LITTLE POLLY PRENTISSBYELIZABETH LINCOLN GOULD
BYELIZABETH LINCOLN GOULD
Polly Prentiss is an orphan who, for the greater part of her life, has lived 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 and keep her for a month’s trial. In the foregoing chapters, Polly has arrived at her new home, and the great difference between the way of living at Pomeroy Oaks and her past life affords her much food for wonderment.
Polly Prentiss is an orphan who, for the greater part of her life, has lived 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 and keep her for a month’s trial. In the foregoing chapters, Polly has arrived at her new home, and the great difference between the way of living at Pomeroy Oaks and her past life affords her much food for wonderment.
SUNDAY was usually a hard day for Polly. In the first place there were good clothes to be put on and taken care of, and then there was sitting still in church! Sitting still was the most difficult thing in the world for Polly.
“In the Manser pew I could wriggle, because it was ’way back and nobody downstairs saw me, but I guess I’ve got to behave just like grown folks to-day,” said Polly, anxiously, as she put on the brown cashmere frock Sunday morning. “But if I listen to the minister most of the time, and think about Eleanor when I get tired listening, perhaps I can do it.”
It was not so hard after all, for the minister had a pleasant, boyish face, and he used simple language, which Polly could understand. Besides that, his sermon was short—the shortest one Polly had ever heard; she wondered if by any chance the minister could know about those yellow cakes he was to have for dessert, and felt in a hurry to taste them. Miss Pomeroy had seen him the day before.
“He looks as if he liked to eat good things,” thought Polly, as the minister read the closing hymn, “and Miss Pomeroy may have told him there was citron in them. His cheeks are as red as mine were—redder than mine are to-day.”
This was comforting, and, moreover, it was true. Polly had been out of doors very little for the last week, and, besides that, although she was not unhappy, the thought of Eleanor was continually before her, and the fear of falling below an unknown standard made her anxious and troubled many times in the day. So the roses in Polly’s cheeks did not bloom as brightly as they had at Manser Farm, and the little girl was greatly encouraged.
During the service she could not turn around to see her old friends up in the dimly lighted gallery, and when the benediction had been pronounced Miss Pomeroy said she and Polly would sit quietly in the pew until the minister came out. The little girl looked disturbed, and Miss Pomeroy laid her hand on Polly’s with a smile.
“You needn’t be afraid of the minister, my dear,” she said, kindly, “he likes children, and has two little sisters at home.”
Polly smiled faintly in return. When the minister came, and they had all walked slowly down the aisle together, there was no sign of the Manser wagon, but Polly was sure she could hear it way up the road; it had a peculiar rattle, not to be mistaken for any other. The little girl had a sober face as she climbed up into the seat beside Hiram, with the minister’s help.
“I’m grateful I’ve got you instead of the preacher,” said Hiram, facing straight ahead, as soon as Miss Pomeroy and the minister were fairly launched in conversation. “I’ve always been to church, and I’m a member, but I’m scared of speaking to ’em; it don’t make any difference whether they’re young or old. What’s the matter, honey? Don’t you tell me without you’re a mind to.”
“I thought perhaps I’d see the Manser Farm folks,” said Polly. “I thought maybe Uncle Blodgett would want to wait, and Aunty Peebles. I don’t know as Mrs. Ramsdell came if her rheumatism was bad.”
“She was there,” said Hiram, quietly, “I know ’em all by sight, and once in awhile I have a little talk with Mr. Manser when we’re taking the horses out of the sheds. But to-day Mrs. Manser hurried him up, and hustled the three old folks into the wagon as if something was after her. I shouldn’t have dared to offer Mis’ Ramsdell anything unless I’d wanted it bit in halves, when she got in,” said Hiram, with a low chuckle. “She spoke her mind good and free, too: I don’t recall ever hearing any one speak freer. She was all for waiting to see you.”
“Then I think Mrs. Manser was real mean,” said Polly, with flushed cheeks. “I don’t suppose she meant to be, but I think she was!”
Hiram reached out his big brown hand and gave Polly’s fingers a sympathetic squeeze.
“I expect we are about as naughty as we can be, both of us,” he said, softly, “but I take real comfort in it once in a while. That Manser woman’s no favorite of mine, nor ever was. I can’t abide her.”
“She took care of me for seven years,” said Polly, with a spasm of loyalty, forgetting how little of the care had really come on Mrs. Manser’s shoulders, “and I do try to love her.”
“Love don’t always come by trying,” said Hiram, tranquilly, “but I suppose it’s no harm to give it a fair chance. And as for those old folks of yours, you shall see ’em next Sunday, if I have to tole Mr. Manser down behind the sheds and keep him there.”
Then Hiram puckered his lips and softly whistled “Duke Street” all the rest of the way to Pomeroy Oaks, while Polly sat beside him, much cheered and comforted.
Dinner was an exciting meal to the little girl. It was the first time, as she told Arctura afterward, that Polly had even seen a minister eat. This minister not only ate with great heartiness, but he talked a good deal and frequently smiled across the table at her, and he had a jolly laugh. Polly was glad of that for more than one reason. Arctura had covered the scratch on her nose with a long, broad strip of black court-plaster, and this decoration made her naturally prominent feature more noticeable than ever. She carried her head very high, and bore the dishes in and out with a stately tread, but her eyes twinkled so when she looked at Polly that the little girl had much ado to keep a straight face.
When the dessert came, Polly held her breath while the minister ate his first mouthful of a yellow cake; he had chosen it instead of one of Arctura’s “snowflakes.” Miss Pomeroy had tasted one the day before and pronounced it delicious. The minister ate every crumb, and when the plate was passed to him a second time, he laughed boyishly.
“These are almost too good,” he said. “I should like to compliment the cook.”
Miss Pomeroy smiled at Polly.
“My little guest made them,” said she.
“Dear me,” said the minister, heartily. “I shall have to tell my sisters about this when I go home. One of them must be just about Mary’s age; she is eight years old.”
“Oh, but I’m going on eleven,” said Polly, eagerly, “only I’m small for my age, sir.”
“Indeed, that’s very surprising,” and the minister smiled most cordially at the little cook. Polly was perfectly delighted when Miss Pomeroy suggested that instead of a nap she might take a walk with the minister and show him the grounds. Miss Pomeroy was to drive him back to Deacon Talcott’s house late in the afternoon.
“I will take my nap as usual, Mary, if you think you can look after Mr. Endicott,” she had said, and the minister and Polly exchanged a glance of much confidence and friendliness.
They walked about, hand in hand, and there was no doubt that Polly entertained the minister.
“Miss Pomeroy tells me she hopes you will stay with her for always,” the minister said, as they stood together looking down at the brook in a place where it tinkled over some stones. Polly gave a little cry of delight and squeezed the minister’s hand.
“Oh, did she say it that way?” she asked, earnestly.
“Why, yes,” said the young man, smiling down at her, “didn’t you know it?”
“She’s a beautiful, kind lady,” said Polly, shaking her brown curls till they danced, “and I do truly love her, but she’s so tall and quiet I shouldn’t like to ask her questions all the time, and I have to ask her a good many—about my clothes and ever so many other things. Now if it was you, I shouldn’t be a bit afraid, because your eyes look so young and happy,” said the little girl, frankly. “Miss Pomeroy has sad eyes, and I’m always afraid I’ll make them sadder. Don’t you see?”
“I think I do,” said the minister, gently, “but I am sure you will help Miss Pomeroy’s eyes, and not hurt them, by talking freely to her.”
“Yes, sir,” said Polly, doubtfully. “Do your little sisters like to read, Mr. Endicott? I am reading a book called ‘Sesame and Lilies,’ by Mr. Ruskin.”
“Phew!” said the minister. “That’s a fine book, Mary, but I should say it was a little old for you. Who chose it—Miss Pomeroy?”
“No, sir, I chose it myself,” said Polly, proudly, “off the shelf where all the little books are, under the window. Miss Pomeroy said I could choose.”
“When we go in the house,” said the minister, as they started on together, swinging hands, “I’ll show you a book to read; I saw it on one of the shelves. It’s a big book, but the stories are short. If I were in your place, Mary, I’d read one of them to-morrow. My little sisters love them all.”
So it came about that when Miss Pomeroy and the minister drove away they left on the piazza a little girl whose heart was almost gay, for the book the minister had chosen, and which Miss Pomeroy had told Polly she might keep in her own room, was full of delightful pictures, and on the cover was printed in gold letters. “Wonder Stories, by Hans Christian Andersen.”
“And mind you try to remember them just as you do the sermon on Sunday,” the minister had said, as he parted from Polly, “for they are sure to give you happy thoughts.” And Polly, running to Arctura, who was seated on the south porch in a chair that rocked with a loud squeak, cried joyfully:
“Oh, Miss Arctura, the minister has chosen a book for me, one that his sisters love! And I’m not going to read another word in ‘Sesame and Lilies’ till I’m most grown up! For Miss Pomeroy said ’twas a wise thought and an inper—impterposition of Providence!”
POLLY’S worry about being satisfactory to Miss Pomeroy had departed with the minister’s words, down by the brook, but as she lay in bed the next morning, listening to the birds out in a big elm tree, the branches of which came near one of her windows, she had some sober thoughts.
“The reason Miss Pomeroy is going to adopt me,” said Polly, to herself, “is because she thinks I’m like Eleanor. I’m not like her, inside, of course, but I’m trying to be. Now, don’t you be a selfish girl, Polly Prentiss. You’ve got a beautiful home with a lovely, kind lady, that does things for you all the time, and Miss Arctura and Mr. Hiram besides, just as good as they can be, and the kittens to play with, and Daisy out in her stall, and you can go off into the woods this afternoon, and take the book that the minister’s sisters love, and perhaps they’ll let you go again some other day.
“And all you’ve got to do,” said Polly, severely, to herself, “is to stop wanting to run outdoors morning, noon, and night, and wanting to play with a doll, and wishing somebody’d call you Polly, and not mind having to eat so much, or lying down on this bed that gets so hot in the afternoon, and stop being lonesome for the folks at Manser Farm, and learn how to mend your clothes. I guess that’s about all, and it isn’t much for a girl that’s going on eleven.”
Polly had a delightful time that afternoon. Arctura had taken in the snow-white clothes from the line, and informed the little girl that she had no intention of ironing that day, and would make an excursion into the woods with her.
“I’ve got a crick in my back,” Miss Green announced, when Polly descended from her hour on the bed, “and what I need is to get right down close to nature. I’ll take my old gray shawl and pick me out a good place to sit in the sun, and I’ll knit on Hiram’s socks while you run around and see what you can see. Perhaps you can get up a bouquet to fetch home to Miss Hetty, who knows? And when you feel so minded you can sit on the shawl alongside of me, and read me out a story, maybe. It’s a pity Miss Hetty can’t be with us, but she’s no hand to walk; she hasn’t been overly strong for ten years back, though she can do all that’s required.”
Polly felt disloyal to Miss Pomeroy, because it was a relief to know Arctura would be her only companion. Her little heart was full of affectionate gratitude, but the tall mistress of the house inspired a good deal of awe as well, while with Arctura Polly had a sense of comradeship, in spite of the difference in years, and was not afraid to chatter like a magpie.
By three o’clock the pair were deep in the woods, and Arctura was enthroned on her gray shawl, spread on a rock that stood like a table in an open space between giant pines. She had four knitting-needles and a ball of flaming red yarn in her hands, and looked the picture of contentment.
“Now,” she said, drawing out a big silver watch from the front of her gown, and placing it beside her on the shawl, “it’s only a few minutes past three. You lay your book down here and don’t let me see you again for an hour, or as near that as you can judge by your feelings. Don’t stray so far you can’t get back. I’ll holler once in awhile so’s to keep track of you, but you caper round and see what you find.”
Polly trotted off obediently, and found all sorts of treasures. If she had not been obliged to respond to Arctura’s loud “Ma-a-a-ry!” three or four times, it would have seemed to the little girl that she was all alone in a new world, for the pine grove was unlike the woods through which Polly had wandered in that far-away time when she lived at Manser Farm. Those were birches and scrubby oaks, with an occasional hemlock, and you had to look out for slippery tree-roots, and scratching underbrush, and boggy places. But this wood had a soft brown carpet of needles, and a border of beautiful ferns, and here and there were little cones, and clumps of stems that had belonged to “Dutchman’s pipes.”
In a little while there would be “wake-robins” and “Solomon’s seal,” and many other wild wood flowers. Polly saw the first signs of a venturesome “lady’s slipper.” She gathered long trails of Princess pine and looped them around her waist, and she picked some of the prettiest ferns to take home to Miss Pomeroy. There were several cleared places, like the one which held Arctura’s throne. Polly named one the library and another the parlor, and in still another there were some stones which made her think of pillows.
“So I shall name that the bedroom,” she said to Arctura when the call “Ti-i-i-mes up!” had brought her running back, “and this I think we’d better call the dining room, don’t you?”
“Seems a sensible name to me,” said Miss Green, approvingly. “Now suppose you read me out a story. I just looked into your book while you were off, and here’s one that my eye lit on; suppose we have that.”
The story was “The Ugly Duckling,” and the words were so easy that Polly read on and on, scarcely ever having to stop for Arctura’s help. When she had finished it, she drew a long breath and shut the book.
“Isn’t it a beautiful, interesting story, Miss Arctura?” she asked, eagerly, and her friend nodded with great vigor before she spoke.
“It’s what I call fair,” said Arctura, with decision, “and that’s what I like in real life or in a story. And that’s why I expect that the poor folks that get hurt and slammed around and put upon in this world are going to have crowns of gold and harps of silver and songs of everlasting praise and joy in the next one; or whatever those things stand for, to ’em. We’ll have another of those stories next time we come out a pleasuring together, won’t we?”
Polly assented with joy, and all through the talk that followed, while she told of her morning’s trip to the village, those delightful words “next time” rang out their lovely promise in Polly’s happy ears.
She and Arctura walked home arm in arm, although that meant that Polly had to stretch up, and Miss Green to reach down, but the path was broad enough for two, and they sang “Marching Through Georgia,” and stepped gayly along to the brisk measures.
“Slow walking, except for those that have infirmities and are obliged,” said Arctura, “is a trial of the flesh and spirit, or it might be, if it ain’t,” and little Polly, with more color in her cheeks than had been there for days, looked joyfully up at her.
“Oh, Miss Arctura,” she said, fervently, “you do have such splendid ideas!”
“Don’t try to flatter an old lady of fifty-four, child,” said Miss Green, shaking her ball of yarn at Polly with pretended severity. “You turn your mind on those clouds; see how the wind’s backing round through the north? I can smell the east,” and she sniffed with her nose well in the air. “We’re in for rain to-morrow, I do believe. It’ll be just the day for you to write that letter you’re going to send with the candy, and there’s a number of matters you can help me about, and if you’ve got any mending to do maybe we’ll find time to sit down together, and I’ll relate that story about the Square and me.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Polly, as they marched up the driveway, “and I’ve got to practice with Mr. Hiram, you know. I expect it will be a grand day!”
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Think not of far-off duties,But of duties which are near;And, having once begun to work,Resolve to persevere.—Anonymous.
Think not of far-off duties,But of duties which are near;And, having once begun to work,Resolve to persevere.—Anonymous.
Think not of far-off duties,But of duties which are near;And, having once begun to work,Resolve to persevere.—Anonymous.
Think not of far-off duties,
But of duties which are near;
And, having once begun to work,
Resolve to persevere.
—Anonymous.