"LET US FLY AT THOSE BOOKS"
"Now, Polly, in Antwerp," said Jasper, "we can see Rubens to
perfection. Won't we just revel in his paintings, though!"
"Won't we!" ejaculated Polly. "I'm so glad Grandpapa came here to this
hotel." She leaned out of the window as she spoke.
"Under the very eaves of the Cathedral, almost, isn't it?" said Jasper,
in satisfaction.
The chimes just then pealed out. Indeed, it seemed as if they did
nothing but ring, so short were the intervals. But to Polly and Jasper
they brought only echoes of delight.
"There are forty of those bells, aren't there?" asked Polly, resting
her elbows on the window-sill.
"I believe so," answered Jasper, absently. Polly looked at him
curiously.
"Polly," he said abruptly, "do you know what I mean to do?"
"No," said Polly; "tell me, do, Jasper."
"Well, I mean to sit right down and finish my book. I'm ashamed to
confess that it's not up to date."
"Neither is mine," confessed Polly.
"Well, now, that won't do," said Jasper, decidedly. "You see if we once
let those books get behindhand, we're lost. We never can catch up, in
all this world."
"We've had so much to do and to see," began Polly.
"That won't be any excuse that will amount to anything," said Jasper,
shaking his head. "Let's fly at them and tackle them now, Polly."
"I say so, too," she cried, and deserting the window, they surrounded
the centre-table, and soon had the big journals, photographs, and
pictures, of every sort and size, the ink bottle, and library paste,
scissors, and all the rest of the paraphernalia, spread out on it.
"It's good that Grandpapa is lying down and doesn't wish to go out,"
remarked Polly, snipping away at a fearful rate, and pausing only to
write down the dates and other bits of information around each picture,
as she pasted it in. "Now we'll have all this morning to finish these
books up to to-day."
"And none too much for the job," said Jasper, sagely. "I declare I
shall feel like enjoying myself twice as well, when once they're up to
date. They've been hanging round my conscience every day since I
slackened work on them."
"And I am so glad you made me come away from that window, and set to
work," said Polly, "or I never would have commenced on mine to-day."
"Oh, yes, you would, I think, Polly," said Jasper. "Well, we are at it
now, and that's enough. Now says I, I'm on book No. 2!" And he flapped
down the cover of the completed one. "That's done, thank fortune!"
"Oh, Jasper, have you the green one done?" asked Polly. "Why, I have
three more pages of mine to do."
"Well, you'll catch up on the red one, I dare say," said Jasper,
opening No. 2. "We are getting on famously, aren't we, Polly?" glancing
over at her work.
"Yes, and I'm so glad you proposed this way to keep a journal," said
Polly, "to have them labelled 'My Notes on My European Journey,' and to
have No. 1 green, and No. 2 red, and so on all through the rest of the
colours."
"That will help us to find them in a hurry," said Jasper, "and keep
them distinct; but I didn't propose it, Polly, about the books. It was
your plan as much as mine."
"No." Polly was guilty of contradicting. "I never should have thought
of having the books of different colours and labelling them in that
way, Jasper."
"Well, you first thought of cutting out pictures and all sorts of
items, and then writing the dates and whatever else we wanted to around
the pictures," said Jasper. "I'm sure that's more important than the
title of the book, Polly."
"Well, won't the boys love to see them," asked Polly, suddenly, with a
light in her eyes, ignoring the question as to her claim to the idea,
"when we get home, Jasper?"
"Won't they, though!" he responded, falling to work with a will.
And so Antwerp was entered with clear consciences as to journals, and a
strict determination not to fall behind again on them.
But Polly slipped in so many of the beautiful photographs of the
"Descent from the Cross," and the other two famous pictures by Rubens,
that her red book was closed the third day of their stay in the old
town of Antwerp; and the photographs had even overflowed into the
yellow book, No. 3.
They had a habit, most of their party, of dropping into the Cathedral
once a day at least, usually in the morning, and sometimes before
service. And then when it was quiet, and before the ordinary throng of
sight-seers trailed through, Jasper would hire some chairs of one of
the old women who always seem to be part and parcel of European
cathedrals; and they would sit down before the painting, its wings
spread over the dingy green background, and study what has made so many
countless travellers take long and oftentimes wearisome journeys to see.
And Polly always wanted to go after that to see the "Assumption," which
is the altar-piece, and then the "Elevation of the Cross," both by
Rubens. "And I am sure, Grandpapa," she would always say, "I like them
as well as I do the famous painting."
"And so do I, Polly, in a way," Grandpapa would invariably reply. "They
are all marvellous, and that is all we can say, for no expressions
could give the truth about them."
After the Cathedral, which they loved all the more,--"for being perched
under its eaves" (as Polly always said when speaking of the hotel that
was for the time being their home),--Polly and Jasper set next in their
regard the Musée Plantin-Moretus. They were never tired of running down
there to the Marché du Vendredi, until it became a regular question
every day at dinner, "Well, what more have you discovered at the Musée
Plantin?"
And old Mr. King would often answer, for he was as interested as the
young people, "Marvellous things." And then he would expatiate on the
antique furniture, the paintings, engravings, and tapestries, till the
little doctor, fresh from his hospital visitations, would remark that
it was just as good as if he had time to visit the place, to hear
Grandpapa tell it all. And Adela would bring out her little sketches,
which now she was not averse to showing, since everybody was so kind
and sympathising, and there would be some little nook or corner of
corridor or court that Polly would fall upon and pronounce, "Just
perfect, and how did you get it?"
"Oh, I just drew a bit now and then when you were looking at things,"
said Adela, carelessly.
"Everything just dances off your pencil," said Polly, wishing she could
draw, and wondering if it was any use for her to try to learn.
And every afternoon they would go to drive as usual, very often around
the docks, which gave them all a good idea of this wonderful port. They
were never tired of watching the hydraulic cranes, of inspecting the
dry docks; the intertwining railways by which all the docks, large and
small, are connected, and the two basins, Le Petit and Le Grand Bassin.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Jasper, on one of these occasions, "I thought
Amsterdam docks were huge affairs, but Antwerp!" And he left his
sentence in mid-air, which was more impressive after all.
But Parson Henderson liked the church of St. Jacques best of all things
in Antwerp, and he used to steal away mornings to go there again and
again. And he asked Polly and Jasper to go there with him one day, and
Polly begged to have Adela go too, and they all came home as
enthusiastic as he was.
And then suddenly Mr. King would wrench them all off from this
delightful study and put his foot down peremptorily. "No more
cathedrals for a time," he would declare; "my old head cannot carry any
more just yet." And he would propose a little in-letting of fun. And
then off they would go a-shopping, or to the Zoological Gardens; and
they always had concerts, of course, wherever they were, for Polly and
Jasper's sakes, if for no other reason. And by and by somebody
announced, one fine morning, that they had been in Antwerp a fortnight.
And then one day Mother Fisher looked into Polly's brown eyes, and
finding them tired, she calmly tucked Polly quietly in bed. "Why,
Mamsie," declared Polly, "I'm not sick."
"No, and I'm not going to have you be," observed Mrs. Fisher, sensibly.
"This running about sight-seeing is more tiresome, child, than you
think for, and dreadfully unsettling unless you stop to rest a bit. No,
Jasper," as he knocked at the door, "Polly can't go out to-day, at
least not this morning. I've put her to bed."
"Is Polly sick, Mrs. Fisher?" called Jasper, in great concern.
"No, not a bit," answered Mrs. Fisher, cheerily, "but she's tired. I've
seen it coming on for two or three days back, so I'm going to take it
in time."
"And can't she come out, to-day?" asked Jasper, dreadfully
disappointed, with a mind full of the host of fine things they had
planned to do.
"No, Jasper," said Mother Fisher, firmly, "not to jaunt about." So
Jasper took himself off, feeling sure, despite his disappointment, that
Polly's mother was right.
And there was another person who wholly agreed with Mother Fisher, and
that was old Mr. King. "If you can stop those young folks from killing
themselves running about to see everything, you'll do more than I can,
Mrs. Fisher," he observed. "It makes no difference how long I plan to
stay in a town, so as to do it restfully, if they won't rest."
"That is a fact," said Mother Fisher. "Well, that's my part to see that
they do rest."
"I don't envy you the job," said the old gentleman, drily.
Polly fidgeted and turned on her pillow, knowing Mamsie was right, but
unable to keep from thinking of the many beautiful plans that Jasper
and she had formed for that very morning, till her head spun round and
round. "I can't get to sleep," she said at last.
"Don't try to," said her mother, dropping the heavy wool curtains till
the room was quite dark; "that's the worst thing in the world to do, if
you want to rest. Just lie still and don't try to think of anything."
"But I can't help thinking," said poor Polly, feeling sure that Jasper
was dreadfully disappointed at the upsetting of all the plans.
"Never say you can't help anything, Polly," said her mother, coming
over to the bedside to lay a cool hand on Polly's hot forehead, and
then to drop a kiss there; and somehow the kiss did what all Polly's
trying had failed to accomplish.
"That's good, Mamsie," she said gratefully, and drew a long, restful
breath.
Mother Fisher went out and closed the door softly.
It was just three o'clock that afternoon when Polly woke up.
"Oh, I'm dreadfully ashamed!" she exclaimed when she found it out.
"I've slept almost this whole day!"
Mother Fisher smiled, "And it's the best day's work you've done in one
long while, Polly," she said.
"And here's my girl, Polly," cried Grandpapa, when she ran down to him,
and holding her at arm's length, he gazed into her bright eyes and on
her rosy cheeks. "Well, well, your mother's a clever woman, and no
mistake."
So Polly knew if she didn't take care and not get tired again, she
would be tucked into bed another fine day.
It was a long summer morning, and they were sailing up the Rhine, with
the delights of Brussels and Cologne behind them, and in between the
covers of the purple book, No. 4, Polly had been looking at ruined
castles and fortresses, at vine-clad terraces, and châlets, until she
turned to Grandpapa with a sigh.
"Tired, Polly, little woman?" he said, cuddling her up against him.
"No, not tired, Grandpapa," said Polly, "but, oh, there's so very much
of it over here in Europe."
"If you've found that out, you've learned the lesson early," said old
Mr. King, with a laugh. "As many times as I've been over here, there's
nothing that surprises me so much as the presumption with which we
travellers all rush about, expecting to compass all there is."
"But we ought to see everything," said Polly, "oughtn't we, Grandpapa,
when we've come so far to see it?" and she looked troubled.
"There's just where you are wrong, Polly, child," said old Mr. King.
"And this 'ought to see,' why, it's an old dragon, Polly, lying in wait
to destroy. Don't you let it get hold of you, but take my advice and
see only what you can make your own and remember. Then you've got it."