OUT IN THE SNOW
It was a snowy day, and Anne Marie was very happy.
She was sitting in one corner of the front room--Grand’mère with her
knitting in the opposite corner--holding Polly Perkins in her arms and
gently singing and rocking her to sleep.
Anne Marie enjoyed a peaceful little time like this. She liked to hear
the hiss of the snow against the window-pane. She liked the warm,
comfortable feel of Polly in her arms. Above all she liked to look down
into Polly’s smiling face because it always made Anne Marie feel like
smiling, too.
Now she gave her dolly a tight little hug, and gently placed a kiss on
Polly’s red lips.
‘Are you happy, Dearie?’ whispered Anne Marie. ‘I am. Oh, how I hope no
one ever comes to take you away from me.’
If Polly could only have spoken, without startling everybody and making
them jump, she would have answered truthfully that she was happy, too.
Anne Marie had loved her dearly from the very moment that she had first
seen Polly, and Polly with her tender heart had soon learned in her
turn to love Anne Marie.
But do not think for a moment that Polly had forgotten Patty King.
Patty was Polly’s own mother, as it were. She felt toward Anne Marie as
one might toward an aunt or a kind cousin or even an older sister or
friend. But she still hoped that some happy day she would find herself
back in Patty’s arms again.
In the meantime she meant to be as pleasant and as good a dolly as she
knew how. So she smiled sweetly and cuddled close as Anne Marie sang
softly and rocked her to and fro.
‘Il était un petit navire,
Il était un petit navire,
Qui n’avais jam--jam--jamais navigé,
Qui n’avais jam--jam--jamais navigé,’
sang Anne Marie.
‘Now I will tell you what the song is about, Polly,’ she went on. ‘It
is about a little ship that never, never went sailing on the sea.’
There is no doubt that Anne Marie would have told Polly more about this
little ship, but just at that moment the front-room door opened and
quite unexpectedly in walked Papa Durant. Usually at this hour of the
morning he was to be found in the kitchen, giving his orders for the
day and watching his bakers step briskly about under his keen eye. But
here he was, smiling and rubbing his hands together and even making a
little bow every now and then.
‘Come, Anne Marie,’ said Papa Durant, nodding at Grand’mère over Anne
Marie’s head and smiling his broadest smile. ‘Together we will go out
into the snow and visit the great toyshop near by. There you may choose
for yourself any toy that you wish. Any toy, I say. Now run for your
hat and coat. Do not keep me waiting, Anne Marie.’
Last night Papa Durant had gone to a wedding. Not as one of the
guests, oh, no! Far better than that. Papa Durant had baked the cakes
for the wedding, all the little fancy cakes that were to be eaten with
ice-cream, and also the great white wedding cake that held the place
of honor in the very center of the table, with a tiny bride and groom
standing arm in arm on top. Peeping from behind the door, Papa Durant
had actually seen the bride stand and cut the beautiful wedding cake
into generous slices, and had heard the guests on every side say that
never before had they tasted such delicious cake.
So this morning Papa Durant felt very happy, and naturally enough he
wanted to make Anne Marie happy too.
Through the whirling, twirling snowflakes they trudged hand in hand
to the great store near by, that was really two stores connected by a
little bridge high in the air. And there, in the busy, bustling toy
department, crowded with Christmas shoppers, for ‘Noel,’ as Anne Marie
called it, was not many days away, and, surrounded by every kind of a
toy that ever was invented, Anne Marie made her choice.
What did she choose, do you think? A sled! A gay yellow-and-red sled,
with its name ‘Lightning Flash’ painted in bold black letters on the
seat.
Why, out of all these hundreds and hundreds of toys, did Anne Marie
choose a sled? I will tell you. It was because she saw two little boys
buying a sled exactly like the one she later chose. And they were so
happy and excited and smiling over their purchase that Anne Marie felt
that a sled was the very finest toy that any one could have.
So the sled was bought, and Anne Marie rode home in triumph on it,
drawn by Papa Durant, who then disappeared into the kitchen and left
Anne Marie to play alone.
Not really alone, however, for up in one front window sat Grand’mère,
nodding and smiling out at Anne Marie, and in the other window was
perched Polly Perkins, who couldn’t have looked more interested if she
had been a real little girl. Once, too, Maman actually stepped out of
her golden cage for a moment and waved her hand and blew a kiss as she
watched Anne Marie run up and down the street.
By-and-by it stopped snowing, and then Polly Perkins came out for a
ride. Snugly wrapped in the pink-and-blue tufted coverlet she rode
smilingly up and down, lying flat on the sled, staring up at the sky,
and enjoying it all without any doubt.
Anne Marie enjoyed it too. She grew so bold that she could run and
slide with the sled, run and slide again. It was great fun.
But presently along came a dog, a brown shaggy dog, who wore a collar
ornamented by a bell. The dog thought it was fun, too, to run after
the sled. He ran and barked, ran and barked, and every now and then he
would jump up in the air and whirl around in the snow, he felt so happy
and gay.
He didn’t dream for a moment that Anne Marie was afraid of him, but
she was. She ran so fast up the street and even round the corner to
get away from the dog that the sled swung from side to side. It bumped
about, it twisted to and fro.
Finally the dog, with one last joyous bark and whirl, trotted off to
tell his nearest neighbor, a white, fluffy dog, who only walked out on
a leash, what a pleasant time he had had playing in the snow.
Then Anne Marie, stopping to catch her breath, turned about and
discovered that Polly Perkins was gone! The sled was empty, and along
the whole length of the long city block Polly was not to be seen.
This was too dreadful! Anne Marie pressed her red-mittened hands
together hard. What should she do? She wanted to sit down on the sled
and cry, but she knew that was not the way to find Polly Perkins.
To and fro ran Anne Marie in the snow, hunting for Polly Perkins. Up
and down the street she went again and again, looking from side to
side. But her search was in vain. Polly was not lying in the snow. She
had not been tossed out into the street. There was not a trace left of
Polly Perkins. There was not a glimpse to be seen of her pretty pink
dress nor of the tufted pink-and-blue coverlet in which she had been so
warmly wrapped. Anne Marie could scarcely believe it, but it was true.
Polly was gone.
Anne Marie went home in tears. They rolled so fast down her cheeks that
the gay red mittens could not wipe them away. And once home she could
hardly tell what had happened, she was so choked with sobs.
Every one was sorry for Anne Marie. Papa Durant left his baking, though
there were pastries in the oven, and went out to look for Polly Perkins
in the snow. Maman drew Anne Marie into the golden cage, and, smoothing
back her curls, not only whispered that Noel was near and that the
little Noel might possibly place another bébé in Anne Marie’s shoe,
but she also slipped a rich yellow sponge cake into the little girl’s
hand.
‘Do not weep, Anne Marie. The Saints will bring back your bébé,’
declared Grand’mère, so distressed at Anne Marie’s sorrow that she
dropped three stitches in her knitting, a thing she had never been
known to do before.
Then Grand’mère laid aside her knitting and took Anne Marie upon her
lap, and told her the fairy story of the White Cat, without once
stopping to go and prepare the evening soup.
But even all this kindness could not console Anne Marie for the loss of
Polly Perkins.
Sadly the bright new red-and-yellow sled was left standing in the lower
hall behind the door to the street. Anne Marie could play no more that
day. Her heart was too heavy.
When at last bedtime came and Anne Marie in her nightgown knelt at
Grand’mère’s knee, her prayer was very short.
‘May the Good God and all the Saints remember how lonely I am and
please send Polly Perkins home to me again,’ prayed little Anne Marie.