"Oh, Van!" cried Polly, stopping short in a sorry little way; "why, you've been so good ever since you both promised years ago that you wouldn't say bad things to each other."
"Oh, that was different," said Van recklessly; "but since he went to college, Percy has been a perfect snob Polly."
Polly said nothing, only looked at him in a way that cut him to the heart, as she moved off slowly.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" asked Van at last.
"I've nothing to say," replied Polly, and she disappeared into Mrs.Whitney's room and closed the door.
That evening Jasper and Percy, who went together for a good part of the way, had just driven to the station, when the bell rang and a housemaid presently laid before Polly a card, at sight of which all the color deserted her cheek. "Oh, I can't see him," she declared involuntarily.
"Who is it?" asked old Mr. King, laying down the evening paper.
"O, Grandpapa!" cried Polly, all in a tremor at the thought of his displeasure, "it does not matter. I can send word that I do not see any one now that Aunty is ill, and"—
"Polly, child," said the old gentleman, seriously displeased, "come and tell me at once who has called upon you."
So Polly, hardly knowing how, got out of her chair and silently laid the unwelcome card in his hand.
"Mr. Livingston Bayley," read the old gentleman.
"Humph! well, upon my word, this speaks well for the young man's perseverance. I'm very tired, but I see nothing for it but that I must respond to this;" and he threw aside the paper and got up to his feet.
"Grandpapa," begged Polly tremblingly at his elbow, "please don't let him feel badly."
"It isn't possible, Polly," cried Mr. King, looking down at her, "that you like this fellow—enough, I mean, to marry him?"
"O, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Polly in a tone of horror.
"Well, then, child, you must leave me to settle with him," said the old gentleman with dignity. "Don't worry; I sha'n't forget myself, nor what is due to a Bayley," with a short laugh. And then she heard him go into the drawing-room and close the door.
When he came back, which he did in the space of half an hour, his face was wreathed in smiles, and he chuckled now and then, as he sat down in his big chair and drew out his eyeglasses.
"Well, Polly, child, I don't believe he will trouble you in this way again, my dear," he said in a satisfied way, looking at her over the table. "He wanted to leave the question open; thought it impossible that you could refuse him utterly, and was willing to wait; and asked permission to send flowers, and all that sort of thing. But I made the young man see exactly how the matter stood, and that's all that need be said about it. It's done with now and forever." And then he took up his paper and began to read.
"Mamsie," said Phronsie, that very evening as she was getting ready forbed, and pausing in the doorway of her little room that led out ofMother Fisher's, "do you suppose we can bear it another day withoutPolly?"
"Why, yes, Phronsie," said Mother Fisher, giving another gentle rock to Baby's cradle, "of course we can, because we must. That isn't like you, dear, to want Polly back till Aunty has got through needing her."
Phronsie gave a sigh and thoughtfully drew her slippered foot over the pattern of the carpet. "It would be so very nice," she said, "if Aunty didn't need her."
"So it would," said her mother, "but it won't make Polly come any quicker to spend the time wishing for her. There, run to bed, child; you are half an hour late to-night."
Phronsie turned obediently into her own little room, then came back softly. "I want to give Baby, Polly's good-night kiss," she said.
"Very well, you may, dear," said Mrs. Fisher. So Phronsie bent over and set on Baby's dear little cheek, the kiss that could not go to Polly.
"If dear Grandpapa would only come home," and she sighed again.
"But just think how beautiful it is that Aunty was not hurt so much as the doctors feared," said her mother. "Oh, Phronsie, we can't ever be thankful enough for that."
"And now maybe God will let Grandpapa and Polly come back pretty soon," said Phronsie slowly, going off toward her own little room. And presently Mrs. Fisher heard her say, "Good-night, Mamsie dear, I'm in bed."
A rap at the door, and Jane put in her head, in response to Mrs.Fisher's "What is it?"
"Oh, is Dr. Fisher here?" asked Jane in a frightened way.
[Illustration: "AND PLEASE MAKE DEAR PAPA GIVE HER THE RIGHT THINGS."]
"No; he is downstairs in the library," said Mother Fisher. "What is the matter, Jane? Who wants him?"
"Oh, something dreadful is the matter with Helen Fargo, I'm afraid, ma'am," said Jane. "Griggs has just run over to say that the doctor must come quick."
"Hush!" said Mrs. Fisher, pointing to Phronsie's wide-open door; but she was standing beside them in her little nightdress, and heard the next words plainly enough.
"Run down stairs, Jane," commanded Mother Fisher, "and tell the doctor what Griggs said; just as fast as you can, Jane."
And in another minute in rushed the little doctor, seized his medicine case, saying as he did so, "I sha'n't come back here, wife, if it is diphtheria, but go to my office and change my clothes. There's considerable of the disease around. Good-night, child." He stopped to kiss Phronsie, who lifted a pale, troubled face to his. "Don't worry; I guess Helen will be all right," and he dashed off again.
"Now, Phronsie, child," said Mrs. Fisher, "come to mother and let us talk it over a bit."
So Phronsie cuddled up in Mamsie's lap, and laid her sad little cheek where she had been so often comforted.
"Mamsie," she said at last, lifting her head, "I don't believe God will let Helen die, because you see she's the only child that Mrs. Fargo has. He couldn't, Mamsie."
"Phronsie, darling, God knows best," said Mrs. Fisher, holding her close.
"But he wouldn't ever do it, I know," said Phronsie confidently; "I'm going to ask Him not to, and tell Him over again about Helen's being the very only one that Mrs. Fargo has in all the world." So she slipped to the floor, and went into her own room again and closed the door. "Dear Jesus," she said, kneeling by her little white bed, "please don't take Helen away, because her mother has only just Helen. And please make dear papa give her the right things, so that she will live at home, and not go to Heaven yet. Amen."
Then she clambered into bed, and lay looking out across the moonlight, where the light from Helen Fargo's room twinkled through the fir-trees on the lawn.
"I can't tell her," groaned Mrs. Pepper, the next morning, at sight of Phronsie's peaceful little face. "I never can say the word 'diphtheria' in all this world."
Phronsie laughed and played with Baby quite merrily, all such time as Miss Carruth, the governess, allowed her from the schoolroom that morning.
"Everything is beautiful, King dear," she would say on such little flying visits to the nursery. "Grandpapa and Polly, I do think, will be home pretty soon; and Helen is going to get well, because you know I asked God to let her, and he wouldn't ever, in all this world, take her away from her mother. He wouldn't, King," she added confidentially in Baby's small ear.
All day long the turreted Fargo mansion gleamed brightly in the glancing sunlight, giving no hint of the battle for a life going on within. Mrs. Fisher knew when her husband sent for the most celebrated doctor for throat diseases; knew when he came; and knew also when each hour those who were fighting the foe, were driven back baffled. And several times she attempted to tell Phronsie something of the shadow hanging over the little playmate's home. But Phronsie invariably put aside all her attempts with a gentle persistence, always saying, "He wouldn't, you know, Mamsie."
And at nightfall Helen had gone; and two white little hands were folded quietly across a young girl's breast.
No one told Phronsie that night; no one could. And she clambered into her little white bed, after saying her old prayer; then she lay in the moonlight again, watching Helen's house.
"The light is out, Mamsie," she called, "in Helen's room. But I suppose she is asleep." And presently Mrs. Fisher, stealing in, with unshed tears in her eyes, found her own child safe—folded in restful slumber, her hand tucked under her cheek.
But the next morning, when she must hear it!
"Phronsie," said Mrs. Fisher, "come here, dear." It was after breakfast, and Phronsie was running up into the school-room.
"Do you mean I am not to go to Miss Carruth?" asked Phronsie wonderingly, and fingering her books.
"Yes, dear. Oh, Phronsie"—Mrs. Fisher abruptly dropped her customary self-control, and held out her arms. "Come here, mother's baby; I've something bad to tell you, and you must help me, dear."
Phronsie came at once, with wide-open, astonished brown eyes, and climbed up into the good lap obediently.
"Phronsie," said Mrs. Fisher, swallowing the lump in her throat, and looking at the child fixedly, "you know Helen has been very sick."
"Yes, mamma," said Phronsie, still in a wonder.
"Well—and she suffered, dear, oh, so much!"
A look of pain stole over Phronsie's face, and Mrs. Fisher hastened to say, "But oh. Phronsie, she can't ever suffer any more, for—for—God has taken her home, Phronsie."
"Has Helen died?" asked Phronsie, in a sharp little voice, so unlike her own that Mrs. Pepper shivered and held her close.
"Oh, darling—how can I tell you? Yes, dear, God has taken her home toHeaven."
"And left Mrs. Fargo without any little girl?" asked Phronsie, in the same tone.
"My dear—yes—He knows what is best," said poor Mrs. Fisher.
The startled look on Phronsie's little face gave way to a grieved expression, that slowly settled on each feature.
"Let me get down, Mamsie," she said, quietly, and gently struggling to free herself.
"Oh, Phronsie, what are you going to do?" cried Mrs. Fisher. "Do sit with mother."
"I must think it out, Mamsie," said Phronsie, with grave decision, getting on her feet, and she went slowly up the stairs, and into her own room; then closed the door.
And all that day she said nothing; even when Mother Fisher begged her to come and talk it over with her, Phronsie would say, "I can't, Mamsie dear, it won't talk itself." But she was gentle and sweet with Baby, and never relaxed any effort for his amusement. And at last, when they were folding Helen away lovingly in flowers, from all who had loved her, Mrs. Fisher wrote in despair to Polly, telling her all about it, and adding, "You must come home, if only for a few days, or Phronsie will be sick."
"I shall go, too," declared old Mr. King, "for Marian can spare me now. Oh, that blessed child! And I can come back here with you, Polly, if necessary."
And Polly had nothing for it but to help him off, and Charlotte's father being ever so much better, she joined them; and as soon as it was a possible thing, there they were at home, and Thomas was driving them up at his best speed, to the carriage porch.
"Polly!" Phronsie gasped the word, and threw hungry little arms aroundPolly's neck.
"There, there, Pet," cried Polly cheerily, "you see we're all home.Here's Grandpapa!"
"Where's my girl?" cried old Mr. King hastily. "Here, Phronsie," and she was in his arms, while the tears rained down her cheeks.
"Bless me!" exclaimed the old gentleman, putting up his hand at the shower. "Well, that is a welcome home, Phronsie."
"Oh, Grandpapa, I didn't mean to!" said Phronsie, drawing back in dismay. "I do hope it hasn't hurt your coat."
"Never mind the coat, Phronsie," said Mr. King. "So you are glad to get us home, eh?"
Phronsie snuggled close to his side, while she clung to his hand without a word.
"Well, we mustn't forget Charlotte," cried Polly, darting back to a tall girl with light hair and very pale blue eyes, standing composedly in one corner of the hall, and watching the whole thing closely. "Mamsie, dear, here she is," taking her hand to draw her to Mrs. Fisher.
"Don't mind me," said Charlotte, perfectly at her ease. "You take care of the little girl," as Polly dragged her on.
Mrs. Fisher took a good long look at Charlotte Chatterton. Then she smiled, "I am glad to see you, Charlotte."
[Illustration: CHARLOTTE, STANDING COMPOSEDLY IN ONE CORNER OF THEHALL.]
Charlotte took the firm fingers extended to her, and said, "Thank you," then turned off to look at Phronsie again.
And it wasn't till after dinner that Phronsie's trouble was touched upon. Then Polly drew her off to a quiet corner.
"Now, then, Phronsie," she said, gathering her up close in her arms, "tell me all about it, Pet. Just think," and Polly set warm kisses on the pale little cheek, "how long it is since you and I have had a good talk."
"I know it," said Phronsie wearily, and she drew a long sigh.
"Isn't it good that dear Aunty is so much better?" cried Polly cheerily, quite at a loss how to begin.
"Yes, Polly," said Phronsie, but she sighed again, and did not lift her eyes to Polly's face.
"If anything troubles you," at last broke out Polly desperately, "you'd feel better, Phronsie, to tell sister about it. I may not know how to say the right things, but I can maybe help a little."
Phronsie sat quite still, and folded and unfolded her hands in her lap."Why did God take away Helen?" she asked suddenly, lifting her head."Oh, Polly, it wasn't nice of him," she added, a strange look cominginto her brown eyes.
[Illustration: PHRONSIE WENT OVER TO THE WINDOW.]
"Oh, Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, quite shocked, "don't, dear; that isn't like you, Pet. Why, God made us all, and he can do just as he likes, darling."
"But it isn't nice," repeated Phronsie deliberately, and quite firmly, "to take Helen now. Why doesn't He make another little girl then for Mrs. Fargo?" and she held Polly with her troubled eyes.
"Phronsie"—cried Polly; then she stopped abruptly. "Oh, what can I say? I don't know, dearie; it's just this way; we don't know why God does things. But we love him, and we feel it's right. Oh, Phronsie, don't look so. There, there," and she drew her close to her, in a loving, hungry clasp. "I told you I didn't think I could say the right things to you," she went on hurriedly, "but, Phronsie, I know God did just right in taking Helen to heaven. Just think how beautiful it must be there, and so many little children are there. And Helen is so happy. Oh, Phronsie, when I think of that, I am glad she is gone."
"Helen was happy here," said Phronsie decidedly. "And she never—never would want to leave her mother alone, to go off to a nicer place. Never, Polly."
Polly drew a long breath, and shut her lips. "But, Phronsie, don't you see," she cried presently, "it may be that Mrs. Fargo wouldn't ever want to go to Heaven unless Helen was there to meet her? It may be, Phronsie; and that would be very dreadful, you know. And God loved Mrs. Fargo so that he took Helen, and he is going to keep her happy every single minute while she is waiting and getting ready for her mother."
Phronsie suddenly slipped down from Polly's lap. "Is that true?" she demanded.
"Yes, dear," said Polly, "I think it is, Phronsie," and her cheeks glowed. "Oh, can't you see how much nicer it is in God to make Mrs. Fargo happy for always with Helen, instead of just a little bit of a while down here?"
Phronsie went over to the window and looked up at the winter sky. "It is a long way off," she said, but the bitter tone had gone, and it was a grieved little voice that added, "and Mrs. Fargo can't see Helen."
"Phronsie," said Polly, hurrying over to her side, "perhaps God wants you to do some things for Mrs. Fargo—things, I mean, that Helen would have done."
"Why, I can't go over there," said Phronsie wonderingly. "Papa Fisher says I am not to go over there for ever and ever so long, Polly."
"Well, you can write her little notes and you can help her to see that God did just right in taking Helen away," said Polly; "and that would be the very best thing you could do, Phronsie, for Mrs. Fargo; the very loveliest thing in all this world."
"Would it?" asked Phronsie.
"Yes, dear."
"Then I'll do it; and perhaps God wants me to like Heaven better; does he, Polly, do you think?"
"I really and truly do, Phronsie," said Polly softly. Then she leaned over and threw both arms around Phronsie's neck. "Oh, Phronsie, can't you see—I never thought of it till now—but He has given you somebody else instead of Helen, to love and to do things for?"
Phronsie looked up wonderingly. "I don't know what you mean, Polly," she said.
"There's Charlotte," cried Polly, going on rapidly as she released Phronsie. "Oh, Phronsie, you can't think; it's been dreadfully hard and dull always for her at home, with those two stiff great-aunts pecking at her."
"Tell me about it," begged Phronsie, turning away from the window, and putting her hand in Polly's.
"Well, come over to our corner then." So the two ran back, Phronsie climbing into Polly's lap, while a look of contentment began to spread over her face.
"You see," began Polly, "Charlotte's mother has always been too ill to have nice times; she couldn't go out, you know, very much, nor keep the house, and so the two great-aunts came to live with them. Well, pretty soon they began to feel as if they owned the house, and Charlotte, and everybody in it."
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Phronsie, in distress.
"And Charlotte's father, Mr. Alexander Chatterton, couldn't stop it; and beside, he was away on business most of the time, and Charlotte didn't complain—oh, she behaved very nice about it; Phronsie, her father told Grandpapa all about it; and by and by her mother died, and then things got worse and worse; but Mr. Chatterton never knew half how bad it was. But when he was sick it all came out, and it worried him so that he got very bad indeed, and then he sent for Grandpapa—Charlotte couldn't stop him; he made her go. You see he was afraid he was going to die, and he couldn't bear to have things so very dreadful for Charlotte."
"And is he going to die?" broke in Phronsie excitedly.
"Oh no, indeed! he was almost well when we came away; it was only his worrying over Charlotte that made him so bad. Oh, you ought to have seen him, Phronsie, when Grandpapa offered to take Charlotte home with us for the winter. He was so happy he almost cried."
"I am so glad he was happy," cried Phronsie in great satisfaction, her cheeks flushing.
"And so now I think God gave Charlotte to you for a little while because you haven't Helen. I do, Phronsie, and you can make Charlotte glad while she is here, and help her to have a good time."
"Can I?" cried Phronsie, her cheeks growing a deep pink. "Oh, Polly, how? Charlotte is a big girl; how can I help her?"
"That's your secret to find out," said Polly merrily. "Well, come now," kissing her, "we must hurry back to Grandpapa, or he'll feel badly to have you gone so long."
"Polly," cried Phronsie, as they hurried over the stairs, "put your ear down, do."
"I can't till we get downstairs," laughed Polly, "or I'll tumble on my nose, I'm afraid. Well, here we are. Now then, what is it?" and she bent over to catch the soft words.
"I'm sorry," said Phronsie, her lips quite close to Polly's rosy cheek, "that I said God wasn't nice to take Helen away. Oh, I love him, Polly, I truly do."
"So you do," said Polly, with, a warm clasp. "Well, here's Grandpapa," as the library door opened, and Mr. King came out to meet them.
Polly, running over the stairs the next day to greet Alexia and some of the girls who were determined to make the most of her little visit at home, was met first by one of the maids with a letter.
[Illustration: ALEXIA COOLLY READ ON, ONE ARM AROUND POLLY.]
"Oh, now," cried Alexia, catching sight of it, "I almost know that's to hurry you back, Polly. She sha'n't read it, girls." With that she made a feint of seizing the large white envelope.
"Hands off from my property," cried Polly merrily, waving her off, and sitting down on the stair she tore the letter open.
Alexia worked her way along till she was able to sit down beside her, when she was guilty of looking over her shoulder.
"Oh, Alexia Rhys, how perfectly, dreadfully mean!" cried one of the other girls, wishing she could be in the same place.
Alexia turned a deaf ear, and coolly read on, one arm around Polly.
"Oh, girls—girls!" she suddenly screamed, and jumping up, nearly oversetting Polly, she raced over the remaining stairs to the bottom, where she danced up and down the wide hall, "Polly isn't going back—she isn't—she isn't," she kept declaring.
"What!" cried all the girls. "Oh, do stop, Alexia. What is it?"
Meantime Cathie Harrison ran up and quickly possessed herself of the vacated seat.
"Why, Mr. Whitney writes to say that Polly needn't go back—oh, how perfectly lovely in him!" cried Alexia, bringing up flushed and panting. "Oh, dear me, I can't breathe!"
"Oh! oh!" cried all the girls, clapping their hands.
"But that doesn't mean that I shall not go back," said Polly, looking up from her letter to peer through the stair-railing at them. "I think—yes, I really do think that I ought to go back."
"How nonsensical!" exclaimed Alexia impatiently. "If Mr. Whitney says you are not needed, isn't that enough? Beside he wrote it for Mrs. Whitney; I read it all."
"No, I don't think it is enough," answered Polly slowly, and turning the letter with perplexed fingers, "for I know dear Aunty only told him to write because she thought I ought to be at home."
"And so you ought," declared Alexia, very decidedly. "She's quite right about it, and now you're here, why, you've just got to stay. So there, Polly Pepper. Hasn't she, girls?"
"Yes, indeed," cried the girls.
Polly shook her brown head, as she still sat on her stair busily thinking.
"Here comes Mr. King," cried Cathie Harrison, suddenly craning her neck at the sound of the opening of a door above them. "Now I'm just going to ask him," and she sprang to her feet.
"Cathie—Cathie," begged Polly, springing up too.
"I just will," declared Cathie, obstinately scampering up over the stairs. "Oh, Mr. King, mayn't Polly stay home? Oh, do say yes, please!"
"Yes, do say yes, please," called all the other girls in the hall below.
"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed the old gentleman, well pleased at the onslaught. "Now then, what's the matter, pray tell?"
"I just won't have Cathie Harrison tell him," said Alexia, trying to run up over the stairs. "Let me by, Polly, do," she begged.
"No, indeed," cried Polly, spreading her arms. "It's bad enough to have one of you up there besieging Grandpapa."
"Then I'll run up the back stairs," cried Alexia, turning in a flash.
"Oh, yes, the back stairs!" exclaimed the other girls, following her."Oh, do hurry! Polly's coming after us."
But speed as she might, Polly could not overtake the bevy, who, laughing and panting, stood before Mr. King a second ahead of her.
"A pretty good race," said the old gentleman, laughing heartily, "but against you from the first, Polly, my girl."
"Don't listen to them, Grandpapa dear," panted Polly.
"Mayn't she stay at home—mayn't she?"
"Hush, girls," begged Polly. "Oh, Grandpapa dear, don't listen to them.Aunty told Uncle Mason to write the letter, and you know"—
"Well, yes, I know all you would say, Polly. But I've also had a letter from Mason, and I was just going to show it to you." He pulled out of his vest pocket another envelope corresponding to the one in Polly's hand, which he waved at her.
"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Polly, quite aghast at his so easily going over to the enemy. With that, all the girls deserted the old gentleman, and swarmed around Polly.
"See here, now," commanded Mr. King, "every single one of you young things come back here this minute. Goodness me, Polly, I should think they'd be the death of you."
Polly didn't hear a word, for she was reading busily: "Marian says 'don't let Polly come back on any account. It worries me dreadfully to think of all that she is giving up; and I will be brave, and do without her. She must not come back.'"
Polly looked up to meet old Mr. King's eyes fixed keenly upon her.
"You see, Polly," he began, "I really don't dare after that to let you go back."
"Oh—oh—oh!" screamed all the girls.
"There, I told you so," exclaimed Alexia.
"Second floor—Room No. 3," said Buttons, then stood like an automaton to watch the tall young man scale the stair.
"He did 'em beautifully," he confided afterward to another bell-boy."Mr. King himself can't get over them stairs better."
"Come in!" cried Jasper, in response to the rap.
"Halloo, old fellow!" cried Pickering Dodge, rushing in tumultuously. "Well, well, so this is your den," looking around the small room in surprise.
"Yes. Now this is good to see you!" exclaimed Jasper, joyfully leaping from his chair to seize Pickering's hand. "Well, what brought you? There's nothing wrong?" he asked, anxiously scanning Pickering's face.
"No—that is, everything's right; all except Polly."
"There isn't anything the matter with Polly?" Jasper turned quite white, scarcely speaking the words.
"No, she's all right, only"—Pickering turned impatiently off from the chair Jasper pulled forward with a hasty hand, and stalked to the other side of the little room. "She's—she's—well, she's so hard to come at nowadays. Everybody has a chance for a word with her but old friends. And now the Recital is in full blast."
Jasper drew a long breath, and began to get his color again. "Oh, yes—well, it's all going on well, the Recital, I mean, isn't it?" he asked.
"I believe so," said Pickering in a gloomy way. "The girls are wild over it; you can't hear anything else talked about at home. But," he broke off abruptly, "got a cigar, Jasper?" and he began to hunt the mantel among the few home-things spread around to enliven the hotel apartment.
"Haven't such an article," said Jasper.
"I forgot you don't smoke," said Pickering with a sigh. "Dear me! how will you bear trouble when it comes, old chap?" He came back to the table, and thrust his hands in his pockets, looking dismally at Jasper.
"I'm afraid a cigar wouldn't help me much," said Jasper, with a laugh; "but if you must have one, I can get it, eh?"
"Yes, I must," said Pickering in despair, "for I've something on my mind. Came over on purpose to get your help, and I can't do it without a weed."
"Very well," said Jasper, shoving the chair again toward Pickering. "Sit down, and I'll have one sent up," and he went over and touched the electric button on the wall.
"Yes, sir?" Buttons ran his head in the doorway, and stared at them without winking.
"A cigar for this gentleman," said Jasper, filliping a coin into the boy's hand.
"Is that the way you order cigars?" demanded Pickering, whirling around in his chair.
"Yes, when I order them at all," said Jasper, laughing; "a weed is a weed, I suppose."
"Indeed, and it is not, then," retorted Pickering. "I'll have none of your ordering. You needn't bring it up, boy; I'll go down to the office and pick some out for myself."
"All right, sir," said Buttons, putting down the coin on the table with a lingering finger.
"Keep it," said Jasper, with a smile.
"He's a gentleman," observed Buttons, on the way downstairs, Pickering treading his heels. "He ain't like the rest of 'em that boards here. They orders me around with a 'Here, you!' or a 'Hoi, there, boy!' They're gents; he's the whole word—a first-class gentleman, Mr. King is," he repeated.
"Now, then, for it," said Jasper, when at last the gleam of Pickering's cigar was steady and bright, "open your budget of news, old fellow," he added, with difficulty restraining his impatience.
"It ought not to be any news," declared Pickering, with extreme abruptness, "for I've never tried to conceal it. I love Polly."
Jasper started so suddenly his arm knocked from the table a slender crystal vase, that broke into a dozen pieces.
"Never mind," he said, at Pickering's dismayed exclamation, "go on."
Whew—puff! floated the rings of cigar smoke over Pickering's head. "And I can't stand it, and I won't, waiting any longer to tell her so. Why, man," he turned savagely now on Jasper, "I've loved her for years, and must I be bullied and badgered out of my rights by men who have only just been introduced to her—say?"
"Whom do you mean?" asked Jasper huskily, his fingers working over the table-cloth, under the pretense of pulling the creases straight.
"Why, that Loughead chap," said Pickering, bringing his hand down heavily on the table; "he has more sweet words from Polly Pepper in a week than I get in a month—and I such an old friend!"
"Polly is so anxious to help his sister," Jasper made out to say.
"Well, that's no reason why the fellow should hang around forever," declared Pickering angrily.
"Why, he's gone abroad!" exclaimed Jasper, "long ago."
"Ah, but he's coming back," said Pickering, with a sage nod, and knocking off the ashes from his cigar end.
"Is that so?" cried Jasper, in astonishment.
"Yes, 'tis," declared Pickering, nodding again, "and I don't like it. You know as well as I do," squaring around on Jasper, "that he don't care a rap about his sister's getting on; he's only thinking of Polly, andIlove her."
Seeing that something was expected of him, Jasper made out to say, "You do?"
"Of course I do; and you know it, and every one knows it, or ought to; I haven't ever tried to conceal it," said Pickering proudly.
"How do you know that Loughead is coming back?" asked Jasper abruptly.
"How do I know? The best way in the world." Pickering moved uneasily in his chair. "Hibbard Crane had a letter yesterday; that's the reason I threw my traps together and started for you."
"For me?" cried Jasper, in surprise.
"Yes. You've got to help me. I can't stand it, waiting around any longer. It has almost killed me as it is." Pickering threw his head on the chair-back and took savage pulls at the cigar between his teeth.
"I help you?" cried Jasper, too astonished to do much more than to repeat the words. "How in all this world can I do anything in the matter?" he demanded, as soon as he could find his voice.
"Why, you can tell Polly how it is; you're her brother, or as good as one; and she'll see it from you. And you must hurry about it, too, for I expect that Loughead will turn up soon. He means mischief, he does."
"See here, Pick," cried Jasper, getting out of his chair hastily to facePickering, "you don't know what you are asking. Why, I couldn't do it.The very idea; I never heard of such a thing! You—you must speak toPolly yourself."
"I can't," said Pickering, in a burst, and bringing up his head suddenly. "She won't give me the ghost of a chance. There's always those girls around her; and she's been away an age at Mrs. Whitney's. And everlastingly somebody is sick or getting hurt, and they won't have anybody but Polly. You know how it is yourself, Jasper," and he turned on him an injured countenance.
"Well, don't come to me," cried Jasper, beginning to pace the floor irritably. "I couldn't ever speak on such a subject to Polly. Beside it would be the very way to set her against you. It would any girl; can't you see it, Pick?" he added, brightening up.
"Girls are queer," observed Pickering shrewdly, "and the very thing you think they won't like, they take to amazingly. Oh, you go along, Jasper, and let her see how matters stand; how I feel, I mean."
"You will do your own speaking," said Jasper, in his most crusty fashion, and without turning his head.
"I did; that is, I tried to last night after I met Crane," beganPickering, in a shamefaced way, "but I couldn't get even a chance to seePolly."
"How's that?" asked Jasper, still marching up and down the floor; "wasn't she home?"
"Why, she sent Charlotte Chatterton down to see me," said Pickering, very much aggrieved, "and I hate that Chatterton girl."
"Why couldn't Polly see you?" went on Jasper, determined, since his assistance was asked, to go to the root of the matter.
"Oh, somebody in the establishment, I don't know who, had a finger-ache, I suppose," said Pickering, carelessly throwing away his cigar end and lighting a fresh one, "and wanted Polly. Never mind why; she couldn't come down, she sent word. So I gave up in despair. See here now, Jasper, you must help me out."
"I tell you I won't," declared Jasper, with rising irritation, "not in that way."
"You won't?"
"No, I won't. I can't, my dear fellow."
"Well, there's a great end of our friendship," exclaimed Pickering, red with anger, and he jumped to his feet. "Do you mean to say, Jasper King, that you won't do such a simple thing for me as to say a word to your sister Polly, when I tell you it's all up with me if you don't speak that word—say?"
"You oughtn't to ask such a thing; it's despicable in you," cried Jasper, aghast to find his anger rising at each word. "And if you insist in making such a request when I tell you that I cannot speak to Polly for you, why, I shall be forced to repeat what I said at first, that I won't have anything to do with it."
"Do you mean it," Pickering put himself in front of Jasper's advancing strides, "that you will not speak to Polly for me?"
"I do."
"I tell you," declared Pickering, now quite beside himself, "it's absolutely necessary for me to have your word with her, Jasper King."
"And I tell you I can't give that word," said Jasper. Then he stopped short, and looked into Pickering's face. "I'm sorry, old chap," and he put out his hand.
Pickering knocked it aside in a towering passion. "You needn't 'old chap' me," he cried. "And there's an end to our friendship, King." He seized his hat and dashed out of the room.
"Miss Salisbury!" Alexia Rhys, in real distress, threw herself against her old teacher, who was hurrying through the long school-room.
"Well, what is it?" asked Miss Salisbury, settling her glasses for a look at her former pupil. "You mustn't hinder me; I'm on my way to the recitation room," and her hand made a movement toward her watch.
"Oh, don't think of time, Miss Salisbury!" begged Alexia, just as familiarly as in the old days, "when Polly Pepper needs to be looked out for."
"If Polly Pepper needs me in any way, why, I must stop," said the principal of the "Young Ladies' Select Boarding and Day School," "but I don't see how she can need me, Alexia," she added in perplexity, "Polly is fully capable of taking care of herself."
"Oh, no, she isn't," cried Alexia abruptly. "Beg your pardon, but Polly is a dear, sweet, dreadful idiot. Oh dear me! what do you suppose, Miss Salisbury, she has gone and done?"
"I am quite at a loss to guess," said Miss Salisbury calmly, "and I must say, Alexia, I am very much pained by your failure to profit by my instructions. To think that one of my young ladies, especially one on whom I have spent so much care and attention as yourself, should be so careless in speech and manner, as you are constantly. 'Gone and done'—oh, Alexia!" she exclaimed in a grieved way.
"Oh, I know," cried Alexia imperturbably, "you did your best, dear Miss Salisbury, and it isn't your fault that I'm not fine. But oh, don't waste the time, please, over me, when I want to tell you about Polly."
"What is it about Polly?" demanded Miss Salisbury, fingering her watch-chain nervously. "Really, Alexia, I think Polly would do very well if you didn't try so hard to take possession of her. I quite pity her," she added frankly.
Alexia burst into a laugh. "It's the only way to catch a glimpse of her. Miss Salisbury," she cried, "for everybody is trying to take possession of Polly Pepper. And now—oh, it's getting perfectly dreadful!"
Miss Salisbury took an impatient step forward.
"Oh, Miss Salisbury," cried Alexia in alarm, "wait just a minute, do, dear Miss Salisbury," she cried, throwing her arms around her, thereby endangering the glasses set upon the fine Roman nose, "there can't any one help in this but just you."
"It is very wrong," said Miss Salisbury, yet yielding to the embrace, "for me to stay and listen to you in this way, but—but I've always been fond of you, Alexia, and"—
"I know it," cried Alexia penitently, "you've just been a dear, always, Miss Salisbury, to me. If you hadn't, why, I don't know what I should have done, for I had nobody but aunt," with a little pathetic sniff, "to look after me."
"My dear Alexia," cried Miss Salisbury, quite softened, "don't feel so. You are very dear to me. You always were," patting her hand. "And so what is it that you want to tell me now? Pray be quick, dear."
"Well, then, will you promise to make Polly Pepper do what she ought to, Miss Salisbury?" cried Alexia, quite enchanted with her success thus far.
Miss Salisbury turned a puzzled face at her. "Will I make Polly Pepper do as she ought to?" she repeated. "My dear Alexia, what a strange request. Polly Pepper is always doing as she ought."
"Well, Polly is just hateful to herself," declared Alexia, "and if it wasn't for us girls, she'd—oh, dear me! I don't know what would happen. What do you suppose, Miss Salisbury, she's gone and—oh dear, I didn't mean to—but what do you suppose Polly has just done?"
[Illustration: "MY DEAR ALEXIA," CRIED MISS SALISBURY, QUITE SOFTENED,"DON'T FEEL SO."]
Before Miss Salisbury could reply, Alexia rushed on frantically. "If you'll believe me, Polly has gone and asked that Charlotte Chatterton to sing at her Recital; just think of that!" exclaimed Alexia, quite gone at the enormity of such a blunder.
"Why, doesn't Charlotte Chatterton sing well?" asked Miss Salisbury, in surprise.
"Oh, frightfully well," said Alexia, "that's just the trouble. And now Polly's Recital will all be part of that Chatterton girl's glory. And it was to be so swell!" And Alexia sank into a chair, and waved back and forth in grief.
"Swell! Oh, Alexia," exclaimed Miss Salisbury in consternation.
"Oh, do excuse me," mumbled Alexia, "but Polly really has spoiled that elegant Recital. It won't be all Polly's, now. Oh, dear me!"
Miss Salisbury drew a long breath. "I'm very glad Polly has asked MissChatterton to sing," she said at last. "It was the right thing to do."
"Very glad that Polly has asked that Chatterton girl to sing?" almost shrieked Alexia, starting out of her chair.
"Yes," said Miss Salisbury decidedly. "Very glad indeed, Alexia."
"And now you won't make Polly see that Charlotte Chatterton ought not to be stuck into that Recital?" cried Alexia wildly. "Oh, dear me! and you are the only one that can bring Polly to her senses—oh, dear me!"
"Certainly not," said Miss Salisbury, with a little dignified laugh."The Recital is Polly's, and she knows best how to manage it."
"Well, we won't applaud, we girls won't," declared Alexia, stiffening up, "when that Charlotte Chatterton sings; but we'll all just look the other way—every single one of us."
"Alexia Rhys!" slowly ejaculated Miss Salisbury in real sorrow.
"Well, we can't; it wouldn't be right," gasped Alexia. "Don't look so,Miss Salisbury. Oh, dear me, why will Polly act so! Oh, dear me! I wishCharlotte Chatterton was in the Red Sea."
Miss Salisbury gathered herself up in quiet disapproval; and with a parting look prepared to leave the room.
"Oh, Miss Salisbury," cried Alexia, flying after her, to pluck her gown, "do turn around. Oh, dear me!" and she began to cry as hard as she could.
"When you have come to your better self, Alexia, I will talk with you," said Miss Salisbury distinctly, and she went out, and closed the door.
"Did she say she would—did she—did she?" cried a group of the "old girls," as Miss Salisbury's present scholars called Polly and her set, as they came tiptoeing in. "Why, where are you, Alexia?"
"Here," said a dismal voice from the depths of a corner easy chair. They all rushed at her.
"I've had an awful time with her," sobbed Alexia, her face buried in her handkerchief, "and I suppose it really will kill me, girls."
"Nonsense!" cried one or two. "Well, what did she say about making Polly listen to reason?"
"Oh, dreadful—dreadful!" groaned Alexia gustily. "You can't think!"
"You don't mean to say that she approves, after all that Polly Pepper has worked over that old Recital, to"—
—"Have some one else come in and grab the glory?" finished another voice.
"Oh, dear—dear!" groaned Alexia in between. "And Miss Salisbury would kill you, Clem, if she heard you say 'grab.'"
"Well, do tell us, what did Miss Salisbury say?" demanded another girl impatiently.
"She said it was right for Polly to ask Charlotte Chatterton to sing, and she was glad she was going to do it."
"Oh, horrors!" exclaimed the group in dismal chorus.
"The idea! as much as she loves Polly Pepper!" cried Sally Moore.
"And I hate the word 'right,'" exploded Alexia, whirling her handkerchief around her fingers. "Now! It's poked at one everlastingly. I think it's just sweet to be wicked."
"Oh, Alexia Rhys!"
"Well, just a little bit wicked," said Alexia.
Cathie Harrison shook back the waves of light hair on her brow. "Girls," she began hesitatingly. But no one would listen; the laments were going on so fast over Polly and her doings.
"Itisright!" cried Cathie at last, after many ineffectual attempt to be heard. "Do stop, girls, making such a noise," she added impatiently.
"That's a great way to preach," said Clem, laughing, "lose your temper to begin with, Cathie."
"I didn't—that is, I'm sorry," said Cathie. "But, anyway, I want to say I ought to have been ashamed to act so about that Chatterton girl. Where should I have been if Polly Pepper hadn't taken me up?"
She looked down the long aisle to a seat in the corner. "There's where I sat," pointing to it, "and you all know it, for a whole week, and I thought I should die; I did," tragically, "without any one speaking to me. And one day Polly Pepper came up and asked wouldn't I come to her house to the Bee you were all going to get up to fit out that horrible old poor white family down South. And I wanted to get up and scream, I was so glad."
"Cathie Harrison," exclaimed Alexia, springing to her feet defiantly, "what do you want to bring back those dreadful old times for! You are the most uncomfortable person I ever saw."
"You needn't mind it now, Alexia," cried Cathie, rushing at her, "for you've been too lovely for anything ever since—you dear!"
"I lovely? oh, girls, did you hear?" cried Alexia, sinking into her chair again, quite overcome. "She said I was lovely—oh, dear me!"
"And so you are," repeated Cathie stoutly; "just as nice and sweet and lovely to me as you can be. So!" throwing her long arms around Alexia.
"I didn't want to be; Polly made me," said Alexia.
"I know it; but I don't care. You are nice now, any way."
"And I suppose we must be nice to that Chatterton girl now, if she doesbreak up our fun," said Alexia with a sigh, getting out of her chair."Come on, girls; let us go and tell Polly it's just heavenly thatCharlotte is to sing."
Charlotte Chatterton stood back of the portiere pulling a refractory button of her glove into place, as a gay group precipitated themselves into the dressing-room of The Exeter.
"Now remember, girls," cried Alexia, rushing at the toilet table to bestow frantic twitches at the fluffy waves of hair over her forehead, "that we must applaud the very minute that she gets through singing. Oh dear me, just look at my bangs; they are perfect frights. Hateful things!" with another pull at the offending locks.
"It's a swell house," exclaimed one of the girls delightedly.
"Just let Miss Salisbury catch you saying 'swell,'" warned Alexia. "Take care now, Sally Moore, this is a very proper and select occasion."
"Well, do let some of us have that glass a minute," retorted Sally, "and mend your manners before you take occasion to correct my speech."
"My bangs are worse than yours, Sally," cried another girl, crowding up; "do let me get one corner of that glass," trying to achieve a view of her head over Alexia's shoulder.
Alexia calmly picked at the fluffy bunch of hair on her brow, giving it a little quirk before she said, "Don't fight, girls; it quite spoils one's looks; I never do when I'm dressed up."
"Of course not," said Sally Moore, "for you get everything you want without fighting."
"The idea!" exclaimed Alexia, with an injured expression, "when I never have my own way. Why, I give up and give up the whole time to somebody. Well, never mind; let's talk about the Recital. Oh, it's going to be quite elegant for Polly Pepper. There's a regular society cram in the Hall."
"Well, I don't think 'society cram' is a bit better than a 'swell affair,'" said Clem Forsythe, slipping out of her opera cloak.
"Nor I either," cried three or four voices.
"Oh, I don't object to 'swell affair' myself," said Alexia; "I have used the words on more than one occasion, unless my memory is treacherous. I only wanted to spare Miss Salisbury's nerves."
"Pity you didn't give more attention to Miss Salisbury's nerves five or six years ago," said Sally. "Do get away from that glass."
"It's no time to talk about me now," observed Alexia. "All our minds should be on Polly, and her Recital. Girls,didyou see Jack Loughead down at the door?"
"Didn't we?" cried the girls.
"He's as handsome as a picture, isn't he?" cried Alexia, with another little pull at her rebellious hair.
"Isn't he?" hummed the girls.
"Well, he won't look at you, for all your fussing over those bangs," said Sally vindictively.
"Did you suppose I thought he would?" cried Alexia coolly. "Why, it'sPolly Pepper, everybody knows, that brings him here."
"What's become of Mr. Bayley?" asked one of the girls suddenly.
"Hush—sh! you mustn't ask," cried Alexia mysteriously, and turning away from the mirror, with a lingering movement; "there, it looks shockingly, but it is as good as I can fix it."
"Your hair always does look perfectly horrid," declared Sally Moore, deftly slipping into the vacated place.
"Well, do tell all you know about Mr. Bayley and Polly," begged the girl who had raised the question, "I'm just dying to know."
"Alexia Rhys doesn't know a thing more than we do, Frances," said Clem, "only she pretends she's in the secret."
"I was down at Dunraven at the Christmas splurge," said Alexia, "and you were not, Clem. That's all I shall say," and she leisurely disposed herself in a big chair, and began to draw on her gloves, with the air of one who could reveal volumes were she so disposed.
"Polly wouldn't ever send him off," said one of the girls, "I don't believe. Why, he's horribly rich; and just think of marrying into the Bayley family—oh my!"
"I should think the shock of being asked to enter that family, would kill any girl, to begin with," said Clem. "Why, he goes back to William the Conqueror, doesn't he? And there's an earl in the family, and I don't know what else. And then beside, there's his mother; the idea of sitting opposite to her at the table every single day—oh dear me! I know I should drop my knife and fork and things, from pure fright."
"I'm sure I don't see why anybody is proud to have his family go back all the time," said Alexia Rhys; "for my part I should want to start things forward a little myself."
"Well, who does know anything about it, why Mr. Bayley has gone off suddenly?" demanded Frances.
"No one knows," said Clem.
Alexia hummed a tune provokingly.
"We all guess, and it's easy enough to guess the truth; but Polly won't ever let it out, so that's all there is about it."
"Well, now, girls," said Alexia suddenly, "we must remember what we promised each other."
"What do you mean?" asked Frances; "I didn't promise anything to anybody."
"You weren't with us when we promised, my dear," answered Alexia, "andI'll rise and explain. You see we don't any of us like that CharlotteChatterton; not a single one of us. She's a perfect stick, I think."
"So do I," said another girl; "this is the way she walks." Thereupon followed a representation given to the life, of Charlotte Chatterton's method of getting her long figure over the ground, which brought subdued peals of laughter from the girls looking on.
"And she has no more feeling than an oyster," pursued Alexia, when she had recovered her breath, "or she might see that Polly was just giving up all her fun and ours too, by dragging her into everything that is going on."
"I know it," said the girls.
"And I'm so sick of her taking in everything so as a matter of course," observed Alexia; "oh! she's quite an old sponge."
"It's bad enough to be called an oyster, without having old sponge fastened to one," said Sally Moore, coming away from the mirror, thereby occasioning another rush for that useful dressing-room appointment.
"Well, she is both of those very things," declared Alexia, "nevertheless we must applaud her dreadfully when she's finished singing. That's what we promised each other, Frances. It will please Polly, you know."
"You better hurry, or you will lose your seats," announced a friendly voice in the doorway, which had the effect to send the whole bevy out as precipitately as they had hurried in.
When she was quite sure that no one remained, Charlotte Chatterton shook herself free from the friendly portiere-folds, and stepped to the center of the deserted room.
"I'll not sing one note!" she declared, standing tall, "not one single note!" Just then, in ran Amy Loughead.
"Oh dear, and oh dear!"
"What is the matter?" asked Charlotte, not moving.
"Oh, I'm so frightened," gasped Amy, shivering from head to foot, "there are so many people in there, oh—oh! I can't play!" beating her hands together in terror.
"You must," said Charlotte unsympathizingly.
"I can't—I can't. Oh, I shall die! The hall is full, and they keep coming in. Oh—Miss Pepper!"
For Polly, in her soft white gown, was coming quickly into the dressing-room.
"Your hands are just as cold as ice," said Polly, gathering up Amy's shaking little palms into her own. "There now, we'll see if we can't coax them into playing order," rubbing them between her own warm ones.
"Oh, I can feel all those people's eyes staring through me," cried Amy, huddling up against Polly.
"You mustn't think of their eyes, child," laughed Polly. But there was a little white line around her mouth. Just then a messenger came in with a note.
"Any answer?" asked Polly. "Oh, stay; I would better read it before you go." And she tore it open.
"I am so sorry that I cannot keep my engagement to play the duet with Miss Porter, but the doctor has just been here, and he says I must not go out. I should have written this morning that I had a sore throat, but I thought I could manage to go. I'm so sorry—oh, Miss Pepper, I'm so sorry!
[Illustration: "I'LL NOT SING A NOTE!"]
The note fell to Polly's lap, and for a minute she could not speak."There is no answer," at last she said to the messenger.
"Oh, Miss Pepper, what is it?" cried Amy Loughead, brought out of her own fright, by the dread of a new trouble.
"Julia Anderson is sick and cannot be here," said Polly.
"Oh, dear! and she was going to play with Miss Porter. What will you do?" cried Amy in consternation.
"Why, I shall have to take her place," said Polly, forcing herself to speak.
"Oh, dear—dear!" exclaimed Amy, trying not to burst into tears."Everything is just as bad and horrid as it can be. Oh, dear, dear, andI can't play; I should disgrace you!"
"Oh, no, no, Amy," said Polly, trying to smile, "that you'll never do." She threw the note on the floor now, and began to rub the cold little hands again.
"But—but, I'm so frightened," gasped Amy.
Charlotte Chatterton walked to the window.
"I may be a stick, and an oyster, and an old sponge, and everybody wish me out of the way, but I'm not such a villain as to bother her now by telling her I won't sing. If they only won't applaud!" She shut her teeth tightly, and turned back again.
"I wouldn't, Miss Loughead," she began. But her voice sounded cold and unsympathetic, and Amy clung to Polly tighter than ever.
Ben now looked in. "Come, Polly," he said. "You really ought to be out here, and it's almost three o'clock."
Amy gave a gasp. "What shall I do?"
"You may stay in here, if you really wish," said Polly in a low voice, Charlotte Chatterton looking on with all her eyes, "and I will excuse you."
"And will—will you be disappointed in me?" Amy brought out the question shamefacedly.
"Very much," said Polly.
"And will you never try me again—and never give me music lessons?" asked Amy fearfully.
"I do not seem to teach you successfully," said Polly very slowly, "so it would be no use to continue the lessons." And she put aside the clinging hands. "You may stay here, Amy; I am coming, Ben," looking over at him.
"I'll play," cried Amy Loughead desperately. "I'd rather, oh, dear me, if they were bears and gorillas looking on—and I just know I shall die—but I'd rather, Miss Pepper, than to have you give me up."
Charlotte Chatterton drew a long breath.
"What's the matter?" asked Ben in dismay.
"Miss Loughead was a little scared, I believe," said Charlotte, with a touch of scorn in her manner.
Ben gave an uneasy exclamation. "Everything seems to be all right now," he said, in a relieved way, looking off at Polly and Amy.
"Oh, yes; a scare don't amount to much if one has a mind to put it down," said Charlotte.
"I should think you'd be scared," said Ben, looking at her admiringly, "to stand up and sing before all those people. But I suppose you never are; you don't seem to mind things like the rest of us."
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing.
"We are all ready," said Polly cheerfully coming up with Amy. "Oh,Charlotte, you are such a comfort," she found time to whisper.
Charlotte clasped her hands tightly together so that an ominous rent appeared in one of her pretty gloves. "I'll sing," she kept saying to herself all the way out to the platform, "oh, I'll sing—I'll sing." And later on, while looking down into the eyes of the girls waiting to applaud, "I'll sing—I'll sing," she had to declare to herself till her name was announced.
As the last note died away, "Who is that girl?" went around the hall.Charlotte Chatterton had made a sensation.
Alexia Rhys, angry at the effect of the song, still clapped steadily together her soft-gloved hands, looking at Polly with the air of a martyr all the while.
"Charlotte—oh, I'm glad!" whispered Polly radiantly, "they want you to sing again," trying to pull her forward, as the storm of applause went on.
"I'll not sing!" cried Charlotte passionately. "Never! Don't ask it,Polly."
"Why, Charlotte!" implored Polly, astonished at the passion in the girl usually so cold and indifferent. Still the applause continued, Polly's set keeping at it like veterans.
Ben ran up the platform steps with shining eyes. "Grandpapa requestsCharlotte to sing again," he whispered to Polly.
"There, you hear, Charlotte." said Polly. "Grandpapa wishes it."
"Very well," said Charlotte, resuming her ordinary manner, and looking as if it really made no difference to her whether she sang or was quiet, she walked to her place.
Polly slipped back of the piano, and began the accompaniment, and againCharlotte's singing carried all by storm.
Polly, looking down into Jasper's face, saw him smile over to his father, and nod in a pleased surprise; and she was aghast to feel a faint little wish begin to grow in her heart, that Charlotte Chatterton had not been asked to sing.
"Of course Jasper is surprised, as he has never heard her sing," said Polly to herself, "and her voice is so beautiful in this big hall, oh, it's so very beautiful!" as Charlotte came back, apparently not hearing the expressions of delight that rang over the concert-room.
"That Chatterton girl will be all the rage now," whispered Alexia savagely to Clem who sat next to her. "Look at Mrs. Cabot. She has her 'I'll-take-you-up-and-patronize-you air' on, and I know she's making up her mind to give Charlotte a musicale."
Other people also, scattered here and there in the hall, were making up their minds to introduce Miss Chatterton to their friends; as a girl with such a wonderful voice, it would be quite worth one's while to bring out.
Polly, by this time, explaining to the audience, the failure of Miss Anderson to take her part in the duet, caught little ends of the whispers going on beneath her, such as "Perfectly exquisite." "Most wonderful range." "Shall certainly ask her to sing." And again she saw Jasper's beaming face, while Ben took no pains to conceal his delight. And she sat down to the piano mechanically, and began in a dazed way to help Miss Porter through with the duet that was to have been one of the finest things on the carefully prepared programme.
[Illustration: "FOR SHAME, POLLY, IF THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE TEACHINGSARE FORGOTTEN LIKE THIS"]
Suddenly, in the midst of a slow movement, Polly glanced down and caught her mother's eye.
"Polly," it said, just as plainly as if Mrs. Fisher had spoken, "is this my girl? For shame, if the Little Brown House teachings are forgotten like this."
Polly straightened up, sent Mamsie down a bright smile that made Mrs. Fisher nod, and flash back one in return, then bent all her energies to making that duet speak its message through the concert-room. People who had rather languished in their chairs, now gathered themselves up with fresh interest, and clapped their hands at the brilliant passages, and exclaimed over the ability of the music teacher who could change an apparent failure to such a glorious success. Everybody said it was wonderful; and when the duet was over, the house rang with the charming noise by which the gratified friends tried to express their delight. But Polly saw only Mamsie's eyes, filled with joy.
Meantime, Charlotte Chatterton had hurried out to the dressing-room, tossing on her walking things with a quick hand; and held fast for a minute as she crept out into the broad passage, by the duet now in full progress, she went softly down the stairs.
When it was all over, everybody crowded around Polly.
"Oh, Miss Pepper, your Recital is lovely! oh, how beautifully MissChatterton sang!" and,
"Oh, Miss Pepper, I am delighted with your pupils' progress; and what an exquisite voice Miss Chatterton has!"