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FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND THEIR FRIENDS

By MARGARET SIDNEY

AUTHOR OF "FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS ABROAD," "A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN,"
"SALLY, MRS. TUBBS," ETC.


Illustrated by Eugenie M. Wireman


[Illustration: "What are you doing, Phronsie, sitting down in the middle
of the stairs?"--(See page 46.)]




  To my daughter Margaret,
    who to her friends embodies
    "Polly Pepper" in her
    girlhood, I dedicate most
    lovingly this book.




PREFACE.


  There were so many interesting friends of the Five Little Peppers,
  whose lives were only the faintest of outlines in the series ending
  when Phronsie was grown up, that a volume devoted to this outer
  circle has been written to meet the persistent demand.

  Herein the author records many happenings that long ago Ben and Polly,
  Joel and David told her. And even Phronsie whispered some of it
  confidentially into the listening ear. "Tell about Rachel, please,"
  she begged; and Margaret Sidney promised to write it all down some
  day.

  And that day seems to have arrived in which it all should be recorded
  and the promise fulfilled. For the Five Little Peppers loved their
  friends very dearly, and were loyal and true to them. And hand in
  hand, the circle widening ever, they lived and loved as this history
  records.

  MARGARET SIDNEY.




CONTENTS


I. A FIVE-O'CLOCK TEA

II. PHRONSIE

III. CLEM FORSYTHE

IV. MISS TAYLOR'S WORKING BEE

V. "SHE'S MY LITTLE GIRL"

VI. GRANDMA BASCOM

VII. THE DISAPPOINTMENT

VIII. THE GARDEN PARTY

IX. THE TEN-DOLLAR BILL

X. TROUBLE FOR JOEL

XI. RACHEL

XII. DOINGS AT THE PARSONAGE

XIII. "SHE'S GOING TO STAY HERE FOREVER"

XIV. "CAN'T GO," SAID JOEL

XV. UP IN ALEXIA'S PRETTY ROOM

XVI. THE ACCIDENT

XVII. JOEL'S ADVENTURE

XVIII. THE COMFORT COMMITTEE

XIX. JOEL'S NEW FRIEND

XX. THE COOKING CLUB

XXI. OF MANY THINGS IN GENERAL

XXII. RACHEL'S VISIT TO MISS PARROTT

XXIII. THE OLD PARROTT HOMESTEAD

XXIV. RACHEL'S FUTURE

XXV. JACK PARISH

XXVI. MR. HAMILTON DYCE A TRUE FRIEND

XXVII. A PIECE OF GOOD NEWS

XXVIII. THE LITTLE STONE CUPBOARD




ILLUSTRATIONS

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, PHRONSIE, SITTING DOWN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STAIRS?"

FIVE-O'CLOCK TEA

"BUT THIS IS TEN DOLLARS," SAID JOEL

"ON, LARRY," SAID MISS TAYLOR GENTLY, BENDING OVER HIM

"YES, SIR," CALLED JOEL BACK, FROM THE ALCOVE

THE UNLUCKY OAR WAS SEIZED BY THE TRIUMPHANT CREW

"I USED TO PLAY WITH IT," SHE SAID SOFTLY

HE STOOD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LITTLE SHOP




I

A FIVE-O'CLOCK TEA


"I wish," said Phronsie slowly, "that you'd come in, little girl."

"Can't." The girl at the gate peered through the iron railings, pressing
her nose quite flat, to give the sharp, restless, black eyes the best
chance.

"Please do," begged Phronsie, coming up quite close; "I very much wish you
would."

"Can't," repeated the girl on the outside. "Cop won't let me."

"Who?" asked Phronsie, much puzzled and beginning to look frightened.

"Perlice." The girl nodded briefly, taking her face away from the iron
railings enough to accomplish that ceremony. Then she plastered her nose up
against its support again, and stared at Phronsie with all her might.

"Oh," said Phronsie, with a little laugh that chased away her fright,
"there isn't any big policeman here. This is Grandpapa's garden."

"'Tain't, it's the perliceman's; everything's the perliceman's,"
contradicted the girl, snapping one set of grimy fingers defiantly.

"Oh, no," said Phronsie, softly but very decidedly, "this is my dear
Grandpapa's home, and the big policeman can't get in here, ever."

"Oh, you ninny!" The girl staring at her through the railings stopped a
minute to laugh, covering both hands over her mouth to smother the sound.
"The perlice can go everywheres they want to. I guess some of 'em's in
heaven now, spyin' round."

Phronsie dropped the doll she was carrying close to her bosom, to
concentrate all her gaze up toward the sky, in wide-eyed amazement that
allowed her no opportunity to carry on the conversation.

"An' I couldn't no more get into this 'ere garden than I could into
heaven," the girl on the outside said at last, to bring back the blue eyes
to earth, "so don't you think it, you. But, oh, my, don't I wish I could,
though!"

There was so much longing in the voice that Phronsie brought her gaze down
from the policemen in their heavenly work to the eyes staring at her. And
she clasped her hands together tightly, and hurried up to lay her face
against the big iron gate and close to that of the girl.

"He won't hurt you, the big policeman won't," she whispered softly. "I'll
take hold of your hand, and tell him how it is, if he gets in. Come."

"Can't," the girl was going to say, but her gaze rested upon the doll lying
on the grass where it fell from Phronsie's hand. "Lawks! may I just have
one good squint at that?" she burst out.

"You may hold it," said Phronsie, bobbing her head till her yellow hair
fell over her flushed cheeks.

The gate flew open suddenly, nearly overthrowing her; and the girl, mostly
all legs and arms, dashed through, picking up the doll to squeeze it to her
neck so tightly that Phronsie rushed up, quite alarmed.

"Oh, don't," she cried, "you'll frighten her. I'll tell her how it is, and
then she'll like you."

"I'll make her like me," said the girl, with savage thrusts at the doll,
and kissing it all over.

"Oh, my, ain't you sweet!" and she cuddled it fiercely in her scrawny neck,
her tangled black hair falling around its face.

"Oh, dear!" wailed Phronsie, standing quite still, "she's my child, and
she's dreadfully frightened. Oh, please, little girl, don't do so."

"She's been your child forever, and I've never had a child." The girl
raised her black head to look sternly at Phronsie. "I'll give her back; but
she's mine now."

"Haven't you ever had a child?" asked Phronsie, suddenly, two or three
tears trailing off her round cheeks to drop in the grass, and she drew a
long breath and winked very fast to keep the others back.

"Not a smitch of one," declared the other girl decidedly, "an' I'm a-goin'
to hold this one, and pretend I'm its mother."

Phronsie drew a long breath, and drew slowly near.

"You may," she said at last.

The new mother didn't hear, being hungrily engaged in smoothing her child's
cheeks against her own dirty ones, first one side of the face and then the
other, and twitching down the dainty pink gown, gone awry during the
hugging process, and alternately scolding and patting the little figure.
This done, she administered a smart slap, plunged over to the nearest tree,
and set the doll with a thud on the grass to rest against its trunk.

"Sit up like a lady," she commanded.

"Oh, don't!" cried Phronsie, quite horror-stricken, and running over on
distressed feet. "She's my child," she gasped.

"No, she's mine, an' I'm teachin' her manners. I ain't through pretendin'
yet," said the girl. She put out a long arm and held Phronsie back.

"But you struck her." Phronsie lifted a pale face, and her blue eyes
flashed very much as Polly's brown ones did on occasion.

The new mother whirled around and stared at her.

"Why, I had to, just the same as you're licked when you're bad," she said,
in astonishment.

"What's 'licked'?" asked Phronsie, overcome with curiosity, yet keeping her
eyes on her child, bolt upright against the tree.

"Why, whipped," said the girl, "just the same as you are when you're bad."

Phronsie drew a long breath.

"I've never been whipped," she said slowly.

"Oh, my Lord!" The girl tumbled down to the grass and rolled over and over,
coming up suddenly to sit straight, wipe her tangled black hair out of her
eyes, and stare at Phronsie. "Well, you are a reg'lar freak, you are," was
all she could say.

"What's a 'freak'?" asked Phronsie, actually turning her back on her child
to give all her attention to this absorbing conversation, with its most
attractive vocabulary.

"It's--oh, Jumbo!" and over she flopped again, to roll and laugh. "Well,
there!" and she jumped to her feet so quickly she nearly overthrew
Phronsie, who had drawn closer, unable to miss a bit of this very strange
proceeding. "Now I'm through pretending an' I haven't got any child, an'
you may have her back." She wrung her grimy hands together, and turned her
back on the object of so much attention. "Take her, quick; she's yours."

Phronsie hurried over to the doll, sitting up in pink loveliness against
the tree, knelt down on the grass, and patted her with gentle hand, and
smoothed down her curls. A curious sound broke in upon her work, and she
looked up and listened. "I must go back," she whispered to her child, and
in a minute she was running around the figure of the girl, to stare into
her face.

"Ow--get out!" cried the girl crossly, and she whirled