“‘Nice little babies never, never cryOr when they do, we know the reason why.Good little babies bravely bear a deal,They hold their little heads upNo matter how they feel.’
“‘Nice little babies never, never cryOr when they do, we know the reason why.Good little babies bravely bear a deal,They hold their little heads upNo matter how they feel.’
“‘Nice little babies never, never cry
Or when they do, we know the reason why.
Good little babies bravely bear a deal,
They hold their little heads up
No matter how they feel.’
I want my Polly to ‘hold her little head up, no matter how she feels,’ for that is the only brave way, you know.”
Polly felt a lump rising in her throat. “I’ll try,” she whispered.
Then Hannah brought out a basket packed full of dainties, which Mrs. Duer had sent, and nothing would do but they must have a tea-party, to which sister insisted upon inviting Polly, Hannah, the nurse and the mother of the “nice little baby.”
While Polly went to carry the invitations Hannah hurriedly asked, “You are better, though, aren’t you really? Oh, I hope so, miss.” Sister’s eyes brimmed with gratitude. “I hope so too,” she said hesitatingly. “The doctors are giving me a little rest now because they say I couldn’t stand any more pain for a while. I tried very hard to be courageous; ‘to bravely bear a deal,’ you know; ‘to hold my little head up no matter how I felt,’ but they say I’ll have to rest for a few weeks. By and by they are going to try again, andthen, if my strength holds out, I may really get better. They say there is a chance—just think what that means! a chance that I may be able to walk again! It makes me too happy!”
Hannah caught up the basket and hid her face behind the cover, while she pretended to be very busy taking out the hidden goodies.
Polly thought that it was the jolliest tea-party in the world, though she, herself, ate hardly anything at all because she was so occupied with the wonderful mite of a baby which she was permitted to hold in her own arms, just as if she had been a grown-up woman. Its mother seemed to see at once that she was reliable and could be trusted, and that, in itself, was an honor to be proud of. The baby, too, seemed to have confidence in her new nurse, for she smiled and gurgled and blinked her eyes and did all the dear, ridiculous things that babies do, and then fell fast asleep in Polly’s lap, with her little hands clinched tight into two tiny fists, as if she meant to stand up and fight anybody who said she wasn’t the biggest and bravest baby in all the town.
“What’s her name?” whispered Polly at last when the mite was too sound asleep to be disturbed by her voice.
“She hasn’t got a name yet,” answered her mother. “No name seems quite pretty enough. Do you knowof any name you think would be nice? What is the loveliest name you know?”
“I know lots,” returned Polly confidently. “There’s Hannah! Hannah is a fine name. And Ruth! Ruth is sister’s name. Then I think Edith is just sweet and Priscilla is most the grandest one I ever heard. But, I know the one I love the best—it’s Cicely! Did you ever hear of a handsomer name than Cicely? If you could call this baby Cicely I think it would be perfectly splendid.”
The little young mother did not answer at once. She seemed to be considering. But suddenly she gave a decided nod of her head. “Well then,” she announced firmly, “I’ll call the baby Cicely. I’m sure she’d like to be named by so good a little girl as you are. So Cicely she will be called, Cicely Bell. They go nicely together, don’t they, without any middle name to interfere? When she wakes I’ll tell her her name’s Cicely.”
“Whose name is Cicely?”
The entire tea-party turned around in confusion and there in the doorway stood Miss Cissy herself and just behind her a tall and very elegant gentleman.
“Dear me!” laughed she. “I hope we are not intruding. But please tell me, before we run away and leave you to yourselves again, whose name is Cicely?”
Polly seemed to be the only one who could find her tongue. “Why—why, the baby’s,” she cried eagerly. “Don’t you see her here in my lap? Mrs. Bell let me name her. And isn’t she the prettiest, cunningest baby in the world. See her tiny hands and her darling ears! And isn’t she good? She let me put her to sleep. Oh, if she hadn’t been the best baby she couldn’t have been named Cicely.”
Miss Cissy flushed with pleasure and amusement at the genuine compliment and coming forward knelt down before Polly’s knee.
“She is indeed a dear baby,” she said, taking one of the wee pink fists in hers and kissing it lightly. “And so you have really called her Cicely?”
Mrs. Bell nodded and murmured shyly, “Yes’m. Polly named her.”
“Well, that’s my name, you know, and if Polly gave it to her because it’s mine, of course she is my namesake, there’s no doubt about that.”
Little Mrs. Bell flushed and trembled. “Excuse me, miss,” she stammered faintly. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have made so bold. Indeed I wouldn’t.”
But Miss Cissy broke in on her apologies with a merry laugh. “Oh, pray don’t spoil the compliment,” she begged. “Why, I am as flattered and pleased as possible.”
The gentleman who had followed Miss Cissy intothe room seemed almost as flattered and pleased as she. His face quite glowed with pride and Polly saw him draw an important looking leathern wallet from his inner coat pocket and bring out of it a shining gold piece. “May I shake hands with your young daughter?” he enquired of Mrs. Bell and when, almost dumb with astonishment and confusion she nodded shyly, he bent over the baby as Miss Cissy had done, took the mite’s hand in his and, uncurling the tiny fingers tried to close them around the wonderful coin, saying, as he did so, and too low for any but Polly to hear; “There! That’s for your name’s sake, my little woman.”
Polly wanted to jump for joy, but all she could do was to point silently to the treasure the little Cicely clutched at tightly with her wee, pink fingers, when her mother came to bear her away. Mrs. Bell was quite overcome by the baby’s good fortune and found it a difficult matter to make her way to the door. But she managed it somehow and nodded again happily and gratefully as Miss Cissy called after her:
“I shall not forget my little namesake, Mrs. Bell. She’ll hear from me every once in a while and I shall always want to learn how she is getting along. So, be sure to let me know where she is when you go away from here.”
The white-capped nurse slipped out with Mrs. Belland then Hannah, also, made ready to go, but Miss Cissy detained her.
“I want Mr. Cameron to meet my Polly,” she explained. “I brought him with me to-day because I knew our patient was sitting up and I was certain she would not mind seeing a friend of mine.”
“Oh, no indeed!” murmured sister, flushing however a little. But her shyness melted away in a twinkling for if she had been the greatest lady in the land Mr. Cameron could not have shown her more deference and respect.
“Ah, he’s a true gentleman,” the little seamstress thought, and all the while he sat talking to Polly, she was building beautiful castles in the air in which a certain lovely young princess named Miss Cicely was to “live happy ever after” with a certain handsome young prince, her husband, whose name was—well, whatever Mr. Cameron’s happened to be.
“A penny for your thoughts,” announced Miss Cissy mischievously bending forward and peering up at sister with eyes full of fun.
Sister’s cheeks flushed guiltily. “Oh, I was just having a pretty day-dream,” she replied. “I hope it will come true.”
Miss Cicely’s eyes grew soft and bright. “I think I know what the dream is,” she said, “and I also hope it will come true. I think it will come true. In fact,I came here to-day to tell you about it, though it is to be kept a secret from others for a while. But you are a privileged person and I thought it would interest you and I wanted to say that when the dream does come true you are to have a part in it, my dear.”
This time it was sister’s eyes that grew soft and bright, seeing which Miss Cissy began to chatter very fast.
“Don’t you want me to tell you a story?” she asked. “Well, I intend to do it anyway. Once upon a time there was a dear little uncomplaining woman who was so dutiful and kind that every one loved and respected her. She kept her wee bit of a home in apple-pie order and she taught her little sister to be as dutiful and good and uncomplaining as she was. It was mighty difficult, I can tell you, to be dutiful and good and uncomplaining where that little woman lived, for it was in a great wilderness of a place where there were wolves that it was almost impossible to keep from the door. But the little woman, by working early and late, managed to fight them off and she never complained. Then one day a great, cruel tyrant came and said: ‘Hark, little woman! My name is Pain. I am going to chain you to this chair. Now will you complain?’
“But the little woman shook her head. Then as the days grew cold and bleak a great wolf came andhowled hungrily at her door. ‘Let me in! Let me in!’ And still the little woman shook her head and did not complain. Then up sprang the small sister crying: ‘I’m not very big to be sure, but I think I can help keep that wolf from our door if you will let me try. He’s a great nuisance and ought to be put away. I’m sure some one will get hurt if he’s allowed to stay where he is, even if he doesn’t eat us both up beforehand.’
“This was so sensible that the little woman consented to let small sister take a hand in the fight. She gave her a heart full of courage and many other splendid weapons for use in such struggles and, do you believe it? Small sister actually did help to keep that wolf at a distance. Them one day the story of all this came to the ears of a person——”
“No, a princess,” corrected sister.
“I’m afraid not,” objected Miss Cicely. “I’m afraid she was only a person; well, one day the story of all this came to the ears of a person who said to herself, ‘dear me! these two ladies are just precisely the ones I have been searching for. They can teach me ever so many things I don’t know, and if they will only consent to it, I think I’d like to begin a course of instruction under them at once.’ So she carried them off quite out of the wolf’s reach, for she was a very strong, athletic person, and watched them closely andlittle by little she really did begin to learn of them. Oh, I can’t begin to tell you the number of things they taught her, but one was to distinguish between real and make-believe people. Where she lived there were a great many make-believe people; in fact, she just escaped being one herself, though please don’t mention it. But as she grew wiser she learned to tell the difference between the real thing and the make-believers, and that changed her whole life, for it seemed, there were two suitors for her hand and as both were dressed exactly alike she hadn’t been able to tell them apart and hadn’t known at all which one was real and which only make-believe. But after she had taken several lessons of the little woman and small sister she searched for the heart of one of them and, to her horror, found he hadn’t any, that he was just a poor make-believer dressed up in fine clothes. And then she searched for the heart of the other and there it was all safe and sound! the jolliest, biggest, truest one you ever saw, only his fine clothes hid it from every one who hadn’t clear enough eyes to see. Well, of course that settled it. The person said: ‘Yes’ to the real-one-with-the-heart and they are going to live happy ever after, unless I’m much mistaken. But you needn’t think the story ends there. The little woman is going to be rescued from her awful tyrant and is going to be quite free to come andgo as she chooses. Then the person and the real-one-with-the-heart are going to take her with them—over the hills and far away, and she is to study in books as she longs to do, and is to hear music and see pictures and grow, oh! very wise and learned; only, for my part, I don’t believe she can learn anything better than what she knows already which is to be dutiful and kind and uncomplaining and—well, that’s the beginning of the end of the story, and I think it’s almost the best of all.”
By the looks of her, sister did too, for when Mr. Cameron and Polly managed to glance up from the mazes of the wonderful cat’s-cradle they were weaving, they were surprised to see the change that had come over her face. All the traces of pain and care were gone and it was as glad and as young as Polly’s own.
Priscilla and Polly proved to be famous travelers, for everything about the journey interested them. They thought it great sport to look out of the car-window and watch the telegraph-poles flash past and when this grew less amusing they made up words to the tune the train was grinding out.
“Going to the country! Going to the country!” chanted Polly, “that is what it says.”
“Priscilla and Polly! Priscilla and Polly!” sang Priscilla, “don’t you hear it?” And, sure enough, the tune did actually seem to change as they listened, and that set them to composing other words for the wheels to whirl out, and the accommodating train sang them all.
Then, it was fun to sit opposite each other across the aisle and count the white cows they saw. First there seemed to be more on Polly’s side than on Priscilla’s, but all at once they flashed by a meadow where quite a drove of cattle was grazing and Priscilla got all the benefit of the white cows in it.
But when, at last, they arrived at “the country”itself, Polly could hardly keep from shouting with delight. Why, it was just the most beautiful place she had ever dreamed of, and it was precisely as sister had said it would be. There were the blossoming flowers and the singing birds and the green fields all starred over with dandelions and daisies. The daylight was fading as they drove through the leafy lanes from the railroad-station to the house and Priscilla’s tired eyelids were drooping, but Polly was as wide-awake and alert as when she started out. She saw a big gate of “curly” iron set between two huge stone posts, a cozy little cottage that Hannah said was “the Lodge” nestling beside it, broad lawns and towering trees and then, after they had passed all these, a great house standing high and stately against the glowing sky. It was beneath the carriage entrance of this that they stopped and Polly was just beginning to feel strange and awe-struck when out came James, with smiling face, to welcome them and she felt at home at once. In another moment Theresa appeared and busied herself carrying in the wraps and umbrellas, while she gave Priscilla a radiant smile and Polly a not unkindly pat on the shoulder. She even assisted James to serve them at tea, and was so altogether amiable and accommodating that Polly concluded the city air had not agreed with her and that she felt better in her mind here. But she did nothave much opportunity to think about it, for Hannah whisked her and Priscilla up-stairs and had them safely tucked into bed in no time and then, somehow, that was the end of things until the next morning.
It appeared that, in the stable, there was a little square basket, perched on two wheels, which was to be drawn by a wee scrap of a shaggy pony not much bigger than a St. Bernard dog, and this was Priscilla’s own private and particular turnout. She could not be trusted alone to manage her fiery steed and therefore Hannah always went along when she and Polly drove out, but, dear me! they didn’t mind that! Hannah was just like another little girl, she was so jolly and full of fun. What splendid times they had, to be sure, trundling along the country-roads behind “Oh-my.”
Polly thought Oh-my a very curious name and Priscilla had to explain that pony received it from Uncle Arthur who had said “He was little but, Oh my!”
“I don’t care if he is little,” asserted Priscilla, “I love him just the same.”
“Why, of course you do,” responded Polly. “He’s the best and smartest horse I ever saw. He understands everything we say and sometimes I think he likes jokes, ’cause when we make ’em and laugh he starts up quick as anything, and his sides just shake, as if he were laughing too.”
So Oh-my was made one of them, as it were; was included in most of their play and had to “make-believe” he was everything from an elephant in an Indian jungle to one of the rats that drew Cinderella’s pumpkin-coach to the ball.
April was gone in a flash and May and June followed mild and warm. Then, one day in late July the Sweet P’s had a bright idea. Polly had been telling Priscilla about when she was “at home, where the poor people live” and had grown quite excited over her description of the sickly, poverty-stricken children that thronged the tenements and swarmed out into the streets these breathless days, and Priscilla had sighed and said, “Oh dear! I didn’t know they were ever like that! I wish I could give them some money.”
“I earned quite a lot being cash-girl,” ventured Polly.
“I wish I could be a cash-girl!” murmured Priscilla.
“For the land’s sake!” Hannah exclaimed.
Polly was silent for a moment. Then she jumped to her feet with a bound. “I tell you what!” she cried. “Let’s make a fair. We can sew lots of pretty things and tie ribbons around them and Hannah can sell them behind a counter and you and I’ll be cash-girls. Miss Cissy and all the rest will buy from usand pay real money and we’ll give it to the people who have the Fresh Air Fun’.”
Hannah turned away her head and coughed violently into her handkerchief, but Priscilla clapped her hands.
“Oh, do! Oh, let’s!” she cried eagerly.
“Sister can make the loveliest lace you ever saw,” continued Polly, “and she’ll do some for us if we ask her, and—and—— Oh! I know we could have a beautiful fair.”
Priscilla was so captivated by the idea that she could hardly wait for a chance to lay it before her mother. The dear little girl was timid even with those she loved best and it required considerable courage to go and knock upon the great living-room door and ask if she might, “please come in.”
“Is that my Priscilla?” asked a dear voice in response.
“Yes, mamma,” replied the younger Sweet P.
Mrs. Duer held out her arms and gathered her small daughter into them with a quick laugh of pleasure.
“Mother is always glad to see her little girl,” she said.
Priscilla smiled.
“What have you been doing to-day? Having a nice time?”
Priscilla nodded.
“Where is Polly?”
“Up-stairs,” whispered Polly’s partner.
“I wonder,” ventured Mrs. Duer, “if there is anything particular mother can do for her little girl?”
Priscilla ducked her head quickly.
“What is it you want, darling? Tell mother and, who knows, perhaps she can get it for you.”
Priscilla smiled and swallowed hard.
“What is it, sweetheart? Surely you’re not afraid to speak to mother! What do you want?”
“A fair,” murmured Priscilla with an effort, “We want to make one, Polly and I do, and tie it with ribbons and have Hannah sell it behind a counter. Polly and I will be cash-girls and give the money to the Fresh Air Fun’.”
Mrs. Duer hesitated a moment, for Priscilla’s description of the Sweet P’s plan was not altogether as clear as it might have been. But the anxious, small face, flushing and paling with eagerness, hastened her answer.
“Why, yes, you dear child,” she returned. “If you and Polly want to have a fair I see no reason why you should not have one. In fact, I shall be very glad to help you all I can. You may tell Theresa to give Hannah my piece-bag and silk-boxes and you can choose all the fancy bits you like for pin-balls and needle-cases and book-marks. And when you haveshown what you can do I will fit out a table for you myself.”
Priscilla did not wait for more. She pressed her cheek lovingly against her mother’s for an instant and then hurried away to tell Polly the glorious news.
How they did work after that! They sat under the trees and stitched away until the robins must have wondered what manner of nests these large birds were building that required such an endless supply of threads and silks and sweet-smelling cotton-wool. Hannah was kept breathlessly busy, planning and cutting out and basting, for when fingers are willing, needles fly.
A little bird (perhaps one of the robins) told Miss Cissy what was afoot and the first thing the Sweet P’s knew there she was, declaring she did not intend to be excluded from all the fun and that if they did not mind she was going to have a finger in their Fresh Air pie. In spite of their good-will they had discovered that a fair meant pretty hard work and, sew as diligently as they might, they seemed to make very little progress after the first few days. But when Miss Cicely arrived everything was changed. She helped them with such energy that, before they knew it their stock in trade had outgrown the nursery limits and had to be shifted to the great picture-gallery. Then, suddenly, contributions began to pourin from every side. Grandpapa and grandmamma sent a huge boxful of the most wonderful articles and all the uncles and aunts followed suit, until it was plain that the Sweet P’s modest fair was developing into a very elaborate affair. Miss Cicely had said she would take charge of one of the booths, but she soon discovered she could not do it alone, even with the assistance of two such tireless cash-girls as Priscilla and Polly, and so she asked their permission to invite some of the neighborhood ladies to lend a hand. Then some one suggested that it would sound much grander if the fair were called a kirmess and, this being agreed upon, of course all the booths had to be arranged in the quaint fashion of those at a German village festival and the attendants dressed in the peasant costume. The Sweet P’s were to be arrayed in scarlet woolen petticoats; black-velvet, gold-laced bodices over white guimpes, with white aprons, black velvet caps, low, gilt-buckled shoes and dark-blue stockings. Oh-my heard them talking about it as they sat behind him in the little basket-cart that he drew so patiently over hill and dale for their amusement, and Polly was quite certain his feelings were hurt because he was not included in the plans for the bazaar.
“The poor, dear thing!” she confided to Priscilla. “He feels left out in the cold.”
Hannah laughed. “Cold, is it?” she repeated,fanning herself with her apron and trying to dodge the hot sun beneath the little canopy-top of the cart. “Well, he may be glad of it. I wouldn’t mind being left out in the cold myself for a bit these stifling days.”
“Well, heat, then,” Polly laughingly corrected herself but with a pretended pout. “I’m quite certain he feels left out in the—heat.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Priscilla. “Oh, poor pony! We didn’t really mean it! We didn’t really mean to leave you out.”
“But he mustn’t be left out,” insisted Polly, decidedly. “He just has got to be part of it, that’s all. We’ll ask Miss Cissy as soon as we get home what he can do to help.”
Miss Cicely knew at once. “He can take all the little boys and girls for a drive; fare, five cents. We’ll put ribbons and bells on the cart to make it look festive and we’ll get some nice lad, who is a careful driver, to dress himself up as a German Hans, and then you see if Oh-my does not make a nice pocketful of money for us.”
Polly clapped her hands. She was convinced that Oh-my understood and would be charmed with the idea. And certainly this seemed to be the case, for when the great day of the kirmess arrived he proved as earnest and excited a worker as any there. Up thedriveway and down he scampered, prancing a bit at the turning where a low railing protected the road from the edge of a steep bank of the ravine, and mischievously making the happy children who crowded the basket to the brim shriek aloud with excitement that was half fun, half fear. He was, in fact, one of the most popular attractions at the festival and Uncle Arthur, who was in charge of the prize-parcel booth, threatened to put him off the grounds, he was so dangerous a rival and monopolized so much of the custom.
Polly and Priscilla fluttered about like two tireless, industrious Gretchens, filling orders and carrying bundles and doing their duty so thoroughly and well that it was a pleasure to watch them. The grounds were thronged and it was difficult to get about amid such a crowd, but their patience never wavered and the day bade fair to prove a glorious success. Polly carried a little chamois-skin bag filled with quarters and dimes and nickels and whenever there was a bill to change she seemed to be on the spot to assist in the transaction.
“Keep your eyes open, Pollykin,” Miss Cicely had advised. “And don’t let any one escape with the apology that they have nothing but bills. Make it easy for them to get change and then they will have no excuse for not buying.”
Polly laughed. “I’ll try,” she said, over her shoulder, as she skipped away, her eyes flashing and her breath coming fast.
But if the gaily decked booths, the pretty nurses and children and the gold-laced uniforms of the orchestra-men gave a festive look to the place in the daytime, the numberless chains of dainty Chinese lanterns and sparkling electric lights glowing among the trees made it appear like fairy-land at night.
Priscilla and Polly were in an ecstasy, for they were to stay up as long as the kirmess lasted and do their part to the very end. It was the proudest day in their lives, for even Oh-my had been led off to his stable at sunset, and it seemed very grown-up and important to be tripping about when all the other children were safely in bed and asleep. But Polly found her responsibilities heavier than ever, for whereas the place had been crowded with nurses and children during the daytime, it was thronged with gentlemen and ladies now; and gentlemen and ladies who seemed to carry nothing but big bills in their pockets, which frequently the saleswomen in the booths were unable to change. She was here, there and everywhere at once and as fast as her coins disappeared she went to Miss Cicely for more.
“Now, here’s another bagful of silver,” explained Miss Cissy. “Five dollars’ worth, in halves andquarters and dimes. Take good care of it, dear, and see that you don’t stumble in the shadows; these electric lights are shifty and it is easy to trip.”
Polly picked her way carefully over the patches of light and shadow in the grass and fastened her fingers more securely about the money-bag she carried. She was congratulating herself that she had not had one mishap all day and she was determined it should not be her fault if everything did not end as well as it had begun. She was proud of Miss Cissy’s confidence in her and anxious to prove she deserved it. These thoughts and a crowd of others were flashing through her mind when—alas for Polly! she never knew how it happened, but before she had time to prevent it, she had missed her footing, had fallen, struck her head sharply against the iron railing that guarded the driveway from the steep bank of the ravine and was only saved from pitching headlong down into the gorge by the slender bar itself. For one instant she lay quite still, then she struggled to her feet in terror, for in the midst of her pain and shock she realized that her precious bag was gone. The jolt of her fall had wrenched it from her grasp. Her hands were bruised and scratched by the sharp gravel-stones, a rapidly-rising lump upon her head throbbed heavily, but she lost no time in considering these. Her one thought was for the money-bag. On hands and kneesshe crept up and down and across the spot where she had fallen, groping for her treasure, but all to no purpose; the bag was nowhere to be found. Big tears of dismay welled up into her eyes, as second after second passed and still she had not recovered it. Suddenly she saw a figure coming toward her that proved to be Theresa hurrying to the house on some errand or other.
“What’s the matter?” asked the maid pausing in surprise.
“Oh, dear!” Polly almost sobbed, “I fell—— I tripped and fell, and my money-bag is gone—with five dollars in it.”
Theresa gave a pretended gasp of horror. “Gracious me!” she exclaimed. “You are in trouble, for sure, aren’t you? I don’t wonder you feel bad. Five dollars! That’s a big pile of money, when you haven’t got it! Like’s not your bag is at the bottom of the ravine this minute, floating down the brook. I declare I’m sorry for you, for of course if you don’t hand it over prompt and quick to Miss Cicely, she’ll think hard things of you, and maybe turn you out besides. Goodness! if it was me, I’d run away this minute and never come back here again. I’d be that frightened and ashamed!”
Polly stopped short in her search and looked up at Theresa with a new terror in her eyes. “What—whatdo you mean?” she stammered. “Why should I be frightened—and ashamed? It wasn’t my fault! I tried to be careful. Why should they turn me out?”
“Because, silly! That’s why,” replied the maid sourly. “If you don’t hand that bag over to Miss Cicely right away she’ll think hard things of you. She’ll say you’re careless and not to be trusted. Oh, dear, there is no knowing what she will say and do, she’ll be so angry at the loss of that much money. I wouldn’t risk it, if I were you. I’d run away before they found out.”
Polly gasped painfully. “It isn’t my fault,” she repeated, sobbing. “I have tried to be careful, I have, really and truly. I don’t think Miss Cissy will think those things of me you say she will, but—but—even if she does, I can’t run away. It wouldn’t be right to run away. If I can’t find the bag and she blames me, I’ll have to—to tell her all about it and stand it, somehow.”
Theresa gave a sharp laugh. “Well, do as you please,” she cried harshly. “It’s none of my business, I’m sure. But I can tell you this much, you won’t find your bag, and you will be blamed, so there! You’re mighty brave and courageous now, but wait till you’re turned out in disgrace, and then see how you’ll feel. I guess you’ll wish you had taken myadvice then. Listen to me! if you want, I’ll hide you in my room to-night, and to-morrow morning I’ll smuggle you out of the house as quiet as a mouse, and no one will ever be the wiser. I’ll slip you down to the station, and you can go to your sister in the cars, and—and——”
For a moment Polly saw herself as Theresa pictured her: blamed, disgraced, turned out of this home maybe, where every one had been so kind to her, and it seemed as if she could not face it.
“Will you do as I say?” demanded Theresa eagerly, catching her by the arm.
Polly gave a quick, low sob and shook her head.
Theresa released her hold with sudden violence, turned short round upon her heel and, without another word, strode toward the house. Polly looked after her with misery and despair in every line of her pale little face. Then she fell to searching again, feeling about blindly along every inch of the spot where she had fallen. But still the bag could not be found. Time was flying, and Theresa had said if she did not return the money at once they would think hard things of her. She could not believe it! She could not bear it! She struggled to her feet and tried to gather her wits together. What should she do? What would sister tell her to do if she were here and knew the truth. Suddenly Polly gave a little gasp ofjoy and flew toward the house as fast as her feet would carry her. She had found a way out of her trouble, and her heart beat so quick with the relief of it, that it almost took her breath away. Up into the nursery she ran, and to her own particular little table upon which her bank stood. It was so heavy with money it would hardly rattle, and every cent of it was her very own by right, to do with as she chose. But how was she to get at the money? The bank was locked and she had given sister the key. She twisted and tugged at it fiercely, but only a stray copper or nickle slipped through the opening in the top, and at this rate it would take her all night to shake out the rest. She thought of James. James would help her! James was a good friend of hers. She flew down-stairs like a small whirlwind, and surprised the butler as he stood in the front doorway, watching the gaieties outside and resting for a moment from his labors. He heard her out patiently, though she was so excited her words came in gasps, and she made confusing work of her story.
“So you fell and hurt yourself, and lost your bag of change, eh?” he commented. “Well, I declare, that’s rare hard luck, it is! No mistake! And you want me to open this affair and get the money out of it to make up for what you lost? Well, you’re a real up-and-down square one, you are. Now just you wait.I’ve a big ring of keys down-stairs, and I’ll bring it up and see if we can’t fit one into this lock, and if we can’t—why!——”
He did not wait to explain what would happen then but ran quickly below and before many minutes was back again and trying one key after another into the obstinate lock that absolutely refused to be fitted. Polly, at his side, twisted and jerked with impatience and excitement, and when at last James shook his head and said with a sigh: “It’s no use! there ain’t one in the whole lot that’ll do,” she almost broke into crying again.
The kind fellow gave her an encouraging glance. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “If we can’t do one way we’ll do another. If we can’t unlock the door we’ll have to break open the bank. Are you willing?”
Polly nodded eagerly. “Yes, oh yes!” she quivered.
“Well, come along then,” returned James and led the way down-stairs. Polly following dumbly. She could hardly wait while he got from his tool-chest the things he needed and set to work. Once, twice, three times the heavy hammer fell, and then, with a cry of joy, Polly made a dash toward the shattered bank and gathered up the stream of coins that poured out of it.
“Oh, James, I thank you ever so much,” she cried gratefully.
“Hadn’t you better count your money,” suggested the butler sensibly. “Are you sure there’s enough here? It takes a good many pennies and nickles to make five dollars, you know.”
The next moment he was almost sorry he had spoken when he saw all the brightness vanish from her face as quickly as it had come there. But she did not stop to lament.
“Take half, please,” she said, “and count it and I’ll count the other part and then we’ll add what we’ve both got.”
Poor James! He was not, as he himself admitted, “a lightening calculator,” and his progress was very slow, so that Polly had announced: “One dollar and sixteen cents,” while he was still stumbling over, “A quarter—and ten cents: that makes thirty-five! And five more: that makes forty,” and so on. Would he never get done? Would he never say, “One dollar!” Suppose there were not enough!
“One dollar!” announced James triumphantly, and Polly’s heart beat fast for he still held quite a little heap of coins that were uncounted. It was a great trial of patience to stand there and wait and wait, when so much was at stake. Polly wanted to jump up and down and cry: “Hurry! Hurry!” tourge him on, but she shut her teeth hard and kept the words back.
“One dollar and fifty!” droned James. “And a dime: that makes sixty: and five pennies: that makes sixty-five. And a quarter: that makes ninety: a dollar and ninety! I guess I’ve got most of the big pieces! And a dime: two dollars! Two dollars and ten cents! fifteen! eighteen! and another dime: that’s twenty-eight! And, hey there! If here ain’t a fifty-cent piece! That makes two dollars and seventy-eight. I say, two dollars and seventy-eight is better than nothing! And your one dollar and sixteen added to that! why that makes—that makes—three dollars and ninety-four. Now ten cents makes four dollars and four cents and six more is ten and—and—four dollars and ten cents and—and—that’s all!”
Yes, Polly had seen it was all. A couple of great tears crowded out the sight of James and the cruelly disappointing pile of money he held, and then rolled down her burning cheeks in two hot streams. But the next moment she had brushed them hastily aside, for the butler had grasped her arm with a jolly laugh.
“Oh, I say!” he shouted. “See here! What’s the matter with counting in this nice one-dollar bill lying there all hid away where we didn’t see it! I ain’t a lightening calculator, and I ain’t proud if I amhandsome, but the way I add up four dollars and ten cents and a one dollar bill, brings it up to five dollars, with a silver dime over. Now, young lady, just you take this money and skip as fast as ever you can.”
Skip! Why Polly fairly flew and James, looking after her with a smile, patted his vest-pocket approvingly, muttering to himself: “I got a dollar’s worth of fun just seeing the worry go out of her eyes and the glad look come back again. I ain’t rich, but I’m satisfied I spent that money right!”
So, after all, the kirmess ended in a blaze of glory for Polly as well as for every one else and she would have thought herself the happiest girl in the world even if, at the close of the evening, when they were sitting under the trees, eating ice cream and cake and resting after the fatigue of the day, Miss Cicely had not risen and said:
“Now I hope all present who vote our kirmess a success will give a cheer for the two ladies who, from the first, have been the means of making it so. I propose a cheer for our two Sweet P’s.”
“Three cheers and an extra one for good measure!” cried Uncle Arthur jumping to his feet, and although Aunt Laura murmured, “Don’t be absurd, Arthur!” they were given with a will.
But the next day! Oh dear, how different everything seemed then! The grounds were littered with torn paper and scorched lanterns and scraps of twine and tattered shreds of muslin and bunting. The grass of the lawns was cruelly trodden down and, in some places, fairly torn up by the roots. Indoors itwas no better. The articles that had been left over from the fair were scattered here, there, and everywhere in everybody’s way.
Priscilla looked pale and worn out and, for the first time since Polly had known her, was, as Hannah expressed it, “cross as two sticks.” Polly herself was far from well. There was a big aching bump upon her head and her body felt stiff and sore all over. Her cheeks were flushed and feverish and she, as well as Priscilla, felt so tired and forlorn that they could hardly drag themselves to the stable on a visit of condolence to Oh-my, when it was discovered that the poor little pony had been overdriven the day before, had caught cold and would have to be very carefully tended before he could recover. Even Hannah was inclined to be irritable, and there was no doubt at all about Theresa’s and the other servants’ ill-temper.
The sight of the empty place upon her table where her precious bank had stood made Polly so melancholy that she felt like sitting down and having a “good cry” over it, but she remembered sister’s advice to “hold her little head up no matter how she felt” and decided that she would follow it at once. But the sacrifice of her savings meant a real struggle, for Polly had had great plans as to what she meant to do with her money and now it looked as if all those lovely dreams could never be realized. As soon as her breakfast was eaten sheleft the nursery, inclining to confess to Miss Cissy about the little chamois-skin bag, but everything was in confusion down-stairs for, it appeared, Miss Cicely had to hurry off at once to join a party of friends at the seaside, the rest of the relations were going their own ways and, in a very little while, the house would be left deserted and dull to struggle with the sultry, trying weather alone.
“Let’s come out under the trees and play house,” suggested Polly to Priscilla.
“I don’t want to,” Priscilla murmured, a little fretfully, letting herself drop limply upon the veranda cushions with a whimper.
“My child, Ruthie Carter, has got the mumps and the doctor said I must take her to the seashore right away,” explained Polly, clasping the invalid-doll in her arms and trying to make herself believe she cared whether Ruthie Carter recovered from her attack or not.
Priscilla did not answer.
“Is your baby quite well, Mrs. Priscilla?” inquired Mrs. Polly politely.
Mrs. Priscilla shook her head silently, and after a few more unsuccessful attempts to engage her in conversation, Mrs. Polly gave it up and sauntered slowly across the lawn, bound for the seashore to which the imaginary doctor had advised her to take her ailingchild. She chose the pretty, rustic summer-house called Pine Lodge, for her play to-day, because it was shady and quiet there, and its sides, which were open half-way down from the roof, let the breeze in unhindered. A bench ran round the walls of the place, and was very useful and convenient for housekeeping; purposes, for, with a little arrangement and imagination, it could be made to serve as table, cupboard, bed, piano, and a host of other things, just as one chose. One section of it only was forbidden ground: that running along the side of the summer-house that overhung the ravine. It was a rule remaining over from Priscilla’s baby-days that she was never to be left alone in Pine Lodge, and that she was never, never, never to mount upon that particular portion of the bench, for though now she was old enough to realize the danger of leaning over the wall’s edge, an accident might occur, and the ravine was deep and its steep walls rocky and sheer, while the tall trees that clung to them showed many a bare and unsupported root. When Polly had passed quite out of sight Priscilla began to cry. She had not wanted to play with her, but neither had she wanted Polly to go off and play by herself.
“She’s real mean to leave me all alone,” she sobbed irritably. “I don’t think she’s very polite.”
But only a robin, hopping nimbly across the driveway,heard her complaint, and as he did not seem to sympathize with her, she felt it was of no use to say any more. She gathered herself up with a pettish sigh and set out to follow Polly across the lawn.
“Hello!” said Polly as she came in sight.
“Hello,” returned Priscilla.
“Didn’t you bring your child with you? The seashore will do her a lot of good. My Ruthie Carter’s almost well already.”
Priscilla shook her head.
“Don’t you want to go and fetch your baby?” inquired Polly. “Let’s play you came to visit me and didn’t bring her along, ’cause you were afraid she’d be a bother, and I said: ‘No, indeed, I’d be pleased to have her!’”
“I don’t want to,” returned Priscilla. “My feet hurt. You go.”
“My feet hurt, too, and so do my arms and all the rest of me.”
“I don’t think you’re very polite, Polly Carter, so there! Your head doesn’t feel half as bad as mine does.”
Polly jumped up and laid Priscilla’s hand on the big bump that was throbbing beneath her hair. “There!” she said, triumphantly, “what do you think of that? Doesn’t that thump? And it aches like anything.”
“How did you do it?”
“I tripped last night in the dark and knocked it against that iron fence by the driveway. I was running as quick as I could to make change and all of a sudden I fell down and my money-bag—the one Miss Cissy gave me with five dollars in it—jogged out of my hand and I hit my head and—I guess you’ll believe I don’t feel very well now!”
Under all Priscilla’s real sweetness of nature there lay a hidden rock of obstinacy that made her, at times, a very difficult little personage to deal with. Hannah had encountered it often and often, but Hannah was indulgent and excused her pet to herself by saying: “She’s so young; she’ll outgrow it by and by.”
Polly had, up to this, given in almost entirely to Priscilla, no matter what her whims might be, and so had not really had any conflict with the quiet persistence and iron will that underlay the little girl’s other really lovable traits. But she was to have one now.
Priscilla listened attentively to the story of the bag and the bruise and then repeated slowly: “I don’t think you’re very polite. I think you might get my doll.”
“Hannah told me not to wait on you so much. She says it spoils you.”
Priscilla silently regarded the toes of her shoes and seemed to be considering. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and she did not reply for a minute. Then she said gently: “I think you might get my doll.”
Polly pretended not to hear. She bent over the mumpy Ruth and drew her handkerchief across the sick infant’s chest to shield her from the supposed fresh sea-breeze that was blowing inshore smartly from the great stretch of imaginary ocean beyond.
“I think you might get my doll,” droned Priscilla again.
“I’ve been hunting for that bag so long this morning I’m tired clear through to my bones,” explained Polly at length, with a touch of reproach in her voice.
“Where do you s’pose it is?” asked Priscilla.
“I don’t know. Down the bank, maybe, and in the water. Theresa said it was. I went back to the place before breakfast and searched and searched.”
“Let’s lean over the edge of this and p’raps we can see it.”
“No, no,” protested Polly, quickly. “Don’t you! don’t you! Your mother ’spressly told us never to do that. She said you might fall over. She said I was never to leave you here alone—and that’s another reason why I can’t go get your doll.”
For answer Priscilla rose slowly and crossed thesummer-house to the side that overhung the ravine. Very slowly and deliberately she mounted the bench, knelt up upon it and, leaning far over the ledge, peered into the dark depths of the ravine below.
Polly held her breath for a moment, too horrified to speak. Then she gasped out imploringly: “Don’t, don’t! Oh, Priscilla, don’t do so! Your mother told you not to. She said it was dangerous!”
For response Priscilla leaned out a little further.
Polly was speechless. She grasped the little girl’s dress and clutched it fiercely; it was all she could do.
“I think you might get my doll,” repeated Priscilla.
“Oh, Priscilla, how can I? I couldn’t leave you here alone like this for anything. They’d think I was awful; they’d scold.”
“You might get my doll.”
“I can’t.”
“Then I’ll lean out further.”
“Don’t you! Don’t you!”
“I will, ’less you get my doll!”
Priscilla was beginning quite to enjoy herself. Her usually gentle heart was hardened now with the determination to have her own way at any cost. There was a fearful excitement in leaning over that forbidden ledge, and it was “fun” of a sort to know that Polly stood in fear of what she would do. Shedid not draw back an inch, and the hand on her skirt tightened fiercely.
“Let go my dress!”
“I mustn’t: you’ll fall!”
“I won’t fall if you’ll get my doll!”
“Will you get down if I do? Really and truly?”
“Yes; if you’ll get my doll, I’ll get down.”
Polly struggled with herself.
“Oh, I can’t,” she panted. “They told me not to let you be here alone. I can’t! Honest, I can’t.”
“I think I see your bag. It’s over there! ’Way over there down behind the roots of that tree,” declared Priscilla, unconcernedly.
“Never mind! Don’t lean over so! Don’t look! You’ll get dizzy! Come away! Let’s play——”
“If you’ll get my doll.”
Polly gasped helplessly. “Well—well——” she stammered, “I—I will—if you’ll solemnly promise to come down, I will.”
Priscilla had won the battle.
“I’ll promise,” she said gently and slid back upon the bench and then down to the safety of the floor, as quietly and obediently as if she had never been defiant in all her life.
But the scare and the struggle had been too much for Polly. At sight of Priscilla’s innocent air, her eyes blazed resentfully. She felt, somehow, that shewas being terribly wronged and imposed upon, and for the first time since she had known Priscilla she was thoroughly indignant at her.
The sound of the sweet little voice repeating softly: “Aren’t you going to get my doll?” roused her to a sudden quick and uncontrollable anger. She grasped Priscilla by the arm and shook her fiercely; shook her till her bright, flossy hair danced up and down upon her shoulders in a golden cloud and all the color was gone from her lips and cheeks. Polly’s own face was scarlet and her eyes flashing fire.
“You are a naughty girl!” she cried, vehemently. “As naughty as you can be. You ought to be punished!”
Priscilla simply gazed at her and made no answer. She was so pale, Polly’s heart misgave her.
“I—I’m sorry I shook you,” she burst out remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to, Priscilla. I don’t know what made me do it! I’m awfully sorry.”
Still Priscilla was silent.
“You’re not angry at me, are you, Priscilla?”
Priscilla’s white lips opened just far enough to let out the words: “I think you might get my doll.”
Polly started to run, but on the threshold she stopped and turned back. “Remember what you’ve promised,” she said, with trembling lips.
Priscilla nodded; the next minute she was alone.She watched Polly scudding across the lawn, her soft blue eyes grown hard and gray as flint. The thoughts in her busy brain swarmed as stinging midges. She was very, very angry. Never before in all her young life had rough hands been laid upon her. Polly had shaken her! Her face was white as snow, but her heart was hot with fury. She was shocked, frightened and terribly resentful. Polly had said she was naughty and ought to be punished! No one had ever before spoken so harshly to her. It was Polly who was naughty and ought to be punished. Polly had said she was sorry, but there was time enough to think of that. The thing to do now was to pay Polly back for what she had done. The stinging thought-midges in the back of her brain buzzed so loud they made her dizzy. In a minute Polly would come back with her doll and then she would want to make up and be friends again. Priscilla’s lips pressed tight, one upon the other. She did not want to be friends with any one just yet. All she wanted was to pay Polly back.
Meanwhile Polly was making what haste she could in search of the miserable doll that, as she said to herself, had been the beginning of all the trouble, but it was not in its accustomed place in the nursery, nor yet in the little girls’ bedroom. Hannah was busy helping settle the place down-stairs and could not stop totell her where it was likely to be found. Up-stairs and down she hurried, but to no purpose; here, there and everywhere she hunted, but all in vain. She dared not go back to Priscilla without the doll and still, she had been told over and over again never to leave her alone in that dangerous Lodge. What should she do? As a last resort she burrowed among the cushions upon the veranda where Priscilla had lain a little while before and there, sure enough, lay the wretched rag-baby, peacefully and uncomplainingly buried beneath a mountain of down. Polly snatched her up fiercely and started across the lawn.
“Helloa there, Polly!”
It was James who called.
Polly paused and turned. “Oh, James, I’m in an awful hurry,” she gasped anxiously.
The butler smiled. “Another of your busy days, I s’pose,” he remarked teasingly. “You seem to have a good many of ’em, first and last. Take my advice, go slower and you’ll go surer. It pays in the long run—and the short one too, for that matter. The more haste the worse speed, you know.”
“Oh, James,” protested Polly again.
“Well, if you’re catching a train I guess I’d better not detain you. I just had something to say, I thought you’d like to know, that’s all. About thelittle chamois-bag you dropped last night. I’m going down the ravine to hunt for it.”
But Polly had sped out of hearing before he had finished his sentence and he strolled slowly after her saying to himself: “She must want something to do, sprinting around like that, this hot day! But children don’t seem to mind the heat. My! But her face is red! All the blood’s in her head! Hannah ought to tell her she hadn’t ought to exert herself like that when it’s ninety-four in the shade.”
It seemed no time at all to Priscilla before Polly reappeared across the lawn. She was holding the doll and running as fast as her feet would carry her.
The biggest and fiercest thought-midge of all stung Priscilla with so sharp a point that she started as if she had been pricked with a needle. In a flash she saw how she could revenge herself on Polly, could punish her so that her face would look as queer and terrified as it had done a little while ago when she had been afraid Priscilla would fall over the ledge of Pine Lodge and had implored her to come away from it; in fact had made her getting down from the bench the condition on which the doll was to be brought. Priscilla had gotten down, as she had promised to do. But she had not promised not to get up again. Her teeth set hard.