Part 4 (1/2)

”And you've been b.u.mping it,” said Polly; ”oh! Joel, how could you! You might have broken it; then what would mamsie say?”

”I didn't,” said Joel, stoutly, with his hands in his pockets, ”b.u.mp it worse'n Davie, so there!”

”Why, Davie,” said Polly, turning to him sorrowfully, ”I shouldn't have thought you would!”

”Well, I'm tired of hanging it up,” said little Davie, vehemently; ”and I said I wasn't a-goin' to; Joel always makes me; I've done it for two million times, I guess!”

”Oh, dear,” said Polly, sinking back into the chair, ”I don't know what I ever shall do; here's Phronsie hurt; and we want to celebrate to-morrow; and you two boys are b.u.mping and banging out the bread pail, and--”

”Oh! we won't!” cried both of the children, perfectly overwhelmed with remorse; ”we'll hang it right up.”

”I'll hang it,” said Davie, clattering off down the stairs with a will.

”No, I will!” shouted Joel, going after him at double pace; and presently both came up with s.h.i.+ning faces, and reported it nicely done.

”And now,” said Polly, after they had all sat around the stove another half-hour, watching and sniffing expectantly, ”the cake's done!--dear me! it's turning black!”

And quickly as possible Polly twitched it out with energy, and set it on the table.

Oh, dear; of all things in the world! The beautiful cake over which so many hopes had been formed, that was to have given so much happiness on the morrow to the dear mother, presented a forlorn appearance as it stood there in anything but holiday attire. It was quite black on the top, in the center of which was a depressing little dump, as if to say, ”My feelings wouldn't allow me to rise to the occasion.”

”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. Beebe!” cried Davie; ”see, Polly.”

Polly scrambled up to her feet, ashamed to be caught thus, and whisked away the tears; the others explaining to their new visitor the sad disappointment that had befallen them; and she was soon oh-ing, and ah-ing enough to suit even their distressed little souls.

”You poor creeters, you!” she exclaimed at last, for about the fiftieth time. ”Here, Polly, here's some posies for you, and--”

”Oh, thank you!” cried Polly, with a radiant face, ”why, Mrs. Beebe, we can put them in here, can't we? the very thing!”

And she set the little knot of flowers in the hollow of the cake, and there they stood and nodded away to the delighted children, like brave little comforters, as they were.

”The very thing!” echoed Mrs. Beebe, tickled to death to see their delight; ”it looks beautiful, I declare! and now, I must run right along, or pa'll be worrying;” and so the good woman trotted out to her waiting husband, who was impatient to be off. Mr. Beebe kept a little shoe shop in town; and always being of the impression if he left it for ten minutes that crowds of customers would visit it. He was the most restless of companions on any pleasure excursion.

”And Phronsie's got hurt,” said Mrs. Beebe, telling him the news, as he finished tucking her up, and started the old horse.

”Ho? you don't say so!” he cried; ”whoa!”

”Dear me!” said Mrs. Beebe; ”how you scat me, pal what's the matter?”

”What?--the little girl that bought the shoes?” asked her husband.

”Yes,” replied his wife, ”she's hurt her foot.”

”Sho, now,” said the old gentleman; ”that's too bad,” and he began to feel in all his pockets industriously; ”there, can you get out again, and take her that?” and he laid a small piece of peppermint candy, thick and white, in his wife's lap.

”Oh, yes,” cried Mrs. Beebe, good-naturedly, beginning to clamber over the wheel.