"You needn't said that, Ben," said Polly, dissatisfied; "we all baked 'em, I'm sure. 'And just as soon as you get well we do want you to come over and have the baking. We're real sorry you're sick--boneset's good for colds.""Oh, Ben!" said Mrs. Pepper, "I guess his father knows what to give him.""And oh! the bitter stuff!" cried Polly, with a wry face. "Well, it's hard work to write," said Ben, yawning. "I'd rather chop wood.""I wish! knew how," exclaimed Joel, longingly.
"Just you try every day; Ben'll teach you, Joe," said his mother, eagerly, "and then I'll let you write.""I will!" cried Joe; "then, Dave, you'll see how I'll write-- Itellyou!"
"And I'm goin' to--ma, can't I?" said Davie, unwilling to be outdone.
"Yes, you may, be sure," said Mrs. Pepper, delighted; "that'll make a man of you fast.""Oh, boys," said Polly, lifting a very red face, "you joggle the table so I can't do anything.""I wasn't jogglin'," said Joel; "the old thing tipped. Look!" he whispered to Davie, "see Polly, she's writing crooked."So while the others hung around her and looked over her shoulder while they made their various comments, Polly finished her part, and also held it up for inspection.
"Let us see," said Ben, taking it up.
"It's after, 'boneset's good for colds,'" said Polly, puckering up her face again at the thought.
"We most of us knew you were sick--I'm Polly now--because you didn't come; and we liked your letter telling us so, -- "Oh, Polly! we weren't glad to hear he was sick!" cried Ben, in horror.
"I didn't say so!" cried Polly, starting up. "Why, Ben Pepper, Inever said so!" and she looked ready to cry.
"It sounds something like it, don't it, manimy?" said Ben, unwilling to give her pain, but appealing to Mrs. Pepper.
"Polly didn't mean it," said her mother consolingly; "but if I were you, I'd say something to explain it.""I can't put anything in now," said poor Polly; "there isn't any room nor any more paper either--what shall I do! I told you, Ben, Icouldn't write." And Polly looked helplessly from one to the other for comfort.
"Yes, you can," said Ben; "there, now I'll show you: write it fine, Polly--you write so big--little bits of letters, like these."So Polly took the pen again with a sigh. "Now he won't think so, Iguess," she said, much relieved, as Ben began to read again.
"I'll begin yours again," Ben said: "We most of us knew you were sick because you didn't come, and we liked your letter telling us so because we'd all felt so badly, and Phronsie cried herself to sleep'--(that's good, I'm sure.) 'The "gingerbread boy" is for your father--please excuse it, but Phronsie would make it for him because he is sick. There isn't any more to write, and besides Ican't write good, and Ben's tired. From all of us.'""Why, how's he to know?" cried Ben. "That won't do to sign it.""Well, let's say from Ben and Polly then," said Polly; "only all the others want to be in the letter.""Well, they can't write," said Ben.
"We might sign their names for 'em," suggested Polly.
"Here's mine," said Ben, putting under the "From all of us" a big, bold "Ben.""And here's mine," echoed Polly, setting a slightly crooked "Polly"by its side.
"Now Joe, you better let Ben hold your hand," said Polly, warningly. But Joel declaring he could write had already begun, so there was no hope for it; and a big drop of ink falling from the pen, he spattered the "J" so that no one could tell what it was. The children looked at each other in despair.
"Can we ever get it out, mammy?" said Polly, running to Mrs.
Pepper with it.
"I don't know," said her mother. "How could you try it, Joe?""I didn't mean to," said Joel, looking very downcast and ashamed.
"The ugly old pen did it!"
"Well," said Polly, "it's got to go; we can't help it." But she looked so sorrowful over it that half the pleasure was gone for Ben; for Polly wanted everything just right, and was very particular about things.
"Now, Dave." Ben held his hand, and "David" went down next to Joel.
But when it was Phronsie's turn, she protested that Polly, and no one else, must hold her hand.
