“DAVIE must go over and sit with Grandma Bascom,” said Mrs. Pepper slowly. She looked worried
as she glanced up from her sewing by the window; then she smiled brightly over to him.
“Oh, Mamsie,” began Polly in dismay.
Davie laid down his slate1 carefully on the table, and ran over to Mother Pepper’s chair.
“You see, Davie,” said Mrs. Pepper, snipping2 off a little thread hanging from the sleeve to the coat
she was trying to finish, “no one else can be spared, and Grandma mustn’t be left alone, now that she
is sick.”
Polly took two or three quick little stitches in the other sleeve, then she threw down the needle. “But
Davie was going to help Mr. Atkins, you know, Mamsie,” she cried.
“Mr. Atkins told Davie he was only to come when not wanted for anything else, you know,” said
Mrs. Pepper, not pausing in her work.
“But, Mamsie,” began Polly again, at sight of Davie’s face.
“No, no, Polly,” said Mother Pepper firmly. “Davie must go to Grandma Bascom. And hurry now,
child, for work as we may, it will be much as ever we finish the coat in time.” She said no more to
Davie, who stood silently by her chair, and the kitchen became very quiet except for the ticking of the
old clock on the shelf.
“I’ll—I’ll go—Mamsie,” said Davie, swallowing hard.
“That’s Mother’s boy,” said Mrs. Pepper, beaming at him.
Davie wanted dreadfully to take his precious red-bordered slate along so that he could practise his
writing, but since no one said anything about it, he didn’t like to ask. So he took it off from the table,
and going over to the shelf, he stood up on his tiptoes and deposited it behind the old clock. Then he
went out and down the lane to Grandma Bascom’s.
Polly looked up a few minutes after and saw that the table was bare. “Well, I’m glad, anyway,” she
said, as she stopped to bite off a thread, “that Davie took his slate. Now he can practise on his
writing.”
“Don’t do that, Polly,” said Mother Pepper reprovingly; “never bite your thread. It’s bad for the teeth,
child.”
“My teeth are awfully3 strong, Mamsie,” laughed Polly, snapping her two rows of little white ones
together.
“You never can tell how strong teeth are if they are used to bite threads,” said her mother; “so be sure
you never do it, Polly.”
“I won’t,” promised Polly, stitching merrily away again; “only it’s so hard to remember. I bite off
threads before I think, Mamsie.”
“That’s about the poorest excuse a body can give,—‘don’t think,’” remarked Mrs. Pepper. “Well,
child, you sew better every day.”
“Do I, Mamsie?” cried Polly, a warm little thrill running up and down her whole body, and the color
crept into her cheek; “do I, really?”
“You do indeed,” declared Mrs. Pepper, “and such a help as you are to me!”
“Some day,” said Polly, sitting very straight and sewing away for dear life, “I’m going to do every
single bit of all the coats, Mamsie.”
“And what should I do then?” asked Mrs. Pepper with a laugh.
“You would sit right there in your chair,” said Polly, “but you shouldn’t take a single stitch—not
even the smallest, teentiest stitch.”
“O dear me!” exclaimed Mother Pepper, as her needle flew in and out.
“Because I’m going to do ’em all, every bit of every coat,” declared Polly positively4, and bobbing her
brown head.
“Work isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a body,” observed Mrs. Pepper. “But to sit in a chair
with nothing to do—oh, Polly!”
Her look of dismay as she said, “Oh, Polly!” was so funny that Polly burst out laughing, and Mamsie
laughed, too, till the old kitchen became cheery at once, and the sun breaking out suddenly two bright
little spots danced out on the floor to have fun by themselves.
Davie hurried down the lane to Grandma’s and turned into the small patch before the kitchen door.
The hens had found an old beef-bone and were making an awful noise fighting bill and claw for its
possession.
Davie hurried on over the sill into the bedroom. There was Grandma in bed, the gay patched bedquilt
drawn5 up nearly to the big frill of her cap, showing eyes that were not in the least expressive6 of
comfort. When she saw Davie, she pushed off the coverlet. “O my Land!” she said. “Grandma’s glad
to see you!”
By the side of the bed, sitting stiffly on the edge of a cane-bottom chair, sat the parson’s elder son.
“My mother told me to ask how she is,” he said.
Grandma beckoned7 to Davie, and patting the coverlet, he climbed up. “He’s ben a-settin’ there an’ a-
settin’ there by the bed,” she said.
“My mother told me to ask how she is,” came from Peletiah in his chair, “and she won’t tell me. My
mother told me—” he began again.
“He won’t go home,” said Grandma, drawing Davie’s ear close to her mouth. “O dear me! an’ he’s
th’ parson’s son.”
“My mother told me—” began Peletiah once more.
Just then there was an awful cackle and clatter8 out in the kitchen. The beef-bone fight concluded,
every scrap9 of a mouthful being gobbled up, the hens had come tumbling in over the sill all together
to see what could be found, now that Grandma was sick in bed and couldn’t drive them out.
Davie told Grandma this. He had to say it over several times, his mouth under her cap-frill.
“My sakes!” she exclaimed, “you take th’ broom an’ shoo ’em out o’ the kitchen, Davie, an’ shet th’
door tight after ’em.”
So Davie slipped down from the bed, glad enough to have something to do.
“My mother told me—” began Peletiah.
“An’ you go with him an’ help drive out them pesky hens,” cried Grandma, rolling over in bed to
look at him. “An’ I’m well enough, so you needn’t come again, you tell your Ma.”
Peletiah never waited to hear more than the last sentence that told him what he had come to find out.
He got off from his chair in great satisfaction and went out into the little kitchen where Davie was
waving the broom over the wild fluttering tangle10 of hens, all squawking together, as he tried to drive
them out of doors.
“O dear! one’s running into the bedroom. Keep her out, Peletiah—hurry!” cried Davie in great
distress11.
But Peletiah, never having hurried in his life, couldn’t understand why he should do so now. So the
hen had plenty of time to run around him and fluffed and squawked her way into the bedroom, where
she ducked under Grandma’s big four-poster.
“She’s gone under Grandma’s bed,” announced Peletiah, coming up to where Davie, leaning under
the big table, had seized one hen by the leg, and was wildly trying to catch another. At last he had
her,—but she turned and gave him a vicious little peck on his hand as he backed out holding on for
dear life to them both.
“There’s a hen gone under Grandma’s bed,” said Peletiah again.
“O dear—dear!” exclaimed Davie, trying to hold fast to the two struggling biddies.
But they flapped so violently that one got away, and thinking that where another Mrs. Biddy went, it
was easy to follow, this one ran around Peletiah’s slow legs, and there they were, two of them, under
Grandma’s big four-poster.
Davie shut the door on his vanquished12 fowl13, and turned his hot tired face to the parson’s son.
“We must get them out.”
“We can’t,” said Peletiah. He might be slow, but he knew when it was impossible to accomplish a
thing. “You can’t get hens out from under a bed,” he said positively.
“We must,” said Davie in great distress—but just as decidedly.
“And she can’t hear ’em,” said Peletiah.
“But they can’t stay there,” persisted David. “You stand one side of the bed, and I’ll stand the other
with the broom, and drive ’em out.” And he ran and laid hold of the broom again.
“I want the broom,” said Peletiah, reaching a hand for it.
“Grandma told me to drive out the hens.”
“Well, she didn’t say with the broom.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Davie eagerly, “she said, ‘Take the broom and shoo ’em out.’”
“She said out of the kitchen—she didn’t say bedroom,” declared Peletiah, who was nothing if not
exact.
“So she did,” said Davie, giving up the broom with a sigh. “Well, you drive ’em away from your
side, but I must tell Grandma first.”
So he climbed up on the bed again and put his mouth close to the big cap-frill, and told what was
going to be done.
“Land alive! what’s come to your thumb,” cried Grandma in great consternation14.
David looked down at his small thumb. The blood had run down and stiffened15 into a small patch of
red where Mrs. Biddy had nipped it. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said, trying to stick his thumb away from
the eyes under the cap-frill.
“Now to think that you sh’d ’a’ come over to take care of me, an’ got hurt,” moaned Grandma. “O
me—O my! what will your Ma say! Well, you must have some opedildoc on, right away. Run out an’
go to the cupboard, an’ you’ll find a bottle on th’ upper shelf. I put it there to be handy, ef any one
gets hurt. My son John mos’ had his leg took off one day when he was mowin’ in th’ south medder
an’ they come a-runnin’ for me.”
Grandma didn’t think to tell that the same bottle couldn’t be found on that occasion, but she had
always been under the impression that it had saved son John’s life.
“Can’t we drive out the hens first?” asked Davie, slipping off from the bed.
“Mercy no—th’ hens can wait—they’re comf’table under th’ bed. You run an’ get that bottle.”
So Davie ran out into the kitchen while Peletiah, leaning on the broom, waited by the side of the bed.
“You’ll have to git up on a chair,” called Grandma from the bed, “it’s on th’ upper shelf.”
So David pulled up a chair and climbed up on it. But even on his tiptoes he couldn’t reach, although
he tried and tried until his face got very red.
“I can reach with a box—there’s one,” he said. And jumping down he ran over to the corner, and
emptied out a few apples and deposited the box on the chair.
“Maybe it’s back of th’ teapot,” said Grandma. “I remember now that teapot got cracked, and I put it
up there. Look behind it, Davie.”
So Davie looked behind it, holding on to the edge of the shelf with one hand, and feeling around with
the other. But no bottle was in sight. There were some papers of herbs, and, as they got stirred about,
the little fine particles coming out of various holes made him sneeze.
“You’re ketchin’ cold,” said Grandma, who was getting dreadfully nervous. “Mercy me! what will
your ma say ef you got sick over here, an’ she’s had sech trouble with th’ measles16. O dear—deary
me!”
David by this time was in great distress at not being able to find what he was sent for. And to think of
Grandma sick and worried—that was the worst of it—so he worked on.
“I remember now—it’s come to me—’twa’n’t on that upper shelf at all,” said Grandma. “I took it
down one day, ’cause thinks I ’twon’t be so easy for me with my rheumatics to stretch clear up there,
an’ I put it on the one underneath17.”
“I’m glad it’s on the one underneath,” said Davie, joyfully18. So he got down from his heights, and put
the box in the corner and the apples back in it again. Then he hopped19 up on the chair and peered all
along the bottles and various things cluttered20 up on the shelf.
“Is it a very big bottle?” he asked, his blue eyes roving anxiously over the array.
“O my land, no,” said Grandma; “’tain’t big, an’ it ain’t little. It’s jest a bottle.”
“Oh,” said Davie, trying to think what he ought to leave out in the search.
“You better bring me one or two that you think is it,” said Grandma at last.
So Davie picking off from the shelf some “jest bottles” hurried with them to Grandma’s bed.
“My sakes!” she said, not looking at them and lifting up her hands, “what a sight you be, Davie
Pepper!”
“You’re all dirt,” said Peletiah pleasantly.
“I didn’t s’pose I had any cobwebs in that cupboard,” said Grandma in a mortified21 voice. “An’ you’re
all a-runnin’ with sweat. Well, you’ve got to wipe your face—there’s a towel there on th’ bureau.”
“Here are the bottles,” said Davie. His eyes peered at her under his soft light hair where the herbs had
drifted down.
“Oh, yes, so they be,” said Grandma, taking them. “Well, ’tain’t th’ opedildoc—none of ’em ain’t.
You wash your face, Davie, first, an’ then you can look again. There won’t be no cobwebs on the
lower shelf.”
So Davie took the towel and ran out to the sink, and washed up. He shook his hair pretty well; but
some of the little green things stayed in the soft waves. Then he took the bottles away from the bed
where Grandma laid them, and brought away some more “jest bottles.”
But no opodeldoc appeared, and at last Grandma lay back on her pillows dreadfully disappointed.
“Can’t I look some other place?” begged Davie, climbing up on the bed to lay his mouth against her
ear.
“No mortal man would know where to tell you,” moaned Grandma.
“O dear!” exclaimed Davie, laying his hot little cheek against her wrinkled one. “There’s a bottle on
that little table.” He pointed22 over toward the big old bureau. “May I get it?”
“Yes, but it ain’t a mite23 o’ use,” said the old lady, hopelessly.
So Davie slid off from the bed once more, and went over to the small table by the side of the bureau
and brought the bottle and put it in Grandma’s hand.
“Land o’ Goshen, now it’s come to me! How glad I am I remember. I took that down from th’ shelf
th’ other day when I cut my finger peelin’ potatoes.”
“Is that the—what you said?” gasped24 Davie.
“Yes,—it’s th’ opedildoc.”
“Oh!” cried Davie, and his blue eyes shone, and he clasped his hands in bliss25. He didn’t have to go
home and tell Mamsie he couldn’t find Grandma’s things when she was sick and he had come to
help.
“Now you go to the lowest drawer in th’ bureau,” said Grandma, “and get a roll of old white cotton,
an’ I’ll tie up your thumb.”
David looked down at his thumb. He had forgotten all about it in the general turmoil26.
“It doesn’t hurt any,” he said, “and I washed the blood off.”
“That may be,” said Grandma, who wasn’t going to lose what she dearly loved to do: bind27 up any
wounds that presented themselves, “but a hurt is a hurt, and it’s got to be took care of. An’ there’s
some blood a-comin’ yet.”
A tiny drop or two making its appearance to her satisfaction, she made David sit up on the bed again.
And at last the little thumb was all bound up, and the cloth tied up with a bit of string she found in the
little table-drawer by her bed.
“An’ now you must go right straight home—an’ you tell your ma she don’t need to tetch that
bandage till to-morrow.”
“We haven’t driven out the hens,” said Peletiah, still standing28 by his broom.
“Hey?” said Grandma. “What does he say, Davie?”
“He says we haven’t driven out the hens. Oh, I forgot them, Grandma,” said Davie in a sorry little
voice. It was impossible to be more mortified than he was at this moment.
“Well, you can do it now,” said Grandma composedly; “it’s gittin’ late, and hens knows better’n most
folks when it’s along about time to go to bed. They’ll go easy—like enough.”
David lifted up the calico valance running around the bed, and Peletiah got down on his knees and
lifted up the part hanging down his side. There bunched up together were the two fat biddies. They
turned sleepy eyes on the two boys. And when Peletiah inserted the broom under the bed, they got
up, shook their feathers, and marched off to the kitchen, and so out of doors, much preferring to roost
respectably on a tree than under a feather bed.
点击
收听单词发音
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1
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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2
snipping
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| n.碎片v.剪( snip的现在分词 ) | |
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3
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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4
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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5
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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6
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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7
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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9
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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10
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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11
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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12
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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13
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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14
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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15
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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16
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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17
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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18
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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19
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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20
cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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21
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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22
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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23
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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24
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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25
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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26
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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27
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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28
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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