Part 24 (1/2)

”I've got a nice piece up-stairs,” said Ben, ”just right; I'll get it.”

”Put my 'gingerbread boy' on top,” cried Phronsie, handing him up.

So Polly packed the little cakes neatly in two rows, and laid the 'gingerbread boy' in a fascinating att.i.tude across the top.

”He looks as if he'd been struck by lightning!” said Ben, viewing him critically as he came in the door with the paper.

”Be still,” said Polly, trying not to laugh; ”that's because he baked so funny; it made his feet stick out.”

”Children,” said Mrs. Pepper, ”how'll Jasper know where the cakes come from?”

”Why, he'll know it's us,” said Polly, ”of course; 'cause it'll make him think of the baking we're going to have when he gets well.”

”Well, but you don't say so,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling; ”tisn't polite to send it this way.”

”Whatever'll we do, mammy!” said all four children in dismay, while Phronsie simply stared. ”Can't we send 'em at all?”

”Why yes,” said their mother; ”I hope so, I'm sure, after you've got 'em baked; but you might answer Jasper's letter I should think, and tell him about 'em, and the 'gingerbread boy'.”

”Oh dear,” said Polly, ready to fly, ”I couldn't mamsie; I never wrote a letter.”

”Well, you never had one before, did you?” said her mother, composedly biting her thread. ”Never say you can't, Polly, 'cause you don't know what you can do till you've tried.”

”You write, Ben,” said Polly, imploringly.

”No,” said Ben, ”I think the nicest way is for all to say somethin', then 'twon't be hard for any of us.”

”Where's the paper,” queried Polly, ”coming from, I wonder!”

”Joel,” said Mrs. Pepper, ”run to the bureau in the bedroom, and open the top drawer, and get a green box there.”

So Joel, quite important at the errand, departed, and presently put the designated box into his mother's hand.

”There, now I'm going to give you this,” and she took out a small sheet of paper slightly yellowed by age; but being gilt-edged, it looked very magnificent to the five pairs of eyes directed to it.

”Now Ben, you get the ink bottle and the pen, and then go to work.”

So Ben reached down from the upper shelf in the cupboard the ink bottle, and a pen in a black wooden penholder.

”Oh, mamsie,” cried Polly, ”that's where Phronsie bit it off when she was a baby, isn't it?” holding up the stubby end where the little ball had disappeared.

”Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, ”and now you're going to write about her 'gingerbread boy' with it--well, time goes, to be sure.” And she bent over her work again, harder than ever. Poor woman! if she could only sc.r.a.pe together enough money to get her children into school--that was the earnest wish of her heart. She must do it soon, for Ben was twelve years old; but with all her strivings and scrimpings she could only manage to put bread into their mouths, and live from day to day. ”I know I ought to be thankful for that,” she said to herself, not taking time even to cry over her troubles. ”But oh, the learning! they must have that!”

”Now,” said Polly, ”how'll we do it Ben?” as they ranged themselves around the table, on which reposed the cakes; ”you begin.”

”How do folks begin a letter?” asked Ben in despair, of his mother.

”How did Jasper begin his?” asked Mrs. Pepper back again. ”Oh,” cried Polly, running into the bedroom to get the precious missive. ”Dear Miss Polly'--that's what it says.”

”Well,” said Mrs. Pepper, ”then you'd better say, 'Dear Mister Jasper'--or you might say, 'Dear Mr. King.'”