And so October came and went. The little Peppers were very lonely after Jasper had gone; even Mrs. Pepper caught herself looking up one day when the wind blew the door open suddenly, half expecting to see the merry whole-souled boy, and the faithful dog come scampering in.
But the letters came—and that was a comfort; and it was fun to answer them. The first one spoke of Jasper’s being under a private tutor, with his cousins; then they were less frequent, and they knew he was studying hard. Full of anticipations of Christmas himself, he urged the little Peppers to try for one. And the life and spirit of the letter was so catching, that Polly and Ben found their souls fired within them to try at least to get for the little ones a taste of Christmastide.
“Now, mammy,” they said at last, one day in the latter part of October, when the crisp, fresh air filled their little healthy bodies with springing vitality that must bubble over and rush into something, “we don’t want a Thanksgiving—truly we don’t. But may we try for a Christmas—just a little one,” they added, timidly, “for the children?” Ben and Polly always called the three younger ones of the flock “the children.”
To their utter surprise, Mrs. Pepper looked mildly assenting, and presently she said, “Well, I don’t see why you can’t try; ‘twon’t do any harm, I’m sure.”
You see Mrs. Pepper had received a letter from Jasper, which at present she didn’t feel called upon to say anything about.
“Now,” said Polly, drawing a long breath, as she and Ben stole away into a corner to “talk over” and lay plans, “what does it mean?”
“Never mind,” said Ben; “as long as she’s given us leave I don’t care what it is.”
“I neither,” said Polly, with the delicious feeling as if the whole world were before them where to choose; “it’ll be just gorgeous, Ben!”
“What’s that?” asked Ben, who was not as much given to long words as Polly, who dearly loved to be fine in language as well as other things.
“Oh, it’s something Jappy said one day; and I asked him, and he says it’s fine, and lovely, and all that,” answered Polly, delighted that she knew something she could really tell Ben.
“Then why not say fine?” commented Ben, practically, with a little upward lift of his nose.
“Oh, I’d know, I’m sure,” laughed Polly. “Let’s think what’ll we do for Christmas—how many weeks are there, anyway, Ben?” And she began to count on her fingers.
“That’s no way,” said Ben, “I’m going to get the Almanac.” So he went to the old clock where hanging up by its side, was a “Farmer’s Almanac.”
“Now, we’ll know,” he said, coming back to their corner. So with heads together they consulted and counted up till they found that eight weeks and three days remained in which to get ready.
“Dear me!” said Polly. “It’s most a year, isn’t it, Ben?”
“‘Twon’t be much time for us,” said Ben, who thought of the many hours to be devoted to hard work that would run away with the time. “We’d better begin right away, Polly.”
“Well, all right,” said Polly, who could scarcely keep her fingers still, as she thought of the many things she should so love to do if she could. “But first, Ben, what let’s do?”
“Would you rather hang up their stockings?” asked Ben, as if he had unlimited means at his disposal; “or have a tree?”
“Why,” said Polly, with wide open eyes at the two magnificent ideas, “we haven’t got anything to put in the stockings when we hang ‘em, Ben.”
“That’s just it,” said Ben. “Now, wouldn’t it be better to have a tree, Polly? I can get that easy in the woods, you know.”
“Well,” interrupted Polly, eagerly, “we haven’t got anything to hang on that, either, Ben. You know Jappy said folks hang all sorts of presents on the branches. So I don’t see,” she continued, impatiently, “as that’s any good. We can’t do anything, Ben Pepper, so there! there isn’t anything to do anything with,” and with a flounce Polly sat down on the old wooden stool, and folding her hands looked at Ben in a most despairing way.
“I know,” said Ben, “we haven’t got much.”
“We haven’t got anything,” said Polly, still looking at him. “Why, we’ve got a tree,” replied Ben, hopefully. “Well, what’s a tree,” retorted Polly, scornfully. “Anybody can go out and look at a tree outdoors.”
“Well, now, I tell you, Polly,” said Ben, sitting down on the floor beside her, and speaking very slowly and decisively, “we’ve got to do something ‘cause we’ve begun; and we might make a tree real pretty.”
“How?” asked Polly, ashamed of her ill-humor, but not in the least seeing how anything could be made of a tree. “How, Ben Pepper?”
“Well,” said Ben, pleasantly, “we’d set it up in the corner—”
“Oh, no, not in the corner,” cried Polly, whose spirits began to rise a little as she saw Ben so hopeful. “Put it in the middle of the room, do!”
“I don’t care where you put it,” said Ben, smiling, happy that Polly’s usual cheerful energy had returned, “but I thought.—‘twill be a little one, you know, and I thought ‘twould look better in the corner.”
“What else?” asked Polly, eager to see how Ben would dress the tree.
“Well,” said Ben, “you know the Henderson boys gave me a lot of corn last week.”
“I don’t see as that helps much,” said Polly, still incredulous. “Do you mean hang the cobs on the branches, Ben? That would be just dreadful!”
“I should think likely,” laughed Ben. “No, indeed, Polly Pepper! but if we should pop a lot, oh! a bushel, and then we should string ‘em, we could wind it all in and out among the branches, and—”
“Why, wouldn’t that be pretty?” cried Polly, “real pretty—and we can do that, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” continued Ben; “and then, don’t you know, there’s some little candle ends in that box in the Provision Room, maybe mammy’d give us them.”
“I don’t believe but she would,” cried Polly; “twould be just like Jappy’s if she would! Let’s ask her now—this very same minute!”
And they scampered hurriedly to Mrs. Pepper, who to their extreme astonishment, after all, said “yes,” and smiled encouragingly on the plan.
“Isn’t mammy good?” said Polly, with loving gratitude, as they seated themselves again.
“Now we’re all right,” exclaimed Ben, “and I tell you we can make the tree look perfectly splendid, Polly Pepper!”
“And I’ll tell you another thing, Ben,” Polly said, “oh! something elegant! You must get ever so many hickory nuts; and you know those bits of bright paper I’ve got in the bureau drawer? Well, we can paste them on to the nuts and hang ‘em on for the balls Jappy tells of.”
“Polly,” cried Ben, “it’ll be such a tree as never was, won’t it?”
“Yes; but dear me,” cried Polly, springing up, “the children are coming! Wasn’t it good, grandma wanted ‘em to come over this afternoon, so’s we could talk! Now hush!” as the door opened to admit the noisy little troop.
“If you think of any new plan,” whispered Ben, behind his hand, while Mrs. Pepper engaged their attention, “you’ll have to come out into the wood-shed to talk after this.”
“I know it,” whispered Polly back again; “oh! we’ve got just heaps of things to think of, Bensie!”
Such a contriving and racking of brains as Polly and Ben set up after this! They would bob over at each other, and smile with significant gesture as a new idea would strike one of them, in the most mysterious way that, if observed, would drive the others almost wild. And then, frightened lest in some hilarious moment the secret should pop out, the two conspirators would betake themselves to the wood-shed as before agreed on. But Joel, finding this out, followed them one day—or, as Polly said, tagged—so that was no good.
“Let’s go behind the wood-pile,” she said to Ben, in desperation; “he can’t hear there, if we whisper real soft.”
“Yes, he will,” said Ben, who knew Joel’s hearing faculties much better. “We’ll have to wait till they’re a-bed.”
So after that, when nightfall first began to make its appearance, Polly would hint mildly about bedtime.
“You hustle us so!” said Joel, after he had been sent off to bed for two or three nights unusually early.
“Oh, Joey, it’s good for you to get to bed,” said Polly, coaxingly; “it’ll make you grow, you know, real fast.”
“Well, I don’t grow a-bed,” grumbled Joel, who thought something was in the wind. “You and Ben are going to talk, I know, and wink your eyes, as soon as we’re gone.”
“Well, go along, Joe, that’s a good boy,” said Polly, laughing, “and you’ll know some day.”
“What’ll you give me?” asked Joel, seeing a bargain, his foot on the lowest stair leading to the loft, “say, Polly?”
“Oh, I haven’t got much to give,” she said, cheerily; “but I’ll tell you what, Joey—I’ll tell you a story every day that you go to bed.”
“Will you?” cried Joe, hopping back into the room. “Begin now, Polly, begin now!”
“Why, you haven’t been to bed yet,” said Polly, “so I can’t till to-morrow.”
“Yes, I have—you’ve made us go for three—no, I guess fourteen nights,” said Joel, indignantly.
“Well, you were made to go,” laughed Polly. “I said if you’d go good, you know; so run along, Joe, and I’ll tell you a nice one to-morrow.”
“It’s got to be long,” shouted Joel, when he saw he could get no more, making good time up to the loft.
To say that Polly, in the following days, was Master Joel’s slave, was stating the case lightly. However, she thought by her story-telling she got off easily, as each evening saw the boys drag their unwilling feet to-bedward, and leave Ben and herself in peace to plan and work undisturbed. There they would sit by the little old table, around the one tallow candle, while Mrs. Pepper sewed away busily, looking up to smile or to give some bits of advice; keeping her own secret meanwhile, which made her blood leap fast, as the happy thoughts nestled in her heart of her little ones and their coming glee. And Polly made the loveliest of paper dolls for Phronsie out of the rest of the bits of bright paper; and Ben made windmills and whistles for the boys; and a funny little carved basket with a handle, for Phronsie, out of a hickory nut shell; and a new pink calico dress for Seraphina peered out from the top drawer of the old bureau in the bedroom, whenever anyone opened it—for Mrs. Pepper kindly let the children lock up their treasures there as fast as completed.
“I’ll make Seraphina a bonnet,” said Mrs. Pepper, “for there’s that old bonnet-string in the bag, you know, Polly, that’ll make it beautiful.”
“Oh, do, mother,” cried Polly, “she’s been wanting a new one awfully.”
“And I’m going to knit some mittens for Joel and David,” continued Mrs. Pepper; “cause I can get the yarn cheap now. I saw some down at the store yesterday I could have at half price.”
“I don’t believe anybody’ll have as good a Christmas as we shall,” cried Polly, pasting on a bit of trimming to the gayest doll’s dress; “no, not even Jappy.”
An odd little smile played around Mrs. Pepper’s mouth, but she said not a word, and so the fun and the work went on.
The tree was to be set up in the Provision Room; that was finally decided, as Mrs. Pepper showed the children how utterly useless it would be to try having it in the kitchen.
“I’ll find the key, children,” she said, “I think I know where ‘tis, and then we can keep them out.”
“Well, but it looks so,” said Polly, demurring at the prospect.
“Oh, no, Polly,” said her mother; “at any rate it’s clean.”
“Polly,” said Ben, “we can put evergreen around, you know.”
“So we can,” said Polly, brightly; “oh, Ben, you do think of the best things; we couldn’t have had them in the kitchen.”
“And don’t let’s hang the presents on the tree,” continued Ben; “let’s have the children hang up their stockings; they want to, awfully—for I heard David tell Joel this morning before we got up—they thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t—that he did so wish they could, but, says he, ‘Don’t tell mammy, ‘cause that’ll make her feel bad.”
“The little dears!” said Mrs. Pepper, impulsively; “they shall have their stockings, too.”
“And we’ll make the tree pretty enough,” said Polly, enthusiastically; “we shan’t want the presents to hang on; we’ve got so many things. And then we’ll have hickory nuts to eat; and perhaps mammy’ll let us make some molasses candy the day before,” she said, with a sly look at her mother.
“You may,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling.
“Oh, goody!” they both cried, hugging each other ecstatically.
“And we’ll have a frolic in the Provision Room afterwards,” finished Polly; “oh! ooh!”
And so the weeks flew by—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight! till only the three days remained, and to think the fun that Polly and Ben had had already!
“It’s better’n a Christmas,” they told their mother, “to get ready for it!”
“It’s too bad you can’t hang up your stockings,” said Mrs. Pepper, looking keenly at their flushed faces and bright eyes; “you’ve never hung ‘em up.”
“That isn’t any matter, mamsie,” they both said, cheerily; “it’s a great deal better to have the children have a nice time—oh, won’t it be elegant! p’r’aps we’ll have ours next year!”
For two days before, the house was turned upside down for Joel to find the biggest stocking he could; but on Polly telling him it must be his own, he stopped his search, and bringing down his well-worn one, hung it by the corner of the chimney to be ready.
“You put yours up the other side, Dave,” he advised.
“There isn’t any nail,” cried David, investigating.
“I’ll drive one,” said Joel, so he ran out to the tool-house, as one corner of the wood-shed was called, and brought in the hammer and one or two nails.
“Phronsie’s a-goin’ in the middle,” he said, with a nail in his mouth.
“Yes, I’m a-goin’ to hang up my stockin’,” cried the child, hopping from one toe to the other.
“Run get it, Phronsie,” said Joel, “and I’ll hang it up for you.
“Why, it’s two days before Christmas yet,” said Polly, laughing; “how they’ll look hanging there so long.”
“I don’t care,” said Joel, giving a last thump to the nail; “we’re a-goin’ to be ready. Oh, dear! I wish ‘twas to-night!”
“Can’t Seraphina hang up her stocking?” asked Phronsie, coming up to Polly’s side; “and Baby, too?”
“Oh, let her have part of yours,” said Polly, “that’ll be best—Seraphina and Baby, and you have one stocking together.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Phronsie, easily pleased; “that’ll be best.” So for the next two days, they were almost distracted; the youngest ones asking countless questions about Santa Claus, and how he possibly could get down the chimney, Joel running his head up as far as he dared, to see if it was big enough.
“I guess he can,” he said, coming back in a sooty state, looking very much excited and delighted.
“Will he be black like Joey?” asked Phronsie, pointing to his grimy face.
“No,” said Polly; “he don’t ever get black.”
“Why?” they all asked; and then, over and over, they wanted the delightful mystery explained.
“We never’ll get through this day,” said Polly in despair, as the last one arrived. “I wish ‘twas to-night, for we’re all ready.”
“Santy’s coming! Santy’s coming!” sang Phronsie, as the bright afternoon sunlight went down over the fresh, crisp snow, “for it’s night now.”
“Yes, Santa is coming!” sang Polly; and “Santa Claus is coming,” rang back and forth through the old kitchen, till it seemed as if the three little old stockings would hop down and join in the dance going on so merrily.
“I’m glad mine is red,” said Phronsie, at last, stopping in the wild jig, and going up to see if it was all safe, “cause then Santy’ll know it’s mine, won’t he, Polly?”
“Yes, dear,” cried Polly, catching her up. “Oh, Phronsie! you are going to have a Christmas!”
“Well, I wish,” said Joel, “I had my name on mine! I know Dave’ll get some of my things.”
“Oh, no, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, “Santa Claus is smart; he’ll know yours is in the left-hand corner.”
“Will he?” asked Joel, still a little fearful.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Pepper, confidently. “I never knew him to make a mistake.”
“Now,” said Ben, when they had all made a pretence of eating supper, for there was such an excitement prevailing that no one sat still long enough to eat much, “you must every one fly off to bed as quick as ever can be.”
“Will Santa Claus come faster then?” asked Joel.
“Yes,” said Ben, “just twice as fast.”
“I’m going, then,” said Joel; “but I ain’t going to sleep, ‘cause I mean to hear him come over the roof; then I’m going to get up, for I do so want a squint at the reindeer!”
“I am, too,” cried Davie, excitedly. “Oh, do come, Joe!” and he began to mount the stairs.
“Good night,” said Phronsie, going up to the centre of the chimney-piece, where the little red stocking dangled limpsily, “lift me up, Polly, do.”
“What you want to do?” asked Polly, running and giving her a jump. “What you goin’ to do, Phronsie?”
“I want to kiss it good night,” said the child, with eyes big with anticipation and happiness, hugging the well worn toe of the little old stocking affectionately. “I wish I had something to give Santa, Polly, I do!” she cried, as she held her fast in her arms.
“Never mind, Pet,” said Polly, nearly smothering her with kisses; “if you’re a good girl, Phronsie, that pleases Santa the most of anything.”
“Does it?” cried Phronsie, delighted beyond measure, as Polly carried her into the bedroom, “then I’ll be good always, I will!”