“TEN LITTLE GIRLS” AND SARDIS MERRIFIELD
Polly and Lilith did not go to Overlook the next morning. What was the
use, Polly said. The expected guest might have been so delayed that
he could not come for several days. He would doubtless telegraph. And
Lilith agreed with her. Dolly Merrifield said nothing; she only smiled,
and sighed a sorry little sigh that Polly did not hear, so very soft it
was. Nevertheless, the “hospital force,” as Lilith called the grown-up
members of the family, did not wander far from the house.
“We must hang around and watch for a telegram,” laughed Polly.
But no word came--and no Sardis, either. The waiting grew tedious.
“It is getting on that child’s nerves,” fretted the White Nurse.
“She’ll make herself sick with worrying.”
Benedicta ran to the window every time she caught the whir of a motor
car, no matter what she was doing.
“He must be a very vacillating gentleman,” she commented, “not to do
one thing or the other--I’d do something, if I were him!”
“I think he does one thing pretty thoroughly,” returned Dr. Abbe,
coming up on the kitchen piazza in time for the housekeeper’s remark.
“He certainly stays away and keeps us guessing.”
“He keeps me guessin’ what I’ll get to eat,” sniffed Benedicta. “I make
something ’specially good, an’ then we eat every scrap, and that’s the
way it keeps goin’. If he don’t arrive pretty soon, I shan’t care if he
doesn’t have any eats at all.”
The Doctor passed on with a generous tribute to her cooking, and the
advice not to expect “the minister” until he came.
Polly heard, smiled, and went on thinking of Dolly. Something must be
done to interest the sorrowing little girl.
“After dinner we’ll go up in the woods,” Polly said, “and I’ll tell
stories, and then we’ll have supper up there.”
All the little folks were smiling eagerly before Polly had finished
planning aloud. Even Dolly Merrifield was mildly excited.
So up in the woods they went. Those that could not walk rode in
wheel-chairs or in somebody’s arms, and when every one was comfortable
the story-telling began.
They had heard about “How the Swallows Went to Bed,” “The Golden Horse”
who told which way the wind blew and who after much trouble came at
last to his own, and “Mother Graygobble’s Children” whose lives were
saved by their parent’s wit and wisdom, when Benedicta appeared with
her crocheting.
“Don’t stop for me,” she told Polly. “It was too lonesome with you all
up here. I locked up, ’cause I knew you’d ask me.”
“You don’t think there’s any danger in leaving the house quite alone,
do you?” inquired the White Nurse anxiously.
Benedicta laughed. “It’s safe as Sunday,” she answered. “I’ve set a
chair right in front of the front door, and anybody that knows me knows
that means nobody’s home.”
“Oh, but, Benedicta,” the White Nurse protested, “if a tramp should
come along, it would tell him there isn’t a soul in the house, and he’d
steal everything he could lay hold of!”
“Tramp!” scorned the housekeeper. “Never but a solitary one ever did
meander up here, an’ he’d lost his way and was on the road back when
Young Ben met him.”
“I think there is not the slightest danger,” Polly reassured those that
had begun to look worried.
“Do tell another story!” pleaded Jozy.
“About the twin that didn’t know himself!” suggested Grissel.
“Oh, no!” cried Timmy; “let’s have that one about the boy who killed
the big wolf and got the money to go to school with.”
“No, don’t!” shivered Muriel. “Please tell about the Ten Little Girls
and Mr. Cross.”
“We will put it to vote,” said Polly. “Those in favor of the Ten Little
Girls, say ‘I.’”
“That sounds like more than ten little girls,” she smiled, clapping
her hands to her ears, as the chorus of shrill voices rang through the
woods.
All but two or three settled themselves with content, as the
story-teller started in the good old-fashioned way.
“Once upon a time ten little girls were on their way home from school.
There were Eunice and Lucy and Jane and Susan and Nancy and Martha and
Ruth, besides the three Marys--Mary Fox, Mary Lyon, and Mary Lamb.
“Mary Fox was talking.
“‘Let’s go over in the pasture and see those dear little lambs,’ she
said.
“‘Oh, I’m afraid of the sheep!’ gasped Susan.
“‘They won’t hurt you,’ Ruth assured her. ‘Come!’
“The three Marys were already over the fence. The rest followed, timid
Susan at the end of the line.
“For an instant the sheep stared at their visitors; then the leader
turned suddenly and vaulted a low stone wall into another field, and
the rest dashed after him. It was over in a minute, and the sheep
pasture was left in sole possession of the ten little girls.
“They looked at one another with frightened eyes.
“‘I wish we hadn’t come,’ mourned Mary Lamb, and the nine others said
that they wished they had not come, too.
“‘What will Mr. Cross say!’ cried Jane. ‘Jim Tucker says he is just
like his name--Oh, dear! oh, dear!’
“‘Oh, dear! oh, dear!’ echoed the nine others.
“‘Maybe the sheep will run away and never come back,’ said Nancy.
“‘Maybe!’ agreed the rest.
“‘I think we ought to go and tell Mr. Cross,’ ventured Mary Lamb.
“‘Oh, I don’t dare!’ Mary Lyon said.
“‘I don’t dare, either,’ said Mary Fox.
“And the seven others said that they did not dare, too.
“‘I dare,’ said Mary Lamb. ‘Anyway, if I don’t dare, I’ll go if you’ll
all go with me.’
“The nine agreed to go; so they climbed back over the fence and they
turned down the road that led to Mr. Cross’s home.
“Mr. Cross was sitting on the back piazza and when he saw the ten
little girls coming round the corner of the house a big smile spread
over his face.
“‘Well, well, well!’ he said. ‘Have you all come to call on me? Let’s
see--ten of you! Well, well, I’ll have to get some chairs, won’t I?’
“Mary Lamb, with a very scared face, said that they could not stay to
sit down, and then she told about the sheep and how they had run away.
“The smile on Mr. Cross’s face had been growing bigger and bigger,
until now it broke into a funny, chuckling laugh that made Mr. Cross
shake all over.
“‘Well, well!’ he ejaculated. ‘So the whole flock jumped over the wall,
did they? Well, I can’t blame ’em much. Why, when I was a boy, if I
had seen ten little girls coming to get acquainted with me, I’d have
jumped over a stone wall myself. Ho, ho, ho!’ And Mr. Cross laughed and
laughed, until the ten little girls would have laughed, too, only they
could not quite, they were so scared.
“‘We’re so sorry!’ said Mary Lamb.
“‘Yes, we’re so sorry!’ said the nine others.
“‘It was all my fault,’ confessed Mary Fox bravely. ‘And, oh! do you
suppose they are lost forever ’n’ ever?’
“‘You come and see,’ chuckled Mr. Cross. Then he took his hat down from
a peg, and he and the ten little girls went back to the pasture.
“Over the fence they scrambled, and Mr. Cross took a little whistle
from his pocket and blew it softly.
“In a minute the head of a big sheep appeared, and before the ten
little girls had time to think the whole flock were back in their own
pasture and were coming straight for Mr. Cross.
“‘Oh!’ cried Susan.
“‘Oh! Oh!’ cried the nine others.
“‘Well, well, well!’ said Mr. Cross. ‘Don’t mean to say you’re afraid?
Well, they’ll be the ’fraidest--see!’
“Even then the sheep had stopped, hardly knowing whether to come or to
turn back.
“‘Needn’t be a mite afraid,’ Mr. Cross said to the ten little girls
huddled close behind him, and then again softly he blew his whistle.
“At that the sheep came forward, and the ten little girls were half
frightened and half delighted to see how tame they were and how they
fairly tumbled over one another to poke their noses into Mr. Cross’s
pockets, to get the salt which was there.
“‘Isn’t he nice!’ exclaimed Mary Lamb, after the ten little girls had
bidden Mr. Cross a laughing good-bye.
“‘Isn’t he!’ echoed the nine.
“‘I think Jim Tucker was the cross one,’ said Mary Fox.
“‘Anyway, Mr. Cross isn’t cross!’ declared Mary Lyon.
“And that made the ten little girls laugh all the way home.”
Benedicta started it. She dropped her crocheting in her lap and clapped
her hands with a will.
At that, everybody else clapped--everybody but Polly, and the most
venturesome little patient cried out, “Hurrah! hurrah!”
Of course, the rest followed, and among the cheers was plainly
distinguishable a deeper voice than Dr. Abbe’s, a voice that seemed to
come from the thicket back of where the story-teller was sitting.
Everybody looked in that direction--everybody but Polly. She could not
turn quickly, with Little Duke within the circle of one arm and Dolly
Merrifield in the other. But Dolly screwed her head around just as a
young man stepped into view.
“Sardis!” she squealed; “oh, Sardis!”
Then Dolly was in her brother’s arms, and quickly his hand and Polly
Dudley’s met in a cordial grasp, while the eyes of the others were
bent on the man who had kept them waiting to welcome him for more than
twenty-four hours.
The most of these decided that he was good to look at--tall and
straight and muscular, with deep blue eyes like Dolly’s, but with hair
that was almost black.
“What made you wait till to-day?” piped up Dolly. “Why didn’t you come
yesterday? Did you hear the story about the ten little girls? Have you
just come, or have you ’most just?”
“I shall have to confess to hearing nearly all of the ‘Ten Little
Girls,’” he answered, throwing an apologetic smile in Polly’s
direction. “I didn’t want to interrupt the story. When I could find
nobody at the house, voices led me this way.”
“Don’t you think the ten-little-girls story is just lovely?” Dolly
continued.
“Very nice, indeed.”
“And wasn’t it foolish for them to be afraid of the sheep?”
“It was quite natural,” he replied. “I think I feel very much as they
did.”
“Afraid!” she cried. “Why, Sardis, there aren’t any sheep here!”
Of course, then all the grown-ups laughed.
“There are a good many little girls,” he smiled into Dolly’s astonished
eyes.
“I shouldn’t think you’d be so afraid of little girls as you would of
big girls,” she returned.
At which they all laughed again.
“I don’t think you’re very much afraid,” she decided. “You don’t look a
bit scared. But I want to know how you got up here,” she went on. “Did
you come in a car? I didn’t hear any.”
“There was none to hear. I came on my feet.”
“Walked?” cried the child, aghast at the thought.
“It was a delightful little journey, up between the pines and the
ferns.”
“Isn’t it beautiful!” responded Polly, glad of his appreciation.
“A wonderful road,” he said. “I would not like to have missed it.”
“But riding up with Miss Dudley is lovely,” put in Dolly, “’cause then
you can sit back and just enjoy it. Though I should think it would be
nice to walk,” she added wistfully.
A shadow of pain swept the young man’s face; then he smiled brilliantly.
“What an astonishing gain you have made, little girl!” he said.
“Haven’t I!” she beamed. “And my cheeks are red!--have you noticed?”
He nodded happily.
“You and I are under great obligations to Miss Dudley and her wise
father.”
Dolly wagged her head in no uncertain way, and then laid her cheek
against his.
“Miss Dudley is the nicest one in all the world,” she said
impressively, “except you and Aunt Sophie.”
The talk was growing too personal for Polly’s comfort, so with a
casual, “The others are waiting to meet you,” she crossed over to Dr.
Abbe and the rest.
The introductions being done with, the party proceeded back to the
house, Sardis Merrifield carrying his sister and wheeling Grissel.
On the home veranda Dolly chattered happily.
“You haven’t said yet why you didn’t come yesterday,” she reminded him
playfully.
“You shall hear about it,” he answered. “I had been to visit a sick
man, and was on my way home--something more than two miles from the
station. I had just looked at my watch and decided I had time enough
and to spare to go to my boarding-place and get my bag before the
train would be in, when a little woman darted out of a house and
called to me. Her baby had been taken sick and she didn’t know what
to do. Her husband was out of town for the day, and she didn’t dare
to leave the child to go for a doctor. She was frantic, and with
good reason. The baby had had one convulsion and was on the verge of
another. It happened that I knew something of what should be done;
so I applied the usual remedies, and in a few minutes the little
fellow seemed better. Then I went for the doctor, only a mile off, and
fortunately found him home. His horse had gone lame, or he would have
been away visiting patients. We went back together, and he said the
child was doing all right then. The mother begged me so hard to stay
with her that I hadn’t the heart to leave her alone. So, you see, my
visit up here had to be postponed.”
“And is the little baby all right now?” asked Dolly, who had become
greatly interested in her brother’s story.
“He appeared to be when I saw him this morning.”
“Did you go ’way out there before you came up here?” she asked.
He nodded. “That wasn’t too much to do for a very nice little woman and
a very nice little baby, was it?”
Dolly shook her head. “No. I’m glad you went, because now I know the
baby’ll get well. Sardis is always doing things like that,” she added,
directing her remark across to Polly.
“‘Things like that’ are the things that we all of us ought to do,”
returned Polly.
“I can’t,” said Dolly softly.
“That isn’t your part,”--Polly took the small hand in hers.
“What is my part?” she asked thoughtfully.
“Just being sweet as a little flower,” replied Polly, smiling down
into the wistful face. “And that is exactly what you are,” she added
truthfully.
A look of pleased surprise came into the blue eyes.
“Do you really mean it, Miss Dudley?”
“Really and truly!”
“Then, please let me kiss you.”
Polly bent her head, and Dolly put up her arms and drew her still
closer.
“I’m glad you said that now,” she whispered softly, “’cause I want
Sardis to know you think it. You are so dear!”
Polly was strangely touched, and quick tears sprang to her eyes. She
found herself wondering if Sardis Merrifield had heard the whispered
words. As if it mattered whether he had or not!
After the children were asleep and Benedicta had said good-night, the
others sat on the moonlit veranda, and merry talk had its way until
late. Finally when the five stood together before separating for the
night, the visitor said:--
“I want you all to know how grateful I am for your kindness to my
sister. It is not only that her gain in health is far more than I
thought it ever could be--you have put so much brightness into her
life! It is something which I cannot frame in words, but I think you
will understand.”
As he and Dr. Abbe walked across the lawn to the Study, the White Nurse
said:--
“What a man he is! And what a boy, too! I think I’d like to hear him
preach.”
“I know his sermon would be worth while,” asserted Lilith.
Polly said nothing.