POLLY LAUNCHES HER SHIPS.
There were great doings in the Birds Nest.
A hundred dainty circulars, printed in black and scarlet on Irish linen
paper, had been sent to those ladies on Mrs. Bird's calling-list who
had children between the ages of five and twelve, that being Polly's
chosen limit of age.
These notes of invitation read as follows:--
"Come, tell us a story!"
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.
Mrs. Donald Bird requests the pleasure of your company from 4.30 to
5.30 o'clock on Mondays or Thursdays from November to March inclusive.
FIRST GROUP: Mondays. Children from 5 to 8 years.
SECOND GROUP: Thursdays. " " 8 " 12 years.
Each group limited in number to twenty-four.
Miss Pauline Oliver will tell stories suitable to the ages of the
children, adapted to their prevailing interests, and appropriate to the
special months of the year.
These stories will be chosen with the greatest care, and will embrace
representative tales of all classes,--narrative, realistic, scientific,
imaginative, and historical. They will be illustrated by songs and
black-board sketches. Terms for the Series (Twenty Hours), Five
Dollars.
R.S.V.P.
Polly felt an absolute sense of suffocation as she saw Mrs. Bird seal
and address the last square envelope.
"If anybody does come," she said, somewhat sadly, "I am afraid it will
be only that the story hour is at your lovely house."
"Don't be so foolishly independent, my child. If I gather the groups,
it is only you who will be able to hold them together. I am your
manager, and it is my duty to make the accessories as perfect as
possible. When the scenery and costumes and stage-settings are
complete, you enter and do the real work, I retire, and the sole
responsibility for success or failure rests upon your shoulders; I
should think that would be enough to satisfy the most energetic young
woman. I had decided on the library as the scene of action; an open
fire is indispensable, and that room is delightfully large when the
centre-table is lifted out: but I am afraid it is hardly secluded
enough, and that people might trouble you by coming in; so what do you
think of the music-room upstairs? You will have your fire, your piano,
plenty of space, and a private entrance for the chicks, who can lay
their wraps in the hall as they pass up. I will take the large Turkish
rug from the red guest-chamber,--that will make the room look
warmer,--and I have a dozen other charming devices which I will give
you later as surprises."
"If I were half as sure of my part as I am of yours, dear Fairy
Godmother, we should have nothing to fear. I have a general plan
mapped out for the stories, but a great deal of the work will have to
be done from week to week, as I go on. I shall use the same programme
in the main for both groups, but I shall simplify everything and
illustrate more freely for the little ones, telling the historical and
scientific stories with much more detail to the older group. This is
what Mr. Bird calls my 'basic idea,' which will be filled out from week
to week according to inspiration. For November, I shall make autumn,
the harvest, and Thanksgiving the starting-point. I am all ready with
my historical story of 'The First Thanksgiving,' for I told it at the
Children's Hospital last year, and it went beautifully.
"I have one doll dressed in Dutch costume, to show how the children
looked that the little Pilgrims played with in Holland; and another
dressed like a Puritan maiden, to show them the simple old New England
gown. Then I have two fine pictures of Miles Standish and the Indian
chief Massasoit.
"For December and January I shall have Christmas and winter, and frost
and ice and snow, with the contrasts of eastern and Californian
climates."
"I can get the Immigration Bureau to give you a percentage on that
story, Polly," said Uncle Jack Bird, who had strolled in and taken a
seat. "Just make your facts strong enough, and you can make a handsome
thing out of that idea."
"Don't interrupt us, Jack," said Mrs. Bird; "and go directly out, if
you please. You were not asked to this party."
"Where was I?" continued Polly. "Oh yes,--the contrast between
Californian and eastern winters; and January will have a moral story or
two, you know,--New Year's resolutions, and all that. February will be
full of sentiment and patriotism,--St. Valentine's Day and Washington's
Birthday,--I can hardly wait for that, there are so many lovely things
to do in that month. March will bring in the first hint of spring.
The winds will serve for my science story; and as it chances to be a
presidential year, we will celebrate Inauguration Day, and have some
history, if a good many subscribers come in."
"Why do you say 'if,' Polly? Multitudes of names are coming in. I
have told you so from the beginning."
"Very well, then; when a sufficient number of names are entered, I
should like to spend ten dollars on a very large sand-table, which I
can use with the younger group for illustrations. It is perfectly
clean work, and I have helped Miss Denison and her children to do the
loveliest things with it. She makes geography lessons,--plains, hills,
mountains, valleys, rivers, and lakes; or the children make a picture
of the story they have just heard. I saw them do 'Over the River and
through the Wood to Grandfather's House we go,' 'Washington's Winter
Camp at Valley Forge,' and 'The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.' I have
ever so many songs chosen, and those for November and December are
almost learned without my notes. I shall have to work very hard to be
ready twice a week!"
"Too hard, I fear," said Mrs. Bird anxiously.
"Oh, no; not a bit too hard! If the children are only interested, I
shall not mind any amount of trouble. By the way, dear Mrs. Bird, you
won't let the nurses or mothers stand in the doorways? You will please
see that I am left quite alone with the children, won't you?"
"Certainly; no mothers shall be admitted, if they make you nervous; it
is the children's hour. But after two or three months, when you have
all become acquainted, and the children are accustomed to listening
attentively, I almost hope you will allow a few nurses to come in and
sit in the corners,--the ones who bring the youngest children, for
example; it would be such a means of education to them. There 's
another idea for you next year,--a nurses' class in story-telling."
"It would be rather nice, would n't it?--and I should be older then,
and more experienced. I really think I could do it, if Miss Denison
would help me by talks and instructions. She will be here next year.
Oh, how the little plan broadens out!"
"And, Polly, you have chosen to pay for your circulars, and propose to
buy your sand-table. This I agree to, if you insist upon it; though
why I shouldn't help my godchild I cannot quite understand. But
knowing you were so absorbed in other matters that you would forget the
frivolities, and remembering that you have been wearing the same two
dresses for months, I have ventured to get you some pretty gowns for
the 'story hours,' and I want you to accept them for your Christmas
present. They will serve for all your 'afternoons' and for our home
dinners, as you will not be going out anywhere this winter."
"Oh, how kind you are, Mrs. Bird! You load me with benefits, and how
can I ever repay you?"
"You do not have to repay them to me necessarily, my child; you can
pass them over, as you will be constantly doing, to all these groups of
children, day after day. I am a sort of stupid, rich old lady who
serves as a source of supply. My chief brilliancy lies in devising
original methods of getting rid of my surplus in all sorts of odd and
delightful ways, left untried, for the most part, by other people. I
've been buying up splendid old trees in the outskirts of certain New
England country towns,--trees that were in danger of being cut down for
wood. Twenty-five to forty dollars buys a glorious tree, and it is
safe for ever and ever to give shade to the tired traveler and beauty
to the landscape. Each of my boys has his pet odd scheme for helping
the world to 'go right.' Donald, for instance, puts stamps on the
unstamped letters displayed in the Cambridge post-office, and sends
them spinning on their way. He never receives the thanks of the
careless writers, but he takes pleasure in making things straight.
Paul writes me from Phillips Academy that this year he is sending the
nine Ruggles children (a poor family of our acquaintance) to some sort
of entertainment once every month. Hugh has just met a lovely girl who
has induced him to help her maintain a boarding establishment for sick
and deserted cats and dogs; and there we are!"
"But I 'm a young, strong girl, and I fear I 'm not so worthy an object
of charity as a tree, an unstamped letter, an infant Ruggles, or a
deserted cat! Still, I know the dresses will be lovely, and I had
quite forgotten that I must be clothed in purple and fine linen for
five months to come. It would have been one of my first thoughts last
year, I am afraid; but lately this black dress has shut everything else
from my sight."
"It was my thought that you should give up your black dress just for
these occasions, dear, and wear something more cheerful for the
children's sake. The dresses are very simple, for I 've heard you say
you can never tell a story when you are 'dressed up,' but they will
please you, I know. They will be brought home this evening, and you
must slip them all on, and show yourself to us in each."
They would have pleased anybody, even a princess, Polly thought, as she
stood before her bed that evening patting the four pretty new waists,
and smoothing with childlike delight the folds of the four pretty
skirts. It was such an odd sensation to have four dresses at a time!
They were of simple and inexpensive materials, as was appropriate; but
Mrs. Bird's exquisite taste and feeling for what would suit Polly's
personality made them more attractive than if they had been rich or
expensive.
There was a white China silk, with belt and shoulder-knots of black
velvet; a white Japanese crepe, with purple lilacs strewed over its
surface, and frills of violet ribbon for ornament; a Christmas dress of
soft, white camel's hair, with bands of white-fox fur round the
slightly pointed neck and elbow-sleeves; and, last of all, a Quaker
gown of silver-gray nun's cloth, with a surplice and full undersleeves
of white crêpe-lisse.
"I 'm going to be vain, Mrs. Bird!" cried Polly, with compunction in
her voice. "I 've never had a real beautiful, undyed, un-made-over
dress in my whole life, and I shall never have strength of character to
own four at once without being vain!"
This speech was uttered through the crack of the library door, outside
of which Polly stood, gathering courage to walk in and be criticised.
"Think of your aspiring nose, Sapphira!" came from a voice within.
"Oh, are you there too, Edgar?"
"Of course I am, and so is Tom Mills. The news that you are going to
'try on' is all over the neighborhood! If you have cruelly fixed the
age limit so that we can't possibly get in to the performances, we are
going to attend all the dress rehearsals. Oh, ye little fishes! what a
seraphic Sapphira! I wish Tony were here!"
She was pretty, there was no doubt about it, as she turned around like
a revolving wax figure in a show-window, and assumed absurd
fashion-plate attitudes; and pretty chiefly because of the sparkle,
intelligence, sunny temper, and vitality that made her so magnetic.
Nobody could decide which was the loveliest dress, even when she had
appeared in each one twice. In the lilac and white crepe, with a bunch
of dark Parma violets thrust in her corsage, Uncle Jack called her a
poem. Edgar asserted openly that in the Christmas toilet he should
like to have her modeled in wax and put in a glass case on his table;
but Mrs. Bird and Tom Mills voted for the Quaker gray, in which she
made herself inexpressibly demure by braiding her hair in two discreet
braids down her back.
"The dress rehearsal is over. Good-night all!" she said, as she took
her candle. "I will say 'handsome is as handsome does' fifty times
before I go to sleep, and perhaps--I only say perhaps--I may be used to
my beautiful clothes in a week or two, so that I shall be my usual
modest self again."
"Good-night, Polly," said the boys; "we will see you to-morrow."
"'Pauline,' if you please, not 'Polly.' I ceased to be Polly this
morning when the circulars were posted. I am now Miss Pauline Oliver,
story-teller by profession."