Part 12 (2/2)

But Grandma, having caught the word ”letters,” knew quite well what was in store, so, picking up her best gown by its side breadths, she waddled out and seated herself with great dignity in a big chair by the kitchen window.

It was next to the little stand in whose drawer she used to let Joel Pepper look for peppermints.

When the Pepper children shut up the little brown house to go to Mr.

King's, Grandma moved the small mahogany stand from its place next to the head of her bed out into the kitchen. She kept her big Bible on it, and her knitting work, where she could ”have 'em handy.” And it made her feel less lonesome to look up from her work to see it standing there.

”Seem's though that boy was a-comin' in every minute,” she said. ”My land o' Goshen, don't I wish he was!” for Grandma always had a soft spot in her heart for Joel.

Now she smoothed down her front breadth, and folded her hands in a company way. The parson's wife drew up a kitchen chair close to her side and unfolded the first letter.

”Who writ that?” asked Grandma eagerly.

”That's from Polly,” said Mrs. Henderson.

”Bless her heart!” cried Grandma. ”Well, what does she say?”

”Ma”--a light-haired, serious boy appeared in the doorway--”Pa wants you,”

he announced.

”Oh, Peletiah!” exclaimed the parson's wife, in consternation, at his unlooked-for appearance, and, ”Oh, Grandma!” in the same breath, ”I'm so sorry I must go.”

”So sorry? What's ben a happenin' that Polly's sorry?” said Grandma, supposing that was in the letter. ”Now I know that blessed little creeter has got hurt, an' they wouldn't let me know afore the rest.”

”It isn't in the letter,” declared Mrs. Henderson, in a loud, hasty tone, hurrying out of her chair. ”Peletiah, what does your father want, do you know?”

”I don't know exactly,” said Peletiah deliberately, ”only Aunt Jerusha tumbled down the cellar stairs; maybe that's it.”

”Oh, dear me! dear me!” cried the parson's wife, in a great fright.

”Peletiah, here are the letters from the Pepper children”--thrusting them into his hand--”do you stay and read them to Grandma. And be sure to tell her why I went home,” and she actually ran out of the kitchen, and down the lilac-bordered path.

Peletiah, left alone with the letters, turned them over and over in his hands, as he stood quite still in the middle of the kitchen floor. He never thought of disobeying, and presently he pulled up another chair, just in front of Grandma, and sat slowly down.

”Oh, I know she's got hurted bad,” she kept groaning, ”an' I shan't never see her again. Oh, the pretty creeter! Hain't she hurted bad?” she asked anxiously, bringing her cap frills to bear on the boy in front.

”Yes, I guess so,” said Peletiah cheerfully; ”she fell way down all over the cat sitting on the stairs.”

”Where'd you say she fell?” screamed Grandma.

”Cellar stairs,” Peletiah raised his voice, too, and sprawled out his hands to show how his Aunt Jerusha must have descended.

”Oh, me! oh, my!” exclaimed Grandma, in great sorrow, ”that blessed little creeter! to think she's fell and got hurted!”

”She ain't little,” said Peletiah, who was extremely literal, ”she's awful long and bony!” And he could think of no special reason for calling her blessed, but that might be Grandma's fancy.

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