Trouble for the Little Brown House continued…
(start the audio where part 1 left off)
“…Well, you just tell Mrs. Henderson your ma wants to know how Mr. Henderson is this morning, and if ’twas a chill he had yesterday, and how he slept last night, and”– “Oh, ma,” said Polly, “I can’t ever remember all that.”
“Oh, yes, you can,” said Mrs. Pepper, encouragingly; “just put your mind on it, Polly; ’tisn’t anything to what I used to have to remember–when I was a little girl, no bigger than you are.”
Polly sighed, and feeling sure that something must be the matter with her mind, gave her whole attention to the errand; till at last after a multiplicity of messages and charges not to forget any one of them, Mrs. Pepper let her depart.
Up to the old-fashioned green door, with its brass knocker, Polly went, running over in her mind just which of the messages she ought to give first. She couldn’t for her life think whether “if ’twas a chill he had yesterday?” ought to come before “how he slept?” She knocked timidly, hoping Mrs. Henderson would help her out of her difficulty by telling her without the asking. All other front doors in Badgertown were ornaments, only opened on grand occasions, like a wedding or a funeral. But the minister’s was accessible alike to all. So Polly let fall the knocker, and awaited the answer.
A scuffling noise sounded along the passage; and then Polly’s soul sank down in dire dismay. It was the minister’s sister, and not gentle little Mrs. Henderson. She never could get on with Miss Jerusha in the least. She made her feel as she told her mother once–“as if I don’t know what my name is.” And now here she was; and all those messages.
Miss Jerusha unbolted the door, slid back the great bar, opened the upper half, and stood there. She was a big woman, with sharp black eyes, and spectacles–over which she looked–which to Polly was much worse, for that gave her four eyes.
“Well, and what do you want?” she asked.
“I came to see–I mean my ma sent me,” stammered poor Polly.
“And who is your ma?” demanded Miss Jerusha, as much like a policeman as anything; “and where do you live?”
“I live in Primrose Lane,” replied Polly, wishing very much that she was back there.
“I don’t want to know where you live, before I know who you are,” said Miss Jerusha; “you should answer the question I asked first; always remember that.”
“My ma’s Mrs. Pepper,” said Polly.
“Mrs. who?” repeated Miss Jerusha.
By this time Polly was so worn that she came very near turning and fleeing, but she thought of her mother’s disappointment in her, and the loss of the news, and stood quite still.
“What is it, Jerusha?” a gentle voice here broke upon Polly’s ear.
“I don’t know,” responded Miss Jerusha, tartly, still holding the door much as if Polly were a robber; “it’s a little girl, and I can’t make out what she wants.”
“Why, it’s Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Mrs. Henderson, pleasantly. “Come in, child.” She opened the other half of the big door, and led the way through the wide hail into a big, old-fashioned room, with painted floor, and high, old side-board, and some stiff-backed rocking-chairs.
Miss Jerusha stalked in also and seated herself by the window, and began to knit. Polly had just opened her mouth to tell her errand, when the door also opened suddenly and Mr. Henderson walked in.
“Oh!” said Polly, and then she stopped, and the color flushed up into her face.
“What is it, my dear?” and the minister took her hand kindly, and looked down into her flushed face.
“You are not going to have a fever, and be sick and die!” she cried.
“I hope not, my little girl,” he smiled back, encouragingly; and then Polly gave her messages, which now she managed easily enough.
“There,” broke in Miss Jerusha, “a cat can’t sneeze in this town but everybody’ll know it in quarter of an hour.”
And then Mrs. Henderson took Polly out to see a brood of new little chicks, that had just popped their heads out into the world; and to Polly, down on her knees, admiring, the time passed very swiftly indeed.
“Now I must go, ma’am,” she said at last, looking up into the lady’s face, regretfully, “for mammy didn’t say I was to stay.”
“Very well, dear; do you think you could carry a little pat of butter? I have some very nice my sister sent me, and I want your mother to share it.”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am!” cried Polly, thinking, “how glad David’ll be, for he does so love butter! only”– “Wait a bit, then,” said Mrs. Henderson, who didn’t seem to notice the objection. So she went into the house, and Polly went down again in admiration before the fascinating little puff-balls.
But she was soon on the way, with a little pat of butter in a blue bowl, tied over with a clean cloth; happy in her gift for mammy, and in the knowledge of the minister being all well.
“I wonder if Phronsie’s awake,” she thought to herself, turning in at the little brown gate; “if she is, she shall have a piece of bread with lots of butter.”
“Hush!” said Mrs. Pepper, from the rocking-chair in the middle of the floor. She had something in her arms. Polly stopped suddenly, almost letting the bowl fall.
“It’s Phronsie,” said the mother, “and I don’t know what the matter is with her; you’ll have to go for the doctor, Polly, and just as fast as you can.”
Polly still stood, holding the bowl, and staring with all her might. Phronsie sick!
“Don’t wake her,” said Mrs. Pepper.
Poor Polly couldn’t have stirred to save her life, for a minute; then she said–“Where shall I go?”
“Oh, run to Dr. Fisher’s; and don’t be gone long.”
Polly set down the bowl of butter, and sped on the wings of the wind for the doctor. Something dreadful was the matter, she felt, for never had a physician been summoned to the hearty Pepper family since she could remember, only when the father died. Fear lent speed to her feet; and soon the doctor came, and bent over poor little Phronsie, who still lay in her mother’s arms, in a burning fever.
“It’s measles,” he pronounced, “that’s all; no cause for alarm; you ever had it?” he asked, turning suddenly around on Polly, who was watching with wide-open eyes for the verdict.
“No, sir,” answered Polly, not knowing in the least what “measles” was.
“What shall we do!” said Mrs. Pepper; “there haven’t any of them had it.”
The doctor was over by the little old table under the window, mixing up some black-looking stuff in a tumbler, and he didn’t hear her.
“There,” he said, putting a spoonful into Phronsie’s mouth, “she’ll get along well enough; only keep her out of the cold.” Then he pulled out a big silver watch. He was a little thin man, and the watch was immense. Polly for her life couldn’t keep her eyes off from it; if Ben could only have one so fine!
“Polly,” whispered Mrs. Pepper, “run and get my purse; it’s in the top bureau drawer.”
“Yes’m,” said Polly, taking her eyes off, by a violent wrench, from the fascinating watch; and she ran quickly and got the little old stocking-leg, where the hard earnings that staid long enough to be put anywhere, always found refuge. She put it into her mother’s lap, and watched while Mrs. Pepper counted out slowly one dollar in small pieces.
“Here sir,” said Mrs. Pepper, holding them out towards the doctor; “and thank you for coming.”
“Hey!” said the little man, spinning round; “that dollar’s the Lord’s!”
Mrs. Pepper looked bewildered, and still sat holding it out. “And the Lord has given it to you to take care of these children with; see that you do it.” And without another word he was gone.
“Wasn’t he good, mammy?” asked Polly, after the first surprise was over.
“I’m sure he was,” said Mrs. Pepper. “Well, tie it up again, Polly, tie it up tight; we shall want it, I’m sure,” sighing at her little sick girl.
“Mayn’t I take Phronsie, ma?” asked Polly.
“No, no,” said Phronsie. She had got mammy, and she meant to improve the privilege.
“What is ‘measles’ anyway, mammy?” asked Polly, sitting down on the floor at their feet.
“Oh, ’tis something children always have,” replied Mrs. Pepper; “but I’m sure I hoped it wouldn’t come just yet.”
“I shan’t have it,” said Polly, decisively; “I know I shan’t! nor Ben–nor Joe–nor–nor Davie–I guess,” she added, hesitatingly, for Davie was the delicate one of the family; at least not nearly so strong as the others.
Mrs. Pepper looked at her anxiously; but Polly seemed as bright and healthy as ever, as she jumped up and ran to put the kettle on the stove.
“What’ll the boys say, I wonder!” she thought to herself, feeling quite important that they really had sickness in the house. As long as Phronsie wasn’t dangerous, it seemed quite like rich folks; and she forgot the toil, and the grind of poverty. She looked out from time to time as she passed the window, but no boys came.
“I’ll put her in bed, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, in a whisper, as Phronsie closed her eyes and breathed regularly.
“And then will you have your dinner, ma?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, “I don’t care–if the boys come.”
“The boys’ll never come,” said Polly, impatiently; “I don’t believe–why! here they are now!”
“Oh, dear,” said Joel, coming in crossly, “I’m so hungry–oh– butter! where’d you get it? I thought we never should get here!”
“I thought so too,” said Polly. “Hush! why, where’s Ben?”
“He’s just back,” began Joel, commencing to eat, “and Davie; something is the matter with Ben–he says he feels funny.”
“Something the matter with Ben!” repeated Polly. She dropped the cup she held, which broke in a dozen pieces.
“Oh, whocky!” cried Joel; “see what you’ve done, Polly Pepper!”
But Polly didn’t hear; over the big, flat door-stone she sped, and met Ben with little David, coming in the gate. His face was just like Phronsie’s! And with a cold, heavy feeling at her heart, Polly realized that this was no play.
“Oh, Ben!” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck, and bursting into tears; “don’t! please–I wish you wouldn’t; Phronsie’s got ’em, and that’s enough!”
“Got what?” asked Ben, while Davie’s eyes grew to their widest proportions.
“Oh, measles!” cried Polly, bursting out afresh; “the hate-fullest, horridest measles! and now you’re taken!”
“Oh no, I’m not,” responded Ben, cheerfully, who knew what measles were; “wipe up, Polly; I’m all right; only my head aches, and my eyes feel funny.”
But Polly, only half-reassured, controlled her sobs; and the sorrowful trio repaired to mother.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, sinking in a chair in dismay, at sight of Ben’s red face; “whatever’ll we do now!”
The prop and stay of her life would be taken away if Ben should be laid aside. No more stray half or quarter dollars would come to help her out when she didn’t know where to turn.
Polly cleared off the deserted table–for once Joel had all the bread and butter he wanted. Ben took some of Phronsie’s medicine, and crawled up into the loft, to bed; and quiet settled down on the little household.
“Polly,” whispered Ben, as she tucked him in, “it’ll be hard buckling-to now, for you, but I guess you’ll do it.”