COUSINS
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.