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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Shall you be glad, Mamsie?" suddenly asked Joel, who never could get over the idea that it was a perfect delight to his mother to sit and sew. "Of course she will," cried Polly, unguardedly. "Mamsie's tired to death sewing and working all the time." Little David's face grew very long, and he turned away, hoping no one would see him cry. Joel burst into a loud fit of sobbing.
"I guess I'll go, too," said Phronsie, who had been humming a soft refrain to Polly's song, and laying down the snarl carefully in Mamsie's big work-basket she went softly out after them. "Now, Joel," Polly was saying out of white lips, "don't you scream. Think of Phronsie, and " "What is it, Polly?" asked Phronsie's soft voice. "O dear me! What shall I do!" Polly turned.
"No, of course I won't," said Polly, with a little laugh, "but it won't be many weeks, you dear" this to the piano, as she unwillingly got up from the music-stool, and let Jasper lead her off "before you and I have all our good times together!" Polly, in a soft white gown, sat on a low seat by Mother Fisher's side, her head in Mamsie's lap. It was after dinner, and the gas was turned low.
He had demolished the third one, eating as slowly as possible, in a way Phronsie had of nibbling around the edges to make it last as long as possible; and then, with his cut hand, there wasn't anything he could do; when suddenly Mamsie's words, "Be good to Grandma," swept through his mind, with an awful twinge.
"And has it a little white tent on the side, just like my mountain here?" asked Phronsie, holding Polly's arm as she turned off to catch the chatter of the others. "Oh, I suppose so," answered Polly, carelessly. Then she looked up and caught Mamsie's eye, and turned back quickly.
Scamper, now!" No need to urge them. On the wings of the wind ran the five Peppers up into Mamsie's own room. Mrs. Pepper for once turning aside from the claim of her pressing duties, was standing by the work table. Here stood the mending basket before her, piled to the brim with the weekly installment of stockings big and little, clamoring for attention.
Joel didn't hear her, as he was busily engaged in cramming the cover on the pail, and in a minute or two he came up with his pockets full of dry bread, and his chubby face beaming with satisfaction. Polly tried again, without avail, to thread her needle, and at last, as he ran out with a good whoop, she laid it down and put her head back against Mamsie's big chair in which she was sitting.
So she slipped on Mamsie's old wrapper, picking it up so that she would not trip and tumble on her nose, as she sped softly over the stairs. "Joel, hush!" she said reprovingly, "you'll wake Mamsie and Phronsie! Ben, do make him keep still!" "I can't," said Ben, only half awake. "Hush up there, Joe!" and he turned over a very sleepy face, and tried to look at Polly.
"I don't like 'em, Polly," wailed David. "I'd rather they'd be out of doors." "But you helped to bring 'em in," said Polly. "How could you, Davie?" she added reproachfully. "Dave didn't 'xactly help," said Joel, uneasily. "I told him he'd got to, Polly," he added honestly. "Oh, I see," said Polly. "Well, now, Davie, you're going downstairs to get into Mamsie's bed."
"Well, we couldn't," said Joel, with a qualm of conscience because he hadn't thought of it before; "Mamsie's told us it isn't nice to speak of taking things home. Hurry up, Dave," as they raced on. "I know it," said little Davie. But he sighed, nevertheless. "Now where'll we go?" asked Joel, leaning breathless against the big maple on the edge of the back dooryard. "Mr.
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