Half a Dozen Girls Part 10

POLLY ENCOUNTERS THE SERVANT QUESTION.

As time went on, Polly's first impression of the sisters was unchanged. In fact, the girls all agreed in p.r.o.nouncing Jessie "a dear," and she was at once made to feel at home with the V, which hospitably extended its arms to take her in. But with Katharine it was a different matter. Critical of others, and constantly studying the effect of all that she herself said or did, she was rather a damper on the good times of the girls. Fortunately, she usually scorned them as children, and spent much of her time with her mates in the fas.h.i.+onable boarding-school at which she and her sister were day pupils. And yet, she was not to blame for this artificial side of her nature. At heart she was as true and sweet a girl as Molly herself; but, bred up in the atmosphere of her western city home where there was but one end in view, to struggle up to the top of the social scale, if need be, over the bodies of one's dearest friends, what wonder was it that her growth towards womanhood was cramped by being forced out of its natural beauty into the artificial lines of fas.h.i.+onable society. But it was not yet too late to undo the harm, for a generous, warm heart lay under her affected indifference and ambition; and her parents had been wiser than they realized, when they sent their daughters East to be educated, and left them in the care of the motherly woman whose social position was too a.s.sured to have her feel the need for striving, and who, like Mrs. Adams, believed that a woman's highest life lay in her home and children, and that society was incidental, rather than the main end in view.

There were times, and they were by no means rare, when Katharine's native sweetness showed itself, and then the girls welcomed her to their circle. Florence was her favorite among them, while she openly courted Alan's favor, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the boy's mother, who smiled quietly to herself over his unconsciousness of her attempts and his continued, unswerving devotion to Polly.

"But what I don't understand," she said to Florence, one day, when they were out for a walk together, "is how you girls ever happened to pick up Jean Dwight."

"Pick her up? What do you mean?" asked Florence, meeting her friend's look with a glance which was almost defiant, for she was too loyal to Jean to fail to notice the scorn in Katharine's tone and manner.

"You know what I mean, Florence, so don't pretend to be as absurd as Polly Adams and Molly are. Of course you and I both know that you three girls could have the pick of the town, if you chose; and I don't see why you take up with the daughter of a carpenter."

Polly had called Florence "a flat," but there was no suggestion of weakness in her reply now. On the contrary, she drew up her small figure to its full height, and spoke with a simple, childish dignity which might have put to shame her companion.

"You needn't say any more about it, Katharine. It is just because we do have the pick of the town that we have taken up with Jean Dwight. At least, she is too much of a lady to slander her friends behind their backs, even if she is only a carpenter's daughter."

"Don't be so crus.h.i.+ng, Florence. I only wanted to know what was the reason you were with her so much," answered Katharine, trying to pa.s.s off the matter lightly, although she was privately resolving to cultivate the acquaintance of this girl, of whom her friends were so fond.

One bright day in early October, the V had walked up from school together as far as Molly's, where they settled themselves on the piazza to talk over the doings of the day. Katharine and Jessie had joined them, and they sat there chatting till the clock struck five. At the sound, Polly sprang up.

"Oh, dear! I ought to have gone home long ago," she said regretfully. "Is anybody else coming?"

"I'm going to stay a little longer," answered Jean. "Wait just a few minutes, Poll."

"I can't, Jean; mamma will be expecting me." And Polly picked up her hat and started for home, followed by Alan who escorted her to the gate.

She was surprised, when she entered the house, to find the lower rooms deserted and in some confusion. Her astonishment was increased when, on going up-stairs, she saw her mother with her bonnet on, busy in packing her small satchel. Mrs. Adams's red eyes and white face told her daughter that something was amiss.

"So you have come, at last!" she exclaimed, with an air of relief, as she caught sight of Polly in the door; "I was just thinking that I should have to send Mary after you."

"What's the matter, mamma; are you going away?" Polly asked anxiously.

"For a little while, dear. We have had a telegram that Uncle Charlie is very, very ill. And Aunt Jane and I are going to New York to-night."

So Aunt Jane was going too! Polly was relieved at that. Uncle Charlie she scarcely knew, so her main anxiety was for her mother, of whose devotion to this only brother she was well aware. "Is he going to die, mamma?" she asked slowly.

The tears were falling on the toilet-case in Mrs. Adams's hand, but she answered steadily,--

"I hope not, dear; but they are very anxious about him. I am sorry to leave you all alone here with papa, and he is away so much of the time, too."

"Don't you worry about me, Jerusalem," answered Polly courageously, though her heart sank, a little, as she thought of the lonely evenings.

"I presume I shan't be gone long," said Mrs. Adams thoughtfully; "but it is so uncertain. If only Aunt Jane could be here, it would be a comfort to you."

But Polly shook her head violently.

"I'd rather be alone, mamma. I shall get along beautifully, and you've no idea what good care I'll take of papa."

Mrs. Adams was crossing the room to get her slippers. As she pa.s.sed Polly, she stooped to kiss her.

"And you have no idea," she said, "what a comfort it is to me that you take it so bravely. I know it will be forlorn for you, but there isn't any help for it. Papa is getting ready, now, to drive us to the station, for it is almost time for the train."

As she spoke, the doctor's voice was heard from below, calling to them to hurry; Aunt Jane swept out from her room; Mrs. Adams snapped the fastener of her bag and turned to say good by to her daughter. Polly went down-stairs behind her and stood in the door, looking after them with rather a long face, though she waved her hand bravely until they were around the corner.

Then she went back up-stairs, feeling as if, all at once, an earthquake had struck their quiet home. She and her mother had rarely been separated, and the suddenness and sadness of the present summons only added to the loneliness. The house was in that state of disorder which always follows a hurried packing, and Polly went mechanically up and down, putting the rooms in order while, in imagination, she followed the travellers to the train.

Then, when, all was done, she went into her own room and sat down to consider the situation. Taken all in all, it was not an encouraging picture that the next few days presented. Her father was liable to be called away at any hour of the night, leaving her alone with Mary who slept at the far end of the house; there would be the lonely hours when she was out of school; the next day was Sat.u.r.day--what should she do with herself? The prospect was too much for poor Polly and, throwing herself down on her bed, she gave herself up to the luxury of a hearty cry.

"I wish I were dead now, Or else in my bed now, I'd cover my head now, And have a good cry."

"Is this what you call a hospitable welcome?" asked a sudden voice.

Polly raised her head in surprise, and saw Molly standing in the doorway, with a smile on her face and a great bundle in her hand.

Polly sprang up and threw her arms around her friend excitedly.

"Oh, Molly Hapgood! where did you come from? I never, never was so glad to see anybody in all my life."

"If that's a fact," said Molly coolly, "why didn't you come down- stairs to meet me, and not make me hunt for you, all over the house?"

"How could I meet you, when I didn't know you were coming?"

demanded Polly.

"Didn't you?" asked Molly, surprised in her turn. "Why, your mother just stopped at our house and told me that she had to go away for a few days, and you wanted me to come and stay with you till she came back. She said you'd tell me all about it."

"Isn't that just like her!" exclaimed Polly rapturously. "And you're going to stay here all the time? How perfectly splendid!"

"Where's she gone?" asked Molly, as she unpacked her brown paper Saratoga.

"Uncle Charlie, in New York, is so ill they've sent for mamma and Aunt Jane," answered Polly, with sudden seriousness, "and they don't know anything more than that. It said--the telegram, I mean-- 'Charles very ill, come at once,' and mamma is dreadfully worried. Of course she doesn't know how long she'll be gone. Oh, I am so glad you've come!" And Polly, with the tears still damp upon her cheeks, pranced excitedly up and down the room.

"You don't know how lonesome it was going to be," she went on, when she had quieted down a little. "Now, if only Uncle Charlie will get well, I don't care much how long they're gone. We'll just have an elegant time."

"I don't think Katharine liked my coming very well," remarked Molly, with a giggle, as she pulled out an extra gown and hung it over the foot of Polly's dainty white and gold bed. "She seems to think I can't stir, now they are at the house; but I'm not going to give up all my fun for them. They're nothing but boarders; 'tisn't as if they were on a visit; and Alan can see to them once in a while. He can't bear Katharine," she continued, after a pause; "he heard her say to Florence, once, that he was distangy looking, and he never has forgiven her since. We don't either of us know just what it means, but he thinks it has something to do with his nose."

Polly threw herself into a chair and burst out laughing.

"Oh, Molly, Molly! What will you say next? That means distinguished; it's French, you know." "I don't know anything about French, Poll; and you needn't laugh at me, for you don't know much yourself," returned Molly, with some dignity.

"I don't believe Katharine does, either," answered Polly. "The way I happened to know about that was because she said so to me once, and I asked mamma what it meant. She says she doesn't think it's nice for girls to keep putting French and German words into what they say, for it looks as if they did it to show off. Come on, let's go down and see what we're going to have for dinner."

Soon after dinner, the doctor went away to his office, and the girls decided to settle themselves for a quiet visit in front of the open fire in the parlor. This was their first evening alone together since Jessie and Katharine had come, and there was much to be talked over.

"Don't let's have any light but just the fire," Molly suggested.

"Then we'll sit on the rug and have it all to ourselves."

"I can't help feeling as if Aunt Jane were likely to drop in at any minute, though," Polly remarked. "She doesn't approve of people's sitting in the dark; she thinks it is lazy."

"She's half way to New York by this time," said Molly; "but I do wish your mother was here."