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Ben Pepper

<h2>I</h2> <h3>THE CHRISTMAS SHOPPING EXPEDITION</h3> "Oh, yes, the children can go as long as Ben and Polly are with them," said Mother Fisher, with pride. "I'll trust them anywhere," her face said as plainly as if she had put it all into words. "I wish I could go with them." Mrs. Whitney took her gaze from the busy fingers sorting the pile of small stockings Jane had brought up from the laundry, and went abruptly over to the window with a troubled face. "But you can't," said Mrs. Fisher, cheerfully, nowise dismayed at the number of holes staring up at her, "so don't let us think any more of it. And Ben's big enough to take them anywhere, I'm sure. And Polly can look after their manners," she thought, but didn't finish aloud. "You see father didn't know about this picture exhibit till Mr. Cabot's note came a half hour ago, begging him not to miss it. And if I told him of the children's plans, he'd give the whole thing up and stay at home rather than have them disappointed. He mustn't do that." "Indeed he mustn't!" echoed Mrs. Fisher, in her most decided fashion, and putting the last stocking into place on top of the big pile on the table. "Hush! Here comes Polly!" "Oh, Mamsie!" Polly rushed up to the work-table. "Just think what splendid fun!" She threw her arms around Mrs. Fisher's neck and gave her a big hug. "Isn't Aunty Whitney too lovely for anything to take us out to buy our Christmas presents? Dear me! What richness!" "Polly, see here, child," Mother Fisher brought her face around to look into the rosy one; "Mrs. Whitney cannot—" Polly tore herself away with a gasp, and stood quite still, her brown eyes fixed on Mother Fisher's face, and the color dying out of her cheek. "Do you mean we are not to go, Mamsie?" she cried, her hands working nervously; "we must!" she brought up passionately. "You see, Polly," Mrs. Whitney came quickly away from the window. Polly at that turned and stared in dismay. O dear! To think Aunty Whitney was there, and now she would be so distressed. "It is just this way," Mrs. Whitney was hurrying on in quite as unhappy a state as Polly had feared: "Father has received word that there is a picture exhibit this afternoon, and I must go with him. I'm sorry, dear, but it can't be helped." She bent to kiss Polly's cheek where the color had rushed this time up to the brown hair. "I'm so sorry, too," Polly burst out, clinging to Mrs. Whitney's hand. Oh, why had she given way to her passion? The tears were running down her cheeks now, "I didn't mean—" she murmured. "Why, you are going, Polly," said Mrs. Whitney, comfortingly, and patting the brown hair. "What?" exclaimed Polly, bringing up her head suddenly to stare into the kind face. "Yes," laughed Mrs. Whitney, "the Christmas shopping isn't to be given up. Mrs. Fisher is going to let you and Ben take the children. Just think, Polly, that's much better than to go with me," she finished gayly. All this time Mother Fisher had sat quite still, her black eyes fastened on Polly's face. "I don't know," she said slowly, "about their going now." "Oh, Mrs. Fisher," cried Mrs. Whitney, in dismay, "you can't think of—" but she didn't finish, on seeing Mrs. Fisher's face. Instead, she went softly out and closed the door. "I didn't mean—" mumbled Polly again, and then she tumbled down on her knees and hid her face on Mamsie's lap, and sobbed as hard as she could. "Yes, that's the trouble, Polly," Mother Fisher's hands were busy smoothing the brown hair; "you didn't mean to, but you said it just the same; and that's the mischief of it, not to mean to say a thing, and yet say it." "O dear me!" wailed Polly, burrowing deeper within the folds of the black alpaca apron. "Why did I? O dear!" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/></div> <h3>"O dear me," wailed Polly, burrowing deeper within the folds of the black alpaca apron.</h3> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> Mother Fisher's hands kept on at their task, but she said nothing, and at last Polly's sobs grew quieter. "Mamsie," she said faintly. "Yes, dear." "I'm so sorry." "I know you are, child; but, Polly, there is no 'must' unless mother says so. And to fly into a passion—why, then you ought not to go at all." "Oh, I don't want to go now, Mamsie," cried Polly, flying up to sit straight on the floor, and brushing away the tears with a hasty hand, "I really don't, Mamsie." "Well, then you see you'll just keep the children at home," said Mrs. Fisher; "for I can't let Ben have all the care alone, and they'll be so disappointed." Polly gave a groan and wriggled on the carpet in distress. "You see, Polly, that's the trouble when we give way to our passion; it hurts more than ourselves," said Mother Fisher, "so I can't see but that you have got to go." "Oh, I don't want to, Mamsie; don't make me," cried Polly, squeezing her mother's hands tightly in both of her own. "I can't go now!" "Tut, tut, Polly," said Mrs. Fisher, reprovingly; "'can't' isn't the thing to say any more than 'must.'" And her black eyes had such a look in them that Polly ducked her head, taking refuge in the lap again. "And now you must get up," said Mother Fisher, "and get ready, for I am going to let you and Ben take the children; that's decided." "Oh, Mamsie!" Polly found her feet somehow, and flung her arms again around her mother's neck; "you won't trust me ever again. O dear me!" "Yes, I will," said Mrs. Fisher, quickly, and, seizing Polly's hands, she made the brown eyes look at her; "why, Polly child, did you suppose Mother would let you go and help Ben take care of the children if she didn't know you would do everything just right? Never say such a word as that again, Polly!" and the black eyes shone with love and pride. "And now hurry, child, for here's Ben coming," as steps sounded in the hall, and then his voice asking, "Where's Mamsie?" Polly flew up to her feet and stumbled over to the washstand. "O dear me!" she gasped, catching sight of her face in the long mirror on the way, "I can't—oh, I mean my eyes are so red, and my nose, Mamsie! Just look at it!" "That's the trouble of crying and giving way to fits of passion," observed Mrs. Fisher, quietly; "it makes a good deal of trouble, first and last," as Ben came hurrying in. Polly splashed the water all over her hot face with such a hasty hand that a little stream ran down the pretty brown waist, which only served to increase her dismay. "Oh, Mamsie!" Ben was saying, "we're not to go, after all. What a pity! Polly'll be so sorry." His blue eyes looked very much troubled. To have anything make Polly sorry hurt him dreadfully. "Oh, yes, you are going, Ben," Mrs. Fisher made haste to say. "Why, Aunty Whitney can't go," said Ben, in surprise. "Grandpapa just said she is going out with him." "You didn't say anything of the shopping plan, Ben?" ejaculated Mrs. Fisher, involuntarily, yet she knew she didn't need to ask the question. "Why, no," said Ben, in amazement; "of course not, Mamsie." "Of course not, too," said his mother, with a little laugh; "and why I asked such a stupid question, I'm sure I don't know, Ben." All this gave Polly time to sop her face quite cool, and she had buried her red cheeks in the towel to dry them off, when Mother Fisher, having made Ben acquainted with the joyful news, called, "Come, Polly, it's time to get on your hat and coat." "Halloo, Polly, you there?" cried Ben, whirling round, as Polly hurried into the little room next to get her out-of-door things. "Yes," called back Polly, on her way, "I'll be ready in a minute, Ben." "Isn't it no end jolly that we're going, Polly?" he cried, deserting his mother to hurry over to the doorway where he could stand and see Polly get ready. His blue eyes shone and his head was held very high. To think that Polly and he were to be allowed to take the children out shopping amid all the excitement of Christmas week! It was almost too good to be true! "Say, Polly, did you ever know anything like it?" He came in and pressed close to the bureau where Polly was putting on her hat. "Yes, yes, I know. Ugh!" Polly, with all her eyes on the red-rimmed ones looking out at her from the mirror, beside what she saw of the poor swollen nose, jammed on the hat over her face and jumped away from the bureau. "You needn't hurry so," said Ben, "'tisn't any matter if we don't start right away. Besides, I don't suppose Jane has Phronsie ready yet. But isn't it perfectly splendid that we can go alone, you and I, and, just think, Polly Pepper, can take the children?" He was quite overcome again at the idea and leaned against the bureau to think it all out. "Yes," said Polly, in a muffled voice. But she was in the closet now, getting into her coat, because if she stayed out in the room Ben would help her into it, and then he would be sure to see her face! So Ben, although he thought it funny that Polly, who was generally bubbling over with joy at the prospect of any pleasant expedition, should be very quiet and dull in the light of such an extraordinary one, set it down to the hurry she was in getting ready. "Oh, Polly, don't hurry so!" he cried, going over to the closet. "Here, come out here, and let me help you with that." "Ugh, no, go right away, Ben," cried Polly, wriggling off frantically, and only succeeding in flopping up one sleeve to knock her hat farther down over her nose. "O dear me! where is the other armhole?" "Do come out," cried Ben; "whoever heard of trying to put on a coat in a closet? Whatever makes you, Polly?" "And I do wish you'd go away," cried Polly, quite exasperated, and setting her hat straight, forgetting all about her face. But instead, Ben, after a good look, took hold of her two shoulders and marched her out into the room. And before Polly knew it, her other arm was in its sleeve, and he was trying to button up her coat. "Oh, Bensie," she mumbled; "I'm so sorry I was cross." "Never mind," said Ben, giving her a comforting pat. "Well, come on, now you're ready, Polly." And Joel and David plunging in tumultuously into Mamsie's room, followed by Jane ushering in Phronsie all attired for the trip, the whole bunch gathered around Mother Fisher's chair for final instructions. "See, Mamsie," piped Phronsie, crowding up closely, to hold up the little money-bag dangling by its chain from her arm; "my own purse, and I'm going to buy things." "Don't, Phron," said Joel, "push so," and he tried to get past her to stand nearest to Mother Fisher. "What are you doing yourself," said Ben, "I sh'd like to know, Joel Pepper?" "Well, that was my place," said Joel, loudly, and not yielding an inch. "Joel!" said Mrs. Fisher. "It was my place," he grumbled. But he hung his head and wouldn't look up into Mamsie's face. "It's my very own purse," cried Phronsie, in a joyful little key, "and I'm going to buy things, I am. See, Mamsie!" She held it up before Mrs. Fisher, and patted it lovingly, while she crowded in worse than ever. "Yes, I see," said Mrs. Fisher, smiling down into her face, but there was no smile for Joel, and looking up he caught her black eyes resting on him in a way he didn't like. "You may have it, Phron!" he exclaimed, tumbling back against David suddenly, who was nearly knocked over by his sudden rebound. "I'd just as lief you would. Here, get in next to Mamsie." "And I'm going to buy you something, Mamsie," said Phronsie, standing on her tiptoes to whisper confidentially into Mother Fisher's ear. "You are, dear?" Mrs. Fisher leaned over to catch the whisper, but not before she sent a smile over to Joel that seemed to drop right down into the farthest corner of his heart. "Now Mother'll like that very much indeed." "And you must be s'prised," said Phronsie, bobbing her head in its big, fur-trimmed bonnet, and fastening a grave look of great importance on Mrs. Fisher's face. "Hoh—hoh!" began Joel, who had recovered his composure. Then he thought, and stopped. And again Mother Fisher smiled at him. "Now, children, you understand this is the first time you have ever been out shopping without Mr. King or Mrs. Whitney or me," began Mrs. Fisher, looking around on them all. "Well, it's quite time that you should make the trial, for I can trust you all." She lifted her head proudly and her black eyes shone. "I'm sure you'll all be good." "Oh, we will, we will, Mamsie," declared all the little Peppers together. And their heads went up, too, in pride. "So I am going to let Ben and Polly take you about in the shops. And whatever they tell you, you are to do. And remember one thing, you are not to crowd and push." "We can't see if the big people all get in front," said Joel, grumblingly. "Then you must go without seeing," said Mrs. Fisher, decidedly. "At any rate, you are not to crowd and push. Remember, Joel, and all of you." "I won't," said Joel, "crowd and push. Now may we go, Mamsie?" and he began to prance to the door impatiently. "One thing more. Come back, Joel." Mrs. Fisher waited until the group was once more quiet around her chair. "And you are none of you to handle things." "Not when we are going to buy them?" cried Joel, in an injured tone. "Oh, Mamsie, I sh'd think we might when we are out shopping. And I've got such lots of money in my pocket-book." He swung it high, clenched in his hot little fist. "Take care or you'll lose it if you show it like that, Joe," said Ben. "How am I going to lose it?" demanded Joel, squaring around at Ben. "Somebody'll pick it out of your hand if you don't look out," warned Ben. "I guess there won't anybody pick my pocket-book. I'm going to get a pin," and he raced off to the big mahogany bureau in the corner. "What for?" asked David, who always followed Joel's movements with attention; "what are you going to do with a pin, Joel?" "I'm going to pin up my pocket so no old picker can get my purse," declared Joel, with energy, and running back with the biggest pin he could find on the cushion, the one Mrs. Fisher fastened her shawl with. "Yes, and likely enough you'll forget all about it and stick your own hand in," said Ben, "then, says I, what'll you do, Joel?" "Humph—I won't forget," snorted Joel, puckering up the pocket edge and jamming the pin through the folds; "there, I guess the pickers will let my pocket alone. Yes-sir-ee," he cried triumphantly. "Now you remember you are not to touch things on the counters," Mrs. Fisher was saying. "I don't want my children to be picking and handling at such a time. You can look all you want to; but when you see what you would really like to buy, why, Polly and Ben must ask the saleswoman to show it to you." "I've got my money-purse," said Phronsie, exactly as if the fact had not been announced before; "see, Mamsie," and she held it up with an important air. "I see," said Mother Fisher, "it's the one Grandpapa gave you last birthday, isn't it, Phronsie?" "Yes," she said, patting it lovingly. "My dear Grandpapa gave it to me, and it's my very own, and I'm going to buy things, I am." "So you shall," said Mrs. Fisher, approvingly. All the while Joel was screaming, "Come on, Phron, we'll be late," as he pranced out into the hall and down the stairs. "Oh, Mamsie," Polly flung her arms around Mrs. Fisher's neck, "I wish you were going too." "Well, Mother can't go," said Mrs. Fisher, patting Polly's shoulder; "and take care, Phronsie will hear you." "And I want to kiss my Mamsie good-by, too," said Phronsie, clambering up into Mrs. Fisher's lap, as well as she could for the fur-trimmed coat. So Mother Fisher took her up, and Phronsie cooed and hummed her satisfaction, and was kissed and set down again. And then David had to say good-by too, and Ben as well; and then Polly made up her mind she would have the last kiss, so it was some minutes before the four children got out of Mamsie's room and ran down the stairs. And there they found Joel hanging on to the newel post and howling: "You've been an awful long time. Come on!" "We wanted to bid Mamsie good-by," said Polly, twitching Phronsie's coat straight. "Well, we're all ready now; come on, children." Joel had thrown the big front door open with a flourish and was rushing out. When Polly said that about Mamsie, he stopped suddenly, then plunged back, nearly upsetting Phronsie, and ran over the steps as fast as he could. "Oh, Mamsie," he cried, flying up to her. Mrs. Fisher had gotten out of her chair, and was now over by the window to see her little brood go off so happy and important. "Why, Joel!" she exclaimed, "what's the matter?" as he precipitated himself into her arms. "I want to kiss you good-by, too," howled Joel, burrowing within them; "good-by, Mamsie!" "So you shall, Mother's boy," said Mrs. Fisher, cuddling him. "Well now, Joel, you remember all I said." "I'll remember," said Joel, lifting a radiant face; "I'll be good all the time." "Yes, you must, else Mother'll feel badly. Well, good-by." Joel's good-by floated back as he raced down the stairs and overtook the group waiting for him out on the big stone steps. "Who's keeping us waiting now, I wonder?" said Ben, as he came up panting. "Well, I guess I'm going to bid my Mamsie good-by, too," said Joel, importantly. "Come on, Dave, let's race to the big gate!" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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