So Joel went off, wishing there weren't any such things in the world as preserve-kettles, and presently, back he came, dragging it after him "b.u.mp-b.u.mp."

"Oh, Joe," cried Mrs. Pepper, in dismay, "how could you!"

"I don't b'lieve he's hurt it, Mamsie," said Polly, running up to examine the kettle closely; "he couldn't, could he? it's all iron."

"No, I don't suppose he could really hurt it any," said Mrs.

Pepper, "but he oughtn't to drag it along and b.u.mp it. Things that don't belong to us should be handled extra carefully. Well now, Joe, set down the kettle, and go and wash your hands, you and Davie, and then come back and pick over these blackberries, and Polly'll take hold as soon as she gets through with the work."

"O dear, I don't want to pick over old blackberries," whined Joel.

"Then I suppose you don't care for any of the pie when it's baked," said his mother, coolly; "folks who can't help along in the work, shouldn't have any of the good things when they're pa.s.sed around."

"Oh, yes, I do want some pie," declared Joel, vehemently. "Dave and me both want some; don't we, Dave?"

"Yes, I do," said little Davie, "very much indeed, Mamsie."

"And I want some pie," echoed Phronsie, hearing the last words, and smoothing down her pink ap.r.o.n.

"So you shall have, Phronsie," promised Mrs. Pepper, "and so shall every one of you who's glad to work, and be useful."

"We'll be useful and work," cried Joel, tumbling out into the woodshed to wash up. "Come on, Dave; then we'll get our pie when it's baked."

XXIV

HOW JOEL STARTED THE FIRE

"Now," said Polly, to the old stove, "just remember how you acted that day when Mamsie made Mrs. Brown's jelly!" She was standing in front of it, and she drew herself up very straight.

"You ought to be ashamed, you naughty thing, you! to make such trouble. Now I've stuffed you up all good and nice in the holes, and when I come home I'll build a fresh fire, and then, says I, you've got to bake a whole batch of bread just as nice!" and Polly shook her brown head very decidedly, and whirled off to the bedroom door. "Come, Phronsie," she called, "hurry up, Pet.

O dear me!" Phronsie still sat on the floor by the big bureau, with one red-topped shoe in her hand, and patting it.

"The other one is on, Polly," said Phronsie, as she saw Polly's face; "truly it is," and she stuck one foot out.

"I sh'd think it was," laughed Polly; "every b.u.t.ton is in the wrong b.u.t.ton-hole, Phronsie."

Phronsie looked at the little shoe very gravely, then her lip quivered.

"Deary me, that's no matter," exclaimed Polly. "We'll have that all right in a twinkling." So she sat down on the floor, and took Phronsie's foot in her lap, and unb.u.t.toned and b.u.t.toned up the shoe. "There now, that's done as spick-span as can be."

"What is 'spick-span,' Polly?" said Phronsie.

"Oh, nice--just right. Dear me, it means ever so many things,"

said Polly, with a little laugh. "Now then, let's have the other shoe on," and she held out her hand for it.

"Let me put it on," cried Phronsie, and drawing it back in alarm; "let me, Polly, oh, I want to put it on my very own self, I do!"

"Well, so you shall," promised Polly, "if you'll hurry, for you know I've got to bake my bread when I get back."

"Isn't there any bread?" asked Phronsie, drawing on the little shoe, and pausing, lost in thought, when it was half on.

"Yes, just enough to last till I get the new loaves baked," said Polly, longing to give the shoe a twitch and expedite matters; "that is, I think so. I never know how much Joel will eat."

"O dear me!" exclaimed Phronsie, much troubled.

"See here now, Pet," cried Polly, decidedly, "if you don't pull on that shoe quickly, I shall have to do it, for we must start--"

which had the effect to make the little red-topped shoe slip on to Phronsie's fat foot in a trice.

"Now then, we're ready," said Polly at last, tying on Phronsie's pink sunbonnet. "Come, Phronsie," and she took her hand. "Joel,"

she called, as they went out the doorway, "where are you?"

"Here," said Joel, thrusting his head down the loft stairs, where he had heard every word that Polly had said to the old stove.

"Now you and Davie must look after the little brown house," said Polly, feeling very grown up and important, "and be good boys while we're gone down to the store after the bundle of sacks Mr.

Atkins has got for Mamsie."

"Yes," said Joel, "we will, Polly."

So Polly ran over the stairs and kissed Joel and little Davie, who crowded up for one also, and then Phronsie had to come up to be kissed too.

"What are you two boys doing?" asked Polly.

"Nothin'," said Joel.

David was silently digging his toes back and forth on the floor.

"Well, you better come right down and play in the kitchen," said Polly, "then you can look after things;" and she helped Phronsie downstairs and took her hand, and they walked down the path and off on to the road in a very dignified way, for Polly loved to be fine, and it was always a gala occasion when she could dress Phronsie up neat and nice, for a walk to the store.

"I very much wish we had a parasol," sighed Polly, who never could get over the longing for one, ever since she saw Miss Pettingill's green sunshade, with waving fringe, that she carried to church; "but then, I don't suppose I'll ever get one," and she sighed again.

"It's nice to be walking down to the store, Polly," observed Phronsie, peering up at her from the depths of the pink sunbonnet, and smoothing her pink calico gown down in front.

"So it is, Chick," said Polly, with a merry laugh. "I don't b'lieve anybody ever had such perfectly good times as we do, in all this world."

"No, I don't b'lieve they ever did," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head, delighted to see Polly gay once more. So they walked on quite contentedly.

Meanwhile, Joel turned to Davie up in the loft. "We'll keep the crickets in the box," he said, "till by'n by, an' go down, 'cause Polly said so. And I'm goin' to help her; you'll see."

With these mysterious words he shoved a tin box half full of hopping black crickets under the bed, saying, "There, the cover's on. Come on, Dave," and scrambled down the stairs to the kitchen.

Little David went down more slowly, as if something were on his mind. When he reached the kitchen, Joel was standing in front of the stove, a pile of paper was down on the floor at his feet, and he had a match in his hand. Davie stared at him in amazement.

"I'm going to help Polly," declared Joel, loudly, holding his match quite fast with one hand, while he twitched off one of the covers, with the lifter.

"Oh, Joe, you aren't going to make a fire?" cried little David, horror-stricken, and rooted to the spot.

"Of course I am," declared Joel, boldly. "I heard Polly talking to the old stove just before she went away, and she's got to bake bread when she gets home, an' it's all right, an' she'll be so glad to see it ready for her." All the time he was talking he was stuffing the paper into the stove; then he ran into the woodshed, bringing out some kindlings. "We've got to fill the wood box, Dave," he said, to make talk and divert David's mind; and he crammed the wood in after the paper, till there wasn't much room left.