Five Little Peppers Midway Part 32

Not being able to answer this, no one attempted it, and the meal ended in an uncomfortable silence.

Driving home a half-hour later, in a cab summoned for that purpose, Mrs. Chatterton threw off her things, angry not to find Hortense at her post in the dressing-room, where she had been told to finish a piece of sewing, and not caring to encounter any of the family in their present excitement, she determined to take herself off upstairs, where "I can kill two birds with one stone; get rid of everybody, and find my box myself, because of course that child ran away before she got it."

So she mounted the stairs laboriously, counting herself lucky indeed in finding the upper part of the house quite deserted, and shutting the lumber-room door when she was well within it, she proceeded to open the door of the closet.

"Hortense didn't tell me there was a spring lock on this door," she exclaimed, with an impatient pull. "Oh! good heavens." She had nearly stumbled over Phronsie Pepper's little body, lying just where it fell when hope was lost.

"I have had nothing to do with it," repeated Mrs. Chatterton to herself, following Mr. King and Jasper as they bore Phronsie downstairs, her yellow hair floating from the pallid little face.

"Goodness! I haven't had such a shock in years. My heart is going quite wildly. The child probably went up there for something else; I am not supposed to know anything about it."

"Is she dead?" cried d.i.c.k, summoned with the rest of the household by Mrs. Chatterton's loud screams, and quite beside himself, he clambered up the stairs to get in every one's way.

Mrs. Chatterton, with an aimless thrust of her long jeweled hands, pushed him one side. And d.i.c.k boiled over at that.

"What are you here for?" he cried savagely. "You don't love her. You would better get out of the way." And no one thought to reprove him.

Polly was clinging to the post at the foot of the stairs. "I shall die if Phronsie is dead," she said. Then she looked at Mother Fisher, waiting for her baby.

"Give her to me!" said Phronsie's mother, holding out imperative arms.

"You would better let us carry her; well put her in your bed. Only get the doctor." Mr. King was almost harsh as he endeavored to pa.s.s her.

But before the words were over his lips, the mother held her baby.

"Mamsie," cried Polly, creeping over to her like a hurt little thing, "I don't believe but that she'll be all right. G.o.d won't let anything happen to our Phronsie. He couldn't, Mamsie."

Dr. Fisher met them at the door. Polly never forgot the long, slow terror that clutched at her heart as she scanned his face while he took the child out of the arms that now yielded up their burden. And everything turned dark before her eyes--Was Phronsie dead?

But there was Mamsie. And Polly caught her breath, beat back the faintness, and helped to lay Phronsie on the big bed.

"Clearly I have had nothing to do with it," said Mrs. Chatterton to herself, stumbling into a room at the other end of the hall. But her face was gray, and she found herself picking nervously at the folds of lace at her throat. "The child went up there, as all children will, to explore. I shall say nothing about it--nothing whatever. Oh! how is she?" grasping blindly at Jasper as he rushed by the door.

"Still unconscious"--

"Stuff and--oh! well," muttering on. "She'll probably come to. Children can bear a little confinement; an hour or two doesn't matter with them--Hortense!" aloud, "bring me my sal volatile. Dear me! this is telling on my nerves." She caught sight of her face in the long mirror opposite, and s.h.i.+vered to see how ghastly it was. "Where is the girl?

Hortense, I say, come here this instant!"

A maid, summoned by her cries, put her head in the door. "Hadn't you better go into your own room, Mrs. Chatterton?" she said, in pity at the shaking figure and blanched face.

"No--no," she sharply repulsed her. "Bring Hortense--where is that girl?" she demanded pa.s.sionately.

"She's crying," said the maid, her own eyes filling with tears. "I'll help you to your room."

"Crying?" Madame Chatterton shrieked. "She's paid to take care of me; what right has she to think of anything else?"

"She says she was cross to Phronsie once--though I don't see how she could be, and--and--now that she's going to die, she"--and the maid burst into tears and threw her ap.r.o.n over her face.

"Die--she shan't! What utter nonsense everybody does talk in this house!" Madame Chatterton seized her arm, the slender fingers tightening around the young muscles, and shook her fiercely.

The maid roused by her pain out of her tears looked in affright into the gray face above her. "Let me go," she cried. "Oh! madame, you hurt me."

"Give me air," said Madame Chatterton, her fingers relaxing, and making a great effort not to fall. "Help me over to the window, and open it, girl"--and leaning heavily on the slight figure, she managed to get across the room.

"There--now," drawing a heavy breath as she sank into a chair and thrust her ashen face out over the sill, "do you go and find out how the child is. And come back and tell me at once."

"Madame, I'm afraid to leave you alone," said the girl, looking at her.

"Afraid? I'm not so old but that I can take care of myself," said Mrs.

Chatterton with a short laugh. "Go and do as I tell you," stamping her foot.

"Still unconscious"--

Would no one ever come near her but this detestable maid, with her still more detestable news? Mrs. Chatterton clutched the window casing in her extremity, not feeling the soft springy air as she gasped for breath. The maid, too frightened to leave her, crept into a corner where she watched and cried softly.

There was a stir in the household that they might have heard, betokening the arrival of two other doctors, but no word came. And darkness settled upon the room. Still the figure in the window niche held to its support, and still the maid cried at her post.

As the gray of the twilight settled over the old stone mansion, Phronsie moved on her pillow.

"Dear mouse,"--the circle of watchers around the bed moved closer,--"I'll go away when some one comes to open the door."

"Hus.h.!.+" Dr. Fisher put his hand over the mother's lips.

"Don't please bite me very hard. I won't come up again to your house.

Oh! where's Grandpapa?"

Old Mr. King put his head on his hands, and sobbed aloud.

The little white face moved uneasily.

"Grandpapa always comes when I want him," in piteous tones.

"Father," said Jasper, laying a hand on the bowed shoulders, "you would better come out. We'll call you when she comes to herself."

But Mr. King gave no sign of hearing.

A half-hour ticked slowly away, and Phronsie spoke again. "It's growing dark, and I suppose they will never come. Dear mouse"--the words died away and she seemed to sleep.

"I shall not tell," Mrs. Chatterton was saying to herself in the other room; "what good could it do? Oh! this vile air is stifling. Will no one come to say she is better?" And so the night wore on.

As morning broke, Phronsie opened her eyes, and gave a weak little cry.

Polly sprang from her knees at the foot of the bed, and staggered toward the child.

"Don't!" cried Jasper, with a hand on her arm.

"Let her alone," said Dr. Fisher quickly.

"Oh, Polly!" Phronsie raised herself convulsively on the bed. "You did come--you did!" winding her little arms around Polly's neck. "Has the mouse gone?"

"Yes, yes," said Polly as convulsively; "he's all gone, Phronsie, and I have you fast; just see. And I'll never let you go again."