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Fiction, Story, children, tales, family, The Little White Chicken, The Princess Esmeralda's Ball
THE LITTLE WHITE CHICKEN.
"You see," said Polly, "the little white chicken was determined she would go into Susan's playhouse."
Phronsie sat in Mamsie's big calico-covered rocking-chair. The last tear had trailed off the round cheek since Polly had come home and was by her side, holding her hand. The pounded toes were thrust out before her, tied up in an old cloth, and waiting for the wormwood which was steeping on the fire. Grandma Bascom, protesting that soon Phronsie wouldn't know that she had any toes, sank into a chair and beamed at her. "You pretty creeter, you," she cried, her cap-border bobbing heartily.
"I wish she wouldn't talk," grunted Joel, burrowing on the floor, his head in Polly's lap, where her soft fingers could smooth his stubby black hair.
"'Sh!" said Polly, with a warning pinch.
"Go on," begged Davie, hanging over her chair, intent as Phronsie on the fate of the white chicken; "did she go in, Polly; did she?"
Phronsie sat still, her eyes on Polly's face, her fat little hands clasped in her lap, while she held her breath for the answer.
"Dear me, yes," cried Polly quickly; "she stretched her neck like this," suiting the action to the word, for Polly always acted out, as much as she could, all her stories, particularly on emergencies like the present one, "and peered around the corner. Susan wasn't there, for she was up at the house sitting on a stool and sewing patchwork. But there was a black object over in the corner, and" --
"Oh, you pretty creeter, you!" exclaimed Grandma suddenly, at Phronsie, on whom she had gazed unceasingly, "so you did pound your toes -- there -- there -- you pretty creeter!"
"Ugh -- ugh! make her stop," howled Joel, twitching up his head from its soft nest. "Oh, dear, we can't hear anything. Stop her, Polly, do."
"Joel," said Polly, "hush this minute; just think how good she's been, and the raisins. O Joey!"
"They are dreadful hard," grumbled Joel; but he slipped his head back on Polly's lap, wishing her fingers would smooth his hair again. But they didn't; so he burrowed deeper, and tried not to cry. Meanwhile Phronsie, with a troubled expression settling over her face at this condition of things, made as though she would slip from the old chair. "Take me, Polly," she begged, holding out her arms.
"Oh, no, you mustn't, you pretty creeter," declared Grandma, getting out of her chair to waddle over to the scene, her cap-border trembling violently, "you'll hurt your toes. You must set where you be till you get the wormwood on." And Davie running over to put his arms around Phronsie and beg her to keep still, the little old kitchen soon became in great confusion till it seemed as if the white chicken must be left for all time, peering in at Susan's playhouse and the black object in the corner.
"Oh, dear me!" cried Polly at her wit's end; "now you see, Joey. Whatever shall I do?"
"Take me, Polly," implored Phronsie, leaning out of the big chair at the imminent danger of falling on her nose, and two tears raced over her round cheeks. At sight of these, Polly suddenly lifted her out and over to her lap, Joel deserting that post in a trice, and wishing he was Phronsie so that he could cry and be comforted.
CONTENTS
The Little White Chicken
The Princess Esmeralda's Ball
The Story of the Circus
The Little Tin Soldiers
Christmas at the Big House
Mr. Father Kangaroo and the Fat Little Bird
The Mince-pie Boy and the Beasts
The Cunning Little Duck
The Old Tea-kettle
The Pink and White Sticks
The Old Stage-coach
Mr. Nutcracker; the Story that wasn't a Story
Mr. Nutcracker
The Runaway Pumpkin
The Robbers and their Bags
Polly Pepper's Chicken-pie
Phronsie Pepper's New Shoes
The Old Gray Goose
The Green Umbrella
The Green Umbrella and the Queer Little Man
The Little Snow-house
Lucy Ann's Garden
The China Mug
Brown Betty
The Silly Little Brook
Down in the Orchard
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