SHE WAS LEANING FAR, FAR OUT
SHE WAS LEANING FAR, FAR OUT
As she drew near the entrance of the summer-housePolly heaved a long sigh of relief. There was Priscilla safe and sound, standing in the doorway just as she had left her. She had disobeyed orders, of course, when she left Priscilla alone in Pine Lodge, but she felt sure that would be forgiven her when she explained how it was she had come to go and that, notwithstanding, Priscilla was unharmed.
“See, Priscilla,” she cried, eagerly as soon as she was within earshot, “I’ve got her. I would have come quicker, only I couldn’t find her anywhere. I hunted every place I could think of and where d’you s’pose she was? Under the cushions on the veranda. Now we can play and it’ll be ever so nice.”
Priscilla made no response. She did not even hold out her arms for the doll. She waited until Polly reached the threshold and then she turned on her heel and very slowly and deliberately walked away from her and toward the forbidden side of the Lodge. Polly halted a moment in bewilderment and the skin all over her body seemed to grow cold and to be shriveling together, while her eyes turned into two burning balls that smarted and stung, for Priscilla was climbing up upon the bench and leaning far, far over.
Polly tried to call out but no sound would come. After a second Priscilla turned her head and glanced around with a look in her eyes that no one had everseen there before. She had determined to punish Polly and she meant to do it thoroughly.
“Oh, Priscilla,” gasped Polly. “Please, please—get down! Remember, you promised.”
For answer, Priscilla stared at her coldly with those strange gray, steely eyes of hers and then bent her body far over the dangerous ledge again.
Polly’s breath caught in a tight, choking knot in her throat and she turned sick all over, and faint and weak. There was one second in which she was quite blind and then another in which everything before her appeared to burn right through her eyes and back into her brain. The motionless leaves on the trees; the patches of blue sky through the green boughs: the soft, gray slab-side walls of Pine Lodge: the low bench running round them; Priscilla standing upon the bench and leaning far, far out, and then—and then—no Priscilla at all. Without a cry, without a sound she had vanished over the edge,—she had lost her balance and had fallen into the ravine!
James followed leisurely after in the path Polly had taken, mopping his perspiring forehead and thinking uncomplimentary things about the weather.
“Yes, children don’t mind runnin’ when it’s ninety-four in the shade,” he observed, “but as for me, you don’t catch me hurryin’ myself to-day, not for nothin’ nor nobody. Hark! What’s that?”
A sharp, piercing, frantic cry tore the stillness into echoes and went resounding down the length of the gorge. The butler paused an instant; the cry was repeated again and again. Without more ado he started into a fierce run that brought him, in no time at all, to the threshold of Pine Lodge where, peering in, he saw Polly crouching on the further bench, leaning over the ledge and uttering shriek after shriek for help. He sprang to her side with a bound, gave one quick glance into the gloom of the ravine below and then, with a warning “Hush!” to her and an encouraging nod and smile to the white face turned toward him from a tangle of brush and gnarled rootsupon the bank beneath, wheeled about and, like a flash, disappeared around the side of the summer-house.
Polly caught her breath in a queer, gulping sob. After what seemed to her like ages of time help had come! Now if Priscilla could but keep her hold upon that bare pine-tree root to which she was clinging! If the bare pine-tree root would not give way beneath her grasp! In some miraculous way she had escaped plunging headlong to the bottom of the gorge. Her fall had been broken by the tangle of wild bushes and the undergrowth of strong young saplings lining the bank, and in the quick second in which she felt the earth beneath her again she had managed to brace herself and cling to a supporting root. But her strength was almost gone and Polly could see that in a moment more her slender courage must give way. Would James never come? Why had he not leaped right over the side of the Lodge and reached Priscilla that way? It would have been quicker. Surely it would have been quicker! But James knew what he was about, if Polly did not. He had seen at a glance that the weight of a heavier body might readily dislodge the insecure rocks and earth that were serving to support the little girl and that his only safe course was to skirt the Lodge, go to a farther point of the bank and, by slipping and sliding down, as best hemight, reach the bottom of the ravine and rescue Priscilla from below. It was, in reality, but a few seconds before Polly saw him again, swinging himself over the little rail that fenced in the bank, and dropping carefully down, down from rock to rock to the bed of the shallow stream that flowed at the base of the gorge. Once at the bottom he was less impeded. In a twinkling he had reached the point where Priscilla hung, had found a firm foothold, and was urging her to drop into one of his strong arms while he clung to the supporting roots of a towering pine with the other. Polly watched him with straining eyes.
“Don’t be afraid! Drop!” commanded James encouragingly.
Whether Priscilla heard him or not Polly could not tell, but the frantic grasp of her little fingers around the root did not relax and her white face and wide-open eyes stared up blindly from out of the soft gloom below without a trace of life in them. “Don’t be afraid! Drop!” repeated James.
He drew himself up an inch or two higher and flung his strong arm tight about her. It was not an instant too soon for, with a sudden, sharp snap and crack of sundering wood the half-rotten root she clung to gave way beneath her gripping fingers. The sound of it and the feeling that she had lost her support,seemed the only things she had reason enough left to realize. With a long, low cry of despair her arms dropped to her sides and her eyelids closed upon her staring eyes.
James’ strong arm was firm and steady; he held her close. Polly breathlessly watched him as, inch by inch, he descended the bank to the bottom of the gorge and then carefully picked his way along to the far point where a flight of wooden steps, securely fastened to the rock, led up the terrace beyond.
Then, for the first time the thought flashed into Polly’s mind, “What would Priscilla’s mother say?”
She slid down to the floor, forgetful of dolls, play-toys and everything else, and ran blindly back to the house. Her flying feet brought her to the entrance before James, with his little burden, had fairly reached the terrace.
“Hannah! Oh, Hannah!” she called out, as soon as she had crossed the door-sill and was actually within the hall.
Hannah hurried to her from the living-room, alarmed by her terror-stricken voice.
“What on earth is it, child? For pity’s sake what’s happened now?”
“Oh, Hannah!” Polly panted, “Priscilla! It’s Priscilla! She—she—— We were in Pine Lodge and she fell over into the ravine and James has gother—he’s bringing her in now, I guess. Oh, Hannah! Hannah—— She was alive! But her eyes shut when the root broke and now I’m afraid she’s——”
“Hush, Polly!” commanded Hannah sternly. “Stop your crying. Mrs. Duer mustn’t hear you. She mustn’t know—yet. You say James has got her? Oh, here he is! Give her to me, James! Quick, quick, man! How slow you are!”
“Go easy, Hannah!” the young man said. “She’s all right. Don’t get upset! She’s got a few bruises, no doubt, and her hands are torn a bit, but she’ll pull through all right when she comes out of this faint and has time to get over the shock and the fright of it.”
But Hannah hardly heard him. She gathered her darling into her arms with a sort of savage eagerness, and, puffing and panting with the exertion and the heat, carried her up-stairs into her mother’s room and closed the door. Polly dared not follow.
Oh, the wretched hours that passed before the doctor came! And the miserable hours that passed while he was there! That closed door seemed to shut Polly out from all the brightness and joy of the world and she felt she would never, never, never be happy again. Midday came, but no one wanted to eat. The dreary afternoon crawled slowly past and the great red sun began to sink. Polly could not swallow hersupper; James had to carry it away again almost untasted.
“Don’t you go to being so down-hearted,” he said, kindly. “Little Miss Priscilla is coming out all right, never you fear. She’s had an ugly shock, but she’ll get over it by and by and be as right as a trivet again.”
“Oh, James, do you really think so?” Polly cried, longing to be comforted.
“Sure!” responded the butler cheerfully.
Late that night Hannah, stealing noiselessly up-stairs was surprised to hear Polly’s voice softly calling to her through the dark.
“Hannah! is that you?”
“Yes, Polly. Why aren’t you asleep, child?”
“I don’t know. How’s Priscilla?”
“Well, to tell the truth, the doctor isn’t ready to say. He isn’t worryin’ much about her bruises, but—but—well, we’ll have to wait, that’s all. She’s got considerable fever and the fright won’t leave her. She drops asleep for a minute or two and then starts up wide awake and shrieking with terror. She can’t get any rest, poor lamb. It’s that that makes us most anxious. Of course we don’t take for truth anything she says in this state, but it’s curious how contrary-minded people get when they’re not quite themselves. She has an idea you’re trying to hurt her and she criesout to us not to let you come into the room. I’ve told her mother over and over again you wouldn’t see a hair of Priscilla’s head harmed and you wouldn’t, now would you, Polly?”
Hannah paused a moment for Polly’s answer, but when none came she went on consolingly, “I’ve told Mrs. Duer not to mind the foolish things Priscilla says, for it isn’t believable that you would lay hands on her to shake her or that it was because of a falling-out you had that she fell over the side of the lodge. Only, you see, Polly, while Priscilla’s head is like this and she has such foolish sick fancies it wouldn’t do to excite her and so you’ll just have to keep out of the way for a while, and not fret to go to her. When she’s up and about again it’ll be all right, but for the present it’s pretty hard on us all—the waiting. Now, go to sleep, like a good girl and to-morrow you shall tell just how it all happened. You’re not to blame, I’m sure, Polly, but it will be better all round for you to let Mrs. Duer know the right of the case and that Priscilla’s saying you shook her and was the cause of her fall, is just something she’s dreaming and that it isn’t really true at all.”
Then, with a tired “Good-night! Now go to sleep like a good girl,” and without waiting for more, Hannah left the room to return to Priscilla, and Polly was left in the darkness and the silence again.
The big clock in the corner ticked out the seconds with slow distinctness; a little screech-owl in the branches of the big oak-tree just beyond the window repeated its dismal, quivering call. Polly buried her face in the pillows and trembled. She had thought she was unhappy before, when Priscilla’s sickness was the only weight upon her heart. But now there was a worse one added to that. The knowledge that she would be held responsible for the accident and whatever resulted from it.
Poor Polly! She had quite forgotten the little tiff of the morning but now it came back to her with cruel clearness for Hannah’s words showed plainly enough that Priscilla had not forgotten. What could she say the next morning when Mrs. Duer should ask her if what Priscilla said was true? For what Priscilla said was true: Polly could not deny it. It was true Polly had shaken Priscilla and Priscilla “to pay her back” it appeared, had leaned over the ledge of the Lodge. She saw it all now. So it was true also that Priscilla’s fall was somehow due to Polly’s temper. It all seemed very terrible and confusing and hopeless. She knew in her heart that she was not utterly to blame and yet—and yet she could not reason out her excuse and she could not explain. She heard the clock strike “Twelve!”—“one”—“two”—and then, at last, worn out and thoroughlymiserable she fell asleep and slept until long after her usual time for rising.
This morning there was no kindly Hannah to oversee her bath; no friendly Priscilla to frolic with. Everything was lonely, still, and discouraging. She ate her breakfast in silence and then wandered off to the nursery window and gazed out disconsolately into the blinding brightness of the sunny grounds below. Presently she heard the sound of wheels crunching on the gravel of the driveway and saw the doctor’s carriage swing briskly around the sweep in front of the house. She slipped quickly down-stairs and flew breathlessly out into the vestibule, just in time to meet Dr. Crosby on his way into the hall.
“Good-morning, little lady!” he said genially, resting a kind hand for a moment upon her shoulder and looking narrowly into her pale, anxious, tear-stained face. “And how do you do this fine, hot morning?”
Polly nodded gratefully and tried to say, “Very well, I thank you,” but could not quite accomplish it. The doctor saw she had something upon her mind and patiently waited to learn what it was. At last she was able to speak.
“Priscilla,” she stammered. “Is Priscilla going to—going to—be worse?”
“Why, bless your heart, no,” Dr. Crosby replied promptly. “On the contrary Priscilla is going to bebetter very soon, quite well, in fact. When I left her at four o’clock this morning she was sleeping soundly, and if she has rested well ever since, we’ll have her up and about in no time. So don’t be down-hearted, child. I suppose you are the Polly Priscilla has had so much to say about, and you’re fretting because she has sick notions and doesn’t want to see you? Pooh, pooh! never mind that! We’ll send her away somewhere for a few weeks for a change, and by the time she comes back she will have forgotten all about it and you’ll be as good friends as ever,” and with that, and an encouraging pat upon the head, the good-hearted doctor hurried up-stairs.
Polly crept back to the nursery only half-comforted. Priscilla might be better and, if she were, of course, that would be an immense relief, but in the meantime she was angry at Polly and would have to be taken away before she would get over it.
Presently there were the sounds of opening and closing doors on the floor below; the doctor’s cheery voice was raised in a jovial laugh, and, after a moment, Hannah came up-stairs looking tired and hollow-eyed, to be sure, but still smiling and happy.
“Thanks be to God,” she said reverently, “the child is better. She’s had five hours of steady sleep, and the rest has done her a world of good. She’s her own dear, quiet little self again.”
“Then I can go to her?” cried Polly, springing up eagerly. “She isn’t angry at me any more, now she’s better?”
Hannah hesitated. “Well, I can’t say exactly that,” she replied. “I asked her if she didn’t want to see you and she shook her head. It’s just a whim of course, but it wouldn’t do to force her against her will while she’s so weak, so you’ll just have to wait patiently till she comes around of herself. Meanwhile Mrs. Duer wants to have you come to her in the living-room. There, there, child! don’t look like that! You’ve nothing to fear. Just keep up a brave heart, answer her questions truthfully and don’t cry, or tire her with a long story. She hasn’t slept a wink all night and she needs rest as much as Priscilla does, so be quick about what you have to say; only speak when you’re spoken to and leave her to catch a nap if she can.”
How she got down to the living-room door Polly did not know. The brave heart Hannah had bade her keep up must have sunk to the region of her shoes, for her feet were as heavy as lead and her left side felt quite sickeningly empty and hollow. She managed to give the door a gentle tap, and when Mrs. Duer’s gentle voice said, “Come in!” she crossed the threshold.
“Good-morning, Polly!” said Priscilla’s motherkindly from where she lay on the couch by the open French windows.
“Good-morning!” responded Polly from between two stiffened lips.
“Come over here, dear, and sit upon this cushion beside me. I want to ask you a few questions about yesterday. I’m sure you can answer them satisfactorily. There! That is right! Now, you know, dear, Priscilla had a serious shock yesterday, and for a number of hours she was not responsible for what she said. She said strange things which we do not believe are true. I’m sure, for instance, that you would not refuse to get her doll for her if she asked you to do so.”
Polly did not answer.
“You did not refuse to get her doll for her, did you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Duer.”
Mrs. Duer’s pale cheeks flushed a little. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m very sorry and disappointed, Polly. That was not like you; it was hardly kind, I think. But I am quite confident you did not shake Priscilla because she continued to ask you to get her doll after you had refused. Tell me, dear, you did not shake Priscilla?”
“Yes, Mrs. Duer.”
For a second or two the room was very quiet.Polly was having a mighty struggle with herself. Hannah had told her only to speak when she was spoken to, and yet she knew that her answers to Mrs. Duer’s questions, truthful though they were, did not give a just account of the trouble between her and Priscilla. There was something amiss somewhere that she could not straighten out.
Mrs. Duer, meanwhile, was struggling on her side to conquer the feeling that had grown in her against this ungrateful little girl for whom she had done so much.
At length she spoke again.
“I am very sorry and very much disappointed, Polly. I never could have believed that you would grieve me so. To raise your hand against gentle little Priscilla, who is so delicate and who loved you so much! Well, child, I suppose you did not realize what you were doing, and you certainly look as if you had suffered for your fault. Still, I do not feel as if I could ever trust you again with my little girl.”
Then somehow, in spite of Hannah, in spite of everything, Polly’s self-control gave way. “I wasn’t to blame! I wasn’t to blame!” she cried chokingly, over and over again.
Mrs. Duer sighed. “I am willing to believe you did not mean to be to blame,” she admitted patiently. “But now I want to tell you that I have decided totake Priscilla away for a while. She needs a change and it will be better for you both to be separated for the present. Hannah will go with me, but you can stay on here while we are gone, at least, and Theresa will look after you. I am sure you will be a good and obedient child and do just as she tells you, so that I shall not have to be anxious on your account while I am absent. You have been honest in confessing the truth and so I am willing to believe you will keep your promise if you give me your word you will be good and obedient while I am away and will do as Theresa tells you. Will you, Polly?”
“Yes, Mrs. Duer.”
“You will not go outside the gates unless Theresa goes with you?”
“No, Mrs. Duer.”
“And you will remember your promise to obey her absolutely?”
“Ye-es, Mrs. Duer.”
“Very well. Now I think you may go up-stairs, or out under the trees to play, or anywhere within the grounds that you choose.”
But Polly still lingered, trying to utter the words that were catching so cruelly in her throat.
Mrs. Duer wondered a little why she did not start.
“May I—may I——”
“May you what?”
“May I go back to—to the—store again, please?”
“To the store? I don’t understand.”
“Where I was when Miss Cissy came. Mr. Phelps—he’s the superintendent—said I—he would take me back any time. He said I was a trustable—he said I was a good cash-girl and—and—— I’d like to go, if you don’t mind,” Polly murmured in broken breaths.
Mrs. Duer raised herself upon her elbow. “Ah, but I do mind,” she replied instantly. “On no consideration can you go back. In the first place you would have nowhere to stay—your sister at the hospital could not have you—and then,—but it is quite out of the question and we won’t discuss it further.”
Polly turned slowly and went toward the door. She had to grope her way because of the blur before her eyes that shut out everything, but at last she managed to lay her hand upon the knob and to turn it. The next moment she was in the cool, dim hall and the next—she had hung herself face downward on the great tiger-skin upon the polished floor and was crying as if her heart would break. No one saw her; no one heard her.
Mrs. Duer in the living-room was trying to rest. Priscilla was dozing in the darkened bedchamber up-stairs, with Hannah on guard and James was carrying down from the attic the trunks and traveling-bags that would be needed for the journey, and whistlingcheerfully beneath his breath as he did it, for Mrs. Duer had told him he might take the occasion of her absence to go upon a little trip of his own and he was looking forward to his holiday as eagerly as if he had been a boy.
But in the midst of her misery Polly remembered the absurd little rhyme sister had repeated to her that last day at the hospital:
“Good little babies bravely bear a deal,They hold their little heads upNo matter how they feel.”
“Good little babies bravely bear a deal,They hold their little heads upNo matter how they feel.”
“Good little babies bravely bear a deal,
They hold their little heads up
No matter how they feel.”
She scrambled to her feet in a twinkling, brushed away her tears and returned to the nursery where she busied herself setting her writing-desk in order and rearranging the articles upon her table. She put the fragments of her shattered bank into the table-drawer after vainly trying to fit them together again. It was the first bank she had ever owned and she reflected sadly that it would probably be the last. For surely what Mrs. Duer had meant a little while ago was that she did not wish Priscilla to play with her any more. And if Priscilla was not to play with her any more then—then—why then she would be sent away. She wondered what sister would say; and dear Miss Cicely! how grieved and disappointed she would be. And yet, if Miss Cicely were here Polly felt she could make her understand the things she could not explainto Mrs. Duer—the things that would show she was not so entirely blamable as she seemed. Yes, Miss Cicely would certainly understand. As for Hannah——
Good Hannah found an opportunity, in the midst of all her hurry and worry, to run up-stairs to the nursery for a minute, just before bedtime and to say in a confidential whisper:
“There now, Polly, don’t you go to fretting yourself to skin and bone over this. Just you keep still and be good and it will all come out right in the end.”
“But Hannah, oh, Hannah,” Polly groaned. “Priscilla’s angry at me, and she stays angry. And Mrs. Duer said she couldn’t trust me any more.”
“Well, well, it’s hard, I know, but all the same, be a good girl and I warrant things will come out right in the end. We won’t be gone so very long and when we come back who knows what may happen.”
So Polly went to sleep with a more hopeful heart than she had carried for many hours and the next morning she watched the travelers depart with what was almost a smile of contentment, for was she not going to be the best and most obedient of girls while they were gone, so that when they came back—who knew what might happen?
The days dragged slowly by; hot, sultry, lonely days. There was nothing much for a little girl to do in the great empty house, and Polly wandered about rather disconsolately at first, missing good Hannah and Priscilla at every turn and learning anew how dear they had become to her. There was not much fun in playing with her doll when there was no one to join in the game. She visited Oh-my in his stable and found the greatest consolation in telling him her secrets and feeling that he understood and sympathized with her.
“You see, pony,” she explained, “I haven’t got anybody to talk to now but you, and it makes me feel lonesome. Theresa has the charge of me, but she stays down-stairs mostly and doesn’t pay very much attention. Besides, James told me she doesn’t like little girls, and I guess it’s true, for sometimes her voice isn’t very pleasant when she says things to me and I’d rather not bother her unless I have to, because it makes her nervous.”
And Oh-my put his head down and nosed Polly’shand in the friendliest, manner possible, as if to say: “I understand perfectly, my dear. I’ve gone through the same thing myself, so I know precisely how you feel.”
But one thunder-stormy day Polly happened to stroll into the library down-stairs, because the nursery seemed so far off when the lightning was flashing and the great, crashing peals made one’s breath clutch at one’s throat, and as it happened, that was the last of her loneliness, for how could one possibly feel solitary with such a multitude of delightful friends as she found in those well-filled book-shelves? She forgot the storm, forgot the heat, forgot everything, in fact, but the new world she had found and that proved so full of endless delights and surprises.
She did not venture to take any of the volumes very far from their shelves, but she discovered it was thoroughly comfortable, as well as convenient, to cuddle back of the library curtains on the wide window-sill, and, in this hidden nook with her new-found treasures to keep her company, she was entirely happy and remained lost to the world for hours at a time. So long as she appeared promptly at meal-time Theresa did not care where she was, so Polly got through the days much bettor than could have been expected and before she realized it, it was drawing near the time when the travelers should return.
Meanwhile, Priscilla was causing her mother and Hannah no end of disappointment and worry. The railroad journeys tired and bored her since there was no lively Polly across the aisle to invent new plays for her or take the lead in the old ones. She sat upon the beach at the seashore and could not be induced to stir from Hannah’s side. Once or twice, some sociable child, anxious to make friends, would venture up and ask if she did not want to come and play, but Priscilla always turned away her head shyly and refused to be neighborly.
“Why don’t you go and play with that nice little girl, Priscilla?” Hannah urged. “She’s a real little lady. I’ve watched her ever since we came on the sands and I’ve never seen her cross or selfish. Go along, dear! You’ll have lots of fun.”
But Priscilla shook her head. “I don’t want to,” she murmured wistfully. “She doesn’t play the right way. Not—not—the way Polly does. Polly plays the best way. If Polly were here I’d play.”
The fresh sea-air brought the color back to her cheeks and she grew thoroughly strong and well again, but she was languid and restless and nothing appeared to please her.
After three weeks of this her mother grew fairly discouraged.
“We have tried the seaside and we have tried themountains,” she declared mournfully to Hannah, after a particularly dreary day in which everything had gone wrong with Priscilla. “She doesn’t seem contented anywhere.”
“She’s not sick, that’s certain,” Hannah assured her consolingly. “The doctors all say there’s nothing the matter with her. Dr. Crosby told me he thought it was just a miracle the way she got over the shock of that fall. He said it wouldn’t have been possible if she were as she used to be.”
“Yes, I know she is not sick,” went on the anxious mother, “but her spirits do not improve. She was so happy and merry this summer, it was a pleasure to see her. Her aunts and uncles all remarked what a different child she was, but now—ever since her fall—she has been going back to her old listless, moody ways again. I am utterly distressed about her.”
“Oh, now, I wouldn’t feel like that,” ventured Hannah, who in her heart felt entirely the same, but wouldn’t have admitted it for the world.
Just then Priscilla herself wandered into the room. The corners of her mouth were drooping and her eyes looked quite ready for tears.
Her mother held out her arms and the little girl went to her silently.
“I wonder,” said Mrs. Duer, kissing the mournful lips and stroking back the glossy hair with a lovinghand, “I wonder what pleasant plan we can make for to-morrow. What would you like to do, little daughter?”
For answer Priscilla suddenly buried her face in her mother’s neck and began to cry.
“Why, what is it, darling?”
“I don’t know,” came back in a broken whisper.
“Don’t you like it here, dear?”
“N-no.”
“Would you like to go away?”
“Y-yes, please.”
“Very well, dear. We can leave to-morrow. And we’ll go anywhere you choose.”
Priscilla raised her head and her eyes were shining with pleasure as well as tears.
“Really?—Truly?” she cried eagerly.
“Why, yes, pet,” her mother assured her in surprise. “Certainly we can go to-morrow and anywhere you choose.—Back to the mountains if you like.”
Priscilla’s face fell and all the light went out of it. Her lip began to quiver. Her mother and Hannah exchanged puzzled glances over her head.
“Don’t you want to go back to the mountains?” Mrs. Duer asked gently.
“N-no.”
“Well, we have plenty of time, dear. We can go where you like. We need not hurry home.”
But somehow this comforting assurance seemed only to start Priscilla’s tears afresh.
“I don’t want plenty of time,” she wailed dolefully.
A sudden idea popped into Hannah’s head. She gave Mrs. Duer a quick glance and then said quietly: “I shouldn’t want to hurry you on any account, madam, but perhaps if we were to go home for a day or two Priscilla might make up her mind better where she’d like to be. If we didn’t stay out the rest of our time here, for instance, we could go right home to-morrow.”
But Priscilla had started up, her eyes aglow. Hannah pretended not to notice her and continued unconcernedly: “We could telegraph to Theresa to-night that we were coming to-morrow and, if we started bright and early we could be home by evening, sure.”
Priscilla clapped her hands. “And s’posing Lawrence and Richard would meet us at the station!” she cried, half-laughing, half-crying, her voice quivering with excitement: “and s’posing Oh-my was there too—and—and s’posing—s’posing Polly was driving him—and—and——”
“I shouldn’t wonder one mite if I were to ask the telegraph operator down in the office to send that telegram to Theresa,” declared Hannah, “that he’d send it for me in a minute.”
Priscilla slipped from her mother’s arms.
“Oh, Hannah,” she exclaimed, “would you ask him, would you?”
Hannah laughed: “Well, dearie, I rather think I will,” she said.
And that was the end of Priscilla’s low spirits. For the rest of the afternoon she could hardly contain herself, and had to be warned of the danger of postponing their journey if she did not sleep, before she could be induced to compose herself for bed that night.
It was plain enough, the child had been homesick.
Early that same evening Polly, from her perch on the library window seat, saw a bicycle shoot swiftly around the sweep of the driveway. She was so absorbed in her book that she hardly raised her eyes to look at it and was only dimly aware that the rider wore a uniform of blue, with the cap of a telegraph-messenger upon his head. But Theresa was not, by any means, so blind to what was going on about her. She spied the boy at once and ran down to the kitchen area-way at the back of the house to receive him.
“Oh, botheration!” she ejaculated as she read the message. “If this ain’t the most provoking world! Here I was counting on two more weeks’ vacation at the very least and making plans and everything and now comes a telegram to say the whole thing is up to-morrow.”
“What’s that?” asked the cook, full of curiosity at once.
“Why, the folks are coming-back to-morrow, that’s what!” Theresa snapped. “And a horrid shame it is too. Upsetting a body’s arrangements and disappointing ’em of two weeks’ holiday at least. James is the lucky one! can go off where he chooses and take it easy.”
“Oh, my!” exclaimed the cook good-naturedly, “is that all? Goodness! I thought you’d lost your best friend, you acted so cut up. Why under the sun shouldn’t the folks come home if they want to? It’s their house. They ain’t running it altogether for our convenience, and as to disappointing us of two extra weeks’ holiday as you call it—why, that’s just nonsense, Theresa. We had no right to expect, so we oughtn’t to be disappointed.”
“Oh, you’re too good to be true!” Theresa retorted angrily, as she flounced out of the kitchen.
The cook looked after her with a broad smile of amusement on her fat, good-natured face. “Well, well,” she murmured, comfortably, “Theresa is a caution, and no mistake. Such a temper as she has got! And the idea of her being in a fury because the folks is coming home! Plans! Now, I wonder what the great plans are that she’s made and that their coming’ll interfere with.”
But it was not Theresa’s way to confide her plans to others and least of all to one who would be pretty certain to disapprove of them. She knew very well that the good-hearted cook would never stand by and see her carry out a cruel plot of revenge against a helpless child if she were aware of it. And that was what, to her shame, Theresa had meant to do. She had by no means forgotten her grudge against Polly and had intended to take this opportunity to prove it. But now the elaborate scheme that it had taken her weeks to contrive was upset, for, with James and Hannah about again the little girl would be well protected and she would have no chance to wreak her spite upon her. She bit her lips savagely as she went up-stairs with the unwelcome telegram crushed tightly in her palm.
Polly, happening to come out of the library just at the moment that Theresa was crossing the hall, noticed the maid’s white lips quiver and, thinking she was sick or unhappy, broke out at once with an impulsive: “Oh, Theresa, what’s the matter? Has anything happened?”
Theresa looked down at her for an instant with an ugly gleam in her eyes. “Only a telegram,” she muttered curtly.
Polly’s cheeks whitened. “A telegram!” she echoed. “They send telegrams when people are sick or hurt or dead, don’t they?”
Theresa nodded grimly.
“Is any one you know of sick?” asked poor Polly, her quick sympathy aroused at once and her thoughts traveling instantly to sister and reminding her how badly she would feel if a telegram had come saying sister was worse.
Again Theresa nodded.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Polly heartily. “I’m ever and ever so sorry, Theresa. I hope it isn’t your sister. I know how I’d feel if it was my sister.”
But like a flash of lightning a thought had shot across Theresa’s brain and before she fairly knew she was speaking she heard herself say: “It is your sister!”
All in an instant she saw her way to get Polly out of the house before the family returned. One plan was as good as another; if her first had failed, this would be pretty sure to succeed.
“Yes, child,” she went on, “it’s very sad, but—now don’t get excited,—your sister is very sick! Very, very sick indeed.”
“Does—does the telegram say that?” stammered Polly hoarsely.
“The telegram says,” declared Theresa, unfolding the paper and pretending to read it: “‘Sister worse. Wants Polly. Take first train to-morrow morning.’”
Polly clung to the stair-rail for support. She didnot ask to see the telegram. It never entered her innocent mind that Theresa would stoop to deceive her. She did not doubt the woman for a moment, there was no room in her overburdened little heart for anything but grief over sister.
“Now, Polly,” said Theresa quietly, “you mustn’t give way. You must have grit and content yourself for to-night. And to-morrow morning I’ll get you off by the first train. There won’t be the slightest trouble about it. I’ll pack your things in a nice bundle and you can carry it with you.”
“But—but——” broke out Polly in despair, “Mrs. Duer told me not to go outside the gates—and I promised.”
“Unless I went with you,” corrected Theresa. “She told me all about it and she made you give your word that you’d mind what I said and do everything I told you to do.”
“But—but——” cried Polly, still only half-convinced, “I don’t know the way. I haven’t any money.”
“Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed the maid. “That’s nothing. I’ll be glad to give you your carfare and you haven’t to change cars once all the way. All you have to do when you’re in the train is to sit still until you get to the city. Then you walk through the station and up Madison Avenue for a while and thereyou are, right at the hospital door. You can’t possibly lose your way. It’s as plain as a pipe-stem. And I’ll wake you early to-morrow morning, before the rest are up, and you can get away on that first train.”
Polly’s head was whirling. She passively let Theresa lead her up-stairs and, in a sort of dream, saw her make ready a neat bundle containing the very best of the dainty garments Miss Cissy and Mrs. Duer had given her. She could not touch her supper, though Theresa had taken unusual pains to make it an especially tempting one and kindly urged her, in the friendliest manner possible, to eat. And later, although it grew long past her bedtime, her tearless eyes refused to close. She lay awake staring into the darkness, hearing the big clock tick and the miserable little screech-owl moan and thought of sister and what she would do if—— But here she always had to stop and go back again to the beginning, for she could not get her thoughts to carry her beyond the point of sister’s leaving her in the world alone.
She must have fallen into a doze at last, for it was with a start of surprise that she heard Theresa’s voice whispering in her ear: “Wake up, Polly! Hurry! It’s time you were up and dressing! I’ve got a glass of milk for you and some biscuits, and if you’re quick you won’t have any trouble getting to the station intime for the train,” and knew that it was morning and that she was back in the world again with that awful gloom of sister’s being worse hanging over her and shutting out the sunshine.
Theresa was kindness itself. She helped Polly to dress, encouraged her to eat her breakfast and quite laughed with good-natured generosity at Polly’s reluctance to accept the money for her journey.
“You see, Theresa, I could have paid for it myself,” the little girl explained, “but I took the money out of my bank to give to Miss Cissy when I lost the bag the night of the Fair.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” said Theresa. “Did Miss Cissy know?”
“Yes, I did,” repeated Polly. “No, I started to tell her, but she went away. I took all there was in it. We had to break the bank to get it out. The pieces are in my table-drawer. I couldn’t bear to throw them away and, oh, dear!—now I guess I’d better go, please. I can’t eat any more, really! And I’ve drunk all the milk——”
“That’s a good girl,” the maid said kindly. “Now, step soft as ever you can so as not to wake anybody. I’ll go down to the station, or almost down to it, and see you in the train myself.”
“But it’s such a long walk,” protested poor Polly. “You’ll get all tired out.”
“Oh, that’s nothing. I’ll carry your bundle and if we hurry I can be back here in no time—before Bridget and the rest are up, I’m sure.”
So, creeping softly and noiselessly down the long, silent halls and staircases the two stole out of the house, through the grounds and out into the sunny stretch of road beyond. It was a long, tiresome tramp, but Polly was too excited to notice it. She wanted to hurry, to run, to do anything that would help her to get to sister more speedily. Theresa carried her bundle, which was rather heavy, to within a short distance of the station.
“Now, I can’t go any further with you,” she said as they reached the last turn in the road, “for it’s getting late and I ought to be home if I don’t want the girls to think I—I’m neglecting my work. But you’re all right now, you can see the depot there in front of you. Just you go straight into the waiting-room and up to the little window in the middle and ask for a ticket to the city, and if the ticket-seller says ‘return?’ you say ‘No!’ for I couldn’t very well spare you the money for both ways and have only given you enough to carry you down. You won’t need any change after you get there, for the hospital isn’t very far, and when you get to the hospital your sister will see to you or some one else will. There’ll be no trouble about that. Well, run along now and don’t,for the life of you, tell anybody what’s the matter or why you’re going away or anything. It isn’t safe for little girls to speak to strangers.”
Polly promised and, with rather a heavy pat upon the shoulder that was meant to seem friendly, Theresa shoved her forward on her way.
After she had gone the maid stood and watched her with narrow, eager eyes. She waited there, in fact hidden from sight behind the roadside trees and bushes, until she heard the heavy train thunder up and off again. Then she turned, sped quickly back along the path she and Polly had come, and reached the house and the shelter of her own room before any of the other servants were astir.
Priscilla’s spirits rose with every mile that brought her nearer home. Her mother and Hannah watched her shining eyes with satisfaction and listened to the rare sound of her merry chatter as if it had been the sweetest of music. They were as grateful for the change in her as sparrows are when, after a long succession of stormy days, the sun comes out again.
One question rather puzzled and disturbed her mother.
What was to be done about Polly after their return? Priscilla seemed to have forgiven and forgotten their quarrel and was ready and anxious to make up and be friends once more, as Hannah had foretold she would be, but Mrs. Duer could not help remembering that Polly had raised her hand against her darling and, she felt that no one could blame her if she were not willing to trust the child with her again. Priscilla had so tender and compassionate a little heart that she could never harbor ill-will against anybody, but she had barely escaped a dreadful calamity andher mother felt that it would be worse than reckless to run the risk of repeating a danger for which, plainly, Polly was responsible. No; Polly must go, that was clear, and Priscilla would doubtless soon cease to miss her, once she was at home again.
But as they drew nearer and nearer their journey’s end it was easy to see for whom Priscilla’s heart had been longing, and for what she had been homesick. She thought and talked of nothing but Polly and her usually silent little tongue fairly ran over with eager, anxious chatter.
“S’posing Polly were to be at the station to meet them!” “S’posing Polly didn’t know they were coming and would be so surprised she’d jump right up and down with gladness!” There seemed to be no end to the delightful things Priscilla amused herself by “s’posing.”
“When we get home I want to speak to Polly the first thing,” she confided to Hannah. “I have something I very p’rtic’larly want to say to her.”
But when the train at last drew up beside the station and the travelers stepped out upon the platform, Priscilla’s happy smile faded to a wistful shadow of itself, for no Polly was awaiting her anywhere about, as she had fondly encouraged herself to “s’pose” might be the case. However, in the pleasant excitement of feeling she was really at home atlast, she recovered her good spirits and was as gay and light-hearted as ever during the brisk drive from the depot.
“I guess Polly will be waiting for us at the gate,” she managed to whisper eagerly in Hannah’s ear, between quick little peerings this way and that in the hope of spying her nearer at hand. But the carriage rolled through the gate and up the shady avenue without bringing any waiting Polly into view. Again Priscilla’s expectant smile grew wistful.
“I s’pose, maybe, she’s waiting for us at the door,” she murmured still hopefully, and kept her brown eyes fixed resolutely before her so that, when the carriage should swing around the sweep in the driveway and under the porte-cochêre, she might be the first to call out the glad “Hello!” that would show Polly she was sorry and wanted to be friends again; but only Theresa stood upon the steps to receive them, and Polly was nowhere to be seen.
Priscilla suffered herself to be lifted out of the carriage without a word. Her chin was quivering a little but she did not cry. Perhaps Polly was hiding somewhere and meant to surprise her by springing out unexpectedly to welcome her with a kiss and a hug.
Priscilla was naturally very timid, but in her eagerness to find Polly she braved the shadowy staircases and lonely dim halls without a moment’s hesitation.
“P’raps she’s in the nursery and won’t come down ’cause I was horrid and wouldn’t see her before I went away. Of course that’s it! Why didn’t I think of it before?” Priscilla reasoned, and she ran along the upper hall crying, “Polly! Polly! I’m home again! Where are you, Polly dear?”
But no jolly little figure came bounding forward in answer to her call and the only sounds to be heard were those of her own quick-coming breaths and the solemn ticking of the big clock in the corner. Then the dimness, the quiet and the sense of her loneliness and disappointment overcame Priscilla and with a long, quivering sob she cast herself face downward upon the nursery-couch, where she and Polly had played so many happy times and cried the bitterest tears she had ever shed.
Down-stairs all was in the greatest confusion, for it seemed that no one was able to inform Mrs. Duer where Polly was. Lawrence and Richard, the coachman and groom, declared they had not seen her near the stables all day: “And she never missed a morning all the time you were gone, madam, to come out and give Oh-my an apple or a lump of sugar.”
Theresa declared she had served the child her breakfast but hadn’t had a glimpse of her since.
“I was so busy getting the place in order, to receive you, that I hadn’t a minute to think of Polly,” sheconfessed. “And when she didn’t come in to luncheon I didn’t feel I could spare the time to hunt for her.”
“And yet I left her especially in your charge,” Mrs. Duer said, in stern rebuke.
Poor Hannah, tired as she was, set out immediately with Lawrence and Richard to scour the grounds, while Mrs. Duer bade the household servants search the house from garret to cellar.
She herself hastened up to the nursery in the hope of finding some clue to the mystery of the child’s disappearance. But all she saw on entering the room was Priscilla crouching on the rug before the nursery-couch and crying her heart out from loneliness and disappointment.
“My dearest, what is it?” asked Mrs. Duer anxiously hastening to her and gathering her up tenderly in her arms.
Priscilla hid her tear-stained face in her mother’s neck. “I want Polly,” she sobbed out brokenly.
“Yes, darling, I know you do,” Mrs. Duer said gently, “and I have no doubt she will be found in a very little while. She was here, safe and well, this morning, and she cannot have wandered far, for I forbade her to go beyond the gates and I cannot believe she has disobeyed me.”
“I have something I must p’rtic’larly tell her right away,” the shaken little voice continued.
“I wonder what it can be?” ventured Mrs. Duer, encouragingly. “Don’t you think you can confide it to mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
The big clock in the corner ticked out the seconds with melancholy distinctness. It seemed to Priscilla to be reproachfully repeating: “Pol-ly’s gone! Pol-ly’s gone!” until she could endure it no longer.
“I wanted to tell Polly I was sorry,” she gasped in a difficult whisper.
“Sorry for what, dearest?”
“The day I fell—I—I was horrid to Polly,” went on the penitent little voice in a broken undertone. “I—I wouldn’t play with her first-off when she wanted me to and then, when she went out to Pine Lodge, I was lonesome and I wanted her, and so I went there too. I didn’t have my doll and we couldn’t play. I asked her to get it ’cause I was tired. She was tired too; she had a big bump on her head that hurt her; she let me feel it thump. But—I teased her to get my doll; I kept right on teasing.—She would have gone then but you’d told her not to leave me alone there and then—and then—I felt wicked in my heart and wanted to be horrid and—I thought it would frighten her if I got up on the bench where you said I mustn’t. She begged me toget down—but I leaned over—just to tease her. And I said I’d get down if she’d fetch my doll. At last, after ever so long, she said she’d go and then I got down.—But—but I guess she was ’xasp’rated, I had teased her so, and leaned over the edge when she said I shouldn’t, and wouldn’t even let her hold on to my skirt and—and—so—she shook me. She ’most cried the minute she had done it and asked me to forgive her and make up. But I wouldn’t.—I don’t know why I was so horrid;—it was awful—it choked me—but I couldn’t vanquish it—I just kept on teasing her to get my doll.—Then she did.—While she was gone I tried to think of a way to pay her back for shaking me—and by and by I thought of one.—When she brought the doll I just walked over to the bench and got up on it again. I did it to pay her back.—She begged me not to—and I did—and then—I fell—and it wasn’t Polly’s fault and—I—I want Polly!”
And this was how Priscilla fought her first great battle with her conscience and won. Her mother, hearing her heart flutter and bound, and feeling the cold drops of moisture on her temples, knew that the struggle had been a fierce one and loved her all the better for it.
And somehow Priscilla had never felt so happy in all her life, in spite of her unhappiness, as she did in that moment when her beautiful young mother, ofwhom she had always stood a little in awe, kissed her tenderly on her forehead and said: “God bless my little girl for being honest enough to tell the truth and brave enough to confess her fault,” and they had both cried and clung together and felt that they were very fast friends indeed.
But in the meantime it was growing darker every moment and still Polly had not been found. Hannah came hastening up to report that no trace of her had been discovered anywhere out of doors and Theresa had no better news to tell of their search within.
“She was all right and well this morning, I do assure you, madam,” the maid insisted. “I served her breakfast with my own hands. She seemed terribly upset, I will own, when you went away, but after a while it seemed as if she had found something to take up her mind for she was more contented-like. Since she’s been missing it has occurred to me that perhaps she intended to run away and that she was planning how to do it all the time I thought she was just amusing herself with books and so on. I never was the prying kind, but I wonder if it would be a good idea to look around and see if her things are all here—her clothes, I mean, and such-like.”
Mrs. Duer thought it would be an extremely good idea and Hannah made haste to the little girl’s bureau drawers and closet. A great lump rose in her throatas she discovered that the very finest and daintiest of her garments—the ones Polly had liked the best—were missing from their customary places.
But Theresa was fingering the articles on Polly’s little table in the corner, pulling the books and papers about and rummaging among them busily. Suddenly she gave a start and exclamation:
“It seems to me I remember that there used to be a little iron bank here somewhere, full of loose change, wasn’t there, Hannah?”
“Yes! Why?” responded Hannah almost harshly.
“Because it isn’t here now,” replied Theresa.
“It was Polly’s own bank,” Priscilla whispered in her mother’s ear. “The money belonged to her, to do what she liked with. When Cousin Cissy gave her some or Uncle Arthur did, or anybody, Polly always put it in her bank, and she said she meant to buy things with it for some people she knew; and I guess she meant us.”
While Priscilla was talking Theresa, with a great ado, pulled open the little drawer of the table. It came out with a jerk and there, directly before her, lay the broken fragments of the bank. Without a word she gathered them up and brought them to her mistress. They seemed convincing proof that Polly had deliberately planned to go away (without doubtback to the city) and had taken her savings to pay her fare.
Mrs. Duer rose. “That is enough, Theresa,” she said sadly. “Put those pieces back where you found them, please, and then you can go down-stairs. I shall not need you here any longer.”
She was anxious to be alone with Hannah.
As soon as the maid had left the room she turned to the nurse exclaiming: “Oh, Hannah, it seems impossible! I can’t believe it of the child. She promised me faithfully not to go beyond the gates and I trusted her perfectly.”
Hannah hesitated. “Polly thought you didn’t trust her,” she said quietly. “It was only the night before we left home that she told me you had said you couldn’t trust her any more. If it’s true that she has deliberately gone away I think there’s no doubt but that’s why. But I’m not ready to believe she’s run off so without a word of thanks for all the love and kindness and generosity’s been shown her in this house. It wouldn’t be like her. I won’t believe it till I must.”
But Mrs. Duer’s thoughts were traveling back to the last time she had seen the little girl: that afternoon in the living-room when she had asked her about Priscilla’s accident, when she had told her she could not trust her any more. She remembered the hurtlook in Polly’s eyes and the quiver in her voice as she asked to be permitted to go back to the store where—where—(it was all clear to her now) where they did trust her, where they thought she was “a good cash-girl.” Like a flash the whole thing explained itself to Mrs. Duer. Polly had gone back to the city, back to her old place. In a few hurried words she told Hannah of what she was thinking:
“I shall telephone at once to the station-master and learn if she has taken any of the trains from the depot to-day and if she has I will go to the city the first thing in the morning and find her, wherever she is, and bring her back.”
Priscilla’s tears had ceased. The thought of Polly alone, far off, somewhere in the distant, dangerous darkness, made her heart stand still with horror. She followed her mother and Hannah silently down-stairs and stood by trembling while the telephone bell tinkled merrily and the dreadful news came back over the wire that Polly had indeed taken the earliest morning train that very day for the city and that if there was anything wrong the station-master was very sorry, but he had thought it was all right to let her go, although, now he came to think of it, he had wondered at her being permitted to take such a long journey alone. The ticket-seller said he remembered her particularly, “because she seemed such a youngone to be shifting for herself.” He recollected that she had bought a ticket to town, but not back, and had paid for it with a lot of loose change—“quarters and dimes and nickles and such.” If he could do anything for Mrs. Duer she’d oblige him by letting him know.
But even now Hannah would not believe that Polly had run away.
“Why, don’t you see, Mrs. Duer, it’s impossible,” she exclaimed in real distress. “Polly isn’t disobedient nor ungrateful nor disloyal and she’d be all of these and more if she’d gone off so and left us without a word. There must be some way of explaining it.”
But Mrs. Duer was not so sure. She felt terribly anxious and harassed. What could she say to Polly’s sister if anything had happened to the child? What could she do?
Well, certainly nothing to-night. She would take the earliest train to the city in the morning and in the meantime they must all get what rest they could. Priscilla looked white and worn and ought to be put to bed as soon as she had eaten her supper. But Priscilla could only choke over her food and beg to be “excused” from the table. It was a sad ending to a day that had begun so merrily.
And how was Polly faring all this time?
The journey in the train proved to be tediouslylong and dreary. Quite, quite different from the one she had taken last, when she and Priscilla had passed over the same road some months ago, in coming to the country. After a while she began to feel faint and sick from the motion of the cars and, though she did not realize it, from hunger. The cold milk and hard biscuits of her breakfast were all Theresa had provided her with, so her usual luncheon time came and went and she had nothing to eat. Her empty little stomach rebelled. But she had no thought for herself, her mind and heart were brimful of sister, while the train that was carrying her to the city where sister lay sick—worse—seemed to do no more than slowly crawl. The wheels refused to grind out pleasant tunes, the hot sun blazed viciously through the window next which she sat and the dust and smoke and cinders blew in and settled upon her until she was covered with grime and grit.
Put at last the end of the journey was reached. Polly took up her heavy, cumbersome bundle and stumbled blindly out into the vast, busy station, amid a babel of voices and a hurrying, struggling press of passengers. She pushed forward in the thickest of the crowd and presently found herself in the street, almost deafened by the clang and clatter of trolley cars, the shouts of eager hackmen and the piercing cries of shrill-voiced newsboys. The midday sunglared blindly into her eyes and beat pitilessly upon her burning cheeks. She looked about her in dismay, for she did not know her way about this part of town and, for the first time in her life, the confusion of the city terrified her. Theresa had bade her speak to no one and so she did not venture to ask her way. Tugging wearily at her bulky burden she, somehow, got past the line of shouting hackmen standing about the station steps, and managed to cross the street. People pushed and jostled her; draymen, with rough, hoarse voices, ordered her out of the way, and motormen clanged their bells to warn her off the track. She stumbled blindly along, hardly knowing where she set her feet and really wandering straight in the wrong direction. It seemed to her that she was forgotten and forsaken by all the world.
She had known her way to and from the store and around and about the streets near Priscilla’s house, but here she was all astray. She stood still and tried to recall Theresa’s directions for reaching the hospital: “You go through the station and up Madison Avenue for a while and there you are!”
She had left the station far, far behind and Madison Avenue was nowhere within sight.
The twine that Theresa had fastened about her bundle and that had threatened to break from the time she started out, gave way with a snap. Shewould have to gather up the loose ends and knot them as best she could to prevent her clothes from strewing the pavement. While she was bungling awkwardly over this, balancing the bundle unsteadily against her knee, some one ran heavily against her and in an instant her bundle was on the sidewalk. She dared not turn her head or look around for she felt pretty sure that whoever had jostled her had done it “on purpose,” since there was no crowd here and the street was wide. But the next instant she heard a shrill whistle, a coarse laugh and then a rough voice crying jeeringly:
“My eyes! But if this ain’t a go! Blest if here isn’t the fine young lady that lives on the Avenoo! The lady that ran away with my papers one day along las’ spring! Hi, though, you don’t get off so easy this time, sis! I owes you one an’ I’m honest, I am. When I owes, I pays, see?”
She turned her head, lifted her eyes and stared straight into the mischievous, leering face of her old enemy—the newsboy.