling of flour, lay ready to lend their magnificence to Mamsie’s birthday cake; “go on where you left off, Polly.”

“You said she saw a black object over in the corner,” said Davie, with big eyes; “tell about that.”

“Oh, yes, so I did!” said Polly; “now, Joe, you mustn’t touch the raisins. Every single one must go into Mamsie’s cake.”

Joel drew away his hand; but it was impossible not to regard the plate, on which he kept his gaze fastened.

“Well, in crept the little white chicken,” said Polly tragically, and stirring briskly the cake-mixture with the long wooden spoon, “hoping the black object wouldn’t see her. She had to go in you see, because just outside the door, coming under the apple-trees, was a noise, and it sounded very much like a boy; and the little white chicken had rather be scared by a black object in the corner inside, than to let that boy spy her. So she crept in very softly, and was just beginning to tuck up her feet and sit down behind the door, when the black object stirred, and over went the little white chicken all in a heap.”

Joel gave a grunt of great satisfaction, and tore his eyes from the raisin-plate.

“What was it?” gasped Davie fearfully, and getting nearer to Polly’s side. Phronsie kept her wide eyes on Polly’s face, and sat quite still, her little hands folded in her lap.

“You wait and see,” said Polly gayly, and stirring away for dear life. “Well, over went the little white chicken, and”—

“You said that,” interrupted Joel; “do hurry and tell the rest.”

“Then she shut her eyes just like this,” Polly stopped stirring, and turned to Phronsie, wrinkling up her face as much like a chicken in despair as was possible. “Oh, you can’t think how she felt; she was so frightened! She tried to call her mother, but the ‘peep—peep’ that always used to be so loud and clear, stuck way down in her throat; and then she knew she never in all this world could make her mother hear because she hadn’t minded her. And outside she could hear old Mrs. Hen calling her brothers and sisters to come and get the worms she had just scratched up.”

“And wouldn’t the little white chicken ever get a worm?” broke out Phronsie in dreadful excitement; “wouldn’t she, Polly, ever?”

“No—oh, yes; she could when she was good,” said Polly at sight of Phronsie’s face.

“Make her good,” begged Phronsie, unclasping her hands to pull Polly’s gown; “oh do, Polly!”

“No, make her bad,” cried Joel insistently; “as bad as can be, do, Polly!”

“O Joel!” reproved Polly, stirring away; “whoever would want that little white chicken bad—any more than for a boy to be naughty.”

“Well, make her bad enough to be scared; and have the awful black thing be a bear, and most bite her to death, and chew her head off,” cried Joel, feeling delicious thrills at the dreadful possibilities that might happen to the chicken.

“Oh, dear me!” cried Polly in horror, “the poor little white chicken!”

“Don’t let it bite her much,” said Davie. “But do make it a bear, Polly!”

“Well, I will,” said Polly obligingly, “make it a bear, boys.”

“And don’t let it bite her any,” begged Phronsie; and she put up her lip, while the brown eyes were imploringly fixed on Polly’s face.

Joel squirmed all over the table-end. “Just such a little bear,” he remonstrated. “Hoh! he couldn’t bite much; I’d just as lieves he’d bite me,” baring his brown arm.

“No—no—no!” protested Phronsie, shaking her yellow head decidedly; “I don’t want him to bite her any, poor little white chicken;” and she looked so very near to crying, and Mamsie’s old black slipper on the pounded toes began to flap so dismally, that Polly hastened to say, “Oh! I’ll tell you, children, what I’ll do; I’ll have Tommy come out and shoot the bear right away.”

“Oh, whickety!” whooped Joel. David clasped his hands ecstatically. This was much better,—to have Tommy and the bear, than the bear and the little white chicken. Phronsie laughed delightedly, “Make him come quick, do, Polly!” she screamed.

“Hurry up!” called Joel; “O Phron! don’t talk. Do hurry, Polly!”

“Well, you see,” went on Polly, stirring away for dear life, “that when Susan went into the house to sit on the stool and do patchwork, her brother Tommy thought he would take his gun and see if he could find anything to shoot, like rabbits, and”—

“No—no,” cried Joel in alarm, twitching her sleeve, “bears, bears!”

“He didn’t expect to see a bear,” said Polly; “he went out to shoot rabbits. But he found the bear instead, you know,” catching sight of Joel’s face, which immediately cleared up, and he settled back contentedly. “Well, Tommy went along by old Mother Hen clucking and scratching, and all the rest of the chickens, except the little white one; and just as he was going by Susan’s playhouse he thought he would look in and scare the dolls with his big gun.”

“Don’t let him, Polly!” begged Phronsie in a worse fright than before. “Oh, don’t let him; don’t let him!”

“Ow! there ain’t any fun. Phron keeps stopping us all the time,” howled Joel. “Let him, Polly. Gee—whiz—bang! that’s the way I’d do,” bringing an imaginary gun to his shoulder and blazing away.

“Well, then he’d have scared the bear so he couldn’t have shot him,” said little Davie quietly.

“So he would, Davie,” said Polly approvingly, and dropping the spoon to pet Phronsie; “if Joel had been there, the bear would have got away.”

Joel, much discomfited at this, ducked suddenly and looked sheepish. “Well, go on,” he said.

“And Tommy didn’t scare the dolls, because you see he was scared himself. The first thing he saw was the little white chicken crouched down like this.” Down went Polly on the old kitchen floor, and made herself so much like a little white chicken very much frightened, that the children held their breath to see her.

“And then Tommy looked at what scared the little white chicken,” went on Polly, hopping up and beginning to stir the cake-mixture again. “And—he—saw—the—bear!”

“And—he—saw—the—bear.”

It is impossible to describe the effect this statement had on the old kitchen and its occupants; and Polly, well pleased, rushed on, dilating on how the bear looked, and how Tommy looked, and how the little white chicken looked; till, in a pause, the crackling in the old stove proclaimed all things ready for the baking of Mamsie’s birthday cake, and she exclaimed, “Deary me, I must hurry. Oh well! Tommy saw the bear getting ready to spring, just like this; and he put up his gun, like this, and it went bang—bang! and over went Mr. Bear quite, quite dead.”

“Like this?” cried Joel, tumbling off from the table-end to a heap in the middle of the old floor; “just like this, Polly?” sticking up his stubby black head to look at her.

“No—no!” cried Davie, hurrying to make another heap of himself by Joel’s side; “he stuck up his legs, didn’t he, Polly?” and out went David’s arms and legs as stiff as sticks, as he lay on his back staring at the ceiling.

“Hoh—hoh!” laughed Joel in derision; “bears don’t tumble down that way, Dave, when they’re killed; do they, Polly?”

“Yes, they do too,” contradicted little David, not moving a muscle; “don’t they, Polly?” while Phronsie tried to get out of her big chair to show, too, how she thought the bear would tumble over.

“Oh, no, Phronsie pet, you mustn’t!” cried Polly in alarm; “you’ll hurt your poor toes. Well, I think the bear looked something like both of you boys. He didn’t stick his legs up stiff, but he was on his back like Davie.”

“Well, I’m on my back,” cried Joel, whirling over; while David’s stiff little wooden legs and arms fell down in a twinkling. “Well, now you boys must get me the cinnamon,” said Polly, with a brisk eye on the old clock. “Deary me, I ought to have this cake in the oven—it’s in the Provision Room, you know.”

“And then we’ll get something to eat,” cried the two bears, hopping up to race off.

II The Princess Esmeralda’s Ball

“It was a most beautiful place,” cried Polly. “Oh! you can’t think, children, how perfectly beautiful it all was;” and she clasped her hands and sighed.

“Tell us,” they all begged in one breath, crowding around her chair.

“Well, I can’t till Ben gets back, because you know he wanted to hear this story;” and Polly flew out of her rapture, and picked up her needle again. “Dear me!” she exclaimed, and a wave of remorse sent the color flying over her cheek, “I didn’t mean to stop even for a minute;” and she glanced up at the old clock.

“Ben never’ll come,” grumbled Joel, racing to the window with Davie at his heels; “he’s so awful slow.”

“Well, it’s slow work,” said Polly, stitching away briskly, “to carry a great heavy molasses jug and a bag of Indian meal way up here from the store. Now, if you two boys wanted to go and meet him, you could help ever so much.”

“I went last time down to that old store,” said Joel, kicking his toes against the wall as he stared out of the window; “it’s Dave’s turn now, Polly.”

“Oh, oh!” cried little Davie, “I’ve been ever and ever so many more times, Polly; truly I have.”

“And we’ve just got through doing all our work,” went on Joel, ignoring David’s remarks; “and we had such a lot to do to-day Polly,” he added in an injured tone.

“You needn’t go if you don’t want to,” said Polly, with a fine scorn; “I said if you wanted to go.”

“Well, we don’t want to,” declared Joel loudly, and he kicked his toes triumphantly. Phronsie, curled up in a ball on the floor at Polly’s feet, while she nursed Seraphina, stared at them gravely.

“I’ll go, Polly,” she said at last, laying Seraphina, with a sigh, on the floor, and getting up to her feet.

“Oh, no, Pet! you can’t go,” said Polly quickly; “you’re too little. Why, you aren’t bigger’n a mouse, Phronsie;” and she began to laugh, but she turned a cold shoulder to the boys.

“I’m very big, Polly,” said Phronsie gravely, and standing up on her tiptoes. “See—oh, so big! and I must go down and help poor Bensie. Let me, Polly, do!” and she put up her lips, and the tears began to come into the brown eyes.

“Now you see, boys,” began Polly, casting aside her work to take Phronsie on her lap.

“Oh, I’ll go, Polly!” cried little Davie, springing forward, his face all in a flame. “I want to go; truly I do.”—

“No, I will,” howled Joel, dashing away from his window. “You’ve been ever so many times, Dave; I’m going.”

“Joel,” cried Polly, as he was rushing off, “come here a minute.”

He came back slowly, with one eye on Davie. “What do you want, Polly?” he cried impatiently.

“David wants to go,” said Polly slowly, and looking steadily into his flushed face. “Now, unless you really want to go to help Bensie, why you must stay at home.”

“I—want—to go—to help Bensie,” declared Joel insistently, with a very red face. “O Polly! I do. Let me go.” He was so near to crying that Polly said hastily, “I know, Joey, you do want to help Bensie; there, there,” and she gave him an approving little pat.

“I want to help Bensie,” cried Joel; his smiles all come again to the chubby face, and off he dashed.

“Now, Davie,” said Polly in her briskest fashion, and setting to on the long seam, “I think if I were you, I’d play with Phronsie a bit,” with a glance at the disappointed little face.

“Come on, Phronsie,” said little David, gulping down his disappointment; for now that Joel was fairly on the way to meet Ben, nothing seemed better than to be of the party. But he sat down on the floor, where Phronsie immediately crouched beside him; and in a minute the only sound in the old kitchen was the soft hum of their voices, and Phronsie’s delighted little gurgle as the play went on.

“I better be going over that story again in my mind,” said Polly to herself. “I’ve a good chance now, it’s so quiet and lovely;” and she beamed at Davie when he looked up, in a way to make his little heart glad. And then Polly was lost in the depths of her story till the old kitchen and the little brown house and the children faded away; and she was revelling in the glories of the palace, with retinues of courtiers and servants at her beck and call, and all the paraphernalia of royalty around her. For was she not the Princess Esmeralda herself? And a smile played around Polly’s lips as she stitched on, all unconscious of the task her fingers were performing.

“Hi-hi!” It was Joel shouting close to her chair, and there was Ben coming in the door with a pleased look on his face. “Now for the story,” screamed Joey, setting down the bag of meal with a bang on the table; and down tumbled Polly’s castle all around her ears. “Well, I’m glad I’ve got it fast in my mind so I can tell it good,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Yes, I’m ready;” and she smiled at Ben.

“That’s good,” said Ben heartily, “that you didn’t tell that story until I got home, Polly.”

“Did you suppose I would, Ben?” said Polly with an air of reproach.

“No, I didn’t really,” said Ben, wiping his hot face. “But it was good of you, Polly, to wait for me. And it was good of you Joe, too, to come to meet me, for I had to go around to Parson Henderson’s with a letter.”

“O Ben!” exclaimed Polly, “did you have to go all around there with those heavy things?”

“Yes,” said Ben, “I did. But you wouldn’t have had me not go, Polly; for Mr. Atkins said Parson Henderson had been for his letters very early, and this came afterwards, and he wouldn’t be there again to-day.”

“Oh no, no, of course not,” said Polly hastily. “I mean I wouldn’t have had you not go for anything in this world, Ben Pepper. You know I wouldn’t;” and she looked so distressed that Ben hastened to say most assuringly,—

“I know you wouldn’t, Polly; and don’t you think, Mrs. Henderson said it was a most important letter indeed; and if Mr. Henderson hadn’t had it to-day it would have been very bad.”

“Oh, I am so glad he got it to-day, Ben Pepper!” Polly flew out of her chair to run and throw her arms around him. “And you were the one to carry it to him.”

“And then when I got to the Four Corners,” went on Ben, “there was Joel running to meet me. You can’t think how good it seemed to see him!”

“O Joey! did you get clear down to the Four Corners?” cried Polly, turning to him in a transport.

“Yes, I did,” bobbed Joel, glad to think he had run every step of the way without stopping to think, and forgetting how his arms ached carrying the meal-bag. “Now, Polly, tell us the story quick, do.”

“So I will,” cried Polly merrily, rushing back to her chair and the sewing. “Oh, it’s so splendid that Ben’s back! We’ve got a whole hour now before Mamsie’s to be home. Now, then,” as the group huddled up around her.

Polly threw her arms around Ben.

“Once upon a time, long years ago, there was one of the richest kings and queens that the world has ever seen. Why, they had so much money that nobody had ever counted it; they hadn’t time, you know. And it kept coming in until the bags of gold pieces filled up all one side of the courtyard, and they had to build great sheds to put the rest in.”

“Where’d it come from?” broke in Joel abruptly, unable to keep still at thought of such a state of affairs.

“Oh! the things they sold in the whole kingdom were so many,” said Polly; “there were millions—no, billions of bushels of corn, and wheat and rye and silks and ribbons and butter and cheese, and laces and artificial flowers and candy, and”—

“Oh, my!” cried Joel, smacking his lips.

“Like the pink sticks old Mrs. Beebe gave Phronsie the day she hurt her toe?” queried David, his mouth watering at the remembrance.

“Yes, the very same,” said Polly.

“Now, you children mustn’t interrupt every single minute,” commanded Ben; “if you do, Polly and I will go off into a corner, and she will tell me the story. And Phronsie—we’ll take her, because she hasn’t said a word.”

“Oh, we won’t—we won’t again, will we, Dave?” cried Joel, with a punch on that individual’s back.

“No,” said little David promptly; “please go on, Polly.”

“You see, everything that anybody wanted to buy—I mean the people in other countries—was all for sale in this kingdom; and big ships went sailing off ever so many times a day with the things piled in them; and when they came back the captain brought all the money he got for the things, tied up in big bags; and the ships kept coming back, ever so many a day, so that there was no hope that the gold pieces would ever be any less. And one day the king walked up and down his palace hall, wringing his hands. ‘Oh! I wish there wasn’t so much money in the world,’ he cried; ‘for pretty soon I shall be turned out-of-doors, with all the gold pieces crowding me out.’ And he looked so very sad as his wife, the queen, put her head in the doorway, that she said, ‘My dear, we will have the golden coach brought around to take us out to drive.’

“‘Don’t say golden anything to me,’ cried the king in a passion, for he was almost beside himself. ‘I’m sick of the sound of the word, my dear;’ and he beckoned her to him, and they went and sat together on the great throne at one end of the hall. It shone with diamonds and rubies and emeralds, and all manner of precious stones; and it had great curtains of twisted ropes of jewels looped up over their heads; and there they sat, and he held her hand. ‘I’m really afraid,’ and he looked in her face, ‘that something must be done, for this is a dreadful state of things.’

“‘Now, if you are going to talk business,’ said the queen tartly, ‘I think it is time to call Esmeralda.’ You see, whenever there was anything to decide in the kingdom, the king and queen never did the leastest little bit of a thing about it, without at first calling Esmeralda, and laying the case before her. So now they rang five or six golden bells in turn; and the king blew a blast on a glass horn, oh, ever so many feet long! that hung by his side of the throne; and the queen whistled on a tremendous silver whistle that hung by her side of the throne; and pretty soon Esmeralda came running in all out of breath. She was dressed in sea-green satin, over a white lace petticoat pinned up with diamonds, and she had a bunch of flowers in her hand that were sweet with the morning dew. She had long floating yellow hair, just like Phronsie’s;” and Polly paused long enough to glance lovingly at the small head snuggled up against her knee.

“‘Good-morning, father,’ and ‘Good-morning, mother,’ said the Princess Esmeralda, kneeling before her parents sitting on the throne; and she laid the flowers, with the morning dew on them, in their hands.

“‘We have summoned you, Esmeralda,’ said the king in a troubled way, ‘because we are in dire extremity, and must have your advice.’

“Esmeralda wrinkled her pretty brow, and looked very wise; but her heart beat dreadfully against her bodice and”—

“What’s a bod”—began Joel.

“In came the Princess Esmeralda.”

“Ugh!” cried Ben with a warning finger held up, as Joel ducked instantly.

“It’s a waist that princesses always wear,” said Polly; “and Esmeralda’s was all spangled with gold and silver. It shone so that no one could look at it more than a minute at a time. Well, so she said, ‘Yes, father,’ and ‘Yes, mother.’

“‘We have too much gold,’ said the king, smiting his hands together. ‘Esmeralda, I tell you truly, if it keeps coming in we shall all have to move out from this palace, and find another home. What shall we do, my child?’

“Esmeralda jumped up from her knees, and ran to the casement, and climbed up the golden seat beneath it, and peered out. There were the ships below her in the harbor, with the men taking out the bags and bags and bags of gold; and as far as her eye could reach, there were more ships and more ships and more ships all coming in, filled with bags to the very brim. She got down, and ran back. ‘It is certainly very dreadful, father and mother,’ she said, clasping her hands.

“‘Indeed it is,’ declared the king; and he began to tear his hair.

“‘Husband, don’t feel so badly,’ implored the poor queen at that sight, throwing her arms around him. ‘Esmeralda, you must think quickly, because you see we are both going quite distracted.’

“So Esmeralda said the first thing that came into her head. ‘You might tell the men to untie the bags, and pour the gold pieces into the sea at the mouth of the harbor.’

“‘The very thing!’ exclaimed the king in delight; and his face was covered with smiles. ‘Oh, what it is to have a clever child!’ and the queen fell upon Esmeralda’s neck, and kissed and kissed her.

“So then the king rang all his bells, and blew his long glass horn, and then he struck a big silver gong that was always the signal for the Lord High Chamberlain to appear. And when he popped in with his robes of office all caught up in his hands, to let him run to obey the king’s call, and his high peaked hat awry for the same reason, the king gave him the order just as Esmeralda said; and then the Lord High Chamberlain plunged out, after bowing himself before the throne five and twenty times to the marble floor; and the king said to the queen, in the greatest satisfaction, ‘My dear, we must give Esmeralda a Ball for being so clever.’

“And the queen said, ‘Yes, a Ball,’ with the greatest alacrity. And Esmeralda hopped up and down in glee, she was so happy; and she danced and danced until off flew seventy-nine of the diamonds from her lace petticoat, and rolled away into as many cracks and crevices in the corners of the marble hall. But she didn’t care; for there were bushels in her room, and a dozen or two women always sitting on their crickets, with their needles threaded with silver thread, ready to sew on more.

“So then the word went out from the palace all over the kingdom, that there was to be a Ball for the Princess Esmeralda; and all the while the golden stream was pouring out every minute from the big bags into the mouth of the harbor. And Esmeralda fell asleep every night to dream of the beautiful music, and flowers, and lights, and the gay young princes to be sent for as company from every other kingdom; for you must know that never had there been such a ball in all this world before as this one was to be. And every morning Esmeralda waked up quite, quite happy, because the Ball night was just so much nearer. And at last her dress was all ready, and laid out upon her little white bed. It was”—Polly paused most impressively to allow her hearers to take it all in properly, “it was made out of the very finest cobwebs that had all been spun in the sunshine of the palace court-yards. For this, millions of spiders had been caught by the command of the king, who had sent out an edict for that purpose; and they had been set spinning until they had made this beautiful dress of the princess. And it was trimmed around the bottom and the neck by a rainbow, and”—

“O Polly!” exclaimed Ben.

“There, Ben’s talking!” broke in Joel in huge delight. “Hoh! hoh!”

“Yes, a rainbow,” repeated Polly stoutly; “a beautiful red and green and blue and yellow rainbow. Oh! you can’t begin to think, children, how perfectly lovely Esmeralda did look when she was all dressed ready for the Ball. Well, and then the princes began to arrive. There were two hundred of them, and each one brought the princess a present. But the king had said that she should not accept anything of gold, so it had been some little trouble for them to get anything that was nice enough without having it golden. But they did, and there were two hundred presents set out in the palace hall. And Esmeralda was to walk up and down the whole length, and choose the present she liked the best out of the whole collection; and then she was to dance with the prince who had given her this present. Oh, dear me! she thought she would cry her eyes out when the king decided this must be done; for how was she to choose between so many perfectly beautiful things, and there would be one hundred and ninety-nine princes feeling very unhappy indeed. She was just going to say, ‘Oh, my father! I cannot do it;’ and then she knew the king would ring, and strike his big silver gong, and blow for the Lord High Chamberlain to take him off from the throne and put him to bed, and then the lights would be turned out, and everybody would go home, and there would be no Ball at all. She couldn’t do that, of course, as you see. So she stopped a minute to think, as she always did when she had hard questions to decide, until the king roared at her, ‘Do as I say, daughter, or out go the lights;’ and then she said the first thing that came in her head. ‘I like all the presents best, and we’ll all dance together at once.’

“‘Dear me!’ exclaimed the king, ‘how clever!’ and he screamed joyfully to the musicians to begin; and the princess and the two hundred princes all began hopping and jumping about the hall, and presently it looked so nice, the king gave his hand to the queen, and she slid down from the throne, and began to hop about too; and the Lord High Chancellor picked up his flowing robes, and danced on the tips of his toes; and the court ladies skipped back and forth; and the servants came to look in the doorways, and so did the retinues of soldiers. And they couldn’t help it, the music was so fine; and oh, dear me! it went just like this,”—and Polly broke off into a merry little tune as she sprang to her feet and held out her hands, “Come on, let us all dance!” and she seized Ben’s arms, and danced him half across the old kitchen floor.

“Take me, Polly!” begged Joel, who had tumbled over himself in surprise, and now got to his feet to run after the two spinning off so finely.

“Can’t,” said Polly over her shoulder; “you take Phronsie;” and then she began again on the gay tune—Ben whistling away for dear life as an accompaniment.

“Dave’s got her,” said Joel in great discomfiture, turning around to see little Davie and Phronsie’s pink calico gown flying along at a merry rate. “I haven’t got anybody,” seeing which Polly stopped short. “Come with us;” and she held out her hand, and Ben grasped Joel’s arm, and away they went till the old kitchen rang with the fun.

III The Story of the Circus

“You see,” said Polly, “as it rains to-day, I think we ought to have the Circus story.”

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried all the Five Little Peppers together, Ben not being ashamed to add his shout of approval too.

“Do you think you really ought to, Polly?” he asked, coming out of it, and leaving the others in the babel of rejoicing. “Won’t you want it more for some other time?”

Polly ran over and caught him by the jacket sleeve.

“I really think we ought to have it to-day, Bensie,” she whispered. “You see, they’ve been awfully good, and it’s rained for three days now, and you know there wasn’t enough mush for breakfast, and Mamsie couldn’t get any coats to do this week, ’cause Mr. Atkins didn’t dare let her have any more to sew until he’d sold what he had, and trade’s so poor.” And Polly sighed, and wiped away two tears. Ben turned away a moment, and swallowed something hard that was in his throat. Polly, at sight of this, began to laugh; and she said gayly, “Yes, indeed, we’ll have the Circus story now. Get your chairs, and let’s sit round in a ring, children.”