Five Little Peppers Midway Part 26

XIV

MAMSIE'S WEDDING

"Polly," said Dr. Fisher, coming suddenly out of a corner of the library as she ran around the portiere folds, "you are sure you are willing--are willing it should go on?"

The little man peered at her anxiously through his big gla.s.ses, and he looked so exactly as he did on that morning so long ago when Polly's eyes were at their worst, that she could do nothing but gaze speechlessly into his face.

"I see you don't consider it quite best, child," said the little doctor brokenly, "but you are trying with your good heart, to make it so.

Don't be afraid; it is not too late to end it all."

"I was thinking," cried Polly with a gasp, "how good you were to me, when you saved my eyes, and how you kept Joel from dying of the measles. Oh! I couldn't speak--but I love you so."

She threw her young arms around him. "Papa Fisher--for you are almost my father now--I am the very, very happiest girl because you are going to live here, and now I can show you just how much I really and truly love you."

The little man beamed at her. Then he took off his spectacles, wiped them, and clapped them into place again. "You see, Polly," he said deliberately, "it was impossible to see your mother and not love her.

She has had--well, there, child, I cannot bear to talk about it," and he walked to the window, blew his nose violently on an immense pocket-handkerchief, leaving the words poised in mid-air.

"It was the greatest trial of my life that I couldn't show her then when she was struggling so bravely to keep the wolf from the door, how I felt. But my hands were tied, child," he added, coming back, his usual self again. "Now I can make her, she says, happy, that is, if you children like it. Just think, Polly, she said happy! It's stupendous, but she said so, Polly, she really did!"

He folded his hands and looked at her in astonishment, behind which shone an intense gratification, that lighted up his plain little face till he seemed to grow younger every instant.

"Indeed she did!" repeated Polly like a bird, and laughing merrily.

"Oh, Papa Fisher! you ought to hear Mamsie sing. She doesn't know I'm hearing her, but she sings at her work now."

"Does she?" cried the doctor radiantly. "Well, Polly, we must see that she sings every day, after this."

"Yes, let us," cried Polly, clasping his hand; "we will."

"And," proceeded the doctor, "after the wedding is over--I It really dread the wedding, Polly--but after that is over, I do believe we shall all be comfortable together!"

Polly gave a little cry of delight. Then she said, "You needn't dread the wedding one bit, Papa Fisher. There will be only the people that we love, and who love us--Grandpapa promised that."

"But that will make it very big," said Dr. Fisher, with round eyes and a small s.h.i.+ver he could not suppress.

"Oh, no!" said Polly cheerily, "sixty-five friends; that's all we are going to ask; Mamsie and I made out the list last night."

"Sixty-five people!" exclaimed Dr. Fisher in dismay. "Oh! isn't is possible to be married without sixty-five friends to stare at you?"

"Oh! that's not many," said Polly; "sixty-five is the very smallest number that we could manage. We've been over the list ever so many times, and struck out quant.i.ties of names. You see, everybody loves Mamsie, and they'll want to see her married."

"I know--I know," a.s.sented the doctor, "but that makes one hundred and thirty eyes. Did you ever think of that, Polly?"

Polly burst into such a laugh that Jasper popped in, and after him, Phronsie, and a general hilarity now reigning, the dreaded wedding preparations soon sank away from the doctor's perturbed vision.

But they went on merrily nevertheless. All over the old stone mansion there were hints of the on-coming festivities; and though all signs of it were tucked away from the little doctor on his occasional visits, the smothered excitement flamed afresh immediately his departure became an a.s.sured thing. Everybody had the wildest plans for the occasion; it appearing impossible to do enough for the one who had stood at the helm for five long years, and who was to be reigning housekeeper for as much longer as her services were needed.

And Dr. Fisher never knew how perilously near he had been to the verge of brilliant evening festivities, in the midst of which he was to be ushered into matrimony.

For Polly had suddenly waked one morning, to find herself, not "famous," but alive with the sense of being--as her mother had so often expressed it--"Mamsie's little right-hand woman."

"It will be much better to have everything plain," said Polly, communing with herself, as she turned on her pillow. "Mamsie has always been without show, of any kind, and so," but here Polly's heart stood still. Dearly she loved the bright, conspicuous accompaniments to the wedding whereby Mr. King was determined to show his respect for the family under his care. And her soul secretly longed for the five hundred guests named on a list of the old gentleman's drawing up. And the feast and the lights, and the pretty dresses, and the dancing party for the young people to follow. For Mr. King had announced himself as about to usher in the brightest of days for the young Peppers to remember.

"Besides it brings our new physician into notice," he would answer when any faint protest was made. "And we shall all have reason to be immensely proud of him, I tell you!"

"Oh, dear!" cried Polly, burrowing deeper within the pillow folds, "why aren't pleasant things best to do? Why, I wonder!"

Cherry, twittering in the window, chirped something vague and unsatisfactory. Polly brought up her brown head suddenly and laughed.

"Nonsense! our happiness doesn't depend upon a lot of people coming together to help it along. Mamsie's face, whenever Grandpapa plans all this magnificence, is enough to make me feel wretched at the thought of it. Dear Mamsie! she's afraid of ingrat.i.tude if she doesn't try to like it. She shall have the little morning wedding with a few people around, and the gray silk gown instead of the lavender one Grandpapa wants her to wear, for Mamsie always knows just what is right."

With that, Polly sprang out of bed, and rushed at her toilet, and after breakfast she quietly captured Mr. King on the edge of some other extravagant plan, and led him into the library.

"Everything is going on finely, Polly," he cried in elation. "Ring for Thomas, child; stay, I'll do it myself. I shall go in an hour to give my orders for the wedding supper."

"Grandpapa," cried Polly, turning quite pale, and laying a quick, detaining hand on his arm, "oh! do wait, dear Grandpapa, I have something to say."

"Well, child," but he still retained his hand on the cord.

"Oh, Grandpapa!" how could she say it! But she must. "Mamsie will be ever so much happier if the wedding might be a quiet one. She really would, Grandpapa."

"No doubt Mrs. Pepper finds it a little hard to adjust her ideas to the large affair," said the old gentleman, considerably disturbed, and by no means relinquis.h.i.+ng the bell-cord, "but it is due to you children to have a bright time, and I must see that you all have it. That is my affair," and this time the cord was pulled, and the bell rang a loud, insistent message.

Polly stood still in despair. "Grandpapa," she said distinctly, finding it hard to proceed, with his face before her, "we children do not want the large party; that is I do not."

It was all out at last.

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. King sharply, for his surprise was too great to allow of composure, "who has been putting this idea into your head? Your mother couldn't have done it, for she promised it should all be as you young people wanted."

"Mamsie never said a word," cried Polly, recovering herself as she saw a chance to make things right for Mother Pepper; "it all came to me, Grandpapa, all alone by myself. Oh! I hate the big display!" she declared with sudden vehemence, astonis.h.i.+ng herself with the repulsion that now seized her.

"Hoity toity!" exclaimed Mr. King, "it's not quite the thing, Polly, my child, to express yourself so decidedly, considering your years."

"Grandpapa," cried Polly, with a sudden rush of tears, "forgive me, do; I did not mean to be so naughty. I did not, dear Grandpapa." She looked like Phronsie now, and the old gentleman's heart melted. "But I am quite sure that none of us children would be a bit happy not to have it as Mamsie would like."

"Well, but I am not sure that the others wouldn't like it," said Mr.

King persistently.

"Ben wouldn't," said Polly triumphantly, "I know, for he all along shrank from the big party."

"Oh! well, Ben, I suppose, would object somewhat," conceded the old gentleman slowly.

"And Davie," cried Polly eagerly; "Oh, Grandpapa! David would much prefer the morning wedding and the plain things."

"But how about Joel and Phronsie?" interrupted Mr. King, utterly ignoring Davie's claims to be heard. "Ah! Polly, my dear, until you tell me that they will prefer to give up the fine party, you mustn't expect me to pay any attention to what you say. It's due to Phronsie that your mother's wedding is a thing worthy to remember as a fine affair."