VI
GRANDMA BASCOM
"Deary me!" Grandma Bascom stopped shooing out the hens from her kitchendoorway, and leaned on the broom-handle. "If here don't come Mis'Henderson! Now I shall hear about that blessed little creeter and all therest of them childern."
"Good-afternoon." The parson's wife went swiftly up the flag-bordered pathbetween the lilac bushes. "It's a beautiful day, Mrs. Bascom."
"Hey?" Grandma's shaking hand went up to her cap-border, so Mrs. Hendersonhad to say it over, that it was a beautiful day, as loud as she could.
"You've come to-day?" said Grandma.
"Yes, I see you have, an' I'm obleeged to you, I'm sure, for it's mightylonesome since that blessed little creeter, an' all the rest of themchildern went away. Come in an' set down," and she led the way into thekitchen.
Meanwhile, the hens, seeing nothing to prevent it, had employed the time inslipping in under Grandma's short gown, and were busily scratching aroundfor any stray bits.
"Thank you." The parson's wife nimbly found a chair, while Grandma bustledinto the bedroom.
"Excuse me a minute, Mis' Henderson," she called; "I'm goin' to slip ont'other cap."
"Oh, don't take the trouble," said Mrs. Henderson's pleasant voice. But shemight as well have said nothing, for Grandma didn't hear a word.
"'Tain't proper to see your minister's wife in your mornin' cap, nor yourpetticoat neither for that matter," said Grandma to herself, looking downat her short gown. So she concluded to put on her Sunday-go-to-meetinggown, as she called her best dress. This took her so long, because shehooked it up wrong three times, that Mrs. Henderson appeared in the doorwaybefore the operation of dressing-up could be said to be finished.
"I'm very sorry," she began.
"'Tain't a bit o' trouble," said Grandma cheerfully, pulling at the secondhook, which she had been trying for some time to get into the first eye;"you set down, Mis' Henderson, an' I'll be out pretty soon."
"I must go very soon." The parson's wife came quite close to say this, upunder the frill of the best cap, which stood out very stiffly, as Grandmaalways kept it in a covered box on top of her high bureau.
"Hey?"
"I must go home soon. I have so many things to see to this afternoon."
It was a fatally long speech, for Grandma only attended to the last part.
"It's aft-noon? I know it. I'm comin' 's soon 's I can git this hookedup"--with another pull at the mismated hooks and eyes. Seeing this, indespair the parson's wife took the matter of hooking up into her own hands,and before long the Sunday-go-to-meeting gown could be said to be fairlyon.
"Now that's something like," observed Grandma, in great satisfaction. "Ihain't been hooked up by any one since Mis' Pepper went away. Deary me, howI should set by a sight o' her, an' th' blessed little creeter--there ain'tnone other like that child."
Mrs. Henderson nodded, being sparing of words.
"I've some letters from them," she said loudly, "and if you come out to thekitchen, I will stay and read them to you."
"What did you say was the matter in the kitchen?" demanded Grandma, inalarm. "Oh, them dirty hens, I s'pose, has got in again."
"I have letters from the Pepper children, and they ask me to come over hereand read them to you," shouted Mrs. Henderson. "Dear me!"--toherself--"what shall I do? I'm all tired out already, and three letters toread--she won't hear a word."
But Grandma, having caught the word "letters," knew quite well what was instore, so, picking up her best gown by its side breadths, she waddled outand 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 Pepperlook 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 thehead of her bed out into the kitchen. She kept her big Bible on it, and herknitting work, where she could "have 'em handy." And it made her feel lesslonesome 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 lando' Goshen, don't I wish he was!" for Grandma always had a soft spot in herheart for Joel.
Now she smoothed down her front breadth, and folded her hands in a companyway. The parson's wife drew up a kitchen chair close to her side andunfolded 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 hisunlooked-for appearance, and, "Oh, Grandma!" in the same breath, "I'm sosorry 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 creeterhas 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 youknow?"
"I don't know exactly," said Peletiah deliberately, "only Aunt Jerushatumbled 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 theminto his hand--"do you stay and read them to Grandma. And be sure to tellher why I went home," and she actually ran out of the kitchen, and down thelilac-bordered path.
Peletiah, left alone with the letters, turned them over and over in hishands, as he stood quite still in the middle of the kitchen floor. He neverthought of disobeying, and presently he pulled up another chair, just infront of Grandma, and sat slowly down.
"Oh, I know she's got hurted bad," she kept groaning, "an' I shan't neversee her again. Oh, the pretty creeter! Hain't she hurted bad?" she askedanxiously, bringing her cap frills to bear on the boy in front.
"Yes, I guess so," said Peletiah cheerfully; "she fell way down all overthe cat sitting on the stairs."
"Where'd you say she fell?" screamed Grandma.
"Cellar stairs," Peletiah raised his voice, too, and sprawled out his handsto show how his Aunt Jerusha must have descended.
"Oh, me! oh, my!" exclaimed Grandma, in great sorrow, "that blessed littlecreeter! to think she's fell and got hurted!"
"She ain't little," said Peletiah, who was extremely literal, "she's awfullong and bony!" And he could think of no special reason for calling herblessed, but that might be Grandma's fancy.
"Well, read them letters," said Grandma mournfully, when she could controlher speech enough to say anything; "maybe they'll tell more about theaccident," and she put her hand again behind her best ear.
"'Tain't in the letters," said Peletiah, "it's only just happened." ButGrandma didn't hear, so he picked up Polly's letter, which was open, andbegan 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," saidGrandma. So Peletiah shoved his chair nearer, and began again:
"'Dear Mrs. Henderson, we are going to have the very loveliest thinghappen, and I want to write to you now, because next week there won't beany time at all, we shall be so very busy.'"
It was impossible to stop Peletiah until he had rounded a sentence, as heconsidered it his duty to pay strict attention to a period. So, althoughGrandma screamed, and even twitched his jacket sleeve, she couldn't get himto stop. The consequence was that he had to shout this over till at lastshe understood it, and then she turned a bewildered face upon him, but ashe was deep in his second sentence, he didn't see it, but plodded patientlyon.
"'Grandpapa is going to let us have a garden party; there are tickets to besold, for we are going to raise money to send poor children out into thecountry. And Jasper is
getting up the post office, which Grandpapa says wemay have in the Wistaria arbor. And we girls are all making fancy work,and oh, Phronsie is making a pin-cushion which Mr. Hamilton Dyce has boughtalready. Just think, and oh, I do believe we shall make lots and lots ofmoney! Give my love to dear, dear Grandma Bascom, and please read thisletter to her. From your loving little friend, Polly.'"
Peletiah, considering it better to read this all as one sentence, haddroned it out without a break, to look up and find Grandma sunken backagainst her chair, her cap frills trembling with indignation.
"I hain't heard a single word," she said, "an' there's that blessed childgot 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 criedreproachfully.
Peletiah looked at her long; then he got out of his chair and leaned overher.
"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 thistime.
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Grandma, greatly pleased at the hint of anyfestivities, no matter how distant, and the smiles began to run all overher wrinkled face again. "I wonder now," she said, "if they don't want myreceet for Cousin Mirandy's weddin' cake; it's in th' Bible there"--noddingover to the little stand.
Peletiah, seeing her so absorbed, waited patiently till the second letterwas called for. He never for an instant thought of sliding off; so hepulled it out of its envelope, and got ready.
At last Grandma pulled herself out of the charms of Cousin Mirandy'sreceet, and set her spectacles straight.
"Who writ that one?" she asked.
"Joel," said Peletiah, finding it quite to his liking to read this one, forJoel 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 hescratched out the "Misses," and wrote on top "Mrs." "'You tell GrandmaBascom, 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.'"
When Grandma really got this letter by heart, she laughed and said it haddone her good, and she wished Joel was there this minute, in which Peletiahhardly concurred, being unable to satisfy Joel's athletic demands. And thenshe looked over at the little mahogany stand, and the tears rolled down herwithered old cheeks.
"I'd give anythin' to see him comin' in at that door, Peletiah," she said,"an' he may chase th' hens all he wants to when he comes back"; for Grandmaalways cherished the conviction that the "Five Little Peppers" were to makelife merry again in their "little brown house," and she went on so long inthis way that Peletiah, who had glanced up at the clock many times, said atlast, in a stolid way, "There's another letter." And Grandma, looking down,saw a little wad in his hand.
"Now I do believe that's from the blessed little creeter," she exclaimed,very much excited; "that must be Phronsie's."
"Yes, it is," said Peletiah.
"Why didn't you tell me that before?" cried Grandma. "You should 'a' readit first of all." She leaned forward in her chair, unable to lose a word.
"You didn't tell me to," said Peletiah, in a matter-of-fact way.
"Well, read it now," said Grandma, quavering with excitement.
"There ain't nothin' to read," said Peletiah, unfolding the paper, manytimes creased.
"Hey?"
"There ain't nothin' to read," repeated Peletiah; "you can see foryourself." He held it up before her. There were many pencil marks goingthis way and that, by which Phronsie felt perfectly sure that her friendswould understand what she was telling them. And once in a while came thegreat achievement of a big capital letter laboriously printed. But forthese occasional slips into intelligible language, the letter presented amedium of communication peculiar to itself.
"Ain't it sweet!" said Grandma admiringly, when she had looked it all over."The little precious creeter, to think of her writin' that, and all byherself too!"
"You can read it as well upside down," observed Peletiah.
"I know it." Grandma beamed at him.
"Just think of that child a-writin' that! Who'd ever b'lieve it?"
"I must go now," announced Peletiah, getting out of his chair and beginningto stretch slowly.
"Well, now tell your ma I thank her for comin', and for them letters fromthem precious childern. An' see here." Grandma leaned over and pulled outthe under drawer of the little stand. It wasn't like giving peppermints toJoel Pepper, and it sent a pang through her at the remembrance, butPeletiah had been good to read those letters.
"I'm a-goin' to give you these," she said, beginning to shake therefrominto her hand three big, white peppermints and two red ones.
"No, I thank you, ma'am," said Peletiah stiffly, and standing quite still.
"Yes, you take 'em," said Grandma decidedly. "You've been real good to readthem letters. Here, Peletiah."
"No, I thank you, ma'am," said Peletiah again, not offering to stir. "Well,I must be going," and he went slowly out of the kitchen, leaving Grandmawith the big peppermints in her hand.
That evening, after everything was quiet at the parsonage, the ministercalled his wife into the study.
"We will look that letter over from Mrs. Fisher, now, my dear."
Mrs. Henderson sat down on the end of the well-worn sofa.
"Lie down, dear," he said, "and let me tuck a pillow under your head. Youare all tired out."
"Oh, husband, I am sure you are quite as tired as I am," and the color flewinto her cheeks like a girl. But he had his way.
"You better leave the door open"--as he went across the room to closeit--"Jerusha may call."
"Jerusha won't need us," he said, and shut it.
"You know the doctor said she was not much hurt, only strained and bruised,and she's quite comfortable now. Well, my dear, now about this letter. Doyou think we might take this child?"
"We?" repeated his wife, with wide eyes. "Why, husband!"
"I know it seems a somewhat peculiar thing to propose"--and the parsonsmiled--"with our two boys and Jerusha."
"Yes," said Mrs. Henderson, "it is, and I never thought seriously of it."
"She won't do Peletiah any harm"--and then he laughed--"and she mightbrighten him up, if she's the girl Mrs. Fisher's letter indicates. And asfor Ezekiel, there's no harm to be thought of in that quarter. Our boysaren't the ones, wife, to be influenced out of their orbits."
"Well, there's Jerusha." Mrs. Henderson brought it out fearfully, and thenshut her mouth as if she wished she hadn't said anything.
"I know, dear. You needn't be afraid to speak it out. It is always on mymind. Oh, I do wish--" and the parson began to pace the floor with troubledsteps.
His wife threw back the old sofa-blanket with which he had tucked her up,and bounded to his side, passing her hand within his arm.
"Don't, dear," she begged. "Oh, why did I speak!" she cried remorsefully.
"You said no more than what is always on my mind," said the minister again,and he pressed the hand on his arm, looking at it fondly. "Poor Almira!" hesaid, "I didn't think how hard you would have to work to please her, when Itook her here."
"But you couldn't help it, husband," she cried, looking up at him with aworld of love. "After your mother died, what place was there for her to go?And she really was good to her."
"Yes," said the minister, and he sighed. "Well, it's done, and she is here;but oh, Almira, I think it's made a great difference with our boys."
Mrs. Henderson's cheek paled, but it wouldn't do to let him see herthoughts further on the subject, he was so worn and tired, so she said:
"Well, about the little girl, husband?"
"Yes, Mrs. Fisher's letter must be answered," said the parson, pullinghimself out of his revery. "She asks if we can find a place in Badgertownfor this child, who seems uncommonly clever, and is, so she writes, verytruthful. And I'm sure, Almira, if Mrs. Fisher says so, the last word hasbeen spoken."
"Yes, indeed," said his wife heartily.
"And they've found out a great deal about her. She's been half starved andcruelly beaten."
The parson's wife hid her tender eyes on her husband's coat sleeve.
"Oh, dear me!" she exclaimed sympathetically.
"And the old woman who pretended to be her grandmother, and who beat herbecause she wouldn't steal, became frightened at the investigation, and hascleared out, so there is no one to lay a claim to 'Rag.'"
"To whom?" asked Mrs. Henderson, raising her head suddenly.
"Rag--that's the only name the child says she has. But Mrs. Fisher writesthey call her Rachel now. You didn't notice that when you read the letter,did you, Almira?"
"No," said his wife, "I didn't have time to read more than part of it.Don't you remember, I hurried over to Grandma Bascom's with the littlePepper letters, and you said you'd talk it over with me when I got home?And then Peletiah came after me, and I ran back here to poor Jerusha."
"Oh, I remember. I shouldn't have asked you." He nodded remorsefully."Well, then, I'll tell you the rest. You read the first part--how they ranacross the girl, and all that?"
"Yes. Oh, dear me! it gives me a shiver now to think what an awful riskthat blessed child, Phronsie, ran," cried Mrs. Henderson.
"I know it; I cannot bear to think of it even in the light of her safety,"said Mr. Henderson. "Well, now, Mr. King has taken upon himself to supportand to educate Rag--Rachel, I mean--and the best place, at first, at anyrate, to put her is Badgertown. Now what do you say, Almira, to her cominghere to us?"
The parson's wife hesitated, then said, "Jerusha--" and paused.
"Will she be made unhappy by Jerusha, you mean?" asked the parson.
"Yes."
"No, I don't believe she will," he said decidedly. "You must remember shehas had her old 'Gran' as she calls her, and after that I think she canbear Jerusha."
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Henderson, "I forgot. Then I say, husband, we willtake this child. I should really love to put the brightness into her life.And please let her come soon." A pretty glow rushed up to her cheek, andthe parson's wife actually laughed at the prospect.