Читать книгу Polly of Lady Gay Cottage - Dowd Emma C. - Страница 4

Contrary to the physicians’ fears, Erastus Bean’s condition improved day by day. Polly went often to see him, delighting the little man with her small attentions and her ready sympathy. It was on a Monday morning that he found out the letter had been missing from the rosewood box, and he was at once perturbed over the loss.

“Jane must ’a’ put it some’er’s else, some’er’s else,” he complained, over and over, although Polly begged him not to worry.

“It doesn’t matter so very much if I don’t know who those relations are,” she assured him, “and anyway we may find the letter sometime.”

“Yer don’t s’pose the Doctor said anything to Jane about it?” he queried suddenly, his eyes sharp with anxiety.

“Oh, no! I guess not,” Polly replied easily.

“Wal, yer won’t let him, will yer?” he pleaded. “Cause I’ll sure find it soon’s I git home, an’ Jane, she’s kind o’ cranky, yer know! But she’s got her good streaks, Jane has! She brought me a bowl o’ custard th’ other day – that was proper nice o’ Jane!” His wrinkled face lighted at remembrance of the unexpected kindness.

Polly smiled in response, while she wondered vaguely if Aunt Jane really loved the little man whom she ordered about with the authority of a mother.

“It’s too bad ’bout that letter,” Mr. Bean rambled on. “Yer’d ought to find out who them relations be – an’ ’fore they have time to die. Folks go off so quick now’days, an’ mebbe, if they only knew yer, they’d leave you some o’ their prope’ty so’s you could live like a queen – ther’ ain’t no tellin’.”

“I don’t b’lieve I’d like to live like a queen,” laughed Polly. “But,” she admitted, “I should love some own cousins. I wouldn’t wonder if you’d find the letter when you go home. I feel just as if you would, and – oh, my! I didn’t know it was so near nine o’clock!” as a distant cling-clang made itself noticed. “That’s the last bell! Good-bye!” And Polly whirled off, Mr. Bean gazing the way she went long after her blue plaid had vanished from his sight.

Up the street she ran, fearful of being tardy, and slacking to a walk only when a view of the downtown clock told her that she still had time to spare.

Turning in at the side gate of the house where the school was kept, she saw a lady on the front porch. In the doorway beyond stood Miss Greenleaf, the head teacher, with a girl – a very pretty girl of about her own age. This was all she had time to observe before passing out of sight, on her way to the children’s entrance. But a few words, caught just as she slipped by the house corner, stayed with her.

“I am glad, Mrs. Illingworth, that you think – ”

“Illingworth!” Polly repeated softly. “I never knew there were any Illingworths in town. Mamma used to say there weren’t. I wonder if she could be related – oh, I wonder!”

Having reached her seat, she began to watch the door for the new scholar. She tried to attend to the opening exercises, but found her eyes constantly reverting to the spot of fascination, until she grew strangely excited. She really had not long to wait. Soon the girl was ushered quietly in and given a seat five desks away. Polly wished it had been nearer. Then she might have been asked to show the new pupil about some lesson, or to lend her a book. But she was at a convenient point for being observed, and that was a distinct advantage.

The girl was a slight little thing, who carried herself gracefully, without bashfulness. Her soft brown hair, brushed smoothly back from the tanned oval face, fell in long, thick braids over the slim shoulders, and disappeared in crisp ribbon bows of the same color. The dress was a simple affair of light blue wool, which fitted the wearer perfectly and gave her the air of being more richly clad than some of the girls whose frocks were of costlier material.

Polly came near giving too much attention to these interesting details, but finally settled down to study in the contented belief that she was “going to like” the girl with the familiar name. At recess she would speak to her, and “get acquainted.” For two hours this was her fixed hope. Then, when the rest time came, before she could make good her desire, she had the dissatisfaction of seeing the new scholar walk away arm in arm with Ilga Barron, and she turned back to her desk with sober eyes and regret in her heart.

“Isn’t Patricia Illingworth lovely?” whispered a voice.

Polly looked up, to see Betty Thurston.

“Do you know her?” she questioned in surprise.

“Of course not,” smiled Betty. “But I’m going to – if that hateful Ilga Barron doesn’t monopolize her all the tune.”

“But how did you know what her name is?” persisted Polly.

“Oh!” explained Betty, “I was up at Gladys Osborne’s Saturday, spending the day, and Gladys’s Aunt Julia was there there – she boards at The Trowbridge, you know, and she told us all about the Illingworths. They board there, too, Patricia and her mother. They aren’t stuck up a bit, though I guess they’re awfully rich. They came from ’way out West – I forget the name of the place. It’s where Patricia’s father’s got a mine. And she hasn’t ever been to school much, only studied with her mother, and rode horseback, and all that. Aunt Julia said she was coming to our school, and I think she’s lovely; don’t you?”

“Sweet as she can be!” agreed Polly.

“I know why Ilga pounced on her so quick,” confided Betty. “I’ll bet she heard me telling Lilith and some of the other girls that she was rich, and that’s just why. We were down in the dressing-room before school. If it hadn’t been for her we could have got acquainted this morning.”

“Well, there are more days coming,” laughed Polly philosophically. “That’s what mother always tells me, when I want to do a thing right then, and can’t.”

The talk passed to other matters, yet the eyes of both girls followed the new pupil as she and her companion strolled from room to room of the little suite. Here and there they would pause for a few words with some of Ilga’s friends, or to look from a window, and then move on again. The Senator’s daughter was assuredly doing the honors for the entire school.

Polly and Betty laid plans for “the next time,” but Polly kept her secret hope close hidden in her heart, not disclosing it even to David on the way home.

Neither did she let it be known to father or mother.

“Prob’ly Patricia isn’t related to me at all,” she argued to herself. “It is silly to think anything about it.”

Yet the subject was still present in her thoughts at the beginning of the afternoon session, and she wondered when the opportunity that she longed for would appear. It came soon, and not at all according to her conjectures.

School was dismissed in order of deportment marks, those who stood highest for the day passing out ahead. Among this small number was Polly. When she reached the street door she was dismayed to see that it was raining, and she stood hesitant on the sill, having neither raincoat, overshoes, nor umbrella. Indifferently she noticed a limousine waiting at the curb, and wondered for whom it had been sent.

“I think you go my way,” spoke a clear voice behind her. “May I take you home?”

Polly turned quickly, to look into the gray eyes of Patricia Illingworth.

“Oh, thank you!” was the smiling response. “I didn’t know it was raining until just this minute.”

Before she had time for more, the other had caught her arm, and she was being escorted to the street under Mrs. Illingworth’s green silk umbrella. Then she was seated beside Patricia, and they were gliding along the road. Even in her delighted surprise the thought that all day had been uppermost pushed itself to her lips. But it was Patricia that spoke first.

“I have been wanting to know you ever since I first spied you this morning,” she beamed. “I was in the front door when you were going in at the side. I knew we’d be friends right away.”

Polly looked her pleasure.

“And I’ve been longing to get acquainted with you,” she confessed. “It was partly on account of your name. That was mamma’s name too, – she was Phebe Illingworth.”

“Why, isn’t that fine!” exclaimed Patricia. “I’m going straight to look in papa’s Genealogy, just as soon as I get home, and see if we’re related! Wouldn’t it be grand if we are?”

She squeezed Polly rapturously.

Then the car stopped at Dr. Dudley’s door.

“My grandfather’s name was Rufus Illingworth,” added Polly to her thanks. “Oh, I do hope we are cousins!” she smiled. “I’ve been wishing and wishing for ever so long that I had a cousin, and it will be lovelicious if you should turn out to be one.”

With earnest good-byes the new friends separated, and from the shelter of the piazza Polly answered the salute of the little hand at the limousine window as long as she could see it.

There was no holding back this time. The story of the day, or the portion of it occupied by Patricia Illingworth, was related in detail, both in Mrs. Dudley’s room before tea and at the table afterwards, as the Doctor was kept busy at the hospital until six o’clock.

They were through with the meal, and Polly was helping her mother carry the dishes into the kitchen, when the telephone called the physician from the room. In a moment he was back.

“Your new friend is holding the wire for you,” he told Polly. And she ran, her heart happy and fearful all at once.

“That you, Polly? Oh, say, we are cousins – third cousins! Isn’t that great?”

“Beautiful!” responded Polly.

“We had the longest time finding the book! I was afraid we’d left it in Nevada, and mamma was too; but it was ’way down in the bottom of a trunk. Do say you’re glad, and say it good and strong, so I’ll know you mean it! I couldn’t wait till to-morrow! I hope I haven’t bothered your father.”

Polly’s reply seemed fully to satisfy the other end of the line, and, with a good-night and a promise to be early at school the next morning, she hung up the receiver.