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POLLY
A NEW-FASHIONED GIRL
BY
L. T. MEADE
Author of "A World of Girls," "Daddy's Girl,"
"Light of the Morning," "Palace Beautiful,"
"A Girl in Ten Thousand," etc.
NEW YORK
THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
1910
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[Illustration: Polly]
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"But if thou wilt be constant then,
And faithful of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen
And famous by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
Was never heard before:
I'll crown and deck thee all with bays
And love thee evermore."
--James Graham.
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CONTENTS
PART I
CHAPTER I. A GREAT MISFORTUNE. 1
CHAPTER II. ALL ABOUT THE FAMILY. 4
CHAPTER III. "BE BRAVE, DEAR." 6
CHAPTER IV. QUITE A NEW SORT OF SCHEME. 10
CHAPTER V. A SAFETY-VALVE. 13
CHAPTER VI. POLLY'S RAID. 16
CHAPTER VII. THE GROWN-UPS. 19
CHAPTER VIII. SHOULD THE STRANGERS COME? 24
CHAPTER IX. LIMITS. 28
CHAPTER X. INDIGESTION WEEK. 32
CHAPTER XI. A--WAS AN APPLE PIE. 36
CHAPTER XII. POTATOES--MINUS POINT. 42
CHAPTER XIII. IN THE ATTIC. 45
CHAPTER XIV. AUNT MARIA. 50
CHAPTER XV. PUNISHMENT. 55
CHAPTER XVI. DR. MAYBRIGHT _versus_ SCORPION. 60
CHAPTER XVII. WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN? 64
CHAPTER XVIII. THE WIFE OF MICAH JONES. 68
CHAPTER XIX. DISTRESSED HEROINES. 73
CHAPTER XX. LIMITS. 75
CHAPTER XXI. THE HIGH MOUNTAINS. 78
PART II
CHAPTER I. A COUPLE OF BARBARIANS. 82
CHAPTER II. A YOUNG QUEEN. 86
CHAPTER III. NOT LIKE OTHERS. 94
CHAPTER IV. A YOUNG AUSTRALIAN. 98
CHAPTER V. FORSAKEN. 103
CHAPTER VI. WITHOUT HER TREASURE. 108
CHAPTER VII. MAGGIE TO THE RESCUE. 113
CHAPTER VIII. THE HERMIT'S HUT. 117
CHAPTER IX. AN OLD SONG. 121
CHAPTER X. LOOKING AT HERSELF. 126
CHAPTER XI. THE WORTH OF A DIAMOND. 131
CHAPTER XII. RELICS AND A WELCOME. 135
CHAPTER XIII. VERY ROUGH WEATHER. 139
CHAPTER XIV. A NOVEL HIDING-PLACE. 144
CHAPTER XV. A DILEMMA. 149
CHAPTER XVI. FIREFLY. 151
CHAPTER XVII. TO THE RESCUE. 155
CHAPTER XVIII. OH, FIE! POLLY. 159
CHAPTER XIX. ONE YEAR AFTER. 165
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POLLY:
A NEW-FASHIONED GIRL.
CHAPTER I.
A GREAT MISFORTUNE.
It was an intensely hot July day--not a cloud appeared in the high blue
vault of the sky; the trees, the flowers, the grasses, were all
motionless, for not even the gentlest zephyr of a breeze was abroad; the
whole world seemed lapped in a sort of drowsy, hot, languorous slumber.
Even the flowers bowed their heads a little weariedly, and the birds
after a time ceased singing, and got into the coolest and most shady
parts of the great forest trees. There they sat and talked to one
another of the glorious weather, for they liked the heat, although it
made them too lazy to sing.
It was an open plain of country, and although there were clumps of trees
here and there, great clumps with cool shade under them, there were also
acres and acres of common land on which the sun beat remorselessly. This
land was covered with heather, not yet in flower, and with bracken,
which was already putting on its autumn glory of yellow and red. Neither
the bracken nor the heather minded the July heat, but the butterflies
thought it a trifle uncomfortable, and made for the clumps of trees, and
looked longingly and regretfully at what had been a noisy, babbling
little brook, but was now a dry and stony channel, deserted even by the
dragon-flies.
At the other side of the brook was a hedge, composed principally of wild
roses and hawthorn bushes, and beyond the hedge was a wide dyke, and at
the top of the dyke a wire paling, and beyond that again, a good-sized
vegetable garden.
From the tops of the trees, had any one been energetic enough to climb
up there, or had any bird been sufficiently endowed with curiosity to
glance his bright eyes in that direction, might have been seen smoke,
ascending straight up into the air, and proceeding from the kitchen
chimneys of a square-built gray house.
The house was nearly covered with creepers, and had a trellis porch,
sheltering and protecting its open hall-door. Pigeons were cooing near,
and several dogs were lying flat out in the shade which the wide eaves
of the house afforded. There was a flower garden in front, and a wide
gravel sweep, and a tennis court and croquet lawn, and a rose arbor, and
even a great, wide, cool-looking tent. But as far as human life was
concerned the whole place looked absolutely deserted. The pigeons cooed
languidly, and the dogs yapped and yawned, and made ferocious snaps at
audacious and troublesome flies. But no one handled the tennis bats, nor
took up the croquet mallets; no one stopped to admire the roses, and no
one entered the cool, inviting tent. The whole place might have been
dead, as far as human life was concerned; and although the smoke did
ascend straight up from the kitchen chimney, a vagrant or a tramp might
have been tempted to enter the house by the open hall door, were it not
protected by the lazy dogs.
Up, however, by the hedge, at the other side of the kitchen garden,
could be heard just then the crackle of a bough, the rustle of a dress,
and a short, smothered, impatient exclamation. And had anyone peered
very close they would have seen lying flat in the long grasses a tall,
slender, half-grown girl, with dark eyes and rosy cheeks, and tangled
curly rebellious locks. She had one arm raised, and was drawing herself
deliberately an inch at a time along the smooth grass. Several birds had
taken refuge in this fragrant hedge of hawthorn and wild roses. They
were talking to one another, keeping up a perpetual chatter; but
whenever the girl stirred a twig, or disturbed a branch, they stopped,
looking around them in alarm, but none of them as yet seeing the prone,
slim figure, which was, indeed, almost covered by the grasses. Perfect
stillness once more--the birds resumed their conversation, and the girl
made another slight movement forward. This time she disturbed no twig,
and interrupted none of the bird gossip. She was near, very near, a
tempting green bough, and on the bough sat two full-grown lovely
thrushes; they were not singing, but were holding a very gentle and
affectionate conversation, sitting close together, and looking at one
another out of their bright eyes, and now and then kissing each other
with that loving little peck which means a great deal in bird life.
The girl felt her heart beating with excitement--the birds were within
a few inches of her--she could see their breasts heaving as they
talked. Her own eyes were as bright as theirs with excitement; she got
quite under them, made a sudden upward, dexterous movement, and laid a
warm, detaining hand on each thrush. The deed was done--the little
prisoners were secured. She gave a low laugh of ecstasy, and sitting
upright in the long grass, began gently to fondle her prey, cooing as
she talked to them, and trying to coax the terrified little prisoners to
accept some kisses from her dainty red lips.
"Poll! Where's Polly Parrot?--Poll--Poll--Poll!" came a chorus of
voices. "Poll, you're wanted at the house this minute. Where are you
hiding?--You're wanted at home this minute! Polly Parrot--where are
you, Polly?"
"Oh, bother!" exclaimed the girl under her breath; "then I must let you
go, darlings, and I never, never had two of you in my arms at the same
moment before. It's always so. I'm always interrupted when I'm enjoying
ecstasy. Well, good-by, sweets. Be happy--bless you, darlings!"
She blew a kiss to the released and delighted thrushes, and stood
upright, looking very lanky and cross and disreputable, with bits of
grass and twig sticking in her hair, and messing and staining her faded,
washed cotton frock.
"Now, what are you up to, you scamps?--can't you let a body be?"
"Oh, Polly!"
Two little figures came tumbling down the gravel walk at the other side
of the wire fence. They were hot and panting, and both destitute of
hats.
"Polly, you're wanted at the house. Helen says so; there's a b-b-baby
come. Polly Perkins--Poll Parrot, you'd better come home at once,
there's a new b-b-baby just come!"
"A _what_?" said Polly. She vaulted the dyke, cleared the fence, and
kneeling on the ground beside her two excited, panting little brothers,
flung a hot, detaining arm round each.
"A baby! it isn't true, Bunny? it isn't true, Bob? A real live baby? Not
a doll! a baby that will scream and wriggle up its face! But it can't
be. Oh, heavenly! oh, delicious! But it can't be true, it can't! You're
always making up stories, Bunny!"
"Not this time," said Bunny. "You tell her, Bob--she'll believe you. I
heard it yelling--oh, didn't it yell, just! And Helen came, and said to
send Polly in. Helen was crying, I don't know what about, and she said
you were to go in at once. Why, what is the matter, Poll Parrot?"
"Nothing," said Polly, "only you might have told me about Helen crying
before. Helen never cries unless there's something perfectly awful going
to happen. Stay out in the garden, you two boys--make yourselves sick
with gooseberries, if you like, only don't come near the house, and
don't make the tiniest bit of noise. A new baby--and Helen crying! But
mother--I'll find out what it means from mother!"
Polly had long legs, and they bore her quickly in a swift race or canter
to the house. When she approached the porch the dogs all got up in a
body to meet her; there were seven or eight dogs, and they surrounded
her, impeding her progress.
"Not a bark out of one of you," she said, sternly, "lie down--go to
sleep. If you even give a yelp I'll come out by and by and beat you. Oh,
Alice, what is it? What's the matter?"
A maid servant was standing in the wide, square hall.
"What is it, Alice? What is wrong? There's a new baby--I'm delighted at
that. But why is Helen crying, and--oh!--oh!--what does it mean--you
are crying, too, Alice."
"It's--Miss Polly, I can't tell you," began the girl. She threw her
apron over her head, and sobbed loudly. "We didn't know where you was,
miss--it's, it's--We have been looking for you everywhere, miss. Why,
Miss Polly, you're as white, as white--Don't take on now, miss, dear."
"You needn't say any more," gasped Polly, sinking down into a garden
chair. "I'm not going to faint, or do anything silly. And I'm not going
to cry either. Where's Helen? If there's anything bad she'll tell me.
Oh, do stop making that horrid noise, Alice, you irritate me so
dreadfully!"
Alice dashed out of the open door, and Polly heard her sobbing again,
and talking frantically to the dogs. There was no other sound of any
sort. The intense stillness of the house had a half-stunning,
half-calming effect on the startled child. She rose, and walked slowly
upstairs to the first landing.
"Polly," said her sister Helen, "you've come at last. Where were you
hiding?--oh, poor Polly!"
"Where's mother?" said Polly. "I want her--let me go to her--_let_ me
go to her at once, Nell."
"Oh, Polly----"
Helen's sobs came now, loud, deep, and distressful. There was a new
baby--but no mother for Polly any more.