A DELIGHTFUL CALLER
Polly had no trouble on her mind when Mrs. Talcott left the house
after an hour’s call. She knew from the visitor’s gentle, sweet face
and manner, as well as from her beautiful black silk gown that she
was another grand person like Miss Hetty. Polly had often seen Mrs.
Talcott at church in the distance, and had admired her from the Manser
pew, which was in the gallery back where the shadows gathered. Polly
had once watched a sunbeam dance on a violet bow in Mrs. Talcott’s
bonnet.
“How do you do, my dear?” the visitor had asked, when Miss Pomeroy
presented “little Mary Prentiss” to her. “I’m sure I have caught a
glimpse of you now and then at church. I believe you don’t go to the
Number Three school with my children, do you?”
“I am very well, thank you, ma’am,” said Polly, sedately, though her
dimples showed. “Yes’m, I have seen you in church; the sun comes in the
gallery window and dances on your bonnet sometimes, just as pretty.
No, ma’am, I go to Number Four, where there are just five boys and
nobody else but me. The teacher says it’s hardly worth while to keep
a school for five sprawling boys that will be farmers when all’s said
and done, and one little girl that’s nobody,” said Polly, quoting Mrs.
Manser without a touch of injured feeling, “but we’re out of the other
districts, the Higgins boys and I are, ma’am.”
Mrs. Talcott flushed, and drew the little girl to her side.
“I’ve brought you a present, Mary,” she said, putting a box into
Polly’s hands. “My children always like a surprise, and I knew you
wouldn’t be expecting this; it’s very pure candy,” said Mrs. Talcott,
looking over Polly’s head to Miss Pomeroy for approval, “it cannot
possibly hurt her.”
It seemed too good to be true, but there were dozens of the delicious
chocolate drops in the box. Polly’s cheeks grew crimson as she saw them.
“Mrs. Deacon Talcott,” she said, lifting her shining eyes to this
wonderful visitor. “I expect I don’t know how to thank you right, but I
do wish I did! I’ve had so many presents now, you could hardly believe.
It began before I left Manser Farm. I had new clothes, bought right out
of the store, the gingham was, and nobody had ever worn it before. I
wish I had one of those dresses on, to show you,” said Polly, who had
been advised by Miss Pomeroy to keep on her red frock under a white
apron for the afternoon.
“Never mind, my dear,” said Miss Pomeroy, exchanging a quick glance
with her caller. “Mrs. Talcott may see it some other day.”
“Yes’m,” said Polly, “and then Uncle Sam Blodgett gave me a knife
that will be an extra fine article if I should get the broken blade
fixed, and some slippery elm, and Aunty Peebles gave me a dear
little pincushion, and Miss Pomeroy bought me a bag of gum-drops and
chocolates--but those are gone all but one, for Miss Arctura likes
them; she has a sweet tooth, though she doesn’t often indulge it, she
says--and then Miss Pomeroy bought me these beautiful shoes that I
have on,” she finished, breathlessly, sticking out one small foot for
inspection. “You see it’s been presents and presents,” said Polly,
beaming upon Mrs. Talcott and then turning to Miss Hetty with a face
aglow with gratitude.
“So it seems, my dear,” said the visitor, and when Polly mentioned her
plan in regard to Aunty Peebles, Mrs. Talcott said cordially, “Why not
send her part of these chocolates, Mary?”
“I hoped and hoped you’d say for me to do that,” said Polly, earnestly.
“If you please, Miss Pomeroy, I would like to send them the middle of
next week, for it always seems long then to Aunty Peebles from Sunday
to Sunday. She values her privileges very much,” said Polly.
“You shall send them next Wednesday if all goes well,” said Miss
Pomeroy, “and perhaps you’d like to write a letter to go with them.
We’ll see about it. And now you may run off, Mary, and read or do
anything you like.”
Polly said good-by, and then as she reached the doorway she turned and
made a courtesy to the guest.
“Will you please pay my respects to your family,” said Polly, and then
she departed, hugging her precious box.
“I believe I was just about like Eleanor that time,” she said, as she
put her new treasure away in the top bureau drawer, “for they both
looked as pleased as could be. Now I’m going to the library to pick
out a book, and take it out on the south porch. Seems as if probably I
could read better out-doors.”
Miss Pomeroy and her visitor were in the parlor and the door was
closed, so Polly had no fear of disturbing them. She had never owned
any books except the Bible and her school reader, but she had heard
a great deal about stories from her friends at Manser Farm. Uncle
Sam Blodgett had a battered Shakespeare, from which he had recited
extracts, and Polly had looked upon the book with awe.
“I guess I’d better begin with a small book,” she said, as she stood
for a moment undecided in the centre of the library, looking about at
the bewildering display of literature. “Of course, small books are
meant for boys and girls, and I’ll take one from that shelf under the
window; probably those are the ones Eddy reads. Miss Pomeroy said
yesterday I could choose anything I liked. Here’s one that won’t take
very long,” said Polly, kneeling to slip a small, leather-covered
volume from its place.
“‘S-e-s-a-m-e and Lilies;’ that’s a pretty name,” she said,
approvingly. “I don’t know what sesame means, but probably I shall
when I’ve read far enough. There aren’t any pictures, but Uncle Sam
Blodgett’s book didn’t have any pictures, either, except one in the
front, of the gentleman that wrote it. I’ll go out on the porch and
begin right off.”
On the south porch there were two low wooden chairs, and Polly seated
herself in one of these, resolutely facing away from the big oaks which
waved their branches so alluringly, and appeared to be inviting her to
play with them and follow their beckoning down the road.
The book seemed very strange and hard to understand, but Polly read on
bravely page after page, stopping now and then to spell a word softly,
and shake her curly head over it. When she had read ten pages she
closed the book with a little sigh of relief.
“If I read it by tens I can remember the place better,” said Polly, to
the oaks, “and I don’t believe it makes much difference where I stop,
because it goes right on and on, and there doesn’t seem to be any story
to it. I didn’t suppose there were so many long words in the world, but
Uncle Sam Blodgett always says ‘understanding comes with experience,’
and I guess I shall have a good deal of experience before I finish this
book,” said Polly, soberly.
She felt a little bit lonely in spite of all the good things that had
been showered upon her.
“I wish I could paddle in that brook down in the meadow, and I wish I
could see what’s growing in the woods,” said Polly, wistfully. “I guess
I’m not very much like Eleanor yet. I don’t suppose she ever wanted to
go barefoot.”
This was rather sorrowful, but after Mrs. Talcott had gone Miss Pomeroy
and Polly took a pleasant walk under the big oaks, and Miss Pomeroy
smiled, with pleasure, Polly thought, when she saw the book the little
girl had chosen. And after supper there was a delightful time in the
barn while Hiram milked. Altogether Polly felt modestly contented when
she got into bed that night. She had composed a short prayer, which she
added to her usual petitions:
“Dear Father in heaven,” prayed little Polly, “please make me just as
much like Eleanor as You think it’s best for me to be, for You know
all about her. Amen.”