Ben Pepper Part 14

"Something is the matter!" cried Polly, hoa.r.s.ely. "Oh, Ben, I know there is!" She rushed up to him in the hall and seized his arm.

"Nonsense!" said Ben, but his cheek paled, and his blue eyes, usually so steady, didn't look at her. If Polly were frightened, something dreadful must have happened.

"There is, there is," repeated Polly, quite wildly, "for Aunty Whitney has gone to Grandpapa. And there's a telegram come,--and, oh, Ben, can it be Jasper?" With that Polly held so tightly to the st.u.r.dy arm she had grasped that at another time Ben would have cried, "Hands off, Polly!"

This time he didn't even feel it.

"Oh, no, Polly," was all he could say rea.s.suringly, yet his knees knocked together and everything for a moment seemed to swim before his eyes.

"I saw it myself. It was a telegram that Jane had," Polly was saying, between little sobs that cut Ben through and through like a knife. "And Christmas--" and she could get no farther.

"See here, Polly," Ben came to his senses enough to shake himself free, then he threw his arms around her and held her fast, "don't let us act like this until we know for sure. I'm going to find out" With that he rushed off, and Polly, too wild with distress to be left alone, stumbled after him down the hall, as he hurried to find Jane.

That individual was huddled down in a corner of the back hall which she fondly supposed cleverly concealed her, her ap.r.o.n up to her eyes, and mumbling something behind it to herself. Ben precipitated himself so suddenly upon her that there was no time for recovery of her composure.

She dashed down the ap.r.o.n to look up at him and also see Polly at his heels.

"O my!" she began, dreadfully frightened at the sight of the two she most dreaded to meet at this moment.

"You might as well tell us, Jane," said Ben, swallowing very hard, and he reached out and seized Polly's hand, "because we know some bad news came. Now, what is it?" If Polly had pinched his arm in her fright, it was nothing to the grip he now gave her fingers, without his knowing it, while she threw her arm around his neck and held on.

"O my gracious!" Jane shook with fright, but she saw no way out of it but to tell, so she added, twisting her ap.r.o.n-end into a ball, "Yes, it did come, O me, O my!"

"It is about Jasper," said Ben, quietly.

"How'd you know, Master Ben?" cried Jane, in astonishment, remembering how she had become possessed of the news which yet couldn't have travelled through the house.

"Never mind, what is it?" demanded Ben, sharply. "Be quick now, Jane; you might as well tell us first as last."

"O me!" cried Jane, deserting the ap.r.o.n-end to wring her hands desperately, "I wish I hadn't listened. Oh, I can't tell you, don't make me!"

"Jane," Ben leaned over her as well as he could for Polly hanging to him, "you've just _got_ to tell us, so you might as well be quick about it. Don't you see you're only making us feel worse?"

As Ben wasn't given to long speeches, Jane had time to look up in surprise at his face, and then she made up her mind to tell the whole story.

"If you must know--but don't let 'em blame me 'cause I told you," she burst out.

"You shan't be blamed," promised Ben. "Go on."

"Well, there's been a fire at the school, and Master Jasper's hurt, burned, I guess, and--"

"Ben!" a voice rang through the hall.

"O mercy me!" Jane bounded to her feet, seized her feather duster, which implement she had been wielding when the fatal telegram had been handed in, and scuttled down the back hall.

"Ben, Ben! Does any one know where he is?" It was Aunty Whitney, whose gentle voice was never heard on such a key, and she was actually running down the hall, her pretty face all streaked with tears. "Oh, Ben, there isn't a moment to lose. Father wants you to go with him to Jasper. I can't tell you what for."

"I know," said Ben, quietly, while Polly stuffed her fingers into her mouth to keep from screaming.

Mrs. Whitney didn't stop to express any surprise, but her face looked relieved that he had heard the news.

"And you must catch the next train," she hurried on, her voice breaking; "oh, Ben, you must."

"I'm ready," cried Ben. He gave Polly one kiss, then pulled her arms away from his neck.

"Your mother says you can go, and she is getting your things together."

"I'll--I'll help put them up," said Polly, blindly staggering off after him as he rushed down the hall.

"No, no, Polly," cried Mrs. Whitney, "your mother said you must stay with me,--and Polly, I need you so badly." She opened her arms and Polly ran into them, and though there wasn't very much comforting done, it was good to be together.

And Thomas whirled up to the door, and Mr. King and Ben and Mr. King's valet got into the carriage, into which portmanteaus were thrown, and away the horses sprang in a mad rush to make the train. And it was all done in such bewildering haste that the group in the hall scarcely knew or understood anything until the big front door shut with a clang, and they were alone. And nothing to tell of it all but that dreadful yellow telegram lying on Mr. King's writing-table just where it had been thrown.

"Fire at school dormitory early this morning. Your son Jasper hurt. Come at once.

"JACOB A. PRESBREY."

Polly never knew for long weeks afterward just how she got through that dreadful day, except that Joel and David had to be soothed, no one being able so well as herself to stop the howls of the former, who, on hearing the news, threw himself flat on the floor in a corner of Grandpapa's writing room, refusing all comfort. Little David crouched closely to him, and with never a word laid his head on his shoulder.

And afterward Polly found herself installed as Mrs. Whitney's little nurse, sitting upon the bed most of the time, and smoothing the soft, fair hair, as it lay on the pillow, with a trembling hand.

"You can't know what a comfort you are to me, Polly," every once in a while Mrs. Whitney would say, and reaching up a hand to feel for Polly's fingers.

"Am I?" said Polly, careful not to let the tears drop where they could be seen.

"Yes, indeed! And oh, Polly, I don't really believe that we ought to think the worst. G.o.d wouldn't let anything happen to our Jasper. He wouldn't, Polly." But Mrs. Whitney clutched the pillow, and turned her face into it and sobbed. And Polly smoothed her hair, and said not a word.

And all those terrible hours pa.s.sed away--how, no one could tell.

Outside they could hear Phronsie, who, of course, knew nothing of the blow that had fallen upon the household, gayly laughing and chattering away. She had been told that Grandpapa had gone away and that she must not go into his room; so she hadn't seen Joel and David. But Mother Fisher had hard work to keep the incessant calls for Polly from being sounded over the halls and stairs, and at last she took Phronsie into her room and closed the door.

"Now, Mother's baby," said Mrs. Fisher, seating herself on the wide haircloth sofa, and drawing Phronsie into her lap. How often had Jasper sat on this old sofa and told her his boyish confidences the same as her own children! She gave a groan at the thought of what might be happening now at that distant school.

"What is it, Mamsie?" asked Phronsie, in gentle surprise, and lifting a soft little hand to her mother's cheek.

"Oh, my pet," Mrs. Fisher drew Phronsie quickly to her breast, "you mustn't mind Mamsie."

"But you made a funny noise here, Mamsie," and Phronsie touched her mother's throat.

"Did I? Well, never mind, dear. Now I must tell you, you cannot have Polly to-day, Phronsie."

"But I want Polly," said Phronsie, regarding her mother with grave displeasure.

"Yes, I know, dear. But you cannot have her just to-day. Mother does not think it is best."

Phronsie's lip quivered and her brown eyes closed to squeeze the tears back. But despite all her efforts they would come, and two big ones rolled down her cheeks.

"And Mamsie will be very much disappointed in her little girl if she cries," went on Mrs. Fisher, "for Aunty Whitney needs Polly to-day. So Phronsie must be brave and let Polly stay with her."

"Is Aunty Whitney sick?" asked Phronsie, with sudden interest, her eyes flying open at once. For any one to be sick was to enlist her sympathy, and she at once gave up all thoughts of having Polly to herself.

"Yes, that is, she will be, I am afraid, if Polly does not stay with her," said Mother Fisher; "so you must be a good child, and not call for Polly."