Part 13 (1/2)

”Well, read them letters,” said Grandma mournfully, when she could control her speech enough to say anything; ”maybe they'll tell more about the accident,” and she put her hand again behind her best ear.

”'Tain't in the letters,” said Peletiah, ”it's only just happened.” But Grandma didn't hear, so he picked up Polly's letter, which was open, and began in a singsong tone:

”'Dear Mrs. Henderson--'”

”Hey?”

”'Dear Mrs. Henderson,'” cried Peletiah, in a shrill, high key.

”Do move up closer; I'm a little hard o' hearin'--jist a mite,” said Grandma. So Peletiah shoved his chair nearer, and began again:

”'Dear Mrs. Henderson, we are going to have the very loveliest thing happen, and I want to write to you now, because next week there won't be any time at all, we shall be so very busy.'”

It was impossible to stop Peletiah until he had rounded a sentence, as he considered it his duty to pay strict attention to a period. So, although Grandma screamed, and even twitched his jacket sleeve, she couldn't get him to stop. The consequence was that he had to shout this over till at last she understood it, and then she turned a bewildered face upon him, but as he was deep in his second sentence, he didn't see it, but plodded patiently on.

”'Grandpapa is going to let us have a garden party; there are tickets to be sold, for we are going to raise money to send poor children out into the country. And Jasper is getting up the post office, which Grandpapa says we may have in the Wistaria arbor. And we girls are all making fancy work, and oh, Phronsie is making a pin-cus.h.i.+on which Mr. Hamilton Dyce has bought already. Just think, and oh, I do believe we shall make lots and lots of money! Give my love to dear, dear Grandma Bascom, and please read this letter to her. From your loving little friend, Polly.'”

Peletiah, considering it better to read this all as one sentence, had droned it out without a break, to look up and find Grandma sunken back against her chair, her cap frills trembling with indignation.

”I hain't heard a single word,” she said, ”an' there's that blessed child got hurt, an' I can't seem to sense it at all.”

”She ain't hurt, Polly ain't,” said Peletiah, stoutly defending himself.

”They're going to have a garden party.”

”A what?” screamed Grandma.

”A _garden_ party.”

”Oh, then she fell in the garding, an' you said cellar stairs,” she cried reproachfully.

Peletiah looked at her long; then he got out of his chair and leaned over her.

”My Aunt Jerusha fell,” he screamed, so loud that Grandma started.

”Oh, an' the Pepper children ain't hurt?” she cried, in great relief.

”No, they're going to have a party.” He wisely left out the garden this time.

”You don't say so!” exclaimed Grandma, greatly pleased at the hint of any festivities, no matter how distant, and the smiles began to run all over her wrinkled face again. ”I wonder now,” she said, ”if they don't want my receet for Cousin Mirandy's weddin' cake; it's in th' Bible there”--nodding over to the little stand.

Peletiah, seeing her so absorbed, waited patiently till the second letter was called for. He never for an instant thought of sliding off; so he pulled it out of its envelope, and got ready.

At last Grandma pulled herself out of the charms of Cousin Mirandy's receet, and set her spectacles straight.

”Who writ that one?” she asked.

”Joel,” said Peletiah, finding it quite to his liking to read this one, for Joel never wasted any time in preliminaries, but came to the point at once, in big, sprawly letters.

”'Dear Misses Henderson.'” Somebody must have corrected him then, for he scratched out the ”Misses,” and wrote on top ”Mrs.” ”'You tell Grandma Bascom, please, that it's just prime here, but I like her peppermints, too, and I won't chase her old hens when I come back. Joel.'”