LITTLE POLLY PRENTISSBYELIZABETH LINCOLN GOULD
BYELIZABETH LINCOLN GOULD
Polly Prentiss is an orphan who lives with a distant relative, Mrs. Manser, the mistress of Manser farm. Miss Hetty Pomeroy, a maiden lady of middle age, has, ever since the death of her favorite niece, been on the lookout for a little girl whom she might adopt. She is attracted by Polly’s appearance and quaint manners, and finally decides to take her home with her and keep her for a month to see if the plan would be agreeable to both. If Polly, whose real name is Mary, should fulfill her expectations she would then wish to adopt her.
Polly Prentiss is an orphan who lives with a distant relative, Mrs. Manser, the mistress of Manser farm. Miss Hetty Pomeroy, a maiden lady of middle age, has, ever since the death of her favorite niece, been on the lookout for a little girl whom she might adopt. She is attracted by Polly’s appearance and quaint manners, and finally decides to take her home with her and keep her for a month to see if the plan would be agreeable to both. If Polly, whose real name is Mary, should fulfill her expectations she would then wish to adopt her.
POLLY ran out of the room, and Mrs. Manser hurried through the house to open the front door; she stepped out to the wagon to greet Miss Pomeroy, and stood with the breeze fluttering her scanty front locks till Polly reappeared.
“I don’t know as she’ll be what you want, at all,” said Mrs. Manser, blinking up at the grave, kind face above her, for the sun shone in her eyes. “I’ll leave you to find out what sort of a child she is, as I told you the other day, for nobody can tell what will suit anybody else. I’ve tried to bring her up well, but, of course, she hasn’t had advantages, though she’s pretty bright in school, her teacher says.”
“I’m glad it’s vacation time,” said Miss Pomeroy, cheerily. “Polly and I will have so much better chance to get acquainted with each other, and become friends whether she stays with me always or not. Is she pleased to go, Mrs. Manser?”
“I guess she realizes what a great chance ’tis for her, and how good you are,” said Mrs. Manser, avoiding the direct gaze of the keen gray eyes. She began to wish she had left unsaid a few things, with which she had charged Polly’s mind. “Of course, ’tisn’t as if she had the sense of a grown person,” she added, somewhat vaguely.
“I don’t know about that,” laughed Miss Pomeroy; “it seems to me that little people have a wonderful amount of sense sometimes.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Manser, dubiously, “perhaps they have.”
Meanwhile Polly had run out to the shed, where the old people were waiting to say good-by to her. They had been marshaled into a line by Uncle Sam Blodgett, so that Polly might be hugged and kissed by each in turn, without loss of time; but the line wavered and broke as the little figure they all loved to see came flying in at the door. Poor Bob Rust, from his humble stand at the rear, gave a strange, sorrowful cry and turned to go out of the shed.
“Here,” called Polly, peremptorily, “I’ll kiss you first of all, on your forehead, because I don’t like all your whiskers, you know,” and the man stooped for his good-by, and then ran, stumbling, out of the shed and away to the cow pasture.
“I said good-by to the cows and all the hens and the pigs when I first got up,” said Polly, turning to her friends; “and I gave Prince some oats and said good-by to him right after breakfast. Now, Uncle Blodgett, it’s your turn.”
The old man swung her quickly up into his arms and gave her a hearty kiss.
“Here,” he said, as he set her down, “you take this bunch o’ slippery elm to keep me in mind, and you take this knife. One blade’s all right, and ’twould be an extra fine article if the other blade was fixed up a bit.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Polly, fervently, as she slipped her two presents into her petticoat pocket, “you’re just as good as you can be. Perhaps I shall come back here to stay, but, anyway, Miss Pomeroy would let me come to see you all, sometimes, I’m sure.”
“I reckon you’ll never come back here,” muttered Uncle Blodgett to the chopping block, “not to stay, if that Pomeroy woman has got eyes and a heart.”
Mrs. Ramsdell pressed Polly fiercely to her breast, and then let her go, after a searching look into the brown eyes.
“There, that’s over with,” she said, firmly. “One more thing gone, along with all the rest.”
“But I shan’t forget you,” faltered Polly, whose eyes were getting very misty indeed.
“Of course you won’t, dear child,” quavered Aunty Peebles, as she folded Polly in her arms, and as she released the little girl she pressed a tiny pin cushion into her hand, which speedily found a hiding-place with the slippery elm and the bladeless knife.
Last of all came Grandma Manser, who smoothed Polly’s curls with her trembling hands and could hardly bear to say good-by at all.
“If you get adopted, my lamb,” she whispered in Polly’s ear, “daughter Sarah says it’s likely she can buy me something to hear with, and Uncle Sam Blodgett’s promised to read to us now you’re going. But if you aren’t happy at Miss Hetty’s, dear, you come back, and nobody will be better pleased than I to see you; ’twill joy me more than an ear-trumpet!”
Polly swallowed hard, and dashed something from her eyes as she ran into the house. She said a hasty good-by to Father Manser, who was washing his hands at the kitchen sink for the third time since breakfast, and hurried out of doors with the big enamel cloth bag which contained her wardrobe.
She courtesied to Miss Pomeroy, and gave a faint “good-morning, ma’am,” in response to the cheery salutation from her new friend. Mrs. Manser gave her a peck on the lips and a forlorn “Good-by, child, and be as little trouble as you can to Miss Pomeroy,” and then Polly climbed into the wagon.
In another minute the wagon was rolling quickly down the road, the chorus of good-bys from old, familiar voices had hushed into silence, and Polly, stealing a glance at the gray eyes so far above the brim of her Sunday hat, felt that old things had passed away, and a new, strange life stretched out before her.
“Let me see, Mary, you are ten years old, aren’t you? When does your birthday come?” Miss Hetty asked suddenly, when they had gone a little way down the hill toward the village. The voice was kind and friendly, but the unwonted “Mary” which she must expect always to hear now, gave Polly a homesick twinge.
“It’s come,” she answered, glancing timidly up at Miss Hetty. “I had my birthday two weeks ago, and I was ten—if you please,” added the little girl, hastily.
“I guess I was just as polite as Eleanor that time,” she thought, and the idea that she had made a fair start cheered Polly, so that she smiled confidingly at Miss Pomeroy, who smiled at her in return.
“You don’t look as old as that,” she said, kindly, but her voice had a sober sound at which Polly took alarm.
“Yes’m. I’m small for my age,” she said, slowly, “but I’m real strong. I’ve never been sick, not one single day.” And then she thought, “Oh, dear! probably Eleanor was tall! I’m going to see if I can’t stretch myself out the way Ebenezer did when he was little. I can lie down on the floor in my room and reach my arms and legs as far as they’ll go—What, ma’am?” said Polly, quickly, as she realized that Miss Pomeroy was speaking.
“I was saying that I suppose you’re accustomed to play out of doors a good deal,” said Miss Hetty, a little sharply, “for you have such rosy cheeks. What are you thinking about, my dear?”
“I was thinking about Ebenezer, for one thing,” said Polly, truthfully. “Yes’m, my cheeks are always pretty red.” Then she was seized with dismay; probably Eleanor’s cheeks were white, like snowdrops. “They aren’t quite so red when I’m in the house,” she ventured, bravely, “and, of course, I shall be in the house a great deal now I’m getting on in years.”
Polly felt that this phrase, borrowed from Mrs. Manser’s stock, was most happily chosen. Miss Hetty made an inarticulate sound, and touched up her brown mare, but all she said was, “Who is Ebenezer?”
“Ebenezer is Mrs. Manser’s cat,” said Polly, glad to be on safe ground, “and he knows a great deal, Father Manser says. He is nearly as old as I am, and he has caught forty-three rats to Uncle Blodgett’s certain sure knowledge, and nobody knows how many more. He has eaten them, too,” said Polly, gravely, “though I don’t see how he could ever in this world; do you?”
“They wouldn’t be to my taste,” said Miss Pomeroy, briskly. “Who is Uncle Sam Blodgett? I mean, is he any relation of yours?”
“Oh, no, ma’am; he isn’t any relation of anybody,” said Polly. “His kith and kin have all died, he says, and he is a lonely old hulk—that’s what he told me he was,” she added, seeing a look which might be disapproval on Miss Hetty’s face. “He’s had adventures by land and sea and suffered far and near, and it’s a tame thing for him to saw and split now that his days are numbered.”
“Mercy on us!” ejaculated Miss Pomeroy. “Where did you ever get such a memory, child?”
“From—from my father, Mrs. Manser said,” faltered Polly. Here was a new cause of anxiety; evidently Eleanor’s memory had been quite different from hers. Polly looked steadily before her, and set her little mouth firmly. “Perhaps Arctura Green, that they’ve spoken of, can tell me about Eleanor’s memory,” she thought, suddenly; “maybe I can ask her about a good many things.”
Just then Daisy, the pretty brown mare, turned the curve at the foot of the long hill, and they were in the main street of Mapleton.
“NOW, I have some errands to do,” said Miss Pomeroy; “perhaps you’d like to get out of the wagon at Burcham’s and see the new toys.”
“No, ma’am, thank you; I will stay here and hold the horse,” said Polly, and, after a keen look at her, Miss Pomeroy drove to the butcher shop and alighted, leaving Daisy in her charge.
“I guess that is what Eleanor would have said,” remarked Polly, in a low, confidential tone to the horse, as she carefully flicked an early fly from Daisy’s back; “and, truly, I don’t care a bit about seeing the dolls or anything to-day. Of course, I mustn’t tell stories, trying to be like Eleanor; I’ve just got to stop wanting to do things, so I can tell the truth.”
As she faced this tremendous task, Polly sat so still and erect that she looked like a stern little sentinel, and her motionless figure attracted the attention of a number of people whom she did not see. In a few moments Miss Pomeroy came out of the butcher’s and went across the road to the post office. The butcher brought out a package in brown paper and stowed it carefully in at the back of the wagon. Then he stepped around to pat Daisy and speak to Polly. He was a red-faced, hearty man who had lost two front teeth and talked with a slight lisp. He and Polly had always been on excellent terms.
“How d’ye do, Polly?” he said, reaching up his unoccupied hand to grasp the little girl’s; “thso this is the day you thstart in to live with Miths Pomeroy? Well, you’re going to have a fine home, and she’ths an exthtra good woman, when you get uthsed to her being a mite quick and up-and-coming.”
“Mr. Boggs,” said Polly, anxiously, “you know I’m Mary Prentiss now. You mustn’t please call me by my old name any more—not unless Miss Pomeroy decides not to adopt me. I don’t suppose you ever saw Eleanor, Miss Pomeroy’s niece that died? No, of course you couldn’t have.”
“I thsaw her when thshe came here, a year-older,” said Mr. Boggs, as he turned to greet a customer; “just like mothst children of that age, thshe looked, for all I could thsee. I reckon her qualitieths weren’t what you could call developed then. Well, good-day to you, Miths Mary Prentiths, and the bethst of luck,” he said, with a laugh and a low bow as he gave Polly’s hand a final shake.
Just then Miss Pomeroy came across the road with her hands full of papers and letters, and with a little white bag, which she put in Polly’s lap as she took her seat. The bag had a deliciously lumpy feeling, and Polly’s mind leaped to gum-drops in an instant.
“Open it and let us see what they are like,” said Miss Pomeroy, as she gathered up the reins, which had slackened in Polly’s hands during the interview with Mr. Boggs. “Chocolate creams and gum-drops. I suspect you’ll like the chocolates best, but I am very fond of gum-drops; so I’ll take one of those. One piece of candy is all I allow myself in a day, so you may carry off the bag to your own room when we get there, to keep me from being tempted.”
Polly took one bite of a big chocolate drop after Miss Pomeroy had been served to her taste, and then she gave a little sigh of delight.
“I never tasted a chocolate cream before,” she said, slowly. “I don’t suppose there’s anything else so nice to eat in all the world, is there? I wish Aunty Peebles had some of these. I shall save her half; that is, if you’re willing,” she added, hastily.
“I’m afraid they’ll be pretty hard and dry before you see Aunty Peebles again,” said Miss Pomeroy, and Polly’s heart sank in spite of the delicious taste in her mouth.
“I don’t expect she’s going to let me see Manser Farm again, till next Christmas, probably, if she adopts me,” thought Polly. “Of course, candy is good for ’most a year if you keep it carefully, but it does begin to get a little hard. I know, because those two peppermints Father Manser gave me yesterday were the last of the ones he bought for Thanksgiving, and they were just a little hard, though, of course, they were nice.”
“Maybe I could give some of them to the butcher to take to Aunty Peebles, if—if he comes to Pomeroy Oaks,” ventured Polly, after a short silence, during which Daisy was trotting along the road, out of the village, past the square white church with its tall steeple, past the tinsmith’s shop, on toward the meadows beyond which lay Polly’s undiscovered country.
“He comes twice a week,” said Miss Pomeroy; “but wouldn’t you like to send Aunty Peebles a little box of fresh candy by mail, some day, to surprise her? You could put it in the post office, and Mr. Manser would get it when he goes for the mail, and take it to her.”
“Oh!” said Polly, her eyes brimming over with gratitude; “Oh, aren’t you good! Why, Aunty Peebles hasn’t ever had anything from the post office excepting once a year her second cousin from way out West sends her a paper with the list of deaths in the town where she lives, and sometimes there’s an ink mark to show it’s been a friend of her second cousin’s family; but,” said Polly, shaking her head, “it ’most always made Aunty Peebles cry when it came, and I believe she would rather not have had it.”
“I should say not, indeed,” assented Miss Pomeroy; “just hear that bird, Mary! He’s telling cheerful news, isn’t he?”
Polly hugged herself with sudden joy. Miss Pomeroy evidently liked birds, or she would never have spoken in that way. “Probably she’ll leave the windows open, so I can hear them when I’m reading and sewing and doing quiet things, like Eleanor,” she thought, happily; but all she said was, “Oh, yes’m; isn’t he glad spring has come, don’t you believe?”
“I believe he is, my dear,” said Miss Pomeroy; “and now, if you look ahead, you can see through the trees the roof of the house where you are going to live for a little while, at any rate.”
“For always,” said Polly, firmly, to herself. “Miss Pomeroy’s good as she can be, and there’s Grandma Manser’s ear trumpet, and Mrs. Manser’s poor health, and all I’ve got to do is to learn to like to sew and read better than to play, and to stay in the house and be quiet instead of running wild outdoors. That isn’t much,” said Polly, scornfully, to herself, “for a big girl like me.”
Past the rich meadows through which ran the little brook that joined Ashdon River, over the wooden bridge that rumbled under her feet, along the brook road beneath the arching willows, up the easy hill, and into the avenue of stately oaks that gave Miss Pomeroy’s home its name, trotted Daisy, carrying her mistress with the grave, kind eyes and little, eager-faced Polly. The child gazed with awe and excitement at the flying panorama, and gave quick, short breaths as the pretty mare made a skillful turn and stopped before a porch over which was trained an old grape vine. In the porch stood Arctura Green, Miss Pomeroy’s faithful helper, and at the foot of the steps Hiram, Arctura’s brother, waited to take Daisy, who rubbed her nose against his rough hand and gave a little whinny of pleasure before she crunched the lump of sugar which Hiram slipped into her mouth.
“Here we are, my dear,” said Miss Pomeroy, briskly, and Polly, feeling as if she were sound asleep and wide awake all together, jumped out of the wagon.
“THIS is little Mary Prentiss,” said Miss Pomeroy to Arctura Green, who stood beaming down on Polly.
“Well, I’m glad enough to see you,” said Arctura, heartily, reaching out her long arm and drawing the little girl close to her side; “something young is just what we need here. We’re all growing old, Miss Hetty and Hiram and I, and Daisy and the cows and all hands; we’ve got a couple of kittens, to be sure, but they’re always busy about their own affairs and don’t talk much, so they’re no great company.”
“Why, Arctura, I don’t know when I’ve heard you make such a long speech,” said Miss Pomeroy. “I hope you have something good for dinner, for Mary and I have had a long drive and a great deal of excitement, and we shall be hungry pretty soon.”
“It’s only just turned half-past eleven,” said Arctura, releasing Polly after a good squeeze against her big checked apron, “so there’ll be an hour to wait. Where’s the little girl’s baggage, Miss Hetty?”
“It’s there in the back of the wagon,” said Miss Pomeroy; “a big black bag.”
“If you please, I can carry it, Miss Arctura,” said Polly, stepping forward to take the bag. “I’m real strong.”
“I want to know,” said Arctura, placidly. “Well, considering how many times as big as you are I am, supposing you let me lug it upstairs for you just this once. I shouldn’t know I was hefting more’n a feather’s weight,” and she swung the bag jauntily as she marched into the house after Miss Pomeroy, gently pushing the little girl before her.
Hiram stood looking into the house for a moment. His mouth had fallen open, as was its wont in times of meditation. Hiram had what his sister frankly called a “draughty countenance,” with a large-nostriled nose, big, prominent ears, and bulging eyes, but the same spirit of good-nature that illumined Arctura’s face shone from her brother’s.
“She’s a neat little piece,” remarked Hiram to Daisy, as he headed her for the barn; “a neat little piece, if ever I saw one, but she looks a mite scared, seems’s if. This is a kind of a quiet place for a young one to be set down, no mistake, and there ain’t any passing to speak of. Children like to see things a-going, even if they’re a-going by, seems’s if. She gave me a real pretty smile, say what you’ve a mind to,” he insisted, as if Daisy had expressed violent remonstrance.
The side porch led into a small, square hall; opposite the porch door was one which Arctura opened, and Polly saw that it was at the foot of a flight of stairs. Arctura and the black enamel cloth bag vanished from sight as the door closed. In the hall stood a hat-tree with curved mahogany branches, tipped with shining brass.
“Now, I hang my everyday coat and hat here,” said Miss Pomeroy, suiting the action to the word, “and you’d better do the same. What’s the matter, child?” she asked, at the sight of Polly’s face.
“These—these are not my everyday hat and jacket, Miss Pomeroy, if you please,” said Polly. “My everyday jacket is a shawl, and my everyday hat is a sunbonnet sometimes, and sometimes it isn’t—it hasn’t been anything. These are my Sunday best, and they are used to lying in a drawer on account of the dust—though I don’t believe there’s one speck of dust here,” she added, politely.
“Arctura would be pleased to hear that,” said Miss Pomeroy. “I think we may venture to leave the Sunday hat and coat here until after dinner. When you go upstairs, you will find a drawer in which you can put them, I’m sure.”
Then Miss Hetty led the way through a door at the left of the hall into a big, comfortable room, the walls of which were lined with book-cases. There was a bow window around which ran a cushioned seat; there were lounging chairs and rocking chairs, and a long sofa; a great round mahogany table covered with books and papers; and, best of all, a fireplace with a bright fire burning under the black pot which hung on the iron crane; and, guarding the fire, were two soldierly figures with stern profiles.
“These were my great-great-grandfather’s andirons,” said Miss Pomeroy, as she watched Polly’s eyes. “Suppose you sit down by the fire and get warmed through, for there was a little chill in the air, after all; and you might take a book to amuse yourself. I have to be busy with something for awhile. Would you—I suppose you wouldn’t care to look at the newspaper?” questioned Miss Pomeroy, doubtfully. “The child looks so absurdly young,” she thought, “and yet she talks as if she were fifty.”
“No’m, thank you,” said Polly; “I will just look at the fire and the books;” so Miss Pomeroy opened another door that led into the great front hall, and went out of the room. She left the door open, and Polly could hear a solemn ticking. She tiptoed to the door and, looking out into the hall, saw a tall clock with a great white face, above which there was a silvery moon in her last quarter. Polly looked at the slowly-swinging pendulum with shining eyes.
“That must be Mrs. Ramsdell’s clock,” she said, softly. “I mean her father’s. She described it just that way, and she said its like was never seen in these parts; no, it was those parts,” said Polly, correcting herself, “for it was ’way off in Connecticut. Well, then, there must have been two made alike, and Mrs. Ramsdell never knew it; I guess I won’t tell her, for she might be sorry.”
Polly stood a moment in the doorway; she could hear the sound of Miss Pomeroy’s voice in some distant part of the house. She tiptoed back into the library. The carpet was so thick and soft that Polly knelt down and rubbed it gently with her little hand; then she put her head down and pressed her cheek against the faded roses.
“It feels like Ebenezer’s fur,” said Polly. “I wonder if Ebenezer will miss me.”
Polly sat still for a moment with wistful eyes, and then hastily scrambled to her feet as the door into the side hall opened partway and Arctura stuck her head in.
“Here,” she said, dropping a struggling heap on the floor, “I thought maybe you’d like to see these two little creatures; I call ’em Snip and Snap, and I’ve had a chase to find ’em for you. There’s nothing they can break in the library, so Miss Hetty lets ’em run wild once in a while. I’ll just shut that other door.”
Arctura marched across the floor and shut the door into the front hall; then she marched back toward her own quarters. “If I were in your place,” she said, looking at the kittens instead of Polly, “I wouldn’t make a practice of sitting on the floor. I don’t know as it’s any harm, really, but a chair looks better for little girls.”
“Yes’m,” said Polly, with scarlet cheeks, as Arctura vanished with a good-humored smile. “I expect she thought I was turning somersaults, maybe,” said Polly to the kittens; “oh, dear!”
But the kittens were quite undisturbed by Arctura’s remarks. As Polly stood still for a moment, they began an acrobatic performance which always gave them keen enjoyment. Snip made a clutch for the hem of Polly’s skirt in front at the same instant that Snap sprang upon her from the rear. They secured a good hold on the pink gingham, and clambered up to Polly’s shoulder as fast as they could go. There they met and shifted positions with considerable scratching of their sharp little claws, and descended, Snap in front and Snip at the back, tumbling around Polly’s feet, and then scampering away from each other sidewise with arched backs and distended tails.
THE KITTENS CLAMBERED TO POLLY’S SHOULDERS
THE KITTENS CLAMBERED TO POLLY’S SHOULDERS
THE KITTENS CLAMBERED TO POLLY’S SHOULDERS
“Oh, you little cunnings!” cried Polly, forgetting all her troubles in a minute. To the window seats flew Snip and Snap, and there they swung back and forth on the stout curtain cords, and made dashes at each other; then they were off to the seat of an old leather-covered chair. Snip mounted to the top of the back and patted Snap on the head with a paw whose claws were politely sheathed, as often as he started to spring to his brother’s side. Over and under chairs and tables they went, and Polly, full of delight, followed them, catching up one or the other whenever she could.
At last the kittens grew tired of play, and when Miss Hetty opened the library door they were comfortably seated on Polly’s shoulders, and there was a sound in the room as of two contented little mill wheels.
[TO BE CONTINUED]