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And on the morrow—oh, what a heap of money there was for the poor brakeman's family!—four hundred and twelve dollars. For a good many people had fairly insisted on paying twice the amount for their tickets; and a good many more had paid when they couldn't take tickets at all, going out of town, or for some other good reason.
And one old lady, a great friend of the family, sent for Polly Pepper the week before. And when Polly appeared before the big lounge,—for Mrs. Sterling was lifted from her bed to lie under the sofa-blankets all day,—she said, “Now, my dear, I want to take some tickets for that affair of yours. Gibbons, get my check-book.”
So Gibbons, the maid, brought the check-book, and drew up the little stand with the writing-case upon it close to the lounge, and Mrs. Sterling did a bit of writing; and presently she held out a long green slip of paper.
“Oh!” cried Polly, in huge delight, “I've never had one for my very own self before.” There it was, “Polly Pepper,” running clear across its face. And “Oh!” with wide eyes, when she saw the amount, “twenty-five dollars!”
“Haven't you so?” said Mrs. Sterling, greatly pleased to be the first in one of Polly's pleasures.
“Oh!” cried Polly again, “twenty-five dollars!” And she threw herself down before the lounge, and dropped a kiss upon the hand that had made all this happiness for the brakeman's poor children.
“Well now, Polly, tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Sterling, with a glow at her heart warm enough to brighten many a long invalid day. “Gibbons, get a cricket for Miss Mary.”
“Oh, may I sit here?” begged Polly eagerly, as Gibbons, placing the little writing-case back into position, now approached with the cricket; “it's so cosey on the floor.”
“Why, yes, if you don't wish the cricket,” said Mrs. Sterling with a little laugh, “and I remember when I was your age it was my greatest delight to sit on the floor.”
“It is mine,” said Polly, snuggling up to the sofa-blankets.
Mrs. Sterling put out her thin hand, and took Polly's rosy palm. “Now begin, dear,” she said, with an air of content, and looking down into the bright face.
So Polly, realizing that here perhaps was need for help, quite as much as in the poor brakeman's home, though in a different way, told the whole story, how the two clubs, the Salisbury School Club and the boys' club, had joined together to help Jim Corcoran's children; how they had had a big meeting at Jasper's house, and promised each other to take hold faithfully and work for that object.
“We were going to have a little play,” observed Polly, a bit sorrowfully, “but it was thought best not, so it will be recitations and music.”
“Those will be very nice, I am quite sure, Polly,” said Mrs. Sterling; “how I should love to hear some of them!” It was her turn to look sad now.
“Why—” Polly sat up quite straight now, and her cheeks turned rosy.
“What is it, my child?” asked Mrs. Sterling.
“Would you—I mean, do you want—oh, Mrs. Sterling, would you like us to come here some time to recite something to you?”
Mrs. Sterling turned an eager face on her pillow.
“Are you sure, Polly,” a light coming into her tired eyes, “that you young people would be willing to come to entertain a dull, sick, old woman?”
“Oh, I am sure they would,” cried Polly, “if you would like it, dear Mrs. Sterling.”
“Like it!” Mrs. Sterling turned her thin face to the wall for a moment. When she looked again at Polly, there were tears trickling down the wasted cheeks. “Polly, you don't know,” she said brokenly, “how I just long to hear young voices here in this dreary old house. To lie here day after day, child—”
“Oh!” cried Polly suddenly, “it must be so very dreadful, Mrs. Sterling.”
“Well, don't let us speak of that,” said Mrs. Sterling, breaking off quickly her train of thought, “for the worst isn't the pain and the weakness, Polly. It's the loneliness, child.”
“Oh!” said Polly. Then it all rushed over her how she might have run in before, and taken the other girls if she had only known. “But we will come now, dear Mrs. Sterling,” she said aloud.
“Do,” cried Mrs. Sterling, and a faint color began to show itself on her thin face, “but not unless you are quite sure that the young people will like it, Polly.”
“Yes, I am sure,” said Polly, with a decided nod of her brown head.
“Then why couldn't you hold some of your rehearsals here?” proposed Mrs. Sterling.
“Shouldn't we tire you?” asked Polly.
“No, indeed!” declared Mrs. Sterling, with sudden energy, “I could bear a menagerie up here, Polly,” and she laughed outright.
Gibbons, at this unwonted sound, popped her head in from the adjoining room where she was busy with her sewing, to gaze in astonishment at her mistress.
“I am not surprised at your face, Gibbons,” said Mrs. Sterling cheerily, “for you have not heard me laugh for many a day.”
“No, madam, I haven't,” said Gibbons, “but I can't help saying I'm rejoiced to hear it now,” with a glance of approval on Polly Pepper.
“So, Polly, you see there is no danger of your bringing me any fatigue, and I should be only too happy to see you at your next rehearsal.”
“We can come, I am almost sure,” said Polly,“those of us who want to rehearse at all. Some of us, you see, are quite sure of our pieces: Pickering Dodge is, for one; he spoke at his last school exhibition. But I'll tell the others. Oh, thank you for asking us, Mrs. Sterling.”
“Thank you for giving your time, dear, to a dull old woman,” said Mrs. Sterling. “Oh, must you go?” She clung to her hand. “I suppose you ought, child.”
“Yes,” said Polly, “I really ought to go, Mrs. Sterling. And you are not dull, one single bit, and I like you very much,” she added as simply as Phronsie would have said it.
“Kiss me good-bye, Polly,” said Mrs. Sterling. So Polly laid her fresh young cheek against the poor, tired, wasted one; hopped into her jacket, and was off on happy feet.
And the others said “Yes,” when they saw Polly's enthusiasm over the plan of holding a rehearsal at Mrs. Sterling's; and Jasper proposed, “Why couldn't we repeat the whole thing after our grand performance, for her sometime?” and, before any one could quite tell how, a warm sympathy had been set in motion for the rich, lonely old lady in the big, gloomy stone mansion most of them passed daily on their way to school.
Well, the grand affair was over now, and a greater success than was ever hoped for. Now came the enjoyment of presenting the money!
“Grandpapa,” said Polly, “we are all here.”
“So I perceive,” looking out on the delegation in the hall. For of course all the two clubs couldn't go to the presentation, so committees were chosen to represent them—Polly, Clem, Alexia, and Silvia, for the Salisbury Club, and Jasper, Clare, Pickering, and Richard Burnett for the boys' club; while old Mr. King on his own account had invited Joel, Percy and Van, and, of course, Tom Beresford.
“My! What shall we do with such a lot of boys?” exclaimed Alexia, as they all met in the hall.
“You don't have to do anything at all with us, Alexia,” retorted Joel, who liked her the best of any of Polly's friends, and always showed it by sparring with her on every occasion, “only let us alone.”
“Which I shall proceed to do with the greatest pleasure,” said Alexia. “Goodness me! Joe, as if I'd be bothered with you tagging on. You're much worse than before you went away to school.”
“Come, you two, stop your quarrelling,” said Jasper, laughing. “A pretty example you'd make to those poor Corcoran children.”
“Oh, we sha'n't fight there,” said Alexia sweetly; “we'll have quite enough to do to see all that is going on. Oh, Polly, when do you suppose we can ever start?”
“Father has the bank-book,” announced Jasper; “I saw him put it in his pocket, Polly.”
Polly gave a little wriggle under her coat. “Oh, Jasper, isn't it just too splendid for anything!” she cried.
“I'm going to walk with Polly,” announced Clem, seizing Polly's arm, “so, Alexia Rhys, I give you fair warning this time.”
“Indeed, you're not,” declared Alexia stoutly. “Why, I always walk with Polly Pepper.”
“And that's just the reason why I'm going to to-day,” said Clem, hanging to Polly's arm for dear life.
“Well, I'm her dearest friend,” added Alexia, taking refuge in that well-worn statement, “so there now, Clem Forsythe.”
“No, you're not,” said Clem obstinately; “we're all her dearest friends, aren't we, Polly? Say, Polly, aren't we?”
“Hush!” said Jasper. “Father's coming.”
“Well, I can't help it. I'm tired of hearing Alexia Rhys everlastingly saying that, and pushing us all away from Polly.”
“Do hear them go on!” exclaimed Tom Beresford, off on the edge of the group. “Does she always have them carrying around like that?”
“Yes,” said Joel, “a great deal worse. Oh, they're a lot of giggling girls; I hate girls!” he exploded.
“So do I,” nodded Tom. “Let's keep clear of the whole lot, and walk by ourselves.”
“Indeed, we will,” declared Joel. “You won't catch me walking with girls when I can help it.”
“Well, I wonder which of those two will get your sister, Polly, this time,” said Tom, craning his long neck to see the contest.
“Oh, Alexia, of course,” said Joel carelessly; “she always gets her in the end.”
But Joel was wrong. Neither of the girls carried off Polly. Old Mr. King marched out of his reading-room. “Come, Polly, my child, you and I will walk together,” and he waited on her handsomely out, and down the walk to the car.
Tom and Joel burst into a loud laugh, in which the others joined, at the crestfallen faces.
“Well, at least you didn't get her, Clem,” said Alexia airily, coming out of her discomfiture.
“Neither did you,” said Clem happily.
“And you are horrid boys to laugh,” said Alexia, looking over at the two. “But then, all boys are horrid.”
“Thank you,” said Tom, with his best bow.
“Alexia Rhys, aren't you perfectly ashamed to be fighting with that new boy?” cried Clem.
“Come on, Alexia,” said Jasper. “I shall have to walk with you to keep you in order,” and the gay procession hurrying after old Mr. King and Polly, caught up with them turning out of the big stone gateway.
And then, what a merry walk they had to the car! and that being nearly full, they had to wait for the next one, which luckily had only three passengers; and Mr. King and his party clambered on, to ride down through the poor quarters of the town, to the Corcoran house.
“Oh, misery me!” exclaimed Alexia, looking out at the tumble-down tenements, and garbage heaps up to the very doors. “Wherearewe going?”
“Did you suppose Jim Corcoran lived in a palace?” asked Pickering lazily.
“Well, I didn't suppose anybody lived like that,” said Alexia, wrinkling up her nose in scorn. “Dear me, look at all those children!”
“Interesting, aren't they?” said Pickering, with a pang for the swarm of ragged, dirty little creatures, but not showing it in the least on his impassive face.
“Oh, I don't want to see it,” exclaimed Alexia, “and I'm not going to either,” turning her back on it all.
“It goes on just the same,” said Pickering.
“Then I am going to look.” Alexia whirled around again, and gazed up and down the ugly thoroughfare, taking it all in.
“Ugh, how can you!” exclaimed Silvia Horne, in disgust. “I think it's very disagreeable to even know that such people live.”
“Perhaps 'twould be better to kill 'em off,” said Tom Beresford bluntly.
“Ugh, you dreadful boy!” cried Clem Forsythe.
“Who's fighting now with the new boy?” asked Alexia sweetly, tearing off her gaze from the street.
“Well, who wouldn't?” retorted Clem, “he's saying such perfectly terrible things.”
Pickering Dodge gave a short laugh. “Beresford, you're in for it now,” he said.
Tom shrugged his shoulders, and turned his back on them.
“What did you bring him home for, Joe?” asked Alexia, leaning over to twitch Joel's arm.
“To plague you, Alexia,” said Joel, with a twinkle in his black eyes.
“Oh, he doesn't bother me,” said Alexia serenely. “Clem is having all the trouble now. Well, we must put up with him, I suppose,” she said with resignation.
“You don't need to,” said Joel coolly, “you can let us alone, Alexia.”
“But I don't want to let you alone,” said Alexia; “that's all boys are good for, if they're in a party, to keep 'em stirred up. Goodness me, Mr. King and Polly are getting out!” as the car stopped, and Grandpapa led the way down the aisle.
When they arrived at the Corcoran house, which was achieved by dodging around groups of untidy women gossiping with their neighbors, and children playing on the dirty pavements, with the occasional detour caused by a heap of old tin cans, and other débris, Mr. King drew along breath. “I don't know that I ought to have brought you young people down here. It didn't strike me so badly before.”
“But it's no worse for us to see it than for the people to live here, father,” said Jasper quickly.
“That's very true—but faugh!” and the old gentleman had great difficulty to contain himself. “Well, thank fortune, the Corcoran family are to move this week.”
“Oh, Grandpapa,” cried Polly, hopping up and down on the broken pavement, and “Oh, father!” from Jasper.
“Polly Pepper,” exclaimed Alexia, twitching her away, “you came near stepping into that old mess of bones and things.”
Polly didn't even glance at the garbage heap by the edge of the sidewalk, nor give it a thought. “Oh, how lovely, Alexia,” she cried, “that they won't have but a day or two more here!”
“Well, we are going in,” said Alexia, holding her tightly, “and I'm glad of it, Polly. Oh, misery me!” as they followed Mr. King into the poor little house that Jim the brakeman had called home.
The little widow, thanks to Mr. King andseveral others interested in the welfare of the brakeman's family, had smartened up considerably, so that neither she nor her dwelling presented such a dingy, woe-begone aspect as on the previous visit. And old Mr. King, being very glad to see this, still further heartened her up by exclaiming, “Well, Mrs. Corcoran, you've accomplished wonders.”
“I've tried to,” cried the poor woman, “and I'm sure 'twas no more than I ought to do, and you being so kind to me and mine, sir.”
“Well, I've brought some young people to see you,” said the old gentleman abruptly, who never could bear to be thanked, and now felt much worse, as there were several spectators of his bounty; and he waved his hand toward the representatives of the two clubs.
They all huddled back, but he made them come forward. “No, it's your affair to-day; I only piloted you down here,” laughing at their discomfiture.
Meanwhile the whole Corcoran brood had all gathered about the visitors, to rivet their gaze upon them, and wait patiently for further developments.
“Polly, you tell her,” cried Alexia.
“Yes, Polly, do,” cried the other girls.
“Yes, Polly,” said Pickering, “you can tell it the best.”
“Oh, I never could,” said Polly in dismay. “Jasper, you, please.”
“No, no, Polly,” said Van; “she's the best.”
“But Polly doesn't wish to,” said Jasper in a low voice.
“All right, then, Jappy, go ahead,” said Percy.
There was a little pause, Mrs. Corcoran filling it up by saying, “I can't ask you to sit down, for there ain't chairs enough,” beginning to wipe off one with her apron. “Here, sir, if you'd please to sit,” taking it over to Mr. King.
“Thank you,” said the old gentleman, accepting it with his best air. “Now then, Jasper”—he had handed a small parcel to him under cover of the chair-wiping—“go ahead, my boy.”
So Jasper, seeing that there was no help for it, but that he was really to be the spokesman, plunged in quite bravely.
“Mrs. Corcoran, some of us girls and boys—we belong to two clubs, you know,”—waving his hand over to the representatives—“wanted to show your boys and girls, that we were gratefulto their father for being so good and kind to the passengers that night of the accident.”
Here the little widow put the corner of her apron up to her eye, so Jasper hurried on: “And we wanted to help them to get an education. And so we had a little entertainment, and sold the tickets and here is our gift!” Jasper ended desperately, thrusting the package out.
“Take it, Arethusa,” was all Mrs. Corcoran could say; “and may the Lord bless you all!” Then she put the apron over her head and sobbed aloud.
“Bless me!” exclaimed old Mr. King, fumbling for his handkerchief, “don't, my good woman, I beg of you.”
“And, oh, I do hope you'll learn to play on the piano,” breathed Polly, as Arethusa took the package from Jasper, and slid back to lay it in her mother's hand.
“Oh me! I'm going to cry,” exclaimed Alexia, backing off toward the door.
“If you do, I'll throw you out,” said Joel savagely.
“Well, I shall; I feel so sniffly and queer. Oh, Joel, what shall I do? I shall be disgraced for life if I cry here.”
“Hang on to me,” said Joel stoutly, thrusting out his sturdy arm.
So Alexia hung on to it, and managed to get along very well. And one of the children, the littlest one next to the baby, created a diversion by bringing up a mangy cat, and laying it on Mr. King's knees. This saved the situation as far as crying went, and brought safely away those who were perilously near the brink of tears.
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Polly, starting forward, knowing how Grandpapa detested cats. But Jasper was before her.
“Let me take it, father,” and he dexterously brought it off.
“Give it to me,” said Polly. “Oh, what is its name?”
The little thing who seemed to own the cat toddled over, well pleased, and stuck his finger in his mouth, which was the extent to which he could go in conversation. But the other children, finding the ice now broken, all came up at this point, to gather around Polly and the cat.
“It's lucky enough that Phronsie isn't here,” said Jasper in a low voice, “for she would never want to leave that cat.”
AND SO WE HAD A LITTLE ENTERTAINMENT, AND SOLD THE TICKETS, AND HERE IS OUR GIFT!“AND SO WE HAD A LITTLE ENTERTAINMENT, AND SOLD THE TICKETS, AND HERE IS OUR GIFT!”
“Just see Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Alexia, with a grimace. “Why doesn't she drop that dirty old cat?”
“Because she ought not to,” howled Joel sturdily. Then he rushed over to Polly; and although he had small love for cats in general, this particular one, being extremely ill-favored and lean, met with his favor. He stroked her poor back.
Arethusa drew near and gazed into Polly's face; seeing which, the cat was safely transferred to Joel, and Polly turned around to the girl.
“Oh, do you want to learn to play on the piano?” asked Polly breathlessly, under cover of the noise going on, for all the other members of the two clubs now took a hand in it. Even Percy unbent enough to interview one of the Corcoran boys.
“Yes, I do,” said Arethusa, clasping her small red hands tightly.
Her eyes widened, and her little thin face, which wasn't a bit pretty, lightened up now in a way that Polly thought was perfectly beautiful.
“Well, I did, when I was a little girl like you”—Polly bent her rosy face very close to Arethusa's—“oh,dreadfully; and I used to drum on the table to make believe I could play.”
“So do I,” cried Arethusa, creeping up close to Polly's neck, “an' th' boys laugh at me. But I keep doin' it.”
“And now, Arethusa, you are really going to learn to play on the piano.” Polly thrilled all over at the announcement, just as she had done when told that she was to take music lessons.
“Not a really and truly piano?” exclaimed Arethusa, lost in amazement.
“Yes, a really and truly piano,” declared Polly positively. “Just think, Arethusa, you can give music lessons and help to take care of your mother.”
And just then Grandpapa, who had been talking to Mrs. Corcoran, was saying, “Well, well, it's time to be going, young people.” And Joel put the cat down, that immediately ran between his legs, tripping him up as he turned, thereby making everybody laugh; and so the exit was made merrily.
“Wasn't that fun!” cried Alexia, dancing off down the broken pavement. “Oh, I forgot, I'm going to walk home with Polly,” and she flew back.
“You take yourself away,” cried old Mr. King, with a laugh. “I'm to have Polly to myself on this expedition.”
“Well, at any rate, Clem, you haven't Polly,” announced Alexia as before, running up to her.
“Neither have you,” retorted Clem, in the same way.
“So we will walk together,” said Alexia, coolly possessing herself of Clem's arm. “Those two boys can walk with each other; they're just dying to.”
“How do you know I want to walk with you?” asked Clem abruptly.
“Oh, but do, you sweet thing you! Come on!” and Alexia dragged her off at a smart pace.
“Grandpapa,” cried Polly, hopping up and down by his side, too happy to keep still, while she clung to his hand just as Phronsie would have done, “you are going to have the piano put into the house the very first thing after it is cleaned and ready—theveryfirst thing?” She peered around into his face anxiously.
“Theveryfirst thing,” declared the old gentleman. “Take my word for it, Polly Pepper, there sha'n't another article get in before it.”
“Oh, Grandpapa!” Polly wished she could go dancing off into the middle of the thoroughfare for a regular spin.
“Take care, Polly,” laughed old Mr. King,successfully steering her clear of an ash barrel, “this isn't the best dancing place imaginable.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Grandpapa,” said Polly, trying to sober down, “I didn't mean to; but oh, isn't it perfectly beautiful that Arethusa is going to take music lessons!”
“It is, indeed,” said Grandpapa, with a keen glance down at her flushed face. “And it really does seem to be an assured fact, for Miss Brown is engaged to begin as soon as the family move into their new home.”
“Oh—oh!” Polly could get no further.
Jasper, ahead with Pickering Dodge, looked back longingly.
“Oh, I do wish, Grandpapa,” said Polly, “that Jasper could walk home with us.”
“So do I, Polly,” said the old gentleman; “but you see he can't, for then I should have the whole bunch of those chattering creatures around me,” and he laughed grimly. “You must tell him all about what we are talking of, as soon as you get home.”
“Yes, I will,” declared Polly, “the very first thing. Now, Grandpapa, please go on.”
“Well, I had told Mrs. Corcoran all about the new house, you know, Polly, before.”
“Yes, I know, Grandpapa,” said Polly, with a happy little wriggle.
“And so to-day I explained about the bank-book; told her where the money was deposited, and showed her how to use it. By the way, Polly, Jasper made a good speech now, didn't he?” The old gentleman broke off, and fairly glowed with pride.
“Oh, didn't he!” cried Polly, in a burst. “I thought it was too splendid for anything! And he didn't know in the least that he had to do it. He thought you were going to give the bank-book, Grandpapa.”
“I know it,” chuckled Mr. King. “Well now, Polly, I thought I'd try my boy without warning. Because, you see, that shows what stuff a person is made of to respond at such a time, and he's all right, Jasper is; he came up to the demand nicely.”
“It was perfectly elegant!” cried Polly, with glowing cheeks.
“And those two boys—the largest ones—are to begin in the other public school next week,” continued the old gentleman.
“Everything begins next week, doesn't it, Grandpapa?” cried Polly.
“It seems so,” said Mr. King, with a laugh. “Well, Polly, here we are at our car.”
And having the good luck to find it nearly empty, the whole party hopped on, and began the ride back again.
“Now,” said Jasper, when they had reached home, “for some comfort,” and he drew Polly off into a quiet corner in the library. “Let's have the whole, Polly. You said you'd tell me what you and father were talking of all the way home.”
“And so I will,” cried Polly, too elated to begin at the right end. “Well, Jasper, you must know that Arethusa's piano is actually engaged.”
“It is!” exclaimed Jasper. “Hurrah!”
“Yes,” said Polly, with shining eyes, “and it's going into the new home theveryfirst thing. Grandpapa promised me that.”
“Isn't father good!” cried Jasper, a whole world of affection in his dark eyes.
“Good?” repeated Polly, “he's as good as good can be, Jasper King!”
“Well, what else?” cried Jasper.
“And the boys—the two biggest ones—are going into the other public school, the one nearest their new home, you know.”
“Yes, I see,” said Jasper, “that's fine. That will bring them in with better boys.”
“Yes, and Grandpapa told Mrs. Corcoran all about the money we made at the entertainment, and that he put it in the bank for her this morning. And he showed her how to use the check-book.”
“Polly,” said Jasper, very much excited, “what if we girls and boys hadn't done this for those children! Just think, Polly, only suppose it!”
“I know it,” cried Polly. “Oh, Jasper!” drawing a long breath. “But then, you see, we did do it.”
“Yes,” said Jasper, bursting into a laugh, “we surely did, Polly.”
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“Oh, Cathie!” Polly rushed out to meet the girl that Johnson was just ushering in. “Iamso glad you've come!”
A pleased look swept over the girl's face, but she didn't say anything.
“Now come right upstairs; never mind the bag, Johnson will bring that for you.”
“I will take it up, Miss,” said Johnson, securing it.
“Mamsie is waiting to see you,” cried Polly, as they ran over the stairs, Cathie trying to still the excited beating of her heart at the thought that she was really to visit Polly Pepper for three whole days! “Oh, Mamsie, here she is!”
“I am glad to see you, Cathie,” said Mrs. Fisher heartily, taking her cold hand. “Now, you are to have the room right next to Polly's.”
“Yes, the same one that Alexia always has when she stays here,” said Polly. “See, Cathie,” bearing her off down the hall. “Oh, it is sogood to get you here,” she cried happily. “Well, here we are!”
“You can't think,” began Cathie brokenly; then she turned away to the window—“it's so good of you to ask me, Polly Pepper!”
“It's so good of you to come,” said Polly merrily, and running over to her. “There, Johnson has brought your bag. Aren't you going to unpack it, Cathie?—that is, I mean”—with a little laugh—“after you've got your hat and jacket off. And then, when your things are all settled, we can go downstairs, and do whatever you like. Perhaps we'll go in the greenhouse.”
“Oh, Polly!” exclaimed Cathie, quite forgetting herself, and turning around.
“And can't I help you unpack?” asked Polly, longing to do something.
“No,” said Cathie, remembering her plain clothes and lack of the pretty trifles that girls delight in; then seeing Polly's face, she thought better of it. “Yes, you may,” she said suddenly.
So Polly unstrapped the bag, and drew out the clothes, all packed very neatly. “Why, Cathie Harrison!” she exclaimed suddenly.
“What?” asked Cathie, hanging up her jacketin the closet, and putting her head around the door.
“Oh, what a lovely thing!” Polly held up a little carved box of Chinese workmanship.
“Isn't it?” cried Cathie, well pleased that she had anything worthy of notice. “My uncle brought that from China to my mother when she was a little girl, and she gave it to me.”
“Well, it's too lovely for anything,” declared Polly, running to put it on the toilet table. “I do think Chinese carvings are so pretty!”
“Do you?” cried Cathie, well pleased. “My mother has some really fine ones, I'll show you sometime, if you'd like to see them, Polly.”
“Indeed, I should,” said Polly warmly. So Cathie, delighted that she really had something that could interest Polly Pepper, hurried through her preparations; and then the two went downstairs arm in arm, and out to the greenhouse.
“Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Cathie on the threshold, “I don't think I should ever envy you living in that perfectly beautiful house, because it just scares me to set foot in it.”
“Well, it needn't,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “You must just forget all about its being big and splendid.”
“But I can't,” said Cathie, surprised at herself for being so communicative, “because, you see, I live in such a little, tucked-up place.”
“Well, so did I,” said Polly, with a bob of her brown head, “before we came here to Grandpapa's; but oh, you can't think how beautiful it was in the little brown house—you can't begin to think, Cathie Harrison!”
“I know,” said Cathie, who had heard the story before. “I wish you'd tell it all to me now, Polly.”
“I couldn't tell it all, if I talked a year, I guess,” said Polly merrily, “and there is Turner waiting to speak to me. Come on, Cathie.” And she ran down the long aisle between the fragrant blossoms.
But Cathie stopped to look and exclaim so often to herself that she made slow progress.
“Shall I make her up a bunch, Miss Mary?” asked old Turner, touching his cap respectfully, and looking at the visitor.
“Oh, if you please,” cried Polly radiantly; “and do put some heliotrope in, for Cathie is so fond of that. And please let her have a bunch every morning when I have mine, Turner, for she is to stay three days.”
“It shall be as you wish, Miss Mary,” said Turner, quite delighted at the order.
“And please let it be very nice, Turner,” said Polly hastily.
“I will, Miss; don't fear, Miss Mary, I'll have it as nice as possible,” as Polly ran off to meet Cathie.
“I should stay here every single minute I was at home if I lived here, Polly Pepper,” declared Cathie. “Oh, oh!” sniffing at each discovery of a new blossom.
“Oh, no, you wouldn't, Cathie,” contradicted Polly, with a laugh; “not if you had to get your lessons, and practise on the piano, and go out riding and driving, and play with the boys.”
“Oh dear me!” cried Cathie, “I don't care very much for boys, because, you see, Polly, I never know what in this world to say to them.”
“That's because you never had any brothers,” said Polly, feeling how very dreadful such a state must be. “I can't imagine anything without Ben and Joel and Davie.”
“And now you've such a lot of brothers, with Jasper and all those Whitney boys; oh, Polly, don't they scare you to death sometimes?”
Polly burst into such a merry peal of laughter,that they neither of them heard the rushing feet, until Cathie glanced up. “Oh dear me! there they are now!”
“Well, to be sure; we might have known you were here, Polly,” cried Jasper, dashing up with Clare. “How do you do, Cathie?” putting out his hand cordially.
Clare gave her a careless nod, then turned to Polly. “It's to be fine,” he said.
“What?” asked Polly wonderingly.
“Hold on, old chap.” Jasper gave him a clap on the back. “Father is going to tell her himself. Come on, Polly and Cathie, to his room.”
“Come, Cathie,” cried Polly. “Let's beat those boys,” she said, when once out of the greenhouse. “We're going to race,” she cried over her shoulder.
“Is that so?” said Jasper. “Clare, we must beat them,” and they dashed in pursuit.
But they couldn't; the two girls flew over the lawn, and reached the stone steps just a breathing space before Jasper and Clare plunged up.
“Well done,” cried Jasper, tossing back the hair from his forehead.
“I didn't know you could run so well,” observedClare, with some show of interest in Cathie.
“Oh, she runs splendidly,” said Polly, with sparkling eyes. “Let's try a race sometime, Jasper; we four, down the Long Path, while Cathie's here.”
“Capital! We will,” assented Jasper, “but now for father's room.”
There sat old Mr. King by his writing table. “Well, Polly—how do you do, Cathie? I am glad to see you,” he said, putting out his hand kindly.
As well as she could for her terror at being actually in that stately Mr. King's presence, Cathie stumbled forward and laid her hand in his.
“Now, Polly,” said the old gentleman, turning off to pick up a little envelope lying on the table, “I thought perhaps you would like to take your young friend to the play to-night, so I have the tickets for us five,” with a sweep of his hand over to the two boys.
“Grandpapa!” cried Polly, precipitating herself into his arms, “oh, how good you are!” which pleased the old gentleman immensely.
“Isn't that no-end fine!” cried Jasper in delight. “Father, we can't thank you!”
“Say no more, my boy,” cried the old gentleman. “I'm thanked enough. And so, Polly, my girl, you like it,” patting her brown hair.
“Like it!” cried Polly, lifting her glowing cheeks,—“oh, Grandpapa!”
“Run along with you then, all of you. Clare, be over in time.”
“Yes, sir,” cried Clare. “Oh, thank you, Mr. King, ever so much!” as they all scampered off to get their lessons for the next day; for going to a play was always a special treat, on condition that no studies were neglected.
“Oh, Cathie,” cried Polly, before she flew into the window-seat to curl up with her books, her favorite place for studying her lessons, “Grandpapa is taking us to the play because you are here.”
“And I've never been to a play, Polly,” said Cathie, perfectly overwhelmed with it all.
“Haven't you? Oh, I'm so glad—I mean, I'm glad you're going with us, and that Grandpapa is to take you to the first one. But, oh me!” and Polly rushed off to attack her books. “Now, don't let us speak a single word, Cathie Harrison,” as Cathie picked out a low rocker for her choice of a seat; and pretty soon, if MissSalisbury herself had come into the room, she would have been perfectly satisfied with the diligent attention the books were receiving.
But Miss Salisbury was not thinking of her pupils this afternoon. She was at this moment closeted with Miss Anstice, and going over a conversation that they frequently held, these past days, without much variation in the subject or treatment.
“If there were anything we could do to repay him, sister,” said Miss Anstice mournfully, “I'd do it, and spend my last cent. But what is there?” Then she paced the floor with her mincing little steps, now quite nervous and flurried.
“Sister,” said Miss Salisbury, doing her best to be quite calm, “it isn't a matter of payment; for whatever we did, we never could hope to replace that exquisite little vase. Miss Clemcy had pointed out to me the fact that it was quite the gem in his collection.”
“I know; I thought my heart would stop when I heard the crash.” Miss Anstice wrung her little hands together at the memory. “Oh, that careless Lily!”
“Sister, pray let us look at this matter—”
“I am looking at it. I see nothing but that vase, smashed to pieces; and I cannot sleep at night for fear I'll dream how it looked in those very little bits.”
“Sister—pray—pray—”
“And if you want me to tell you what I think should be done, I'm sure I can't say,” added Miss Anstice helplessly.
“Well, then, I must think,” declared Miss Salisbury, with sudden energy, “for some repayment must surely be made to him, although they utterly refused it when you and I called and broached the subject to them.”
“It was certainly a most unfortunate day from beginning to end,” said Miss Anstice, with a suggestion of tears in her voice, and a shiver at the remembrance of the front breadth of her gown. “Sister, I hope and pray that you will never have another picnic for the school.”
“I cannot abolish that annual custom, Anstice,” said Miss Salisbury firmly, “for the girls get so much enjoyment out of it. They are already talking about the one to come next year.”
“Ugh!” shuddered Miss Anstice.
“And anything that holds an influence over them, I must sustain. You know that yourself,sister. And it is most important to give them some recreations.”
“Butpicnics!” Miss Anstice held up her little hands, as if quite unequal to any words.
“And I am very sorry that we were out when Mr. Clemcy and his sister called yesterday afternoon, for I am quite sure I could have arranged matters so that we need not feel under obligations to them.”
Miss Anstice, having nothing to say, kept her private reflections mournfully to herself; and it being the hour for the boarding pupils to go out to walk, and her duty to accompany them, the conference broke up.
“Polly,” called Mrs. Chatterton, as Polly ran past her door, her opera glasses Grandpapa had given her last Christmas in the little plush bag dangling from her arm, and a happy light in her eyes. Cathie had gone downstairs, and it was getting nearly time to set forth for that enchanted land—the playhouse!
Polly ran on, scarcely conscious that she was called. “Did you not hear me?” asked Mrs. Chatterton angrily, coming to her door.
“Oh, I beg pardon,” said Polly, really glad ever since that dreadful time when Mrs. Chattertonwas ill, to do anything for her. “For I never shall forget how naughty I was to her,” Polly said over to herself now as she turned back.
“You may well beg my pardon,” said Mrs. Chatterton, “for of all ill-bred girls, you are certainly the worst. I want you.” Then she disappeared within her room.
“What is it?” asked Polly, coming in. “I shall be so glad to help.”
“Help!” repeated Mrs. Chatterton in scorn. She was standing over by her toilet table. “You can serve me; come here.”
The hot blood mounted to Polly's brow. Then she thought, “Oh, what did I say? That I would do anything for Mrs. Chatterton if she would only forgive me for those dreadful words I said to her.” And she went over and stood by the toilet table.
“Oh, you have concluded to come?” observed Mrs. Chatterton scornfully. “So much the better it would be if you could always learn what your place is in this house. There, you see this lace?” She shook out her flowing sleeve, glad to display her still finely moulded arm, that had been one of her chief claims to distinction, even if nobody but this little country-bred girl saw it.
Polly looked at the dangling lace, evidently just torn, with dismay; seeing which, Mrs. Chatterton broke out sharply, “Get the basket, girl, over there on the table, and sew it as well as you can.”
“Polly!” called Jasper over the stairs, “where are you?”
Polly trembled all over as she hurried across the room to get the sewing basket. Grandpapa was not ready, she knew; but she always ran down a little ahead for the fun of the last moments waiting with Jasper, when old Mr. King was going to take them out of an evening. And in the turmoil in her mind, she didn't observe that Hortense had misplaced the basket, putting it on the low bookcase, and was still searching all over the table as directed, when Mrs. Chatterton's sharp voice filled her with greater dismay.
“Stupid! if you would put heart into your search, it would be easy enough to find it.”
“Polly, whereareyou!” Polly, in her haste not to displease Mrs. Chatterton by replying to Jasper before finding the basket, knocked over one of the small silver-topped bottles with which the dressing table seemed to be full, and before she could rescue it, it fell to the floor.
“Go out of this room,” commanded Mrs. Chatterton, with blazing eyes. “I ought to have known better than to call upon a heavy-handed, low-born country girl, to do a delicate service.”
“I didn't mean—” began poor Polly.
“Go out of this room!” Mrs. Chatterton, now thoroughly out of temper, so far forgot herself as to stamp her foot; and Polly, feeling as if she had lost all chance in her future encounters with Mrs. Chatterton, of atoning for past short-comings, went sadly out, to meet, just beside the door, Jasper, with amazement on his face.
“Oh, Polly, I thought you were never coming.” Then he saw her face.
“That old—” he said under his breath. “Polly, don't ever go into her room again. I wouldn't,” as they hurried off downstairs.
“She won't let me,” said Polly, her head drooping, and the brightness all gone from her face. “She won't ever let me go again, I know.”
“Won't let you? Well, I guess you'll not give her a chance,” cried Jasper hotly. “Polly, I do really wish that father would tell her to go away.”
“Oh, Jasper,” cried Polly, in alarm, “don't sayone word to Grandpapa. Promise me you won't, Jasper.”
“Well, father is tired of her. She wears on him terribly, Polly,” said Jasper gloomily.
“I know,” said Polly sadly. “And oh, Jasper, if you say one word, he will really have her go. And I was so bad to her, you know,” and the tears came into Polly's brown eyes.
“Well, she must have been perfectly terrible to you,” said Jasper.
“Polly—Jasper—where are you?” came in old Mr. King's voice.
“Here, father,” and “Here, Grandpapa,” and Clare running up the steps, the little party was soon in the carriage.
“Promise me, Jasper, do,” implored Polly, when Grandpapa was explaining to Cathie about the great actor they were to see, and Clare was listening to hear all about it, too.
“Oh, I won't,” promised Jasper, “if you don't wish me to.”
“I really wouldn't have you for all the world,” declared Polly; and now that this fear was off from her mind, she began to pick up her old, bright spirits, so that by the time the carriage stopped at the theatre, Polly was herself again.
Jasper watched her keenly, and drew a long breath when he saw her talking and laughing with Grandpapa.
“You are going to sit next to me, Polly,” said the old gentleman, marshalling his forces when well within. “And Jasper next. Then, Cathie, you will have a knight on either side.”
“Oh, I can't sit between two boys,” cried Cathie, forgetting herself in her terror.
“I won't bite you,” cried Clare saucily.
“I will see that Clare behaves himself,” said Jasper.
“You'll do nicely, my dear,” said Mr. King encouragingly to her; then proceeded down the aisle after the usher. So there was nothing to do but to obey. And Cathie, who would have found it a formidable thing to be stranded on the companionship of one boy, found herself between two, and Polly Pepper far off, and not the least able to help.
“Now, then,” said Jasper, taking up the program, “I suppose father told you pretty much all that was necessary to know about Irving. Well—” And then, without waiting for a reply, Jasper dashed on about the splendid plays in which he had seen this wonderful actor, and theparticular one they were to enjoy to-night; and from that he drifted off to the fine points to be admired in the big playhouse, with its striking decorations, making Cathie raise her eyes to take it all in, until Clare leaned over to say:
“I should think you might give Cathie and me a chance to talk a little, Jasper.”
“Oh, I don't want to talk,” cried Cathie in terror. “I don't know anything to say.”
“Well, I do,” said Clare, in a dudgeon, “only Jasper goes on in such a streak to-night.”
“I believe I have been talking you both blue,” said Jasper, with a laugh.
“You certainly have,” said Clare, laughing too.
And then Cathie laughed, and Polly Pepper, looking over, beamed at her, for she had begun to be worried.
“The best thing in the world,” said old Mr. King, “was to turn her over to those two boys. Now, don't give her another thought, Polly; she'll get on.”
And she did; so well, that before long, she and Clare were chatting away merrily; and Cathie felt it was by no means such a very terrible experience to be sitting between two boys at aplay; and by the time the evening was half over, she was sure that she liked it very much.
And Polly beamed at her more than ever, and Jasper felt quite sure that he had never enjoyed an evening more than the one at present flying by so fast. And old Mr. King, so handsome and stately, showed such evident pride in his young charges, as he smiled and chatted, that more than one old friend in the audience commented on it.
“Did you ever see such a change in any one?” asked a dowager, levelling her keen glances from her box down upon the merry party.
“Never; it was the one thing needed to make him quite perfect,” said another one of that set. “He is approachable now—absolutely fascinating, so genial and courteous.”
“His manners were perfect before,” said a third member of the box party, “except they needed thawing out—a bit too icy.”
“You are too mild. I should say they were quite frozen. He never seemed to me to have any heart.”
“Well, it's proved he has,” observed her husband. “I tell you that little Pepper girl is going to make a sensation when she comes out,” leaningover for a better view of the King party, “and the best of it is that she doesn't know it herself.”
And Clare made up his mind that Cathie Harrison was an awfully nice girl; and he was real glad she had moved to town and joined the Salisbury School. And as he had two cousins there, they soon waked up a conversation over them.
“Only I don't know them much,” said Cathie. “You see I haven't been at the school long, and besides, the girls didn't have much to say to me till Polly Pepper said nice things to me, and then she asked me to go to the bee.”
“That old sewing thing where they make clothes for the poor little darkeys down South?” asked Clare.
“Yes; and it's just lovely,” said Cathie, “and I never supposed I'd be asked. And Polly Pepper came down to my desk one day, and invited me to come to the next meeting, and I was so scared, I couldn't say anything at first; and then Polly got me into the Salisbury Club.”
“Oh, yes, I know.” Clare nodded, and wished he could forget how he had asked one of the other boys on that evening when the two clubsunited, why in the world the Salisbury Club elected Cathie Harrison into its membership.
“And then Polly Pepper's mother invited me to visit her—Polly, I mean—and so here I am”—she forgot she was talking to a dreaded boy, and turned her happy face toward him—“and it's just lovely. I never visited a girl before.”
“Never visited a girl before!” repeated Clare, in astonishment.
“No,” said Cathie. “You see, my father was a minister, and we lived in the country, and when I visited anybody, which was only two or three times in my life, it was to papa's old aunts.”
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Clare faintly, quite gone in pity.
“And so your father moved to town,” he said; and then he knew that he had made a terrible mistake.
“Now she won't speak a word—perhaps burst out crying,” he groaned within himself, as he saw her face. But Cathie sat quite still.
“My papa died,” she said softly, “and he told mamma before he went, to take me to town and have me educated. And one of those old aunts gave the money. And if it hadn't beenfor him, I'd have run home from the Salisbury School that first week, it was so perfectly awful.”
Clare sat quite still. Then he burst out, “Well, now, Cathie, I think it was just splendid in you to stick on.”
“Do you?” she cried, quite astonished to think any one would think she was “just splendid” in anything. “Why, the girls call me a goose over and over. And sometimes I lose my temper, because they don't say it in fun, but they really mean it.”
“Well, they needn't,” said Clare indignantly, “because I don't think you are a goose at all.”
“Those two are getting on quite well,” said Jasper to Polly. “I don't think we need to worry about Cathie any more.”
“And isn't she nice?” asked Polly, in great delight.
“Yes, I think she is, Polly,” said Jasper, in a way that gave Polly great satisfaction.
But when this delightful evening was all over, and the good nights had been said, and Mother Fisher, as was her wont, had come into Polly's room to help her take off her things, and to say a few words to Cathie too, Polly began to rememberthe scene in Mrs. Chatterton's room; and a sorry little feeling crept into her heart.
And when Mamsie had gone out and everything was quiet, Polly buried her face in her pillow, and tried not to cry. “I don't believe she will ever forgive me, or let me help her again.”
“Polly,” called Cathie softly from the next room, “I did have the most beautiful time!”
“Did you?” cried Polly, choking back her sobs. “Oh, I am so glad, Cathie!”
“Yes,” said Cathie, “I did, Polly, and I'm not afraid of boys now; I think they are real nice.”
“Aren't they!” cried Polly, “and weren't our seats fine! Grandpapa didn't want a box to-night, because we could see the play so much better from the floor. But we ought to go to sleep, Cathie, for Mamsie wouldn't like us to talk. Good night.”
“Good night,” said Cathie. “A box!” she said to herself, as she turned on her pillow, “oh, I should have died to have sat up in one of those. It was quite magnificent enough where I was.”