"Polly," said Jasper, running down the stairs after her, on her way to
the little garden on the terrace at Heidelberg, "here's something for
you; just came in the mail."
"For me," said Polly, as he put a little parcel in her hand.
"Yes," said Jasper, "father just gave it to me."
"What can it be!" cried Polly, wonderingly; "oh, something from Alexia
or one of the other girls, most likely," and she tore off the outer
wrapper.
"It is registered," said Jasper, "and Mr. Henderson got it out for you,
father said; that can't be from one of the girls, Polly," as the next
layer of paper dropping off, disclosed the name of one of the biggest
of big London jewellers across a wooden box.
"What can it be!" gasped Polly, tugging at the cover.
"Here--let me." Jasper essayed to open it, but it stuck fast in the
slide. Another pull, and a little red leather case appeared in view.
"What in the world--" began Polly; "oh, it can't be for me!" and she
stood staring at it, without any attempt to take it out.
"It must be for you, Polly," said Jasper. "There couldn't be any other
Miss Mary Pepper, and besides it is addressed to father's care, and
comes through our bankers,--see here." He stooped, and picked up the
outer wrapper; it was torn almost in two, but the name and address was
all there.
So Polly lifted out the little red leather case, still feeling very
much as if she were opening a parcel belonging to some one else, and
touching a spring at the end, the top flew up, and there on a white
satin bed lay a little green enamelled watch set with diamonds.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, tumbling back in the utmost distress,
"now I _have_ got some one else's box, Jasper. How very dreadful!"
"Let us go to father," said Jasper, feeling this quite beyond him.
"Shut the box up tight, Polly; it might tumble out on the way."
"You carry it, do, Jasper," begged Polly, with an eye askance at the
little case; and snapping the cover down, she set it in his hand.
"All right, now, then," said Jasper. "We must carry these papers, and
wooden box, and the whole business. Don't worry, Polly," seeing her
face, "father will straighten it out."
"Give me the wrapper, Jasper, and the wooden box, if only you'll take
the other," said Polly, feeling very much depressed at coming into
possession of other people's property; and Jasper followed with the
little enamelled watch.
And Grandpapa was just as much astounded as was Polly herself; and all
the family congregating in Mother Fisher's room, the little watch was
handed about from one to the other, and everybody stared at everybody
else, and the mystery thickened every moment. And the strangest thing
about it was that no one opened the little back cover where any one
might have read:--
"Polly Pepper, from her grateful friend, Arthur Selwyn."
--until the middle of the night, when Jasper was awakened by a noise as
if some one were prowling around in his father's room. He started up
and listened.
"It's I," said old Mr. King's voice. So Jasper threw on his wrapper,
and hurried in. There sat his father, in dressing-gown and slippers, by
the table, with the little enamelled watch in his hand.
"Of all the idiots, Jasper," he exclaimed, "your father is the very
worst. I've only just this moment thought to look in here." He flashed
the little watch around in Jasper's face; it was now opened at the back.
"Dear me!" cried Jasper, for want of anything better to say, as he read
the inscription. Then he looked helplessly at his father.
"Earl or no earl, this piece of foolishness goes back," fumed old Mr.
King, getting out of his chair, and beginning to march back and forth
across the floor as he always did when irritated. "Yes, sir, the very
first thing in the morning," he repeated, as vehemently as if Jasper
had contradicted him.
"But, father--" began the boy.
"Yes, sir, it goes back, I tell you," repeated his father, now well
wrought up to a passion. "What right has he to send such a piece of
foolishness to my Polly Pepper? I can give her all the watches she
needs. And this trumpery," pointing to the jewelled gift still lying in
Jasper's hand, "is utterly unfit for a schoolgirl. You know that
yourself, Jasper."
"But Polly was kind to him," began Jasper, again.
"Kind to him!" snorted his father, "don't I know that? Of course she
was. Polly Pepper would be kind to any one. But that's no reason why
the old idiot should presume to give her such a silly and expensive
present as that. The man doesn't know anything who would do such a
thing. And this one is queerer than the average."
"As you say, he is eccentric," observed Jasper, seeing here a loophole
by which to get in a soothing word.
"Eccentric? That's a mild way to put it," fumed his father. "He's odder
than Dick's hatband. Heaven save Old England if many of her earls are
like him. Well, I shall just write the fellow a decent sort of a note,
and then I'll pack the box off to him, and that'll be the end of the
matter."
"I'm afraid Polly will be sorry," said Jasper, feeling at a standstill
so far as finding the right word was concerned, for everything he
uttered only seemed to make matters worse. So he said the best thing he
could think of, and stopped short.
"Sorry?" Old Mr. King came to a dead stop and glared at him. "You can't
mean that Polly Pepper would like me to keep that watch. It's the last
thing on earth that she would want, such a gewgaw as that. Why, the
child hates the sight of it already as much as I do."
"I don't think Polly would want the watch," said Jasper, quickly. "I
know she doesn't like it, and I'm sure I wish I could smash it myself,"
he added in a burst.
"That's the most sensible thing you've said yet, Jasper," said his
father, with a grim smile.
"But she would feel dreadfully for you to send it back, for don't you
see, father, that would hurt his feelings? And Polly would worry
awfully to have that happen."
Old Mr. King turned uneasily, took a few steps, then came back to throw
himself into his chair again.
"And this old gentleman has such ill attacks," said Jasper, pursuing
his advantage, "that it might be the very thing to bring one on if he
should get that watch back."
"Say no more, say no more, Jasper," said his father, shortly; "put this
thing up for tonight, and then get back to bed again." And Jasper knew
that was the end of it.
And the next day Polly wrote a nice little note, thanking the old earl
for his gift, and hoping that he was quite well; and with so many other
pleasant things in it, that if she could have seen him when he received
it, she would have been glad indeed. And then she handed the little red
leather case to Mr. King. "Keep it for me, Grandpapa," she said simply.
"All right, Polly, my child," he said. And then everybody forgot all
about the episode and proceeded to enjoy Heidelberg.
"I'm so sorry for people who are not going to Bayreuth, Adela!"
exclaimed Polly, looking out of the compartment window, as the train
steamed rapidly on from Nuremberg where they had passed several days of
delight revelling in the old town.
Adela, with her mind more on those past delights, had less attention
for thoughts of music, so she answered absently, "Yes. Oh, Polly,
wasn't that Pentagonal Tower fine? What is it they call it in German?"
But Polly didn't hear, being absorbed in the Wagner festival of which
her mind was full, so Jasper answered for her. "Alt-Nuenberg, you mean,
the oldest building of all Nuremberg."
"Yes," said Adela, "well, I got two or three sketches of that tower."
"Did you?" cried Jasper, "now that's good."
"And I got that horrible old robber-knight,--what's his name?--sitting
inside his cell, you know."
"Eppelein von Gallingen," supplied Jasper. "Well, he was a
horrible-looking customer, and that's a fact."
"Oh, I liked him," said Adela, who rejoiced in ugly things if only
picturesque, "and I got into one corner of the cell opposite him, so as
to sketch it all as well as I could in such a dark place, and a lady
came down the little stairs; you remember them."
"I rather think I do," said Jasper, grimly. "I was trying to get out of
the way of a huge party of tourists, and I nearly broke my neck."
"Well, this lady came down the stairs. I could see her where I sat, but
she couldn't see me, it was so dark in the cell; and she called to her
husband--I guess he was her husband, because he looked so _triste_."
Adela often fell into French, from being so long at the Paris school,
and not from affectation in the least. "And she said, 'Come, Henry, let
us see what is in there.' And she took one step in, and peered into
that robber-knight's face; you know how he is sitting on a little
stool, his black hair all round his face, staring at one."
"Yes, I do," said Jasper; "he was uncanny enough, and in the darkness,
his wax features, or whatever they were made of, were unpleasantly
natural to the last degree."
"Well," said Adela, "the lady gave a little squeal, and tumbled right
back into her husband's arms. And I guess she stepped on his toes, for
he squealed, too, though in a different way, and he gave her a little
push and told her not to be a goose, that the man had been dead a
thousand years more or less and couldn't hurt her. So then she stepped
back, awfully scared though, I could see that, and then she caught
sight of me, and she squealed again and jumped, and she screamed right
out, 'Oh, there's another in there, in the corner, and it glared at
me.' And I didn't glare at all," finished Adela, in disdain. "And then
I guess he was scared, too, for he said, 'That old cell isn't worth
seeing, anyway, and I'm going down into the torture chamber,' and they
hurried off."
"That torture chamber!" exclaimed Jasper; "how any one can hang over
those things, I don't see; for my part, I'd rather have my time
somewhere else."
"Oh, I like them," said Adela, in great satisfaction, "and I've got a
picture of the 'Iron Virgin.'"
"That was a good idea, to put the old scold into that wooden tub
concern," said Jasper; "there was some sense in that. I took a picture
of it, and the old tower itself. I got a splendid photograph of it, if
it will only develop well," he added. "Oh, but the buildings--was ever
anything so fine as those old Nuremberg houses, with their high-peaked
gables! I have quantities of them--thanks to my kodak."
"What's this station, I wonder?" asked Polly, as the train slowed up.
Two ladies on the platform made a sudden dash at their compartment.
"All full," said the guard, waving them off.
"That was Fanny Vanderburgh," gasped Polly.
"And her mother," added Jasper.
"Who was it?" demanded old Mr. King.
His consternation, when they told him, was so great, that Jasper racked
his brains some way to avoid the meeting.
"If once we were at Bayreuth, it's possible that we might not come
across them, father, for we could easily be lost in the crowd."
"No such good luck," groaned old Mr. King, which was proved true. For
the first persons who walked into the hotel, as the manager was giving
directions that the rooms reserved for their party should be shown
them, were Mrs. Vanderburgh and her daughter.
"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Vanderburgh, as if her dearest friends were before
her, "how glad I am to see you again, dear Mr. King, and you all." She
swept Mrs. Fisher and Mrs. Henderson lightly in her glance as if
toleration only were to be observed toward them. "We have been
perfectly _désolée_ without you, Polly, my dear," she went on, with a
charming smile. "Fanny will be happy once more. She has been
disconsolate ever since we parted, I assure you."
Polly made some sort of a reply, and greeted Fanny, as of old times, on
the steamer; but Mrs. Vanderburgh went on, all smiles and eagerness--so
rapidly in her friendly intentions, that it boded ill for the future
peace of Mr. King's party. So Mr. King broke into the torrent of words
at once, without any more scruple. "And now, Mrs. Vanderburgh, if you
will excuse us, we are quite tired, and are going to our rooms." And he
bowed himself off, and of course his family followed; the next moment
Fanny and her mother were alone.
"If this is to be the way," said Mrs. Vanderburgh, with a savage little
laugh, "we might much better have stayed in Paris, for I never should
have thought, as you know, Fanny, of coming to this out-of-the-way
place, seeing that I don't care for the music, if I hadn't heard them
say on the steamer that this was their date here."
"Well, I wish that I was at home," declared Fanny, passionately, "and I
never, never will come to Europe, Mamma, again as long as I live. You
are always chasing after people who run away from you, and those who
like me, you won't let me speak to."
"Well, I shall be thankful for the day when you are once in society,"
said her mother, every shred of self-control now gone; "and I shall
sell my tickets for this old Wagner festival, and go back to Paris
to-morrow morning."
At that, Fanny broke into a dismal fit of complaining, which continued
all the time they were dressing for dinner, and getting settled in
their room, and then at intervals through that meal.
Polly looked over at her gloomy face, three tables off, and her own
fell.
"You are not eating anything, child," said Grandpapa, presently, with a
keen glance at her. "Let me order something more."
"Oh, no, Grandpapa," and "yes, I will," she cried, incoherently, making
a great effort to enjoy the nice things he piled on her plate.
Jasper followed her glance as it rested on the Vanderburgh table. "They
will spoil everything," he thought. "And to think it should happen at
Bayreuth."
"Yes, we are going," said Fanny Vanderburgh as they met after dinner in
the corridor. Her eyes were swollen, and she twisted her handkerchief
in her fingers. "And I did--did--did--" here she broke down and
sobbed--"so want to hear the Wagner operas."
"Don't cry," begged Polly, quite shocked. "Oh, Fanny, why can't you
stay? How very dreadful to lose the Wagner music!" Polly could think of
no worse calamity that could befall one.
"Mamma doesn't know anybody here except your party," mumbled Fanny,
"and she's upset, and declares that we must go back to Paris to-morrow.
Oh, Polly Pepper, I hate Paris," she exploded. And then sobbed worse
than ever.
"Wait here," said Polly, "till I come back." Then she ran on light feet
to Grandpapa, just settling behind a newspaper in a corner of the
general reading room.
"Grandpapa, dear, may I speak to you a minute?" asked Polly, with a
woful feeling at her heart. It seemed as if he must hear it beating.
"Why, yes, child, to be sure," said Mr. King, quite surprised at her
manner. "What is it?" and he laid aside his paper and smiled
reassuringly.
But Polly's heart sank worse than ever. "Grandpapa," she began
desperately, "Fanny Vanderburgh is feeling dreadfully."
"And I should think she would with such a mother," exclaimed the old
gentleman, but in a guarded tone. "Well, what of it, Polly?"
"Grandpapa," said Polly, "she says her mother is going to take her back
to Paris tomorrow morning."
"How very fine!" exclaimed Mr. King, approvingly; "that is the best
thing I have heard yet. Always bring me such good news, Polly, and I
will lay down my newspapers willingly any time." And he gave a pleased
little laugh.
"But, Grandpapa--" and Polly's face drooped, and there was such a sad
little note in her voice, that the laugh dropped out of his. "Fanny
wanted above all things to hear the Wagner operas--just think of losing
those!" Polly clasped her hands, and every bit of colour flew from her
cheek.
"Well, what can I do about it?" asked the old gentleman, in a great
state of perturbation. "Speak out, child, and tell me what you want."
"Only if I can be pleasant to Fanny," said Polly, a wave of colour
rushing over her face. "I mean if I may go with her? Can I, Grandpapa,
this very evening, just as if--" she hesitated.
"As if what, Polly?"
"As if we all liked them," finished Polly, feeling as if the words must
be said.
There was an awful pause in which Polly had all she could do to keep
from rushing from the room. Then Grandpapa said, "If you can stand it,
Polly, you may do as you like, but I warn you to keep them away from
me." And he went back to his paper.