CHAPTER IIIPOLLY PERKINS GOES ON A JOURNEY
WhilePatty was watching from the window all up and down the long city street, hoping that every passing wagon or automobile would stop at her door with Polly Perkins, what was Polly herself doing all this time?
To begin at the beginning, there is no doubt that Polly was disappointed not to be carried home in Patty’s arms.
‘I would like to see a little of the world,’ thought Polly, when she heard how she was to make the journey, ‘and I would like to ride on the train that Patty talks about. I will be as good as gold, and then perhaps Patty will always take me with her when she goes traveling. Who knows?’
So when Polly saw the rainy day and heard Grandmother plan to send her home in a box, Polly couldn’t help being disappointed, thoughof course she didn’t show it in the least. She smiled as sweetly as ever when Patty wrapped her in the pink-and-blue tufted coverlet and kissed her good-bye. And though she wanted dreadfully to give the cover of the box just one gentle kick with her pretty brown slipper, to work off a little of her disappointment as it were, still Polly said to herself,
‘No, I won’t kick the box, for I know Patty wouldn’t like it. And I want to please Patty in every way I can.’
For Polly had grown to love Patty in the short time she had lived with her, and she believed that Patty was the very best mother that ever a dolly could have.
‘She might leave me out all night in the grass,’ thought wise little Polly. ‘She might stick pins into me, or pull my hair, or drop me down the well. But she never, never does. Oh, I am glad that Patty is my mother.’
And if, once in a while, Patty gave her a spanking or put her to bed in the middle of theday, why, that was no more than happened to Patty herself, once in a while, and so of course Polly could find no fault.
Polly liked Uncle Charles, too. Hadn’t he given her a pretty face and a sweet smile? So when Uncle Charles tucked Polly under his arm to carry her to the express office, Polly gave one or two gentle bumps on the lid of the box just to show that she was friendly. But if Uncle Charles heard them, no doubt he thought that Polly was simply slipping about, and that he must carry the box more carefully.
It was not pleasant in the express office, Polly found. There was a strong smell of tobacco smoke that sifted straight into Polly’s box, and there seemed to be men all about, with loud voices, who tossed packages back and forth, and hauled heavy boxes from one side of the room to the other. Polly herself was tossed up on a shelf where, after a moment or two, she snuggled down in her coverlet and sensibly fell fast asleep.
She was awakened after a long, long nap by being lifted off the shelf. She thought it must be morning, the express office was so busy and noisy and so many people were hurrying to and fro.
Then came a great roaring and puffing and snorting just outside the office door, and Polly knew in a moment what it was.
‘It is the train,’ thought Polly, who had never heard one before. ‘That is just the sound Uncle Charles made when he played train with Patty the night he came to supper at our house.’
And Polly was right. It was the train.
Now the bustling grew greater than before. Trunks and heavy boxes were hoisted aboard the train. Packages, large and small, were flung on helter-skelter, and among them was Polly, who went flying through the air and luckily landed face-up on top of a trunk, where it took a whole moment to get her breath again. But Polly didn’t mind being tossed about, not one bit. She thought it was exciting, and much betterthan lying in the smoky express office on a shelf.
Then the train whistled and puffed and panted and was off.
Roar, roar, roar! Clatter, clatter, clatter!
At first Polly couldn’t hear herself think. But after a short time she grew used to the noise of the train and could hear the different sounds all about her in the baggage car in which she lay.
Cluck! Cluck! Cluck! Squawk! Squawk!
‘Hens,’ thought Polly, who had often gone with Patty to visit the chicken coops at the back of Grandmother’s yard.
Then she heard a low whining and scuffling as in answer to the outcry of the hens, and the next moment a dog lifted his voice in a series of sharp little barks.
And, would you believe it, Polly understood every word he said.
‘I am Twinkle. Bow-wow!’ said the little dog.
And if Polly could only have looked throughher box and seen him, she would have thought that he couldn’t have a better name. For not only was there a gay twinkle in his bright black eye, but the curly tuft of hair on the tip of his tail seemed to twinkle also as he waved it to and fro. While his soft black nose was a shining little spot that might easily have been called a twinkle, too.
‘Bow-wow!’ said Twinkle again. ‘I belong to Jimmy, and Jimmy has broken his leg. Wow! Wow!’
‘Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!’ answered the sympathetic hens. ‘Too bad! Too bad! Too bad!’
‘I wish I could talk to him,’ said Polly to herself. ‘I am going to try.’
So in her politest voice she called out, ‘Twinkle, I am in this box and my name is Polly Perkins. I belong to a little girl named Patty, and I want to talk to you. How did Jimmy break his leg?’
‘On roller skates. Bow-wow!’ answered Twinkle, as though it were the most naturalthing in the world to be talking to a dolly wrapped up in a box.
And, come to think of it, Twinkle didn’t know that Polly Perkins was a doll. He only knew that he wanted to tell some one about his little master Jimmy.
‘He was roller skating in the park,’ called out Twinkle, ‘and he fell and broke his leg, and if I had been there it never would have happened.’
‘Why?’ asked Polly. ‘Why wouldn’t it have happened?’
‘Did he break his leg all last summer while he was playing with me in the country?’ demanded Twinkle. ‘Of course he didn’t. But no sooner does he go back to the city than he falls and breaks his leg. It all happened because I wasn’t there to take care of him.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the city with him?’ asked Polly next. You see, Patty wasn’t there to tell Polly it wasn’t polite to ask quite so many questions, and Polly was too young to be expected to know that, all by herself.
But Twinkle didn’t mind questions in the least.
‘Because his mother said the city was no place for a dog,’ he sniffed scornfully. ‘Just as if I couldn’t behave as well in the city as anywhere else. But they have had to send for me now, for Jimmy wants me. That is where I am going now on the train.’
‘I am going to Patty’s house,’ volunteered Polly Perkins. ‘That is where I am going. Patty couldn’t carry me home yesterday because of the rain.’
‘Cluck-cluck-cluck-ca-da-cut!’ called the hens, not wishing to be left out of the conversation. ‘We are going on a pleasure trip, for pleasure only. We don’t know whether we are coming back or not. We belong to Farmer Hill.’
‘I never heard of Farmer Hill,’ barked Twinkle, ‘but he can’t be as good as Jimmy. Jimmy is the best little boy that ever lived.’
‘He isn’t any better than Patty,’ spoke uployal Polly. ‘Patty is the best little girl to live with that any dolly ever knew.’
‘Does she throw sticks in the water for you to bring out?’ asked Twinkle. ‘Jimmy does.’
‘No,’ answered Polly, ‘but she takes me out for a walk every day.’
‘Does she run races with you up to the big tree and back?’ asked Twinkle. ‘Jimmy does.’
‘No,’ answered Polly, ‘but she brushes my hair and rocks me to sleep and we often have parties together, Polly and I.’
‘Does she give you chicken bones, always the drumstick and sometimes more?’ asked Twinkle. ‘Jimmy does.’
But before Polly could answer, and indeed at the very mention of chicken bones, all the hens began to squawk and shriek and cluck until the noise grew so disturbing that a trainhand put his head in the doorway of the car to see what was the matter.
You may be sure that Polly and Twinkle made never a sound. So the trainman onlyshook his cap at the boxful of fluttering hens and called out, ‘S-sh-sh, Biddy, s-sh-sh!’ Then he went away.
No sooner was he gone than the hens began to scold Twinkle, who backed into a corner as far away from them as his rope would allow.
‘Aren’t you ashamed, you greedy dog, to talk about eating chicken bones? Squawk! Squawk!’ chorused the hens. ‘Right to our faces, too! Squawk! He has no feeling! We will never speak to him again. Never, as long as we live! Squawk! Cluck! Cluck!’
Poor Twinkle’s little snub face was all twisted with worry and fear. Why had he mentioned chicken bones? How frightened he felt at these cross hens! He hoped their box was very strong and would not break.
He longed to talk to Polly about it and to tell her how he felt, but he didn’t dare speak another word. Chicken bones so good and sweet! Chicken bones that he had buried in the garden!To think that they should cause him so much trouble!
The hens were clucking angrily among themselves. Every now and then one of them would suddenly poke her head out between the bars of the box and dart a bitter glance toward Twinkle.
So Twinkle did the best thing he could think of at the moment. He put his head down between his paws and pretended to go to sleep.
At the very next station the hens were taken off the train. They became so excited that they seemed to forget Twinkle and his chicken bones, and they did not even send him a parting angry cluck.
It would not have made any difference if they had, for Twinkle by that time had really fallen asleep. This Polly knew because she heard him give little snores and happy sighs, so Polly, too, dozed off, which is something travelers often do on long journeys.
Polly woke to find the train standing still,and to hear Twinkle, who was being led away, bark again and again,
‘Good-bye, Polly, good-bye! Good-bye!’
This must be the city and the end of Polly’s journeying.
Polly herself, after a long, long wait, was tossed into an automobile on top of many other packages, most of them much larger than she, and presently, amid a great tooting of horns, they were off.
Polly knew it was raining, raining hard, for she could hear the steady patter of the raindrops on the automobile roof and the splash of the wheels through the puddles in the street.
Up and down, in and out the city streets they rattled. Over the noisy paving-stones they rolled with many a bump and jolt. Round the corners they whirled with a dash.
The ride seemed long to Polly.
‘Where does Patty live? Will I never reach home?’ wondered Polly.
Faster and faster rolled the automobile, harder and harder pelted the rain.
Then Polly felt the packages under her slipping. Round a corner they went on two wheels, and out into the street flew Polly in her box to land in a great puddle with a splash!
On whirled the express wagon out of sight, and there lay Polly in the street wondering what in the world would happen to her next.