"When's it coming?" asked Joel, who was decidedly of a matter-of-fact turn of mind.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Pepper, laughing; "but there's plenty of time ahead."

TROUBLE FOR THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE

"Oh, I do wish," said Joel, a few mornings after, pushing back his chair and looking discontentedly at his bowl of mush and mola.s.ses, "that we could ever have something new besides this everlasting old breakfast!

Why can't we, mammy?"

"Better be glad you've got that, Joe," said Mrs. Pepper, taking another cold potato, and sprinkling on a little salt; "folks shouldn't complain so long as they've anything to eat."

"But I'm so tired of it--same old thing!" growled Joel; "seems as if I sh'd turn into a meal-bag or a mola.s.ses jug!"

"Well, hand it over, then," proposed Ben, who was unusually hungry, and had a hard day's work before him.

"No," said Joel, alarmed at the prospect, and putting in an enormous mouthful; "it's better than nothing."

"Oh, dear," said little Phronsie, catching Joel's tone, "it isn't nice; no, it isn't." And she put down her spoon so suddenly that the mola.s.ses spun off in a big drop, that trailed off the corner of the table, and made Polly jump up and run for the floor-cloth.

"Oh, Phronsie," she said, reprovingly; "you ought not to. Never mind, pet," as she caught sight of two big tears trying to make a path in the little mola.s.ses-streaked face, "Polly'll wipe it up."

"Sha'n't we ever have anything else to eat, Polly?" asked the child, gravely, getting down from her high chair to watch the operation of cleaning the floor.

"Oh, yes," said Polly, cheerfully, "lots and lots--when our ship comes in."

"What'll they be?" asked Phronsie, in the greatest delight, prepared for anything.

"Oh, I don't know," said Polly; "ice cream for one thing, Phronsie, and maybe, little cakes."

"With pink on top?" interrupted Phronsie, getting down by Polly's side.

"Oh, yes," said Polly, warming with her subject; "ever and ever so much pink, Phronsie Pepper; more than you could eat!"

Phronsie just clasped her hands and sighed. More than she could eat was beyond her!

"Hoh!" said Joel, who caught the imaginary bill of fare, "that's nothing, Polly. I'd speak for a plum-puddin'."

"Like the one mother made us for Thanksgiving?" asked Polly, getting up and waiting a minute, cloth in hand, for the answer.

"Yes, sir," said Joel, shutting one eye and looking up at the ceiling, musingly, while he smacked his lips in remembrance; "wasn't that prime, though!"

"Yes," said Polly, thoughtfully; "would you have 'em all like that, Joe?"

"Every one," replied Joe, promptly; "I'd have seventy-five of 'em."

"Seventy-five what?" asked Mrs. Pepper, who had gone into the bedroom, and now came out, a coat in hand, to sit down in the west window, where she began to sew rapidly. "Better clear up the dishes, Polly, and set the table back--seventy-five what, Joel?"

"Plum-puddings," said Joel, kissing Phronsie.

"Dear me!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Pepper; "you don't know what you're saying, Joel Pepper; the house couldn't hold 'em!"

"Wouldn't long," responded Joel; "we'd eat 'em."

"That would be foolish," interposed Ben; "I'd have roast beef and fixings--and oysters--and huckleberry pie."

"Oh, dear," cried Polly; "how nice, Ben! you always do think of the very best things."

But Joel phoohed and declared he wouldn't waste his time "over old beef; he'd have something like!" And then he cried:

"Come on, Dave, what'd you choose?"

Little Davie had been quietly eating his breakfast amid all this chatter, and somehow thinking it might make the mother feel badly, he had refrained from saying just how tiresome he had really found this "everlasting breakfast" as Joel called it. But now he looked up eagerly, his answer all ready. "Oh, I know," he cried, "what would be most beautiful! toasted bread--white bread--and candy."

"What's candy?" asked Phronsie.

"Oh, don't you know, Phronsie," cried Polly, "what Mrs. Beebe gave you the day you got your shoes--the pink sticks; and--"

"And the peppermint stick Mr. Beebe gave you, Phronsie," finished Joel, his mouth watering at the remembrance.

"That day, when you got your toe pounded," added Davie, looking at Joel.

"Oh!" cried Phronsie; "I want some now, I do!"

"Well, Davie," said Polly, "you shall have that for breakfast when our ship comes in then."

"Your ships aren't ever coming," broke in Mrs. Pepper, wisely, "if you sit there talking--folks don't ever make any fortunes by wishing."

"True enough," laughed Ben, jumping up and setting back his chair. "Come on, Joe; you've got to pile to-day."

"Oh, dear," said Joel, dismally; "I wish Mr. Blodgett's wood was all a-fire."

"Never say that, Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, looking up sternly; "it's biting your own nose off to wish that wood was a-fire--and besides it's dreadfully wicked."

Joel hung his head, for his mother never spoke in that way unless she was strongly moved; but he soon recovered, and hastened off for his jacket.

"I'm sorry I can't help you do the dishes, Polly," said David, running after Joel.

"I'm going to help her," said Phronsie; "I am."

So Polly got the little wooden tub that she always used, gave Phronsie the well-worn cup-napkin, and allowed her to wipe the handleless cups and cracked saucers, which afforded the little one intense delight.

"Don't you wish, Polly," said little Phronsie, bustling around with a very important air, nearly smothered in the depths of a big brown ap.r.o.n that Polly had carefully tied under her chin, "that you didn't ever-an'-ever have so many dishes to do?"

"Um--maybe," said Polly, thoughtlessly. She was thinking of something else besides cups and saucers just then; of how nice it would be to go off for just one day, and do exactly as she had a mind to in everything.

She even envied Ben and the boys who were going to work hard at Deacon Blodgett's woodpile.