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Updated: June 18, 2025
Davie had a little sore throat, and he much preferred to stay near Mamsie's chair. "Now, Joe, remember to be good," warned Mother Pepper, the last thing, when he had been washed and dressed and brushed and declared quite prepared. "I'm going to be always good," declared Joel. "I ain't ever going to be like Ab'm," he added in disgust. "Joel," reproved Mrs.
"O dear me, somebody's coming!" With that she flew into the closet and pulled to the door. "Why, Polly!" exclaimed Mother Fisher, in surprise, "what is the matter? We are all waiting to go in to dinner." "Oh, I'm so sorry," began Polly, feeling as if nothing would be so delightful as to have a good cry in Mamsie's arms and tell all the story. "Well, you must come right away," said Mrs. Fisher.
"The same as ever," said Polly, with only half an ear for him, her mind being intent on the splendid surprise; "you know, Joel; what makes you ask?" "Mean old breakfast!" said Joel, with a grimace. "Polly, why don't we ever have anything but mush?" "You know that too, Joe," said Polly, with a cold shoulder for him. "Do let me be, I want to guess Mamsie's surprise. O dear me! whatever can it be?"
"Give us somethin' to eat, Polly, please. Dave an' me." "You can get some bread in the tin pail in the provision room, Joe," she said, without looking up. She was trying to sew up a long seam in one of the coats Mother Pepper was making for Mr. Atkins, and it bothered her dreadfully, for it wouldn't look like Mamsie's, try as she would.
"Now," said Polly, turning away with a little fling, and looking at the stove, "I hope you're satisfied, you old thing; you've spoiled our mamsie's birthday!" and without a bit of warning, she sat right down in the middle of the floor and began to cry as hard as she could. "Well, I never!" said a cheery voice, that made the children skip. "It's Mrs. Beebe; oh, it's Mrs.
"Instead of the circus," Polly's brown eyes were saying. "Do, Mammy." "Yes, you may," said Mrs. Pepper, indulgently, "sit up half an hour longer." "We've had a cake to-night, and now Mamsie's going to let you two boys sit up.
"Now, says I," said Polly to Phronsie, when the little foot was snugly tied up in the wet wormwood, "you've got to have one of mamsie's old slippers." "Oh, ho," laughed Phronsie; "won't that be funny, Polly!"
"Aside from that, he's a sensible chap, and one quite to my liking." "Oh, Polly!" cried Phronsie suddenly, and lifting her head, she fastened her brown eyes on the face above her, "wasn't Mamsie's birthday cake good?" "The flowers were pretty, but the cake was heavy, don't you remember?" said Polly, who hadn't recovered from that grief even yet. "I thought it was just beautiful," cried Mrs.
"Mamsie's letter," said Phronsie, holding up for inspection the precious bit, which by this time, was decidedly forlorn, "Polly couldn't write; and Mamsie'd feel so bad not to get one she would really" said the child, shaking her head very soberly, "for Polly said so." "And you've been oh! I can't think of it," said Mr.
For Polly had suddenly waked one morning, to find herself, not "famous," but alive with the sense of being as her mother had so often expressed it "Mamsie's little right-hand woman." "It will be much better to have everything plain," said Polly, communing with herself, as she turned on her pillow. "Mamsie has always been without show, of any kind, and so," but here Polly's heart stood still.
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