POLLYPOD WANTS TO KNOW.
When Felix reached the churchyard, the grave was still empty. The
coffin lay upon the earth by its side, and the women of the party were
sitting on convenient tombstones. Of the men, only Alfred remained;
Gribble junior and the old man were absent.
Gribble junior's baby was sleeping peacefully beneath the umbrella
tent, the gay outside of which had caused the two old men to go for
two other old men, and the girls in dirty pinafores to go for other
girls in dirty pinafores. These new-comers were as interested in the
unusual sight as their friends, and expressed their admiration by
staring persistently in the dullest possible manner.
Pollypod, wandering about, was in a state of delight and wonderment.
Truly the old churchyard was a world of wonders to the child. To her
young mind there was nothing suggestive of corruption in it. The "Here
lies" and "Here lieths" brought no melancholy thoughts to her,
although she was curious about them. But, when she asked, wanting to
know, her mother bade her "Hush!" as she had done in the coach, and
Pollypod was fain to hold her peace. It was not difficult for her to
let the matter rest for a time, as there were plenty of other things
to occupy her mind. Now and then a butterfly flew by, and she watched
it with delighted eyes till it was out of sight. She found ladybirds
on leaves, and wished that she had a little bottle to take them home
for father. But she could take him some buttercups and daisies, and
she was plucking the prettiest and the most golden when her eyes
lighted on Felix.
Pollypod was not by any means a bashful child. She had her likes and
dislikes, as all children have, but she had more of the former than of
the latter. And she was fond of society. She had tried to make friends
with the dirty girls who stood staring at the umbrella and the coffin,
and the strange folk, but had not been successful. All her advances
had been received with stupid stares, and not a word could the little
maid extract from the juvenile bumpkins. Then she had tried the old
men; but when she plucked their trousers, they moved away without a
word. She had therefore given up the attempt as hopeless. Now, all at
once, here was a handsome young man, handsomely dressed, and he
immediately became an object of interest to Pollypod. Felix, seeing
the child gaze at him, smiled at her, and Pollypod smiled in return;
and to show that she was prepared to give good interest for
amiability, came and stood by his side, and looked into his face with
frank interest and curiosity. The healthy exercise had brought bright
sparkles into Pollypod's eyes, and a bright colour to her cheeks.
Felix was fond of children, and invariably found favour in their eyes.
At parties where grown-up people and children were, the youngsters
always claimed him as one of themselves, and played and romped with
him without restraint. Children have an instinct for the discovery of
amiable matures in their elders, which is very seldom wrong.
"Well, little girl," said Felix, by way of commencement. The sight of
the child's artless face did him good, and tended to dispel the
vapours which clouded his mind.
Pollypod nodded a reply, and arranged the buttercups and daisies in
her hand, without looking at them. Her attention was fixed upon his
smart clothes and bright face, and the flowers in his coat. These
latter had an especial attraction for her. She thought how pleased
father would be if she could take them home to him in the middle of a
bunch of buttercups and daisies. But suddenly, as she looked, her face
became clouded, and she retreated a step or two.
"What's the matter, little one?" he asked, seating himself upon a
tombstone. "You are not frightened of me, are you?"
"I don't know," replied Pollypod; and then, with her finger to her
lips, and her head inclined forward, she said solemnly, "Are you the
naughty man?"
"What naughty man?" he inquired, amused at the child's attitude and
manner.
"The naughty man who won't bury Lily's mother."
The cloud on the child's face was reflected on his as he replied, "No,
I am not."
Pollypod came close to him immediately.
"I am glad of that; I'm very, very glad of that!"
"Why, little one?"
"Because I like you."
The artlessness of the child pleased and soothed him. It was nature
speaking.
"If the naughty man was here," continued Pollypod, clenching her
little fist, and stamping her little foot, "I'd beat him for making
Lily cry."
"Is that Lily?" pointing to the girl.
"Yes, that's Lily, and that's Lily's brother Alfred, and that's Mrs.
Gribble, and that's my mother, and that's the baby. And that's Lily's
mother in the coffin. Who are you?"
"My name is Felix."
Pollypod pondered upon the name, and presently nodded her head two or
three times, to express approval, In proof that she was disposed to
treat him fairly in the matter of information, she said,
"My name's Pollypod."
"Polly----"
"Pod. Father's name is Jim Podmore, and I'm his little Pollypod."
Thereupon--confidential and affectionate relations being completely
established--she sat down on the tombstone beside him. She put him at
once upon on equality with her by asking, in the most serious manner,
"Do you like butter?"
And gravely held a buttercup beneath his chin, he laughingly
submitting to the test. The golden reflection of the flower being seen
on his chin, she declared that he _did_ like butter, and the
triumphant tone in which she announced the discovery evidently
enhanced his value in her eyes. Then she asked, Did she? and held up
her face for the test, which Felix applied with becoming seriousness.
The answer being satisfactory, they became more confidentially
familiar.
"This is a churchyard," said the little maid.
"Yes."
"Where people are buried."
"Yes."
"Lily's mother is going to be buried here."
"Yes."
"I want to know if Lily's mother is shut up in a box, how can she be
up there?"
Felix, seeing that he was in danger of being entangled in a
theological disputation with an opponent who thirsted for facts,
answered simply,
"God lives there, and when we die we go to Him."
"Mother has told me so often and often, but I want to understand."
"Inquisitive little maid!" exclaimed Felix. "Is not that a beautiful
place?" pointing upwards.
"It _is_ pretty--and bright; that cloud looks like blue-and-white
feathers. Mother says we'll go to heaven if we're good. And that's
heaven. I'm going to be very good. But I want to know! How can we be
here and there at the same time?"
Felix felt that it was a hard question to answer, and he despaired of
making it clear to so young an understanding.
"See now," he said, with an attempt at simplicity; "you are a little
girl. By-and-by you will become a woman; then you will grow older and
older, and your hair will turn white, and you will be an old woman.
When we are old, we die."
"_Must_ we die--all of us?"
"All of us, little one. But God gives us a soul which is always young;
it never grows old, and when our bodies are worn out, our souls go
back to God and heaven."
"I give my soul to God to keep," murmured Pollypod, repeating a line
which she said in her prayers every night. She did not understand, but
she had faith in Felix. She murmured the words so softly that Felix
did not hear them.
"So that our body is here, and our soul is there, little maid. Earth
takes care of one, and heaven takes care of the other."
"I suppose it is right," said Pollypod, with her hands clasped
in her lap, where the flowers had fallen loose. She looked into his
face as she spoke.
"Yes, little one, it is right."
"And Lily's mother _is_ there, although I can't see her."
She gazed earnestly, at the clouds for a few moments before she spoke
again. "I want to know!" she then said. "Everybody who dies is not
old."
"Some die young. God wants them."
"I hope God won't want me till I'm old, for I want to grow up to be a
woman----"
"And then, little maid?"
"And then you shall marry me," said Pollypod, coming down to earth,
and placing her hand in that of her companion. "I'll be your little
wife."
"That's a bargain," said Felix merrily; "we're sweethearts from now."
"You ought to kiss me," said the forward little maid; and after being
kissed, she fell to bunching her buttercups and daisies together.
"And now tell me, Pollypod," said Felix, anxious to learn something of
Lily and the old man. "Where do you all come from?"
"O, along, long, long way! It was such a nice ride!"
"Then you live a long way from here?"
"O, yes, we live in London, in Soho."
"That is a long-way indeed, Pollypod. Are you Lily's cousin?"
"O, no; we're none of us relations, not even the baby! But we all live
together. Lily lives on the first floor; baby and Mr. and Mrs. Gribble
live on the second floor--they're umbrella makers; father and mother
and me live on the third floor."
"That's very high up, Pollypod!"
"I like it because of that; there's such a lot of light! It's nearer
the sky, father says. Father's a railway man, and comes home so late!
But we play in bed every morning. And we've got a dog; Snap's his
name. He goes out to work every morning with father, and comes back at
night. We have such fun together! We've got such a nice room."
"Only one, Pollypod?"
"Yes; we don't want more, do we?" inquired the little maid. "There's
such pretty paper on the walls. Roses--_such_ red ones! Father's fond
of flowers, that's why. I like to look at them before I go to sleep;
sometimes I see pretty faces in them, like Lily's. I dream of
everything. I shall dream of you to-night, and shall look for your
face among the roses. I'm making a bunch of buttercups and daisies for
father, but they're all one colour"--with a wistful look at the
flowers in her companion's coat.
Felix saw the wish in the look, and taking the flowers from his coat,
gave them to Pollypod.
"If you put these in the bunch," he said, "there will be more than one
colour."
Pollypod held up her face to be kissed again, and nestled closer to
him.
"I knew you were good," she said.
When she had arranged the flowers, Felix found a piece of string in
his pocket, and tied them together for her. The party near the coffin
were in the same position as they had been when he came into the
churchyard; the old man and Gribble junior had not returned. Having
nothing better to do, and burning with a desire to know more of the
fair girl whose acquaintance he had made in so strange a manner, Felix
resumed his conversation with little Pollypod. He had no difficulty in
doing so; Pollypod was brimful of talk.
"So you dream of everything," he said.
Pollypod nodded, repeated "E-ve-ry-thing" under her breath, and held
up her bunch of flowers admiringly, turning them this way and that,
and thinking how pleased father would be with them.
"What did you dream of last night?"
"I don't remember," replied Pollypod, after a little consideration. "I
know what I dreamt of the night before."
"Of what?"
"Of my Doll," said the little maid, showing by her manner that the
subject was of very serious importance. "And, O, it looked so
beautiful! It had large blue eyes--and moved them!--and a pink face,
and red lips, and it was dressed in blue silk, with such a lovely
bonnet!"
"Was it as pretty as your own doll?" inquired Felix.
Pollypod shook her head a dozen times, and pursed her lips. "I haven't
got one," she said wistfully, "I never saw it; I only dream of it."
Felix did not say anything in the pause that followed, knowing that he
was about to be enlightened.
"It's in father's ship. Father told me, O, such a long time ago! that
when his ship came home, he would give me the Doll; and the naughty
ship won't come home. Father is so angry sometimes because it's so
long away. There's a toy-shop not far from where we live, with such
funny things in the window--and there's a Doll in the middle of them,
just like mine that's in father's ship. Father says mine is handsomer,
and that mine has a smaller nose and pinker lips. I go to look at it
whenever I can, and wish, and wish, and wish that father's ship would
come home! I often dream that it has, and when I wake up I say,
'Father, has your ship come home?' and he says, 'No, Pollypod;' and I
know by his voice that he's sorry."
"Now, Pollypod," said Felix, holding up his finger to denote that she
was to give him all her attention, "I'm going to tell you something.
I'm a wizard."
"A wiz-ard," repeated Pollypod thoughtfully; and then said, with a
sharp look at Felix, "I want to know!"
"What a wizard is! So you shall, little one. A wizard can see things,
and tell things before they occur."
"Can he!" exclaimed Pollypod, her blue eyes dilating. "Can you see and
tell anything now?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"I can see a little girl lying in bed, looking at the roses on the
wall."
"That's me," said Pollypod, in a tone of infinite content. "Who's in
the room with the little girl? Not father!"
"No; not father, because father comes home so late."
"And the little girl is asleep before he comes home."
"Fast asleep, Pollypod. But there's some one else in the room--mother
is there, working."
"That's right! that's right!" cried Pollypod, twining her fingers
together in her excitement. "You _are_ a wizard!"
"The little girl is lying with her eyes open, looking at the roses.
She fixes her eyes upon one, and it changes. Lips come--like Lily's;
eyes come, bright--like Lily's. Presently Lily's face is in the rose,
smiling at the little girl. But the face fades----"
"Does it?" whispered Pollypod anxiously.
"And in its place a Doll appears----"
"Yes! yes!"
"And the little girl falls asleep and dreams of it, and holds it in
her arms. And while she dreams, I see a ship coming over the seas----"
"Father's ship!" cried Pollypod in ecstacy.
"No; another ship."
"O!" sighed Pollypod, drooping.
"Here it comes sailing--sailing--sailing; and the waves are
curling--curling--curling; and the captain is bowing--bowing--bowing;
and the stars are shining--shining--shining into the waters, lighting
them up with smiles! But what is this I see on the ship? A Doll!"
"Doll!" cried Pollypod, reviving. "For the little girl?"
"Yes, for the little girl. The little girl's Doll! Pollypod's Doll!
And as sure as we sit here talking, the captain, if he's alive, will
bring it home before the week's out."
In a very flutter of delight Pollypod jumped to her feet, and clasped
her hands.
"You mustn't be frightened of me, Pollypod," said Felix, sharing in
Pollypod's delight; "I'm a good wizard."
"I know that! I know that!" said the little maid, almost in a whisper.
"But I want to know! Is She beautiful?"
"Yes, she is beautiful," replied Felix, dwelling long on each
syllable.
"And has she got blue eyes?"
"The bluest in the world."
"And a pink face?"
"As pink as this rose, Pollypod."
"And red lips?"
"Red as cherries."
"And what is She dressed in?"
"Blue silk, with a large sash behind, and mauve boots, and the
loveliest bonnet that ever was made."
So filled with joy that she could not speak, Pollypod sat down on the
tombstone, shut her eyes, and saw Her in all Her silken glory. The
little maid was in a state of beatific bliss; and she saw the ship
sailing, and the waves curling, and the captain bowing, and the stars
shining, and the beautiful Doll eclipsing them all.
Presently she opened her eyes, and said reflectively,
"I hope Snap will like her. You're sure he'll come?"
"The captain? As sure as can be. Mother's calling you."
Away raced Pollypod, the happiest little girl in all England, towards
her mother; and Felix strolled out of the churchyard with the idea of
ascertaining why the old man and Gribble junior were so long absent.
He was arrested in his purpose by an incident that claimed his
attention.
Near to the entrance to the churchyard was the mourning-coach which
had conveyed the party from Soho, and near to the mourning-coach was
the driver, in a condition bordering closely on intoxication. Whether
it is that sorrow requires inward moistening, or that there is some
other equally strong cause to account for it, every churchyard has
in its immediate neighbourhood a handy public-house, or two, or
three--according to whether the churchyard does a flourishing business
or otherwise. There is nothing strange in the circumstance; for
public-houses are everywhere, and churchyards should no more be
deprived of the consolation their presence affords than other places.
No sooner had our driver got rid of his load of flesh and clay than he
sought the handy ale-house, to bait his cattle and moisten his sorrow.
The former task was quickly accomplished, but the latter occupied a
much longer time--a proof that his sorrow was very keen, and needed a
great deal of moistening. When Felix approached him, he had paid at
least half a dozen visits to the ale-house, and his sorrow had turned
into anger at the time he had been kept waiting. His face, which had
grown puffy in the exercise of his profession, was inflamed, and he
was muttering to himself that he would see the whole party in a very
warm place before he would wait for them a minute longer. The
assertion was not only irreverent, with a churchyard in view, but (as
he would have to be there to see) it was injudicious as regarded his
own fate after he had shuffled off his mortal coil.
Felix saw the state at once, and saw also that the driver was not in a
fit condition to drive the party home. A very few words with the man
convinced him of this. He was quick at expedients, and eagerly took
advantage of the opportunity that presented itself.
"My guv'ner," said the driver, in a thick voice, and with occasional
hiccoughs, "didn't bargain that I was to stop here till I got blue in
the face."
Which (supposing that the contract had been entered into between him
and his "guv'ner") was so manifestly impossible of accomplishment in
sight of his inflamed countenance, that Felix could not help smiling.
"And _in_ consequence," continued the driver, with sarcastic emphasis,
"as it wasn't in the bargain, and as the job's paid for beforehand,
and as I've got my family to look arter, you can tell the party
inside, as you're a friend of their'n, that I'm off."
With that he gathered up the reins, and prepared to mount. His foot
was in the air when Felix invited him to "Come and have a pint."
The invitation was not to be resisted, and they adjourned to the
ale-house, where, over the pint, Felix learnt the name of the street
and the number of the house in which Lily lived. His purpose being
served, he allowed the man to depart, and, with some satisfaction, saw
the mourning-coach on its way to London.
"There would have been an accident for certain," said Felix to
himself, as if in apology for allowing the man to depart, "and it will
be better for them to have a sober driver than a drunken one. Besides,
I myself must sleep in London to-night."
Then he went to an hotel of a better kind, where he was known, and
made arrangements for the hire of a waggonette and a pair of good
horses, and ascertained where he could stable them for the night in
London.
"Harness the horses," he said, "at once, and let them stand at the
entrance of the churchyard: I shall return in the morning. I wonder,"
he mused, as he walked towards the churchyard again, "whether they
will refuse to accept a courtesy from my father's son."