POTATOES--MINUS POINT.
Dr. Maybright had reason again to congratulate himself when he sat down
to a humble dinner of boiled potatoes.
"If this regimen continues for a week," he said, under his breath, "we
must really resort to tonics. I perceive I did Polly a gross injustice.
She does not mean to make us ill with rich living."
The doctor ate his potatoes with extreme cheerfulness, remarking as he
did so on their nutritive qualities, and explaining to his discontented
family how many people lived on these excellent roots. "The only thing
we want," he said, "is a red herring; we might then have that most
celebrated of all Irish dishes--'potatoes and point.'"
"Do tell us what that is, father," said Helen, who was anxious to draw
the direful glances of the rest of the family from poor Polly.
"'Potatoes and point,'" said Dr. Maybright, raising his head for a
moment, while a droll glance filled his eye, "is a simple but economical
form of diet. The herring is hung by a string over the center of the
board, and each person before he eats his potato points it at the
herring; by so doing a subtle flavor of herring is supposed to be
imparted to the potato. The herring lasts for some time, so the diet is
really a cheap one. Poll, dear, what is the matter? I never saw these
excellent apples of the earth better cooked."
Polly was silent; her blushing cheeks alone betrayed her. She was
determined to make a good meal, and was sustained by the consciousness
that she had not betrayed Maggie, and the hope that the apple-tart would
prove excellent.
It certainly was a noble apple-pie, and the faces of the children quite
cheered up at the sight of it. They were very hungry, and were not
particular as to the quality of the crust. Mrs. White's cream, too, was
delicious, so the second part of Polly's first dinner quite turned out a
success.
After the meal had come to an end, Helen called her second sister aside.
"Polly," she said, "I think we ought to speak to father now about the
strangers' coming. Time is going on, and if they come we ought to begin
to prepare for them, and the more I think of it the more sure I am that
they ought to come."
"All right," said Polly. "Only, is this a good time to speak to father?
For I am quite sure he must be vexed with me."
"You must not think so, Polly," said Helen, kissing her. "Father has
given you a week to try to do your best in, and he won't say anything
one way or another until the time is up. Come into his study now, for I
know he is there, and we really ought to speak to him."
Polly's face was still flushed, but the Doctor, who had absolutely
forgotten the simplicity of his late meal, received both the girls with
equal affection.
"Well, my loves," he said, "can I do anything for you? I am going for a
pleasant drive into the country this afternoon. Would you both like to
come?"
"I should very much," said Helen; but Polly, with a somewhat important
little sigh, remarked that household matters would keep her at home.
"Well, my dear, you must please yourself. But can I do anything for
either of you now? You both look full of business."
"We are, father," said Polly, who was always the impetuous one. "We want
to know if Paul and Virginia may come."
"My dear, this is the second time you have spoken to me of those
deserted orphans. I don't understand you."
"It is this, father," explained Helen. "We think the children from
Australia--the children mother was arranging about--might come here
still. We mean that Polly and I would like them to come, and that we
would do our best for them. We think, Polly and I do, that mother, even
though she is not here, would still like the strangers to come."
"Sit down, Helen," said the Doctor; the harassed look had once again
come across his face, and even Polly noticed the dimness in his eyes.
"You must not undertake too much, you two," he said. "You are only
children. You are at an age to miss your mother at every turn. We had
arranged to have a boy and girl from Australia to live here, but when
your mother--your mother was taken--I gave up the idea. It was too
late to stop their coming to England, but I think I can provide a
temporary home for them when they get to London. You need not trouble
your head about the strange children, Nell."
"It is not that," said Polly. "We don't know them yet, so of course we
don't love them, but we wish them to come here, because we wish for
their money. It will be eight pounds a week; just what you spend on the
house, you know, father."
"What a little economist!" said Dr. Maybright, stretching out his hand
and drawing Polly to him. "Yes, I was to receive £400 a year for the
children, and it would have been a help, certainly it would have been a
help by and by. Still, my dear girls, I don't see how it is to be
managed."
"But really, father, we are so many that two more make very little
difference," explained Helen. "Polly and I are going to try hard to be
steady and good, and we think it would certainly please mother if you
let the strangers come here, and we tried to make them happy. If you
would meet them, father, and bring them here just at first, we might see
how we got on."
"I might," said the Doctor in a meditative voice, "and £400 is a good
deal of money. It is not easily earned, and with a large family it is
always wanted. That's what your mother said, and she was very wise.
Still, still, children, I keep forgetting how old you are. In reality
you are, neither of you, grown up; in reality Polly is quite a child,
and you, my wise little Nell, are very little more. I have offended your
aunt, Mrs. Cameron, as it is, and what will she say if I yield to you on
this point? Still, still----"
"Oh, father, don't mind what that tiresome Aunt Maria says or thinks on
any subject," said Polly. "Why should we mind her, she wasn't mother's
real sister. We scarcely know her at all, and she scarcely knows us. We
don't like her, and we are sure she doesn't like us. Why should she
spoil our lives, and prevent our helping you? For it would help you to
have the strangers here, wouldn't it, father?"
"By and by it would," answered the Doctor. "By and by it would help me
much."
Again the troubled expression came to his face and the dimness was
perceptible in his eyes.
"You will let us try it, father," said Helen. "We can but fail; girls as
young as us have done as much before. I am sure girls as young as we are
have done harder things before, so why should not we try?"
"I am a foolish old man," said the Doctor. "I suppose I shall be blamed
for this, not that it greatly matters. Well, children, let it be as you
wish. I will go and meet the boy and girl in London, and bring them to
the Hollow. We can have them for a month, and if we fail, children,"
added the Doctor, a twinkle of amusement overspreading his face, "we
won't tell any one but ourselves. It is quite possible that in the
future we shall be comparatively poor if we cannot manage to make that
boy and girl from Australia comfortable and happy; but Polly there has
taught us how to economize, for we can always fall back on potatoes and
point."
"Oh--oh--oh, father," came from Polly's lips.
"That is unkind, dear father," said Helen.
But they both hung about his neck and kissed him, and when Dr. Maybright
drove away that afternoon on his usual round of visits, his heart felt
comparatively light, and he owned to himself that those girls of his,
with all their eccentricities, were a great comfort to him.