PAUL ENTERTAINS MISS POLLY
Miss Polly was in her wheel-chair, which she had drawn as close as
possible to the register, for the day was cold, and only a small amount
of furnace heat reached the top floor. She had evidently been reading,
but the book had fallen into her lap, and lay there neglected, while
the little cripple gazed straight before her, with a sad, far-away look
in her eyes. Miss Polly was certainly thinner and paler than on that
Sunday when Molly had made her first visit, but when, at the sound of a
knock at her door, she turned to greet her little neighbors, her smile
was as bright and her voice as cheerful as ever.
“My dear children,” she cried joyfully, “how glad I am to see you. And
you’ve brought your visitor, too. How do you do, Paul? You see I know
your name. These little friends of mine have told me a great deal about
you. It was kind of you to come to see me.”
Paul stepped forward and held out his hand.
“I’ll sing for you if you’d like to have me,” he announced abruptly. “I
don’t like doing it generally, but I don’t mind this time. Dulcie says
you like music.”
Miss Polly beamed.
“I do indeed,” she said, heartily. “I should love to hear you sing. It
was dear of you to think of offering.”
“Do you like hand-organs?” inquired Paul, gravely. “There was a very
nice one playing in front of our house this morning. It played six
tunes, and there was a monkey. I threw out five cents, and the monkey
took off his hat. If you give an organ-man five cents, he’ll generally
play for quite a long time.”
Miss Polly smiled, and said that hand-organs were sometimes rather
pleasant, and then Dulcie--who had been eagerly awaiting her turn to
speak--came forward with her offering.
“We’ve brought you a present,” she said. “It’s some candied fruit that
Miss Leslie sent us all the way from California, and it’s delicious. We
wanted you to have some, but I’m sorry we hadn’t a nicer box to put it
in.”
“It’s really Dulcie’s present,” put in Daisy. “Miss Leslie sent it for
her birthday, so we ought not to be thanked. We all wanted to bring you
a present, but this is the first time we ever had anything we thought
you would enjoy.”
Miss Polly was warm in her thanks, and at Maud’s request, consented to
try a candied apricot, which she pronounced to be delicious. Then she
asked some questions about the birthday, and was told the story of the
family presents and “the make-believe party.”
“Make-believe things are really quite good fun sometimes, when you
can’t have real ones,” remarked Daisy, cheerfully, when the story--to
which Miss Polly had listened with much interest--was finished. “Once
Aunt Kate wanted our old dolls to put in a missionary box, and we
thought it would be selfish not to let the poor little missionary
children have them. We missed them very much at first, but then we
played we had a whole family of imaginary children, that nobody could
see but ourselves, and it was so interesting we forgot all about
the dolls. It was very nice afterwards, for the missionary’s little
girl wrote us a letter, and told us how much she and her sister were
enjoying our dolls. She described the log-house where they live, away
out West, where the Indians are, and it was so interesting. We’ve got
the letter still. Would you like to see it?”
Miss Polly said she would like it very much, and then, noticing signs
of impatience on Paul’s part, she asked him if he would like to begin
to sing.
“All right,” said the small boy, promptly. “I guess I’ll sing ‘The Holy
City’ first. You might not understand the French songs.” And without
further hesitation, he began to sing in a voice so clear and true that
the little girls gazed at him in speechless surprise and admiration.
There were actually tears in Miss Polly’s eyes when the song ended, and
her “Oh, my dear, that was a treat!” sounded so genuine that Paul’s
bosom swelled with pride.
“I’ll sing ‘_Au Claire De La Lune_’ next,” he said, condescendingly,
“and if you don’t understand French, I’ll translate it into English.”
It appeared, however, that Miss Polly did understand French, and
perhaps the next half-hour was the most enjoyable the invalid had spent
since the day when her beloved piano was taken away. Paul sang song
after song, some in English, others in French, some sad, some gay;
ending with several selections from “Pinafore,” the charming operetta,
which had taken the world by storm a year before.
“You have given me more pleasure than I can express,” Miss Polly said,
when they had all stopped laughing over “The Ruler of the Queen’s
Navee,” and Paul had been forced to admit that his throat was getting
tired. “You have a beautiful voice, my boy; your mother must be very
proud of you.”
“She is,” said Paul, innocently. “She’s always wanting to show me off;
that’s why I hate it so.”
“We should not hate to do anything that gives other people pleasure,”
said Miss Polly gently.
Paul reddened.
“I don’t hate singing for you,” he said, bluntly. “I’d do it every day,
only we’re going back to Boston next Monday. Would you like to have me
say some poetry?”
“I would indeed,” said Miss Polly, whereupon Paul proceeded to give
them “Young Lochinvar,” “The Baron’s Last Banquet,” and several more
of the famous old ballads, known to almost every schoolboy of the past
generation. He had been well taught, and as he was really fond of
poetry, the recitations were given in a spirit which quite thrilled the
younger members of his audience.
“You really are an awfully clever boy, Paul,” remarked Molly, in a tone
of some awe, at the conclusion of “Bingen on the Rhine.” “Aunt Julia
always said you were, but since we’ve known you we thought perhaps she
might have made a mistake.”
“That’s because I don’t like showing off,” said Paul, quite unruffled
by this rather uncomplimentary observation. “I don’t mind doing things
for Miss Polly, though. I say, Miss Polly, if you’d like to have that
organ-man with the monkey come every day, I think perhaps I could
arrange it. I’ve got ’most three dollars, and I could leave it with
the girls, and tell them to give him ten cents every time he came. An
organ-man will come very often to a place if he knows he’s going to get
ten cents every time.”
Miss Polly laughed her old merry laugh, and then she suddenly drew Paul
to her side.
“You dear, kind little boy,” she said, and before the embarrassed Paul
fully realized her intention, she had kissed him.
Paul drew away; he had grown very red.
“I don’t like to have anybody kiss me except Mother,” he said,
ungraciously, “but I’d be real glad to leave that money for the
organ-man.” But in spite of the ungracious words, Paul was not nearly
so much offended as he would like to appear, and perhaps Miss Polly
understood, for she only smiled.
“I’m afraid we must go now,” said Dulcie, rising reluctantly. “It’s
nearly dinner-time, and Aunt Julia will wonder where Paul is.”
“Well, you have given me a very happy afternoon,” said Miss Polly, “and
I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It is very kind of you to want
to give me the pleasure of that hand-organ, Paul, but I think I would
a little rather have you spend your money in some other way. I shall
not forget your offer, though, and I hope you may be able to make me
another visit before you go back to Boston.”
“Isn’t she a darling?” exclaimed Molly, the moment Miss Polly’s door
closed behind them, to which Paul replied, with unusual gravity:
“She’s about the nicest lady I ever saw, and she’s awfully pretty,
too. It must be awful to have to stay in that room all the time, and
never even go down-stairs. I wish she’d let me do that thing about the
organ-man.”
Although it was later than the children suspected, fortune favored
Paul. His mother had been engaged with visitors for more than an hour,
and when the front door closed behind the last one, at a quarter to
six, and Mrs. Chester hurried up-stairs to dress for dinner, she found
her small son dutifully brushing his hair before the mirror.
“Well, and have you and the little girls had a pleasant afternoon
together?” she asked, kindly.
“Yes’m,” answered Paul, giving his red crop a final pat with the
hair-brush. “Dulcie loved the book. It was the only new present she
had, except the candy the lady from California sent.”
“What is this I hear about a package that came for Dulcie by express
this afternoon?” inquired Grandma, as the four little girls trooped
into the dining-room at six o’clock. “Mary has been telling me about
it.”
“It was a birthday present from Miss Leslie,” said Dulcie, “a box of
the loveliest candied fruit. Wasn’t it kind of her to send it, Grandma?”
Mrs. Winslow frowned.
“Candied fruit,” she repeated. “I suppose that means you have all been
eating between meals--a thing you are strictly forbidden to do. Go
up-stairs at once, and bring the box down here to me. You should have
done so when it first arrived.”
Dulcie gave a little gasp of dismay. It was true they had all helped
themselves from the box, but that was not by any means the worst
thing that had happened, for in her eagerness to give poor Miss Polly
a present, she had emptied out more than half the contents of Miss
Leslie’s gift. How was Grandma to be made to understand that they had
not eaten all that fruit themselves, without betraying their precious
secret? She and her sisters might be willing to assume the rôle of
little gourmands, but would Paul? However, there was no help for it.
No one had ever dared deliberately to disobey Grandma. So, with an
agonized glance at her four companions, who had all turned a little
pale, Dulcie left the room.
The family were already at the dinner-table when she returned, carrying
the telltale box, which certainly did feel painfully light, considering
its size, and set it down on the table beside Grandma’s plate.
“It took you long enough to get it,” Mrs. Winslow said, dryly. “The
next time you receive a present, don’t try to conceal it from me. Just
as I supposed; the box is half empty already.”
“Let me see, Mother,” said Mrs. Chester, anxiously. “Good gracious,
Paul, have you been eating all those dreadful sweet things between
meals?”
“I ate some,” Paul admitted. The little girls were all casting
imploring glances at the sharer of their secret.
“Some!” cried Mrs. Chester, reproachfully. “You must have eaten
quantities. What shall I do, Mother? He is sure to be ill to-morrow; he
has such a delicate digestion.”
“They must all be punished, of course,” was Grandma’s instant decision.
“They have chosen to make little pigs of themselves, and must take the
consequences. They shall each have a dose of castor oil before going
to bed, and as they cannot possibly be hungry at present, they can go
up to the nursery, where Mary will bring them each a bowl of bread and
milk, which is all the dinner they require.”
Paul had grown scarlet. Twice he opened his lips to speak, and
the little girls held their breaths, but each time he closed them
resolutely, and when the four chairs were pushed back from the table,
in obedience to Grandma’s mandate, he rose with the rest. His only
protest was against the threatened dose.
“I’ll eat bread and milk if I’ve got to,” he compromised, “but I won’t
take that nasty castor oil.”
“You will do as you are told,” said Grandma, sternly, and although
Paul’s mother looked distressed, she dared not interfere.
“Oh, Paul, you are a brave, splendid boy,” whispered Molly,
gratefully, as the five little culprits went solemnly up-stairs
together. “We were so afraid you were going to tell.”
Paul shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
“I promised I wouldn’t tell,” he said. “Father says it’s dishonorable
to break a promise. I don’t mind bread and milk very much--it’s better
than soup with onions in it, anyway--but you don’t suppose she really
meant that about the castor oil, do you?”
“I’m afraid she did,” said Dulcie. “Grandma never says things she
doesn’t mean. Will you mind it so very much, Paul? It isn’t so awfully
bad if you take it in orange juice, and drink it very fast, so you
don’t have time to taste.”
Paul made a wry face.
“It’s nasty,” he said. “I never took it but once. That was when I ate
green apples, and Mother thought I was going to die. I won’t tell,
though, you needn’t be scared, I won’t tell, no matter what happens.”
They had reached the nursery by this time, and Dulcie paused in the act
of turning up the gas.
“Paul,” she said, impressively, “I think you are one of the nicest boys
in this world. If you’d lived in the time of the martyrs, I’m almost
sure you would have been one. That saint boy who stood and shouted that
he was a Christian, while they were shooting him with arrows, was about
the bravest one I ever read about, but if you’d been alive then, I
believe you’d have done just the same.”
Paul was very much flattered.
“Perhaps I might,” he admitted, modestly. “I’d like to read about him.
Have you got the book?”
“No, I got it out of the library, but I can try to get it again, if you
would like to read it. Do you think you will really be able to swallow
that castor oil without telling you didn’t eat all that fruit?”
Paul nodded reassuringly.
“I can do anything I make up my mind to,” he said. “I’d rather do ’most
anything than not be allowed to go and see Miss Polly again. I’ve
thought of lots of interesting things to tell her. I’m sure she’d like
to hear about our telephone.”
“What’s a telephone?” inquired Molly, who had never heard the word
before.
“Oh, it’s a wonderful thing. It’s like a speaking tube, only you have
to ring a bell, and then you hear a voice asking what number you want,
and you say, and if it’s the number of your father’s office, and he’s
there, he answers you. Not many people have telephones in their houses
yet, but we have one, and Father says he wouldn’t be surprised if some
day everybody had them, and you would be talking from New York to
Boston, just as easy as you call down to Bridget through the tube.”
This last announcement was almost too great a strain on politeness.
“Of course you’re just making up a story,” said Daisy, while Molly and
Maud giggled derisively. “You couldn’t possibly hear your father’s
voice when he was down-town in his office and you were at home.”
“I can, too,” maintained Paul. “If you ever come to Boston I’ll show
you. Maybe there are some telephones in New York, but I’m not sure.
Father says Boston is generally ahead of other places.”
Molly and Maud still looked unconvinced, and even Daisy would have
liked to argue the point, but Dulcie, who felt that Paul was entitled
to a great deal of consideration that evening, hastened to change the
subject.
“Let’s talk some more about Miss Polly,” she said rather hurriedly.
“Did you see that photograph of her brother on the bureau? I think he
has a very kind face.”
So no more was said on the subject of telephones, and in a short time
Mary appeared with the five bowls of bread and milk. The evening that
followed seemed unusually long. It was impossible to settle down to
reading or playing games, with the awful shadow of castor oil hanging
over them.
“I wish Grandma would hurry up and give it to us,” complained Molly.
“Things aren’t as bad when they really happen as when you’re expecting
them.” Daisy shuddered.
“Let’s think about something else,” she said. “Read ‘Little Men,’
Dulcie. Perhaps we’ll get so much interested we’ll forget about the
oil.”
Dulcie consented, but even the fascination of Miss Alcott’s charming
story was powerless to drive away unpleasant anticipations, and when
at eight o’clock Grandma’s familiar footstep was heard ascending the
stairs, the five little faces were very pale and troubled. But though
Paul was pale, he was resolute. Not once did his courage fail, and when
his turn came, he swallowed the disagreeable dose without a murmur.
“I had no idea I should grow so fond of Paul,” remarked Dulcie to
Daisy, when they were all in bed. “I’m glad we told him about Miss
Polly. I know she loved hearing him sing.”
“Paul is a very nice boy,” agreed Daisy, “but I’m afraid he doesn’t
always tell the truth. That thing about the telephone couldn’t possibly
be true.”
“It was just a story,” said Dulcie, indulgently. “People often make up
stories just for fun. Why, it wasn’t any sillier than the story I made
up about the fairy who lives in a music-box, and when people wound it
up, they could hear a real voice singing inside.”
“But we all knew that was only a make-up,” objected Daisy. “We knew it
wasn’t true. But Paul really tried to make us believe they had that
wonderful thing in his house, and he looked so serious when he was
telling it, that if it hadn’t been so perfectly impossible, I think I
should have believed it was true.”