Margaret Sidney

Five Little Peppers Grown Up Margaret Sidney

"Miss Pepper-Miss Pepper!" Polly turned quickly, it was such an anxious little cry. "What? Oh, Amy Loughead." Amy threw herself up against Polly's gown. "Oh, if I may," she began, flushing painfully. "You see my brother is coming to-morrow-I've a letter-so if you will let me." "Let you what?" cried Polly, with a little laugh; "go on, Amy, don't be afraid." "You see it is just this way," Amy twisted her fingers together, drew her breath hard, and rushed on nervously; "Jack-he's my brother, you know-promised me-I never told you-if I would only learn to play on the piano, he'd take me to Europe with him next time, and now he's coming to-morrow, and-and, oh! what shall I do?" Amy was far gone now, and she ended with a little howl of distress, that brought two or three of the "Salisbury girls" flying in with astonishment. "Go back," said Polly to them all, and they ran off as suddenly as they had popped in, to leave Amy and the music teacher alone. "Now, Amy," said Polly kindly, getting down on her knees beside the girl where she had thrown herself on the broad lounge, "you must just understand, dear, that I cannot help you unless you will have self-control and be a little woman yourself." "You told me I would be sorry if I didn't practice," mourned Amy, dragging her wet little handkerchief between her fingers, "but I didn't suppose Jack was coming for six months, and I'd have time to catch up, and now-oh dear me!" and she burrowed deeper into Miss Salisbury's big sofa-pillow. "Take care!" warned Polly, with a ready hand to rescue the elaborate combination of silk and floss, "it would be a very dreadful thing if this should get spoiled."