Читать книгу Polly of Lady Gay Cottage - Dowd Emma C. - Страница 5

On their way to school Polly and David were joined by Patricia; but soon afterwards the lad courteously excused himself, to run across the street to see an acquaintance.

“Nice boy, isn’t he?” observed Patricia.

“He’s lovely,” praised Polly, but she scowled a little, her eyes following David. “I wish he hadn’t gone off so quick,” she added regretfully; “I wanted you to know each other.”

“I like him,” admired Patricia, “and I like my new cousin,” she giggled, squeezing Polly’s arm, “I just love her!”

So for the moment David was forgotten, and the boy, viewing them from a little distance behind, saw them enter the school yard in high glee. Laughter was far from his face as he followed. He wished that Patricia Illingworth had stayed in Nevada.

At the foot of the staircase the two girls met Ilga Barron. The Senator’s daughter instantly seized upon Patricia with a playful reprimand.

“You ran away from me last night!”

“Yes, I went to carry my cousin home,” retorted Patricia roguishly.

“Who, I’d like to know? Nobody in this school!”

“Yes, she’s right here!” laughed the other, enjoying Ilga’s puzzled stare. “Allow me to present my cousin, Polly Dudley!” She drew Polly forward.

“Huh, not much! You can’t make me swallow that!”

“It’s true! Isn’t it, Polly? We’re third cousins! I found it in the Genealogy last night! Her mother was an Illingworth!”

Ilga’s face lighted.

“Oh, you’re ’way off!” she broke out. “She isn’t related to her mother at all. She’s only an adopted child.”

“But I mean her real mother!” returned Patricia indignantly. “Her own mother was Phebe Illingworth, and was second cousin to my father – as if I didn’t know!”

“I don’t care!” Ilga retorted. And she ran up the stairs.

Some of the girls, standing by, snickered; but Polly and Patricia gazed soberly at each other. Then they walked over to the rows of hooks, unbuttoning their coats as they went.

“I think Ilga Barron’s just horrid!” whispered Patricia. “I didn’t like her yesterday, and to-day I hate her!”

“Oh, you mustn’t!” objected Polly.

“Why not?”

“Because we ought to love everybody, I s’pose,” Polly answered slowly.

“Do you love her?” demanded Patricia. “Do you, honest?”

Polly shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t now,” she admitted; “but maybe I can some time.”

Patricia laughed. “I don’t b’lieve I shall – ever,” she declared; “you can love her enough for us both.”

A flock of girls came in from outside, and confidences were hushed, the two presently going upstairs arm in arm.

“Don’t forget that you are to go home with me right after school to-night!” whispered Patricia, just before they reached the upper door.

“I couldn’t,” was the smiling answer. And Polly went to her seat, still thinking of the pleasure ahead.

At noon David lingered behind until the girls were gone, and hurried off in advance of them on the way back, trying to satisfy his conscience with the argument that they wouldn’t want him “tagging on anyway.” So the new friends were left for the greater share of the walk quite to themselves, Polly, when not too much interested in tales of the pet broncho back in Silverton, keeping a lookout for David, and wondering where he could possibly be. She even went so far as to wish, away down in her secret heart, that David were going with her on the first visit to her new cousin.

Opening from the principal schoolroom was a deep, narrow closet where the working supplies were kept. To reach the shelves at the back one must pass through the pinched little door, an easy matter for a sprite like Polly, who flitted in and out at any angle; but an occasional plump pupil was obliged to slip in sideways or be unpleasantly squeezed.

The afternoon was half through when extra paper was needed, and Miss Carpenter, an assistant teacher, asked Ilga Barron to fetch some.

“One of those large packages on the third shelf,” she explained, as the girl started.

Strangely enough, Ilga had never been to the closet, and was unprepared for its cramped dimensions. A bit elated with the importance of her errand, she went heedlessly forward, bumping against the mouldings as she entered, and flushing with vexation on hearing a giggle from one of the boys. In her confusion she grabbed two packages instead of one, and attempted to make her exit; but to her dismay she found that with the bulky parcels in her arms the return passage was to be difficult if not impossible. Scarlet with mortification, yet holding blindly to her bundles, she twisted this way and that, while the children, bubbling with suppressed mirth, watched her breathlessly. To add to her discomfiture, several distinguished-looking visitors were approaching from the next room, whither the teacher had gone to meet them, and Polly, throbbing with sympathy, saw that she was on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, with no thought save of Ilga herself, Polly sprang to her feet, and running lightly over to the prisoner put out her hands for the parcels. But Ilga, misinterpreting the motive, drew back in anger, muttering something about wishing “folks would mind their own business.” Polly, however, loyal to her aim, followed into the closet, and in an earnest whisper urged the other to give up the paper, that she might pass out in freedom. Finally, just as Miss Carpenter appeared, to learn the cause of the commotion, Ilga emerged, red-faced and sullen.

“What is all this fuss about? Polly, how came you here without permission?”

“To help Ilga,” she faltered.

“I have never known a girl to need assistance in getting a ream of paper,” the teacher replied severely, “especially so big a girl as Ilga.”

A titter ran through the room, and an uncontrollable smile flickered on Polly’s lips.

Nettled by this show of levity, for which she discerned no cause, Miss Carpenter’s sentence upon the supposed culprit was instant and merciless.

“Go to your seat, and stay there until six o’clock!”

Hands waved frantically, David’s and Patricia’s wildly beat the air; but the young teacher either was too much occupied with her visitors or did not choose to notice, and the would-be defenders were soon called to recitation.

Polly sat still in her chair, dazed by the suddenness and injustice of it. She had meant only to spare Ilga further mortification – and had lost her expected treat. She took up her history with a long sigh.

It was a weary afternoon, and not alone to Polly. The children were distraught and restless, and things went wrong. The bell for dismissal struck a note of relief.

Polly had a faint, a very faint hope that Ilga would explain the matter, and she watched her furtively as she passed out; but the Senator’s daughter walked straight by the teacher’s desk without turning her head, and as Polly saw her plump figure disappear in the stairway she went back to her examples, philosophically thinking that, at any rate, she could get her lessons for the next day, and so have the evening free to enjoy with mother. If there were a best to any situation, Polly was sure to find it.

But to-night clouds gathered early about the sun, and presently the schoolroom grew dusky. Soon it was too dark to read, and with regret Polly shut her book. She looked at her little watch which she usually wore, the “wedding” gift of Colonel Gresham, and was surprised to find it to be after five. She did not put it directly back in its pocket, but held it in her hand, fingering it lovingly, thinking of David’s uncle, and then of the “stormy midnight” and the “sunshiny morning” which the little timepiece commemorated.

So absorbed was she that the opening of the door caused her to start; but she smiled when she recognized through the dimness Miss Cordelia, the younger of the two Townsend sisters who kept the school.

“My dear,” exclaimed Miss Cordelia’s soft voice, “I am so sorry this has happened. David Collins has been telling me how it was.”

“David?” repeated Polly in a glad tone. “But, Miss Cordelia, I went without permission.”

“Yes, dear; but a kind action is its own excuse. You were doubtless thinking only of Ilga.”

“That’s every single thing I thought of,” Polly assured her. “It seemed funny she didn’t put the paper out first and then come herself; but I s’pose she was flustered and didn’t think. I felt so sorry for her, and the next thing I knew I was racing over there. I didn’t mean to break the rule, truly I didn’t, Miss Cordelia!”

“I can easily believe you, dear, and I am sure Miss Carpenter was not intentionally unjust. She could not have understood. Somebody said she was not feeling well, and that she went home directly after school. She must have forgotten what she told you; her memory is treacherous at times. Please say to your father and mother, dear, that my sister and I are very much grieved over the occurrence, and that we shall endeavor to let nothing of the kind ever happen again. We will have that closet door widened; it has made too much trouble already. Run down to David now; he is waiting for you.” And with a kiss from the stately little lady Polly was dismissed.

David was found on the walk leading from the pupils’ entrance executing a double shuffle, to keep his feet warm, for the air was growing keen.

“Well! you’ve got here at last!” he cried.

“It’s awfully good of you to wait for me,” she crooned, skipping into step.

“Pretty queer if I hadn’t waited! I’d have got you off sooner, only the maid said they had company, and I didn’t want to butt in. So I just ran home and to your house, to tell them how it was – while I was waiting for those folks to go. I guess that maid thought I was in a mighty hurry to see Miss Townsend, for I kept running round to the kitchen to know if the coast was clear.”

“What a lot of trouble I’ve made you!” Polly lamented.

“Trouble nothing!” he scouted. “But whatever did you do it for? That girl! – with all the mean things she’s said! And away she stalked after school, as disdainful as ever!”

“I know,” Polly admitted mournfully. “But I was so sorry for her – it must have been dreadful!”

“Sorry!” David chuckled. “It was too funny!”

Polly laughed, too, reminded of the ridiculous sight. Then she sighed. “I was awfully disappointed,” she went on. “For a minute, when Miss Carpenter told me to stay, I thought I just couldn’t stand it. I didn’t dare look at Patricia, for fear I’d cry.”

“Don’t see what she had to do with it!” growled David.

“Why, I was going home with Patricia right after school. Mrs. Illingworth had invited me to tea.”

“M-m!” responded David

“I want you to know Patricia,” Polly continued; “she’s such a dear girl.”

“Must be!” he retorted sarcastically. “So kind to go off and leave invited company as she did! She never waited a minute!”

“Well, but, David, what good would it have done? They board, you know, and couldn’t wait tea for me.”

“M-m,” remarked David.

“I don’t see why you feel so about Patricia,” Polly began.

“I haven’t any use for a girl broncho-buster!” he broke out.

“David Collins!”

“Well,” he replied, in a half-ashamed tone, “she rides bronchos, doesn’t she? I heard her telling you about being on a broncho that stood right up on his hind feet, and cut up like sixty!”

“Oh, yes, that was a horse she didn’t know about till she got on him! But he couldn’t throw her! She kept her seat! Wasn’t that splendid!”

“Splendid!” he scorned. “It’s just as I said – she’s a – ”

“She is not!” Polly burst out indignantly. “It just happened that once. She’s got a lovely little horse that she rides, and he’s as gentle as can be. She isn’t – that! I shouldn’t think you’d say such things about my cousin.” Polly’s voice was tearful.

“I d’n’ know’s cousins are any better ’n other folks,” he growled.

“Oh, David!” she protested. Then her face suddenly lighted. “You’re not afraid I’ll think more of her than I do of you, are you? David, is that it?” as he did not answer. “Why, David Collins,” she went on, the words tumbling out tempestuously, “how foolish you are! I couldn’t! You ought to know! There we were at the hospital together for so long, till it seemed just like one family, and Colonel Gresham your uncle, and all! Why, David, I don’t see what makes you feel so! You never did about Leonora.”

“That’s different,” he mumbled. “You didn’t run off with her, and leave me to tag!”

“Why, I don’t! I want you to come, too! Patricia thinks you’re so nice – she said so.”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“Enough to like you. I thought we could be friends all together.” The tone was plaintive.

“Well,” he conceded.

“You know I like you, David, and always shall, no matter how many other friends I have. It was lovely of you to wait for me to-night and to go and tell Miss Cordelia about it – I never shall forget that!”

They had reached the home cottage, and were passing up the walk.

“I guess I wanted to be a monopolist,” confessed David.

“A what?” cried Polly. David’s long words often puzzled her.

He laughed. “Oh, I wanted you all to myself!” he explained. “I’m a pig anyway!”

“No, you’re not!” declared Polly.

He turned quickly. “Good-night! I’ll be on hand to-morrow morning.”

And Polly knew that David had been won over.

True to his promise, he called early for his old chum, and accompanied her and Patricia to school, showing only the merry, winsome side of his nature, and making Polly proud to own him for a friend.

In the hallway the boys laid hold of him, and carried him off upstairs, where a group of lads, with heads together, whispering and snickering, surrounded one of the desks.

“What are they up to?” queried Patricia, watching them furtively. “Vance Alden is reading something from a piece of paper – hear them laugh!”

“Poetry, probably,” guessed Polly. “He’s the greatest boy for writing poetry. He wrote his composition, one week, all in rhyme.”

At recess the secret was soon made known. A long row of boys, arm in arm, marched across the recitation room, singing this bit of doggerel: —

Ilga and several other girls, who were drawing on the blackboard, had stopped when the boys formed in line, to see what they were going to do, and as the singing went on they stood as if dazed; but at the last, fairly realizing the indignity, Ilga sprang forward, crimson with anger.

“I didn’t! I didn’t!” she cried. “You mean, mean things!”

Instantly the line rounded into a circle, with the girl inside, and the boys, bowing low, began: —

They got no further, for the prisoner, with a dash and a scream, burst her bars, and fled to the next room, followed by a laughing chorus from her tormentors.

Polly was distressed.

“I should think you’d be ashamed,” she declared, “to treat a girl in that way!”

The boys grinned.

“She deserves it!” spoke up Floyd Bascom.

“Yes, look at her last night!” cried Prescott Saunders. “Never said a word, and let you bear all the blame!”

“An’ see the way she’s been actin’ to you all along!” put in Peter Anderson.

“I know,” returned Polly sadly; “but it isn’t fair to sing that to her.”

“Why not? Why do you care?” It was Vance Alden that questioned. The rest were still, awaiting Polly’s answer.

“I’m sorry for her. I know how things hurt.”

But the boys only laughed, and began again the taunting song. They were resolved to have their fun.

“It is kind of mean, isn’t it?” commented Patricia, as she and Polly and Leonora walked back into the schoolroom.

“I wish they wouldn’t,” scowled Polly, glancing across to Ilga’s desk, where she was in excited conversation with three or four girls.

“What does fanfaron mean?” questioned Leonora.

“I don’t know,” answered Polly. “Let’s find out!”

Patricia was first at the dictionary, and turned quickly to the word.

“It means, ‘A bully; a hector; a swaggerer; an empty boaster,’” reading from the page.

Polly looked over.

“Fan” – she began, “why, they haven’t got it right! It isn’t fanfaron at all, the accent is right on the first syllable, and fanfaron doesn’t rhyme a bit! Oh, just you wait!” and she walked quietly away.

Patricia and Leonora followed at a little distance.

Polly went straight to the author of the ditty. There was no distress in her face now. Her eyes were twinkling.

“If I could write as good poetry as you do,” she dimpled, “and I wanted to use uncommon words, I think I’d make sure that the accent was right, and that they rhymed.”

“Wha’ do you mean?” he frowned.

Polly laughed, and ran away.

“There’s only one uncommon word in it,” mused Vance. “I supposed that was – ”

“Those girls have been looking in the dictionary,” suggested Amos Rand. “I saw them there a minute ago.”

“I’ll find out!” cried Vance.

Two or three sprang to accompany him.

“You stay here!” he commanded, waving them back.

He returned talking with Polly.

“Have you told Ilga?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she answered.