At Sherwood Hall Polly was greatly missed, and her playmates felt less interest in their games now that she was not with them.
In all the village there was no one so lonely as Aunt Judith. She missed the merry chatter of happy, cheery Rose. Bright, and merry she had been, even although there were many things that she longed for, and could not have, most of all, some one to love her.
Now, as Aunt Judith busied herself about the cottage, or out in the tiny garden, she realized how much the child's hands had helped.
"She used to dust for me," she would say to herself, as she moved about the tiny sitting room, putting it in order.
"She always fed the chickens," she murmured, one morning, on her way out to the coop.
She stooped to open the door, when a shrill voice shouted at her.
"Look out! Look out! The ol' rooster's mad!"
Aunt Judith was startled, and Gyp was delighted.
"Why were you meddling with the hens?" she asked, in quick wrath.
"Don't hurt 'em to be watched, does it?" was the saucy answer.
Aunt Judith looked at the imp-like figure astride the fence.
"You're a nuisance!" she cried, "I wish the town was rid of you!"
"Ding-te-ding-te-dingle-te-ding!" sang Gyp, in an almost ear-splitting solo.
"Ding-te-ding—I tell ye what, if ye put jest the tip of yer finger between them slats, that 'ere ol' rooster 'll bite it almost off'n yer!" he remarked, "I know, 'cause I TRIED it."
"You keep your fingers away from the coop, and yourself out of my yard," cried Aunt Judith, "or I'll have you arrested."
"Wow!" shrieked Gyp, and slipping from the fence, he ran to the woods, lest Aunt Judith should immediately put her threat into effect.
The one, and only thing that Gyp feared was a policeman.
A wild little ragamuffin, living in an old hut that was home only in name, with parents as ignorant as himself, he was viewed with contempt by every child in the town, and feared by them, as well.
There was nothing that he dared not do—if no policeman were in sight.
It was well known by everyone that when Gyp once became interested in anything, he would not let it alone until something occurred that he thought more attractive.
Aunt Judith, shading her eyes with her hand, waited until she felt sure that Gyp did not intend to return. Then locking the door, and closing the windows, she made her way down the avenue toward the parsonage.
She felt unusually lonely, and the parson's wife was always glad to see her.
The walk was a long one, and when Aunt Judith had reached the parsonage, she paused for a moment to enjoy the light breeze before opening the little gate. "I saw you coming," said a pleasant voice, "and I guess you felt the heat on the way. Come in, and sit down under the big maple trees. It's cooler than it is in the house."
As she spoke, the parson's wife took Aunt Judith's arm, and led her to a rustic seat, and seating herself beside her, commenced to talk of bits of parish news.
Aunt Judith's mind was far away with Rose, and her answers became more, and more wide of the mark.
"I think the boys of the choir sing BEAUTIFULLY," chirped the little woman, "but they really should have new cotta's, but the society feels that it really can't afford it."
"Yes'm," said Aunt Judith.
"And there are some that think we ought to have an organist. Mrs. Bingley volunteers to play until we're able to hire some one, but she isn't much of a player. She says she can't play any music unless it's written in ONE flat. She says it's the only key she knows. She says two flats make her uneasy, but THREE flats makes her simply WILD!"
"Well, if I DON'T let them out of the coop they'll be sick, and if I DO let them out, they're likely to get lost."
The parson's wife stared uneasily at Aunt Judith. Then thinking that she must have been needlessly startled, she again spoke.
"As I said before, what makes her WILD is three flats," she said.
"But the chicken-coop is ALL slats," said Aunt Judith, "what DO you mean by THREE?"
"Don't you feel well?" the little woman asked anxiously, leaning towardAunt Judith, and looking up into her shrewd face.
"Why, yes," Aunt Judith replied, "only I'm lonesome without Rose, and some anxious about the hens."
A sigh of relief escaped the other woman's lips, but she did not explain.
"She's so worried about her own affairs that she simply didn't notice what I was talking about," she thought.
Realizing that Aunt Judith's mind was so full of her own interests that, for the time, she could think of nothing else, she dropped church matters, and asked when she had heard from Rose.
And while in the cool shade of the large trees, they talked of the tiny cottage, its garden, the chickens, and most of all, Rose, matters near the hen-coop were becoming rather lively.
Aunt Judith watching to see if Gyp intended to return, did not dream that he was watching her.
He saw her enter the cottage, and waited until she left the house to saunter down the avenue.
Then he ran across the little open field from the wood, and, crouching behind the back fence, near the coop, again waited until he felt sure that she was not simply in the house of some neighbor, but, instead, had gone to the "square."
Then springing over the fence like a monkey, he told a few facts to the old rooster.
"Ye're a mean ol' thing!" he cried, "jest a mean ol' critter ter bite a feller's finger like ye did mine. I'll pay yer fer what ye done! Look at this, an' see how ye like it!"
At that moment, and to the utter astonishment of the rooster, and his family, Gyp sprang up and down in a series of wild jumps, shouting, and yelling to the limit of his strength.
"Yow-ow! Hoope-high-jinks!" shrieked Gyp, his wiry arms, and legs flying in more directions than seemed possible, his shoes, that were many sizes too large for him, clattering on the hard-trodden earth of the hen-yard.
"How-re-ow-re-owl!" he roared, dodging this way, and that, in order to keep directly in front of the frightened rooster.
The rooster ducked, and dodged in vain, for Gyp managed to do his outrageous dance exactly in front of him, wherever he might be.
The hens kept up a perpetual squawking, and ran wildly about, while the downy chicks huddled in fear under the huge leaves of a burdock plant, and uttered little frightened peeps that, however, were unheard in the din that Gyp and the hens created.
Then suddenly something happened.
With a wild whoop, and an extra high jump, he lost his balance, and fell against the little gate.
He was not hurt, but he was surprised, and, for a moment, sat absolutely still, while the hens, led by the big rooster, ran over him, and out into the field beyond.
"I s'pose she'll say I let 'em out. I DID, an' I DIDN'T!" he said with a chuckle.
"Long's they're out, they might as well have a good run for once," he cried, and shouting "Shoo! Shoo!" and brandishing his arms, he rushed after them.
When he had tired of chasing the hens, he hurried away to the other end of the avenue, with the bright idea of learning if there might be a chance for mischief there.
A fine kite disappeared from Harry Grafton's lawn, a ball that Rob Lindsey had been playing with could not be found, while at Sherwood Hall the lawn mower was searched for, and discovered in the brook.
Old Martin dragged it forth, remarking as he did so:
"It looks like the work of old Nick, or that wild lad, Gyp."
No one had seen Gyp around the place, but, for the matter of that, no one had seen him flying a kite, or playing with a ball.
The articles had disappeared, however, and, as usual, everyone thoughtGyp the culprit.
"It took work, and time to make that kite," said Harry, "I wouldn't think any one would be mean enough to take it."
"Unless it was Gyp," said Rob, "he's mean enough for anything, and I wouldn't wonder if the same chap that went off with your kite, took my ball along at the same time."
Both boys were urged to hunt carefully before accusing any one, but thorough search failed to bring forth either kite or ball.
Then Leslie missed a book that she had left on the piazza, and DollieBurton lost her loviest doll.
Poor little Dollie! She could not be comforted, and promises of a new doll caused a fresh outburst of tears. It wouldn't be the same one that she had loved so, and she refused to have a new one until later, when her grief would be less fresh.
It was in vain that Blanche told her that a new doll would be as dear as the old one, the little girl refused to play, and her cherub face looked very sad, the dimples failing to show, because the smiles would not appear.
"That bad boy, Gyp, has took it," she wailed.
"Oh, Dollie, he might take a kite, or a ball from Harry, and Rob, but he wouldn't want a doll! Just think! What would HE do with a doll?"
"He's got little sisters, you said he had," Dollie replied, "p'raps he stole it for them. I wouldn't care if he'd just took my old one, but he was a bad boy to take my best one. I'll tell him so! You'll see!"
It was a baby's threat, and Blanche did not dream that her wee sister would do anything of the sort.
Dollie had a good memory, however, and Gyp sometimes passed the house.
She was as determined as any older child might have been, to give Gyp the scolding that she thought he deserved.
Oddly enough, he passed the house the next morning.
His restless black eyes were looking furtively about as if in search of something that he might snatch. Little Dollie, for the moment, had forgotten the lost doll.
With a long, flowering branch in her hand, she was walking up and down the driveway, looking more like a doll than anything else, in her dainty frock, her white socks, and bronze slippers.
"Sing a song o' sixpence, A pocket full of rye,—"
"Oh, YOU, YOU—wait for me!" In her wrath, the wee girl had forgotten his name.
Gyp stood still, and waited, open mouthed, while Dollie ran toward him.
He thought her the loveliest thing he had ever seen, and wondered that she wished to speak to him.
"You naughty, BAD boy!" she cried, striking at him with the flowering branch. "Naughty, BAD boy! You bring it back to me!"
Again the flowers hit him, but they gave nothing worse than a love pat.
"What'll I bring ye?" he asked awkwardly, "I ain't got anything you'd want. Ye look like them fairies I've read 'bout."
[Illustration with caption: "Ye've lost yer dolly, hev ye?"]
"DIDN'T you take my best doll?" she asked, her anger gone, and her red lips trembling.
Two big tears ran down the pink cheeks.
Then the strangest thing happened. Gyp, the imp, the one who apparently had no feeling, stooped, and peeping into the lovely little face, spoke very gently:
"Ye've lost yer dolly, hev ye? I ain't seen it, but I'll try ter find it for yer."
"Oh, WILL you?" she cried, smiling through her tears, "then I'm sorry I whipped you with this branch, and come! Let's bofe of us hunt together."
She offered him her little hand, and very carefully he took it.
He walked as if on air. Who else had ever offered him a hand? Who had ever spoken kindly? This lovely little girl had smiled at him, and had wished to be with him while he searched.
How he worked!
Like a little wild creature he crawled under shrubs, and, using his fingers like claws, tugged at grass, and twigs, as if his only interest were to find the doll.
"Was yer near the brook when ye was playin' with it?" asked Gyp.
"Oh, oh, I WAS, but I'd forgotten it. Didn't anyone hunt there! Let's go, quick, maybe we'll find her!"
She gave him a sunny smile, and in delight, he again took the wee hand she offered him, and together the ragged boy, and the wee, dainty girl hurried away to the brook.
It was a bit of the same brook that ran through the garden at SherwoodHall.
Just as they reached the brook something backed up from the water's edge.
"Oh, Beauty! Beauty! What ARE you doing?" cried Dollie.
The puppy growled, and continued dragging something up the little bank.
"Here Mr. Puppy! Gim me that!" cried Gyp.
"Why, it's my lovely Aurora!" cried Dollie, dancing wildly about.
Gyp, fearless because the little dog was only a pup, tugged at the body of the doll, while Beauty held firmly to its pink skirt.
The muslin frock gave way under the strain, and the puppy, with a bit of the muslin in his mouth, rolled over on the grass, while Gyp, doubting if the bedraggled doll would be accepted, held it out, dripping, for Dollie to look at.
"IS it the doll what ye lost?" he asked.
"Oh, yes; yes it is," cried Dollie, "and I love her just as much as I did before she was drownded!"
Regardless of her own dainty frock, she hugged the dripping doll to her breast.
"You're a GOOD boy to help me," she said, "I said I was sorry I hit you, and I am. I just WISH I hadn't."
"I'd rather ye'd hit me, than any other person touch me," Gyp muttered, and then, for fear that someone at the house might SEND him off, he turned, and ran away. Little Dollie looked after him.
"I wonder if he heard me SAY he was good," she whispered.
Then with soft eyes she looked at the vanishing figure.
"He 'most always ISN'T good, but this time he was," she said.
Beauty, like most little dogs, had a habit of running off with any article that he could snatch, and hiding it.
Tiring of the doll he had dropped it in the brook, and then, when he happened to remember it, had dragged it forth, intending, doubtless, to give it another good shaking.
Dear little Dollie Burton's warm, loving heart had been touched, and she eagerly told everyone how Gyp had helped to find her dear Aurora.
"You see, Rob," she said, one day, "he's SOME naughty, but he ISN'T all naughty. Mama always says: 'Wait 'fore you 'cuse anyone,' but I didn't wait. I just 'cused him as hard as I could, and NOW I'm sorry."
"Oh, you're a trump, Dollie," said Rob.
"Is a 'trump' a nice thing to be?" questioned the wee girl.
"The best thing in the world," Rob declared laughing.
"Well, I didn't know," the little girl replied, "'cause when Nora's cleaning closets, and finds old things, mama says: 'Take that trumpery out to the waste barrel,' and you say trump isn't same as trumpery."
"Guess not! Dollie, you're the best little girl I know," said Rob, to which Dollie replied: "And you're the bestest boyIknow."
The news flew through the neighborhood that Gyp had found the doll.
"Well, that's one decent thing he did," said Rob Lindsey, "and I s'pose there's just a chance that he didn't take my ball, or your kite, but who else would do it?"
"Sure enough," said Harry Grafton, "who else would?"
Vivian and Blanche, with Lena Lindsey, were walking with their arms about each other's waists. It was really too warm to play, but it was never too warm to talk.
"Just think," said Vivian, "when Polly is here, we play no matter how hot it is."
"Yes, except when we coax her to tell us some stories," said Lena. "She's fun to play with, because when we're tired of the old games, she can always make up a new one," said Vivian.
And while Polly's friends were talking lovingly of her, she had been telling Rose many pleasant things of the playmates that both so well knew.
It was only for a moment that they talked of their little friends, however, because both were anticipating a trip to an artist's studio, where they would see beautiful pictures, and where Aunt Lois was to sit for her portrait.
Aunt Rose had gone to spend the day with a friend, and Aunt Lois, thinking it hardly kind to leave the two little girls at home, had decided to take them with her.
"He's a fine artist, and one who has painted portraits of many distinguished people. I hardly know if he is greatly interested in children, but he surely will be willing that you should enjoy his pictures, if you make no noise, and do not talk to disturb him," she had said.
"Oh, if we may see the pictures, we'll promise not to make the least bit of noise," said Rose, speaking very loudly that Aunt Lois, who was quite deaf, might hear.
"Guess what he looks like," said Rose, as they walked along beside AuntLois.
"Oh, I think he will be tall, and slender, with dark eyes, and wavy hair, and he'll bow like this, when he lets us in," Polly said, pausing on the sidewalk to make a very low bow.
"I don't believe he'll bow like that," said Rose, "because he's such a GREAT artist. He'll feel pretty big. I guess he's not very light, or very dark, but I think he'll be tall and SOME stout. Don't you know how the lawyer that lives on our street looks? Just as if he owned all the houses on the avenue.Ithink he'll give us a teenty little bow like this," and she gave a jerky little nod, "but I think he'll be quite nice to us after we are in."
"This way," said Aunt Lois, and they crossed the street, and stopped before a quaint looking building. The massive oak door boasted a huge knocker, in the form of a frowning lion's head that held a huge brass ring.
Aunt Lois lifted the ring, and let it fall clattering against the door.
The little girls wondered if the artist would be angry. COULD that knocker have made less noise?
Aunt Lois was so very deaf that she did not realize what a din she had made, and smiled serenely as she stood waiting.
Polly was just wondering if the artist were too offended to respond, when the door opened, and a tall, sturdy man, with his palette and brushes in his hand, welcomed them.
"Ah, you have come for your sitting, and you are prompt," he said.
"I endeavored to be on time," said Aunt Lois, "and, because my sister is away I've brought Rose and our little guest with me. I can promise that they will not in any way disturb you. Rose has often been here with me, but this is her little friend, Polly Sherwood."
Mr. Arthur Kirtland welcomed her very graciously, and urged her to enjoy, with Rose, the pictures that hung upon the studio walls, stood upon easels, and around the room.
"We'll walk about very softly, and may we go into the little room where the lovely children are, Mr. Kirtland?" Rose asked.
"Oh, surely," he answered quickly, "you may like the child studies best."
He meant what he said, and he also thought that if they were pleased with the pictures in the little room that led from the main studio, it would be quite as well.
True, a large screen kept both artist and sitter apart from the rest of the studio, but Arthur Kirtland liked to be wholly alone, and undisturbed while painting a portrait, and he was very glad when the children tired of the pictures in the large studio, and went out into the small room.
"He didn't look like what you guessed, did he?" said Rose, when together they seated themselves in the little room.
"No, not a bit, and the reason you could guess what he was like was because you'd seen him," said Polly, "and when he made the funny little bow just as you did, I almost laughed."
"I don't wonder he struts when he walks. Just think who he's painted! Two dukes, one is that man with the red hair, and the eyes that laugh at you. It's out in the big room," said Rose, "don't you remember it?"
"Yes, but I like the big lady in velvet, and lace, that hangs next to him," said Polly.
"That's his wife, Mr. Kirtland said so," said Rose.
"Oh, would you think a lovely lady like that would marry a man with red hair?" said Polly.
"P'raps she liked red hair," Rose said, "and Polly, did you ever see anything so cunning as that picture of a little girl with her hands full of roses?"
Polly thought the picture charming, and together they walked around the little room enjoying flower studies, sketches, and finished pictures of children, until Polly espied a small door.
"Oh, see that funny little door!" she whispered, "where does that lead to? Is it a closet door, do you suppose?"
"Oh, no, that's not a closet," Rose replied, "I've often seen it open. Just outside it is a wee little garden just big enough to hold some fine holly-hocks. I'll show you. 'Most always the door is open."
"Open it softly. He wouldn't like it if we made a noise," whisperedPolly.
Rose turned the latch very gently, and opened the door a few inches. A flood of golden sunlight swept in, and just outside the tall holly-hocks in gorgeous coloring swayed in the soft breeze.
"Hear them rustle just as if they were paper flowers," whispered Polly."Oh, it's lovely out there."
"Let's go out just a little way."
"All right," agreed Rose, "come out, and I'll shut the door," and Polly followed her out into the sunlight.
"Oh, you didn't latch the door," said Polly.
"Oh, dear! I meant to," said Rose, "but it isn't MUCH open. If I go back, and pull it real hard to make it latch it'll make a noise, and Mr. Kirtland won't like it. We won't stay out long, so it doesn't matter."
"When we DO go back, let's sit on that little sofa in the corner. That's a cosy place."
"All right," agreed Rose, and together they walked up and down the little path that led from the tiny, side door to the street.
"The studio is grand, and the people he's painted look as if they could speak, if they chose," said Polly, "but somehow it made me feel queer to see them all looking at me."
"And once I peeped over my shoulder and that man in the hunting costume had his eyes right on me," said Rose, "and I turned my head away. When I turned again, he looked as if he'd speak, and if he DID, I just know he'd say: 'I'm still looking at you, Rose Atherton; you can't dodge ME!'"
"I do truly love the pictures," Polly said, "but I never saw so many all at once, and I didn't feel queer about them, until we'd been with them quite a while. I guess we'd feel different if somebody had been talking. It was still and cool in there, and did you notice? The corners in the little room were shady and almost dark."
"He doesn't speak, after he really begins to paint," said Rose. "He says: 'Turn a bit this way Miss Lois. No, not quite so much, that's it. Now hold that pose, please,' and then he doesn't speak again until he stops painting.
"At first he said Aunt Lois could rest often, but she doesn't care to. She says it's easy to sit in the big carved chair. I'd be wild to sit still so long!"
"Hello!" a merry voice shouted, and they turned toward the street.
It was Lester Jenks. He was beckoning to them, and they ran out to the sidewalk.
"What ye' doing here?" he asked.
"Aunt Lois is having her portrait painted, and we came with her, and we're just waiting 'til she's ready to go home."
"Oh, then I'll tell you what let's do. Let's have some ice cream! I said I'd treat some day, and I know a nice place. Come!" urged the boy, but they hesitated.
"Don't you want to?" he asked.
"Oh, yes!" they cried, "but we ought to ask Aunt Lois," said Rose, "and we can't. Mr. Kirtland is painting, and he hasn't said a single word for ever so long. It's so still in there that it makes you feel as if you ALMOST mustn't breathe. I wouldn't dare to run right in and ask Aunt Lois!"
"Why, you don't have to. We'll just skip over to the ice cream parlor, and we'll be back long before he's done painting. Come along! If you don't, I'll think you don't want to, and that isn't nice when I've asked you," said Lester. "Oh, dear, it isn't polite to let him think that when I'm wild to go, and I just KNOW Polly is," thought Rose.
"Are you SURE it won't take us long to go, and get back?" Polly asked.
"Oh, it's just a step!" said Lester.
"There's a nice little old lady keeps the place, and she gives you awful big ice creams for five cents. You have 'em on a marble table in her little parlor. There's a green carpet on the floor, and the room is awful cool. Oh, come on! I wish you would."
The invitation was not elegantly expressed, but it certainly wasCORDIAL.
"I guess we'll have to go," said Rose, "would you, Polly?"
"I'd like to," was the reply.
"Then come!" said Lester, "we'll be there and back here before anyone would guess you'd been even outside that door."
They waited for no more urging, and together the three little friends ran across the street, through a side street, and down a broad avenue.
"It's just a little farther down this way," said Lester.
"Why it's ever so far from the studio, Lester Jenks, and you SAID we'd just skip to it," said Rose, breathlessly.
"Well, aren't we skipping?" he said with a laugh, "we run a few steps, and then you and Polly skip along a little way, and then you run again."
Rose was just wondering if they ought to turn back without the little treat, when Lester caught her hand, saying:
"Here we are," and he boldly opened the door.
A tiny bell tinkled as the door closed behind them, and a little, white haired old lady came out to greet them.
"We want some ice cream, these ladies and me," said Lester, trying to look as tall as possible, and hoping that she did not notice that he was wearing knee breeches. He thought that no one would dream that he was a small boy if only they could not see those knee breeches that he so heartily despised.
The old lady served the cream in dainty glasses, and heaped it high in a tiny pile that really amounted to little, but looked great—for five cents.
"How cool and dark it is in here," said Rose.
"It is a lovely place to eat ice cream in," said Polly.
The strawberry ice cream was very, very pink, and they thought it delicious.
"Do you think we've been gone long, YET, Lester?" questioned Rose.
"Of course not," said Lester, but Rose wished that he would eat his cream a little faster.
When the tiny glasses were quite empty Lester bought a package of candy for his friends, and having paid for the treat, opened the door for them to pass out onto the sidewalk.
"Why it looks different," said Polly, "is it cloudy, since we went in there?" But the sky showed no clouds. Then where had the bright sunlight gone?
"Oh, I b'lieve it's late!" cried Rose, "do you s'pose it is? It was long after lunch when we started for the studio, oh, ever so long after. We staid there looking at the pictures for hours, I guess, and then we came with you, Lester."
"It CAN'T be late," the boy replied, although he truly believed that it was.
"We could go back a shorter way than the one we came. Shall we?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, yes!" cried Rose, "we must get there before Aunt Lois is ready to go. If Mr. Kirtland is still painting we can go in softly by the little side door, and wait until it is time to go."
Lester led the way, and the three children ran down one street, and up another, until at last they paused for breath.
"This short way seems longer than the way we came!" ventured Polly.
"We AREN'T lost, are we?" cried Rose.
"I turned into the wrong street when we started," admitted Lester, "but it's only a little way now."
"Then let's hurry just that little way," said Rose.
She clasped Polly's hand, and again they ran on, and after a few moments, Lester cried: "There it is!"
Sure enough! There was the clump of holly-hocks, and close beside it, the little green door.
"Good-bye, good-bye!" they cried to Lester, "and thank you, oh thank you, but we must hurry!"
Lester waved his cap to them, and then raced down the avenue.
Then, treading softly, they ran along the little path, past the holly-hocks, and—the little green door was closed.
"Oh, Rose!" gasped Polly, but Rose had grasped the knob, and found that while the door looked to be closed, it had only been swung to with the breeze.
She pushed it open, and noiselessly they entered.
Softly they crept across the floor, Polly clinging to Rose's hand, and when they had reached the little divan, they sat down, and for a moment, neither spoke.
They still clasped hands, and when Polly looked toward the doorway that led into the large studio, Rose looked that way too.
From where they sat, they could not see either the painter or his model.
Polly leaned toward Rose.
"Doesn't he EVER talk when he's painting?" she whispered.
Rose shook her head.
"I 'most always bring a book with me, and while Aunt Lois is posing, I read stories," she whispered in reply.
Then for a time neither spoke.
The old clock out in that other room ticked to prove that all was not silent, but it made the waiting children more lonely.
They could not see its face, but after what seemed a long time, it chimed a single note.
"Oh, dear! That's only a half hour. I thought it was going to strike," whispered Rose, "and then we'd have known what time it was."
"Don't you dare to go in there, just a little way, and peep at the clock? It's just around the corner," whispered Polly.
"I promised we wouldn't disturb him while he was painting," whispered Rose, "but I do b'lieve I'll have to soon. I'm just wild to see if he's beginning to put away his paints."
"There isn't the least sound as if he was putting away ANYTHING," saidPolly.
"I'll just HAVE to look," said Rose, whispering as softly as before. "We're awfully tired waiting, and keeping so still. It will help some to know what time it is, and if he sees me looking at the clock, perhaps he'll say he's 'MOST ready to stop painting."
She slipped from the divan, and tip-toed to the doorway, pushed the heavy hanging aside just enough to permit her to pass through. The portiere dropped heavily behind her, and Polly listened—listened.
"Oh, I hope he won't be angry. He ought not to after we've waited so long, but he's a great artist, and I s'pose Rose is disturbing him. I hope he won't scold. I didn't really tell her to go in and look at the clock, but I didn't tell her NOT to," thought Polly.
"Why DOESN'T she come back?" she whispered, a second after, when, as if in answer, the portiere was pushed aside, and Rose, a very frightened little Rose, hurried to Polly, her eyes startled, and her cheeks pale.
"He isn't there! Aunt Lois isn't there! We're alone in this studio, and I'd rather be alone ANYWHERE than here!" she cried, and they shuddered when the vacant rooms echoed her voice.
"But we don't have to STAY here!" cried Polly, "come! It's getting late, and we must hurry, or we'll be afraid to go down the streets alone."
"We CAN'T go!" cried Rose, "that's just the horrid part of it!"
"WHY can't we?"
As she asked the question Polly sprang to her feet, and clasping Rose's hand, drew her toward the door.
"It's no use, Polly," said Rose, "We CAN'T go home, because I don't know the way!"
Polly stared at her for a second in surprise.
"Why you've been here before with your Aunt Lois," she said.
"I know I have," Rose replied, "but I haven't noticed just how we came. It's a long walk, and don't you remember how many different streets we turned into, before we got here? I tell you truly, Polly, I don't know the FIRST THING about going home!"
"Then we must wait here 'til they come for us," said Polly, "Oh hark!What was that?"
Together they sank upon the little divan, and now they spoke only in whispers.
"I don't know what the noise was, but it was in that other room. When I had looked at the clock, and I turned to come back, I HAD to pass the big suit of armor. Polly, I knew there wasn't anyone in it, but all the same I thought its eyeholes looked at me!"
"Oh—o—o! Didn't that sound as if his iron glove rattled against his shield?" was Polly's startled whisper.
"It's that, or—he's—WALKING!" gasped Rose.
The two terrified children clung to each other. They stared toward the large doorway, and their breath came faster.
Did the portiere sway?
No, it hung straight from its pole, but beyond, in that other room; was anyone moving about in there?
They hardly dared breathe.
At last Rose whispered, turning that her words might reach Polly's ear.
"It's still in there now," she said, "and don't you think—"
She did not finish the question, for, at that moment, something creaked, and slipped to the floor, rolling evidently until it must have met another object that stopped it.
"There wasn't a single sound here when it was bright daylight, and Mr. Kirtland was busy painting. Why DO the things in his studio ACT so when he's away?" said Polly.
"It's as if they knew we were here, and just wanted to scare us," whispered Rose.
Frightened, hungry, weary, and nervously staring into that shadowy doorway, they waited—waited hoping that someone might come before anything happened to make their terror greater.
At the great house on the avenue, there was wild excitement. At the end of the sitting, Aunt Lois had gone to the little room, expecting to find two tired children who would be eager to go home. The sitting had been longer than usual, and she would reward them for their patience by stopping at the confectioner's on the way home and purchasing some fine candy for them.
"I am to come to you again on Thursday," she said. "Very well, I will try to be prompt. The children must be tired of waiting. If you are willing, I'll bid you 'Good afternoon' here, and go out by the side door with them."
Without waiting for him to reply, she had hastened to the smaller room, only to find that it was empty.
She was not at all frightened.
Her first thought was that the long afternoon had been tedious, and they had gone home.
"I shall find them on the piazza waiting for me," she said. "Rose would have asked if she might go, but I had told her not to interrupt while he was painting."
Gentle Aunt Lois had no thought of being angry. Instead, she was sorry that the hours had dragged so heavily for Rose and Polly.
She purchased two fine boxes of candy, smiling as she walked along with her parcel, that was to be a surprise.
She walked slowly because she was very tired. She wondered that Rose did not run to greet her.
"Where are the children?" she asked, as the maid opened the door.
"Sure, they've not been home since they went out with you," said the maid.
Aunt Lois sank on the great hall chair, and the frightened maid thought that she was ill.
"Are ye faint, mum?" she asked, "an' will I be gettin' ye a glass o' water?"
"Call the coachman," said Aunt Lois.
"Sure, I don't want to be bold with advice, but I'd not like ter see ye goin' out fer a ride feelin' like ye do now. I'd think—"
"GET the coachman!" said Aunt Lois, and the girl, now thoroughly frightened, did as she was bid.
Nora ran at top speed to the stable, crying, as she reached the door:
"Oh, John, John! Miss Lois is come home, an' she's talkin' o' goin' right out ter ride, an' her sick, an' she wants ye ter come to her in the hall now, an' me not knowin' what ter do, at all!"
"Hi! Now calm down like a good lass, and tell a man what you need. I can't make sense out of what you said. Now, then?"
"Oh, come in, come in!" cried Nora, and turning, she ran toward the house, the coachman following, muttering something about girls never having their wits about them.
But when he reached the house, and heard that Rose and charming little Princess Polly were missing, his kindly face looked very serious, and he promised to get help and make a thorough search of the town.
He called the gardener and a boy who had been helping him, and then came the question as to where to look first.
In the street some boys were playing ball, among them, Lester Jenks.
"It might be that they were around the neighborhood, but haven't yet come home," ventured the gardener.
"That's not likely," said the coachman, "but we might ask a few questions of those boys.
"Hi, there, boys! Have you seen Rose, or her friend Polly around here this afternoon?'
"They went down town with Rose's aunt to Mr. Kirtland's studio," shoutedLester. "Here, Jack, pitch decently, will you?"
"Look here, young feller! This ain't no joke. Quit playin' ball long 'nough ter hear what I say. They're lost, those two little girls are. They haven't come home!"
"I saw 'em down there, when I was there, and I left them there, in the little yard when I came home."
"When was that?" said John.
"Oh, 'bout six, I guess," said Lester. "I don't know exactly."
The coachman hurried to the house.
"If ye please, 'm, the Jenks boy says he saw them out in the little garden that joins the studio at about six. It's about half past six, or so, now, 'm, an' ye've just reached home. I can't make out how ye missed them, but I think I'll go over ter Mr. Kirtland's house, and if he isn't out ter some reception, like he often is, I'll ask the loan of his key, and with the gardener, I'll hunt there first. I believe they're there."
Aunt Lois, now really wild with anxiety, could only say: "Go, at once.Go somewhere, do something, to find them. See! It is getting dusky.Wherever they are, they are frightened, I know, and surely I am almostsick with fear for their safety."
Mr. Kirtland was at home, and while he could not believe the children were in his studio, he felt that no place should be neglected in the effort to find them, and he insisted upon joining the searching party.
Meanwhile, in the studio the dusky shadows had grown deeper. The two terrified little girls had begun to wonder if anyone would ever come for them.
They still clung to each other, and for some time not a sound had broken the stillness. Naught save the ticking of the clock, and that did not startle them, but, rather, by its monotonous tune, seemed like a friend that sought to cheer them.
Not even a team passed, and no footstep upon the sidewalk told of a pedestrian who walked by the building.
"If you heard someone walk past this place would you wish he'd stop, or would you wish he wouldn't?" whispered Rose.
"I'd hate to hear him go right by without stopping, because I'd know he wasn't coming to take us home, but if he stopped I'd be scared!" whispered Polly.
"Hark!"
Rose grasped Polly's arm.
"It's in THERE! It's in THERE!" they shrieked, as if with one voice, then in a frightened little heap they slipped to the floor and tried to draw the rug over them to hide and shield them from they knew not what!
Suddenly both rooms were flooded with light, and a familiar voice spoke.
"They're not here, you see; I felt sure that they could not be in the studio. We must search elsewhere, and lose no time about it."
It was Arthur Kirtland's voice, and scrambling to their feet, they ran to greet him, all fear left behind.
"Oh, Mr. Kirtland, we ARE here," cried Rose.
"And we've been here just almost FOREVER," Polly added.
"And, oh, here's John!" cried Rose. "Now we can go home!"
"I think ye can, bein's yer Aunt Lois thinks ye're both lost, and no knowin' whether we'll find ye or not. Ye better be tellin' Mr. Kirtland how it is ye are here after he'd thought the place empty, and he'd locked it up, an' gone home."
Quickly they told the story of their trip to the ice cream parlor, and of their late return, finding entrance by the little green door.
Of the lonely waiting, of the noises that had frightened them.
"Oh, Mr. Kirtland! That armor is standing just as it did when it was daylight here, but truly we heard his sword rattle against his shield, and once—" Rose's voice faltered.
"Once," said Polly, taking up the story, "we thought he walked across the floor!"
"I have heard the same thing," was the quick reply, "and I am not at all surprised that you were terrified."
Rose and Polly were grateful that he did not laugh or even look amused.
"But he COULDN'T walk," said Rose; "it's only an iron suit."
"Oh, he surely doesn't move," Arthur Kirtland said, and he smiled kindly at the children, "but sometimes I think a tiny mouse mistakes it for a huge cage and runs around in it, and as to his walking, the cars on the railroad that runs back of the studio jar the building and shake the suit of armor. I think that may be what you heard."
"Well, it sounds harmless enough when ye know what made the noise," John said, with a laugh, "and now I guess ye'll be some willin' ter go home ter Aunt Lois. The carriage is at the door."
"Oh, yes, yes!" they cried.
"A studio is a lovely place in the day-time," said Polly, "and the pictures are beautiful then, but when it begins to be dark it's DIFFERENT."
"Different! I guess that's so," said the coachman; "and now, come! We'll drive home at a lively pace."
"Oh, doesn't it seem good to be safe!" cried Polly when, snugly seated in the carriage, they saw that they were on their own familiar avenue.
"Yes, and we always like to be GOING somewhere, and now we're glad that we're almost home," said Rose.
"I guess anybody would be glad to get away from that studio, if they'd ever been in there alone when it gets darker and darker every minute," said Polly.
"Do you b'lieve Mr. Kirtland would dare to be there at night?" questioned Rose.
"Why, he came there after us!" cried Polly, in surprise.
"Well, he had our coachman with him," Rose replied; "he didn't come alone!"
"That's so," agreed Polly; "he couldn't be afraid with the coachman for company!"
Aunt Lois was just beginning to think that she could not bear waiting to hear from the searching party, when she heard little feet upon the piazza, the music of merry voices, and when the maid opened the door, Rose ran in, followed by Polly.
"Oh, please may I stay, 'm, to hear what happened to the two dears?" pleaded Nora.
Aunt Lois smiled assent, and then Rose, with Polly's help, told the story of the afternoon, of their return to the studio, of the terror that seemed to fill shadowy corners when twilight came.
"And the noises! Oh, Aunt Lois, you don't know what strange sounds there were in that studio! I love the pictures, and it's beautiful there in the daylight, but I can't forget the fright we had, and I won't want to go there again for, oh, a LONG time!" said Rose.
"We've told you how dark and lonely it was," added Polly, "but you'd have to HEAR that armor clank to know how it sounded."
"I'm so deaf that some of the lesser noises would not have reached me, and really that is the only mercy I know of in being deaf," Aunt Lois said. "You've both been so completely frightened there, that I, too, think you would better not go there for some time. Indeed, I wish something very bright and cheery might occur that would turn your thoughts from the studio."
"Ye'll not let the children go there, but if I might make so bold as to advise ye, 'm, I'd ask ye ter let the portrait go an' stay away from there. The place is jist haunted, and the demons might get ye, even in daylight!" Nora had shrieked that Aunt Lois might hear.
"Nora! Nora! Not a word of demons or haunting! You well know that I do not approve of any such foolish notions," Aunt Lois replied.
Nora went back to the kitchen and there expressed her belief to the cook, that studio place was "just full of old spooks!"