But as Joel was smitten down suddenly, so he came up quickly, and his hearty nature asserted itself by rapid strides toward returning health; and one morning he astonished them all by turning over suddenly and exclaiming:  
“I want something to eat!”
 
“Bless the Lord!” cried Mrs. Pepper, “now he's going to live!”
 
“But he mustn't eat,” protested Mrs. Beebe, in great alarm, trotting for the cup of gruel. “Here, you pretty creeter you, here's something nice.” And she temptingly held the spoon over Joel's mouth; but with a grimace he turned away.
 
“Oh, I want something to eat! some gingerbread or some bread and butter.”
 
“Dear me!” ejaculated Mrs. Beebe. “Gingerbread!” Poor Mrs. Pepper saw the hardest part of her trouble now before her, as she realized that the returning appetite must be fed only on strengthening food; for where it was to come from she couldn't tell.
 
“The Lord only knows where we'll get it,” she groaned within herself.
 
Yes, He knew. A rap at the door, and little David ran down to find the cause.
 
“Oh, mammy,” he said, “Mrs. Henderson sent it—see! see!” And in the greatest excitement he placed in her lap a basket that smelt savory and nice even before it was opened. When it was opened, there lay a little bird delicately roasted, and folded in a clean napkin; also a glass of jelly, crimson and clear.
 
“Oh, Joey,” cried Mrs. Pepper, almost overwhelmed with joy, “see what Mrs. Henderson sent you! now you can eat fit for a king!”
 
That little bird certainly performed its mission in life; for as Mrs. Beebe said, “It just touched the spot!” and from that very moment Joel improved so rapidly they could hardly believe their eyes.
 
“Hoh! I haven't been sick!” he cried on the third day, true to his nature. “Mammy, I want to get up.”
 
“Oh, dear, no! you mustn't, Joel,” cried Mrs. Pepper in a fright, running up to him as he was preparing to give the bedclothes a lusty kick; “you'll send 'em in.”
 
“Send what in?” asked Joel, looking up at his mother in terror, as the dreadful thought made him pause.
 
“Why, the measles, Joey; they'll all go in if you get out.”
 
“How they goin' to get in again, I'd like to know?” asked Joel, looking at the little red spots on his hands in incredulity; say, ma!
 
“Well, they will,” said his mother, “as you'll find to your sorrow if you get out of bed.”
 
“Oh, dear,” said Joel, beginning to whimper, as he drew into bed again, “when can I get up, mammy!”
 
“Oh, in a day or two,” responded Mrs. Pepper, cheerfully; “you're getting on so finely you'll be as smart as a cricket! Shouldn't you say he might get up in a day or two, Mrs. Beebe?” she appealed to that individual who was knitting away cheerily in the corner.
 
“Well, if he keeps on as he's begun, I shouldn't know what to think,” replied Mrs. Beebe. “It beats all how quick he's picked up. I never see anything like it, I'm sure!”
 
And as Mrs. Beebe was a great authority in sickness, the old, sunny cheeriness began to creep into the brown house once more, and to bubble over as of yore.
 
“Seems as if 'twas just good to live,” said Mrs. Pepper, thankfully once, when her thoughts were too much for her. “I don't believe I shall ever care how poor we are,” she continued, “as long as we're together.”
 
“And that's just what the Lord meant, maybe,” replied good Mrs. Beebe, who was preparing to go home.
 
Joel kept the house in a perfect uproar all through his getting well. Mrs. Pepper observed one day, when he had been more turbulent than usual, that she was “almost worn to a thread.”
 
“Twasn't anything to take care of you, Joe,” she added, “when you were real sick, because then I knew where you were; but—well, you won't ever have the measles again, I s'pose, and that's some comfort!”
 
Little David, who had been nearly stunned by the sickness that had laid aside his almost constant companion, could express his satisfaction and joy in no other way than by running every third minute and begging to do something for him. And Joel, who loved dearly to be waited on, improved every opportunity that offered; which Mrs. Pepper observing, soon put a stop to.
 
“You'll run his legs off, Joel,” at last she said, when he sent David the third time down to the wood-pile for a stick of just the exact thickness, and which the little messenger declared wasn't to be found. “Haven't you any mercy? You've kept him going all day, too,” she added, glancing at David's pale face.
 
“Oh, mammy,” panted David, “don't; I love to go. Here Joe, is the best I could find,” handing him a nice smooth stick.
 
“I know you do,” said his mother; “but Joe's getting better now, and he must learn to spare you.”
 
“I don't want to spare folks,” grumbled Joel, whittling away with energy; “I've been sick—real sick,” he added, lifting his chubby face to his mother to impress the fact.
 
“I know you have,” she cried, running to kiss her boy; “but now, Joe, you're most well. To-morrow I'm going to let you go down-stairs; what do you think of that!”
 
“Hooray!” screamed Joel, throwing away the stick and clapping his hands, forgetting all about his serious illness, “that'll be prime!”
 
“Aren't you too sick to go, Joey?” asked Mrs. Pepper, mischievously.
 
“No, I'm not sick,” cried Joel, in the greatest alarm, fearful his mother meant to take back the promise; “I've never been sick. Oh, mammy! you know you'll let me go, won't your?”
 
“I guess so,” laughed his mother.
 
“Come on, Phron,” cried Joel, giving her a whirl.
 
David, who was too tired for active sport, sat on the floor and watched them frolic in great delight.
 
“Mammy,” said he, edging up to her side as the sport went on, “do you know, I think it's just good—it's—oh, it's so frisky since Joe got well, isn't it, mammy?”
 
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Pepper, giving him a radiant look in return for his; “and when Polly's around again with her two eyes all right—well, I don't know what we shall do, I declare!”
 
“Boo!” cried a voice, next morning, close to Polly's elbow, unmistakably Joel's.
 
“Oh, Joel Pepper!” she cried, whirling around, “is that really you!”
 
“Yes,” cried that individual, confidently, “it's I; oh, I say, Polly, I've had fun up-stairs, I tell you what!”
 
“Poor boy!” said Polly, compassionately.
 
“I wasn't a poor boy,” cried Joel, indignantly; “I had splendid things to eat; oh, my!” and he closed one eye and smacked his lips in the delightful memory.
 
“I know it,” said Polly, “and I'm so glad, Joel.”
 
“I don't suppose I'll ever get so many again,” observed Joel, reflectively, after a minute's pause, as one and another of the wondrous delicacies rose before his mind's eye; “not unless I have the measles again—say, Polly, can't I have 'em again?”
 
“Mercy, no!” cried Polly, in intense alarm, “I hope not.”
 
“Well, I don't,” said Joel, “I wish I could have 'em sixty—no—two hundred times, so there!”
 
“Well, mammy couldn't take care of you,” said Ben; “you don't know what you're sayin', Joe.”
 
“Well, then, I wish I could have the things without the measles,” said Joel, willing to accommodate; “only folks won't send 'em,” he added, in an injured tone.
 
“Polly's had the hardest time of all,” said her mother, affectionately patting the bandage.
 
“I think so too,” put in Ben; “if my eyes were hurt I'd give up.”
 
“So would I,” said David; and Joel, to be in the fashion, cried also, “I know I would;” while little Phronsie squeezed up to Polly's side, “And I, too.”
 
“Would what, Puss?” asked Ben, tossing her up high. “Have good things,” cried the child, in delight at understanding the others, “I would really, Ben,” she cried, gravely, when they all screamed.
 
“Well, I hope so,” said Ben, tossing her higher yet. “Don't laugh at her, boys,” put in Polly; “we're all going to have good times now, Phronsie, now we've got well.”
 
“Yes,” laughed the child from her high perch; “we ar............