“Phooh!” said Joel a few mornings after the emptying of the little brown house into the big one, when he and Van were rehearsing for the fiftieth time all the points of the eventful night, “phooh! if I'd been here they wouldn't have got away, I guess!”  
“What would you have done?” asked Van, bristling up at this reflection on their courage, and squaring up to him. “What would you have done, Joel Pepper?”
 
“I'd a-pitched right into 'em—like—everything!” said Joel valiantly; “and a-caught 'em! Yes, every single one of the Bunglers!”
 
“The what?” said Van, bursting into a loud laugh.
 
“The Bunglers,” said Joel with a red face. “That's what you said they were, anyway,” he added positively.
 
“I said Burglars,” said Van, doubling up with amusement, while Joel stood, a little sturdy figure, regarding him with anything but a sweet countenance.
 
“Well anyway, I'd a-caught 'em, so there!” he said, as Van at last showed signs of coming out of his fit of laughter, and got up and wiped his eyes.
 
“How'd you have caught 'em?” asked Van, scornfully surveying the square little country figure before him. “You can't hit any.
 
“Can't?” said Joel, the black eyes flashing volumes, and coming up in front of Van. “You better believe I can, Van Whitney!”
 
“Come out in the back yard and try then,” said Van hospitably, perfectly delighted at the prospect, and flying alone towards the door. “Come right out and try.”
 
“All right!” said Joel, following sturdily, equally delighted to show his skill.
 
“There,” said Van, taking off his jacket, and flinging it on the grass, while Joel immediately followed suit with his little homespun one. “Now we can begin perfectly splendid! I won't hit hard,” he added patronizingly, as both boys stood ready.
 
“Hit as hard as you've a-mind to,” said Joel, “I'm a-going to.”
 
“Oh, you may,” said Van politely, “because you're company. All right—now!”
 
So at it they went. Before very many minutes were over, Van relinquished all ideas of treating his company with extra consideration, and was only thinking how he could possibly hold his own with the valiant little country lad. Oh, if he could only be called to his lessons—anything that would summon him into the house! Just then a window above their heads was suddenly thrown up, and his mamma's voice in natural surprise and distress called quickly: “Children what are you doing? Oh, Van, how could you!”
 
Both contestants turned around suddenly. Joel looked up steadily. “We're a-hitting, ma'am; he said I couldn't, and so we came out and—”
 
“Oh, Vanny,” said Mrs. Whitney reproachfully, “to treat a little guest in this way!”
 
“I wanted to,” said Joel cheerfully; “twas great fun. Let's begin again, Van!”
 
“We mustn't,” said Van, readily giving up the charming prospect, and beginning to edge quickly towards the house. “Mamma wouldn't like it you know. He hits splendidly, mamma,” he added generously, looking up. “He does really.”
 
“And so does Van,” cried Joel, his face glowing at the praise. “We'll come out every day,” he added slipping into his jacket, and turning enthusiastically back to Van.
 
“And perhaps he could have pitched into the Burglars,” finished Van, ignoring the invitation, and tumbling into his jacket with alarming speed.
 
“I know I could!” cried Joel, scampering after him into the house. “If I'd only a-been here!”
 
“Where's Ben?” said Van, bounding into the hall, and flinging himself down on one of the chairs. “Oh dear, I'm so hot! Say, Joe, where do you s'pose Ben is?”
 
“I don't know,” replied Joel, who didn't even puff.
 
“I saw him a little while ago with master Percy,” said Jane, who was going through the hall.
 
“There now! and they've gone off somewhere,” cried Van in extreme irritation, and starting up quickly. “I know they have. Which way did they go, Jane? And how long ago?”
 
“Oh, I don't know,” replied Jane carelessly, “half an hour maybe; and they didn't go nowhere as I see, at least they were talking at the door, and I was going up-stairs.”
 
“Right here?” cried Van, and stamping with his foot to point out the exact place; “at this door, Jane?”
 
“Yes, yes,” said Jane; “at that very door,” and then she went into the dining-room to her work.
 
“Oh dear me!” cried Van, and flying out on the veranda, he began to peer wildly up and down the drive. “And they've gone to some splendid place, I know, and wouldn't tell us. That's just like Percy!” he added vindictively, “he's always stealing away! don't you see 'em, Joel? oh, do come out and look!”
 
“'Tisn't any use,” said Joel coolly, sitting down on the chair Van had just vacated, and swinging his feet comfortably; “they're miles away if they've been gone half an hour. I'm goin' up-stairs,” and he sprang up, and energetically pranced to the stairs.
 
“They aren't up-stairs!” screamed Van, in scorn, bounding into the hall. “Don't go; I know that they've gone down to the museum!”
 
“The what?” exclaimed Joel, nearly at the top, peering over the railing. “What's that you said—what is it?”
 
“A museum,” shouted Van, “and it's a perfectly elegant place, Joel Pepper, and Percy knows I like to go; and now he's taken Ben off; and he'll show him all the things! and they'll all be old when I take him—and—and—oh! I hope the snakes will bite him!” he added, trying to think of something bad enough.
 
“Do they have snakes there?” asked Joel, staring.
 
“Yes, they do,” snapped out Van. “They have everything!”
 
“Well, they shan't bite Ben!” cried Joel in terror. “Oh! do you suppose they will?” and he turned right straight around on the stairs, and looked at Van.
 
“No,” said Van, “they won't bite—what's the matter, Joe?”
 
“Oh, they may,” said Joel, his face working, and screwing both fists into his eyes; at last he burst right out into a torrent of sobs. “Oh, don't let 'em Van—don't!”
 
“Why, they can't,” said Van in an emphatic voice, running up the stairs to Joel's side, frightened to death at his tears.
 
Then he began to shake his jacket sleeve violently to bring him back to reason, “Wait Joe! oh, do stop! oh, dear, what shall I do! I tell you, they can't bite,” he screamed as loud as he could into his ear.
 
“You said—you—hoped—they—would,” said Joel's voice in smothered tones.
 
“Well, they won't anyway,” said Van decidedly. “Cause they're all stuffed—so there now!”
 
“Ain't they alive—nor anythin'?” asked Joel, bringing one black eye into sight from behind his chubby hands.
 
“No,” said Van, “they're just as dead as anything, Joel Pepper—been dead years! and there's old crabs there too, old dead crabs—and they're just lovely! Oh, such a lots of eggs as they've got! And there are shells and bugs and stones—and an awful old crocodile, and—” “Oh, dear!” sighed Joel, perfectly overcome at such a vision, and sitting down on the stairs to think. “Well, mamsie'll know where Ben is,” he said, springing up. “And then I tell you Van, we'll just tag 'em!”
 
“So she will,” cried Van. “Why didn't we think of that before? I wanted to think.”
 
“I did,” said Joel. “That was where I was goin'.”
 
Without any more ado they rushed into Mrs. Pepper's big, sunny room, there to see, seated at the square table between the two large windows, the two lost ones bending over what seemed to be an object of the greatest importance, for Polly was hanging over Ben's shoulder with intense pride and delight, which she couldn't possibly conceal, and Davie was crowded as near as he could get to Percy's elbow.
 
Phronsie and little Dick were perched comfortably on the corner of the table, surveying the whole scene in quiet rapture; and Mrs. Pepper with her big mending basket, was ensconced over by the deep window seat just on the other side of the room, underneath Cherry's cage, and looking up between quick energetic stitches, over at the busy group, with the most placid expression on her face.
 
“Oh!—what you doin'?” cried Joel, flying up to them. “Let us see, do Ben!”
 
“What is it?” exclaimed Van, squeezing in between Percy and Ben.
 
“Don't—” began Percy. “There, see, you've knocked his elbow and spoilt it!”
 
“Oh no, he hasn't,” said Ben, putting down his pencil, and taking up a piece of rubber. “There, see it all comes out—as good as ever.”
 
“Isn't it just elegant?” said Percy in the most pleased tone, and wriggling his toes under the table to express his satisfaction.
 
“Yes,” said Van, craning his neck to get a better view of the picture, now nearly completed, “It's perfectly splendid. How'd you do it, Ben?”
 
“I don't know,” replied Ben with a smile, carefully shading in a few last touches. “It just drew itself.”
 
“Tisn't anything to what he can do,” said Polly, standing up as tall as she could, and beaming at Ben, “He used to draw most beautiful at home.”
 
“Better than this?” asked Van, with great respect and taking up the picture, after some demur on Percy's part, and examining it critically. “I don't believe it, Polly.”
 
“Phooh; he did!” exclaimed Joel, looking over his shoulder at a wonderful view of a dog in an extremely excited state of mind running down an interminable hill to bark at a locomotive and train of cars whizzing along a curve in the foreground. “Lots better'n that! Ben can do anything!” he added, in an utterly convincing way.
 
“Now give it back,” cried Percy, holding out his hand in alarm. “I'm going to ask mamma to have it framed; and then I'm going to hang it right over my bed,” he finished, as Van reluctantly gave up the treasure.
 
“Did you draw all the time in the little brown house?” asked Van, lost in thought. “How I wish I'd been there!”
 
“Dear, no!” cried Polly with a little skip, turning away to laugh. “He didn't have hardly any time, and—”
 
“Why not?” asked Percy.
 
“Cause there was things to do,” said Polly. “But sometimes when it rained, and he couldn't go out and work, and there wasn't anything to do in the house—then we'd have—oh!” and she drew a long breath at the memory, “such a time, you can't think!”
 
“Didn't you wish it would always rain?” asked Van, still gazing at the picture.
 
“Dear, no!” began Polly.
 
“I didn't,” broke in Joel, in horror. “I wouldn't a-had it rain for anything!—only once in a while,” he added, as he thought of the good times that Polly had spoken of.
 
“'Twas nice outdoors,” said little Davie, reflectively; “and nice inside, too.” And then he glanced over to his mother, who gave him a smile in return. “And 'twas nice always.”
 
“Well,” said Van, returning to the picture, “I do wish you'd tell me how to draw, Ben. I can't do anything but flowers,” he said in a discouraged way.
 
“Flowers aren't anything,” said Percy, pleasantly. “That's girls' work; but dogs and horses and cars—those are just good!”
 
“Will you, Ben?” asked Van, looking down into the big blue eyes, so kindly turned up to his.
 
“Yes, indeed I will,” cried Ben, “that is, all I know; 'tisn't much, but everything I can, I'll tell you.”
 
“Then I can learn, can't I?” cried Van joyfully.
 
“Oh, tell me too, Ben,” cried Percy, “will you? I want to learn too.”
 
“And me!” cried Dick, bending forward, nearly upsetting Phronsie as he did so. “Yes, say I may, Ben, do!”
 
“You're too little,” began Percy. But Ben nodded his head at Dick, which caused him to clap his hands and return to his original position, satisfied.
 
“Well, I guess we're going to, too,” said Joel. “Dave an' me; there isn't anybody goin' to learn without us.”
 
“Of course not,” said Polly, “Ben wouldn't leave you out, Joey.”
 
Phronsie sat quite still all this time, on the corner of the table, her feet tucked up under her, and her hands clasped in her lap, and never said a word. But Ben looking up, saw the most grieved expression settling on her face, as the large eyes were fixed in wonder on the faces before her.
 
“And there's my pet,” he cried in enthusiasm, and reaching over the table, he caught hold of one of the little fat hands. “Why we couldn't think of getting along without her! She shall learn to draw—she shall!”
 
“Really, Bensie?” said Phronsie, the sunlight breaking all over the gloomy little visage, and setting the brown eyes to dancing. “Real, true, splendid pictures?”
 
“Yes, the splendidest,” said Ben, “the very splendidest pictures, Phronsie Pepper, you ever saw!”
 
“Oh!” cried Phronsie; and before any one knew what she was about, she tripped right into the middle of the table, over the papers and everything, and gave a happy little whirl!
 
“Dear me, Phronsie!” cried Polly catching her up and hugging her; “you mustn't dance on the table.”
 
“I'm going to learn,” said Phronsie, coming out of Polly's embrace, “to draw whole pictures, all alone by myself—Ben said so!”
 
“I know it,” said Polly, “and then you shall draw one for mamsie—you shall!”
 
“I will,” said Phronsie, dreadfully excited; “I'll draw her a cow, and two chickens, Polly, just like Grandma Bascom's!”
 
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