Part 5 (1/2)
”When's it coming?” asked Joel, who was decidedly of a matter-of-fact turn of mind.
”I don't know,” said Mrs. Pepper, laughing; ”but there's plenty of time ahead.”
TROUBLE FOR THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE
”Oh, I do wish,” said Joel, a few mornings after, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair and looking discontentedly at his bowl of mush and mola.s.ses, ”that we could ever have something new besides this everlasting old breakfast!
Why can't we, mammy?”
”Better be glad you've got that, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, taking another cold potato, and sprinkling on a little salt; ”folks shouldn't complain so long as they've anything to eat.”
”But I'm so tired of it--same old thing!” growled Joel; ”seems as if I sh'd turn into a meal-bag or a mola.s.ses jug!”
”Well, hand it over, then,” proposed Ben, who was unusually hungry, and had a hard day's work before him.
”No,” said Joel, alarmed at the prospect, and putting in an enormous mouthful; ”it's better than nothing.”
”Oh, dear,” said little Phronsie, catching Joel's tone, ”it isn't nice; no, it isn't.” And she put down her spoon so suddenly that the mola.s.ses spun off in a big drop, that trailed off the corner of the table, and made Polly jump up and run for the floor-cloth.
”Oh, Phronsie,” she said, reprovingly; ”you ought not to. Never mind, pet,” as she caught sight of two big tears trying to make a path in the little mola.s.ses-streaked face, ”Polly'll wipe it up.”
”Sha'n't we ever have anything else to eat, Polly?” asked the child, gravely, getting down from her high chair to watch the operation of cleaning the floor.
”Oh, yes,” said Polly, cheerfully, ”lots and lots--when our s.h.i.+p comes in.”
”What'll they be?” asked Phronsie, in the greatest delight, prepared for anything.
”Oh, I don't know,” said Polly; ”ice cream for one thing, Phronsie, and maybe, little cakes.”
”With pink on top?” interrupted Phronsie, getting down by Polly's side.
”Oh, yes,” said Polly, warming with her subject; ”ever and ever so much pink, Phronsie Pepper; more than you could eat!”
Phronsie just clasped her hands and sighed. More than she could eat was beyond her!
”Hoh!” said Joel, who caught the imaginary bill of fare, ”that's nothing, Polly. I'd speak for a plum-puddin'.”
”Like the one mother made us for Thanksgiving?” asked Polly, getting up and waiting a minute, cloth in hand, for the answer.
”Yes, sir,” said Joel, shutting one eye and looking up at the ceiling, musingly, while he smacked his lips in remembrance; ”wasn't that prime, though!”
”Yes,” said Polly, thoughtfully; ”would you have 'em all like that, Joe?”
”Every one,” replied Joe, promptly; ”I'd have seventy-five of 'em.”
”Seventy-five what?” asked Mrs. Pepper, who had gone into the bedroom, and now came out, a coat in hand, to sit down in the west window, where she began to sew rapidly. ”Better clear up the dishes, Polly, and set the table back--seventy-five what, Joel?”
”Plum-puddings,” said Joel, kissing Phronsie.