THE GIRLS TRY TO IMPROVE THEIR MINDS.
Polly's reading-club started off valiantly the next afternoon, and
for an hour the girls read aloud industriously, while the rain
pattered on the shingles above their heads. The experiment had all
the charm of novelty, and the weather was in their favor, since
there was little temptation to be out of doors; so, at the close
of the first day, the reading was voted a great success. However,
the next time there was a slight decrease in the interest, and
Jean's suggestion as they sat down, that they should read for half
an hour and play games the rest of the time, was hailed with
delight by all but Polly, who was haunted by the possibility of
being that "living disgrace" which Aunt Jane had pronounced her.
Still, Polly was in the minority, and the change of programme was
adopted. At the third meeting, Molly was the one to propose an
adjournment at the end of the first quarter of an hour, and the
girls were not slow to take advantage of the suggestion, and go
rushing down-stairs, and out into the bright afternoon sunshine,
to join Alan who was lazily swinging in the hammock, with his eyes
fixed on the bits of white cloud that went drifting across the
blue above him.
It was with an air of great decision that Polly marched up the
attic stairs, two days later. She had purposely delayed her
coming, and the others were anxiously awaiting her. The warm sun
streamed in at the western window, and threw a golden light over
the dainty summer gowns of the three girls who were in a row on
the slippery haircloth seat of an old mahogany sofa, which had an
empty starch-box substituted for its missing leg. Alan sat in
front of them, placidly rocking to and fro, astride the cradle
that he had dragged out into the middle of the floor, to serve as
an easy-chair.
"Hurry up, Polyanthus," he remarked encouragingly. "These girls
are scolding me like everything, and I want you to come and fight
for me."
"Do help us to send him off, Polly," his sister begged. "He
insisted on coming up here with us, even after I told him we
didn't want him."
"Why don't you go out and play ball with the other boys, Alan?"
urged Jean.
"Now, Jean, that's too bad!" said Polly, filled with righteous
indignation. "It's not fair to twit Alan because there are some
things he can't do."
"Let him be," said Florence; "he'll get so tired of it at the end
of ten minutes, that nothing would tempt him to stay here."
"Good for you, Florence; you're a trump," returned Alan. "I
promise you, I won't so much as speak, if you'll let me stay; but
it's awfully dull doing nothing, and mother's bound I shan't play
ball. You wouldn't catch me here, if I could."
"Ungrateful wretch!" exclaimed Polly, while Jean added,--
"No danger of your saying anything! You'll be sound asleep before
we've read a page."
"What's the use of reading it, then?" was Alan's pertinent
question.
"I'm sure I don't know," answered Florence. "It's one of Polly's
ideas, or rather, Aunt Jane's."
"Aunt Jane ought to be ganched!" remarked Alan, with calm
disrespect; for Polly made no secret of Aunt Jane's eccentricities,
and they were a common subject of discussion among the V.
"I know it," confessed Polly, filled with shame at the thought of
having such a relative.
"Come, Polly, what is the use of reading this poky old book?"
urged Molly. "'T isn't doing any of us the least bit of good. I've
listened just as hard as I could, and I'm sure I haven't any idea
what it's all about, it's told in such a queer way."
Molly's use of the word "queer" said more than a dozen lesser
adjectives. She had a singularly expressive manner of drawing it
out, that threw untold meaning into its simple form. Alan used to
declare that, if Molly once pronounced anything queer, its
reputation was spoiled, as far as her hearers were concerned. This
time Jean upheld her.
"It is very poky," she announced, as she pulled a bit of hair out
from one of the holes in the cushion, and fell to picking it to
pieces. "I think it's too warm weather for it, Polly. I don't care
what Aunt Jane says; I'm not going to waste these glorious summer
days over such stuff." And she pointed disdainfully at the book, a
square, clumsy volume, bound in dingy black cloth covers.
Polly looked rather hurt.
"I know all that, girls," she began; "but an hour a day, and only
every other day, too, isn't very much to spend on it."
"It's an hour too much, though, Polly," said Molly decisively.
"This garret is so warm; wait till cooler weather, and then we'll
try again. We shouldn't have time to finish it, anyway, before
Jean had the play ready for us. How is it getting along, Jean?"
"Awfully!" confessed Jean. "Whenever I sit down to write, my head
is as empty as an egg is, after you've blown it."
"Now, you girls let me plan for you," said Alan, moved to pity by
Polly's downcast face. "You let your old book go till fall, and
then start again, but only read half an hour a day. That's all
your brains can take in, and I'll try to be on hand to explain it
to you. How does that suit, Poll?"
"I suppose it will have to do," sighed Polly. "I hate to give up,
now we've started; but if you won't read, you won't."
"Very true," remarked Jean, while Florence added,--
"Now, tell us truly, Polly, do you know what the man is talking
about half the time?"
"No, I don't know as I do," admitted Polly.
"Then what do you want to read it for?" pursued Florence,
determined to come to an understanding.
"Oh, it sounds sort of good, you know," said Polly vaguely; "just
as if we ought to like it. 'Most everybody does read it, and I
didn't know but, if we kept at it long enough, it might teach us a
little something."
"Who wants to be taught? And besides, I'd rather have something a
little fresher than this," said Jean, making no secret of her
heresy.
"Polly! Polly!" called a voice from below.
Polly sprang up from the floor, where she had seated herself.
"That's mamma; what can she want?" she exclaimed, running to the
window and putting her head out.
Down in the street sat Mrs. Adams in their low, two-seated
carriage, while Job stood nodding sleepily in the sun, as he
waited for the signal to proceed.
"Don't you girls want to go for a little drive?" she called, as
her daughter's head came in sight.
In an instant three other heads appeared, and she was saluted with
three voices,--
"How lovely!"
"What fun!"
"We'll be down in a minute."
The minute was a short one; for the girls snatched their hats in
passing through the hall, and quickly surrounded the carriage, in
a gay, laughing group. Alan came sauntering down the stairs after
them, and stood leaning in the doorway, watching them settle
themselves preparatory to starting. Something in the lad's
position struck Mrs. Adams, and she beckoned to him.
"Come too, Alan; that is, if you can stand it with so many girls."
"May I? Is there room?"
He ran out to the carriage, then stopped, hesitating, as he saw
Polly touch her mother's arm, and shake her head silently.
"I don't believe I'll go," he said, drawing back.
"Why not?" asked Mrs. Adams, in surprise.
"I don't think Polly wants me to," answered the boy frankly. "I
don't want to be in the way." And he turned back to the house.
"'Tisn't that, mamma," said Polly, blushing at being caught. "I'd
like to have Alan go, well enough, only I was afraid it would be
too much for Job to take so many of us."
"In that case, you might have offered to be the one to give up,"
said her mother, in a low tone, which, though very gentle, still
brought a deeper flush to Polly's face. Then she added to Alan,
"Nonsense, my boy! You are thin as a rail, and don't weigh
anything to speak of. Get in here this minute, and if Job gets
tired, I'll make you all walk home."
Alan mounted to the front seat, where he made himself comfortable,
with a boyish disregard of Florence's fresh pink gingham gown;
Mrs. Adams shook the lines persuasively; Job waked and began to
trudge along with an air of sombre patience which would have done
credit to the scriptural original of his name.
"I am glad you are all of you used to Job," said Mrs. Adams
smilingly, as they moved slowly down the main street and across
the railroad track. "He really has been a valuable horse in his
day, and there was a time when nothing could go by him,--why,
what is the matter?" And she looked around at the girls on the
back seat, as they burst into an irreverent laugh.
"Nothing, mamma," said Polly, leaning forward with her elbows on
the back of the seat in front of her; "only we thought we'd heard
you say something about it before."
"Let's drop them out, if they're so saucy," suggested Alan. "Don't
you want me to drive, Mrs. Adams?"
"Thank you, Alan; but I don't dare trust you, when you are no more
used to him, for he stumbles so. Go on, Job!" she added, with an
inviting chirrup, as she leaned forward and rattled the whip up
and down in its socket, to remind Job of its existence.
But Job was familiar with that operation, and from long experience
he had learned its lack of significance. Accordingly, he only
tilted one ear back towards his mistress, and went on at his
former jog.
It was one of the finest days of the summer, one of the days when
the season seems to have reached its height and appears to be
standing still, for a moment, in the full enjoyment of its own
beauty. A shower early in the day had washed away the dust, and
every leaf and blossom by the roadside stood up in all the glad
pride of its clean face, and turned its eyes disdainfully upward,
away from the brown earth below. The girls chattered and laughed
while they rode through the town, past the cemetery, where Mrs.
Adams had some difficulty in overcoming Job's desire to turn in,
across the long white bridge over the river, and through the quiet
little village on its eastern bank. Then they turned southward,
where the road lay over the level meadows, now past a great corn-
field, now by the side of a piece of grass land dotted thickly
with large yellow daisies. At their right was the broad blue
river, shining like metal in the sun; before them rose the two
mountains that watch over the old town, one beautiful in its
irregular outlines, the other impressive in its bold dignity. No
one who has lived near these hills can ever forget their spell.
Though long years may have passed before his return, yet his first
glance is always towards the bare, rugged cliffs, the wooded
sides, and the white summit houses of these twin guardians of the
quiet valley town.
"I believe I am perfectly happy," said Florence, with a sigh of
content, as she leaned back and surveyed the meadows.
"I should be, if I could have some of those daisies," said Polly,
pointing to a great bunch of them close by.
"Want 'em? All right, here goes!" And before Mrs. Adams could
bring Job to a halt, Alan was out over the wheel.
"Don't stop; I can catch up with you," he called. "It's too hard
work to get Job under way again."
He was as good as his word; for he hastily pulled up the flowers
by the roots, came running after the carriage, and tossed them
into Polly's lap.
"There! Now aren't you glad you brought me?" he exclaimed
triumphantly, as he scrambled up the back of the carriage, like a
monkey, and worked his way along to the front seat again. "You're
a daisy, yourself, Alan," answered Polly, leaning out over the
wheel to break off the roots. "These are lovely. Want some,
girls?"
"It's going to rain to-morrow, I just know," said Molly,
disregarding the daisies. "If it does, it will spoil our picnic,
and that will be a shame."
"Oh, it won't rain," said Jean. "What makes you think so, Molly?"
"It always does," said Molly wisely, "when the hills look such a
lovely dark blue. I heard somebody say so, ever so long ago, and I
never knew it to fail."
"I don't believe in signs," remarked Polly vindictively, with her
mouth full of daisy stems. "It's all just as it happens, only some
people have a sign for everything. For my part, I'll wait till I
see the rain coming, before I believe in it."
"That's Polly all over," said Alan. "She won't take anything on
trust; she has to see it first."
"How did the reading come on to-day?" inquired Mrs. Adams, leaning
back in her seat, and letting Job ramble from side to side of the
road, at his will.
"Not very well," said Florence, seeing that none of the others
started to reply.
"I hope I didn't break it up," Mrs. Adams answered, as she took
out the whip, to brush a fly from Job's plump side.
Alan giggled.
"You needn't be afraid, Mrs. Adams; the girls are glad to get off
on any terms."
"I'll tell you how 'tis, Mrs. Adams," said Jean, coming to the
rescue, rather to Polly's relief. "You see, it's such warm
weather, and the book wasn't real interesting, so we decided to
let it go till by and by. Do you think we're very dreadful?" And
she laughed up into Mrs. Adams's face, with perfect confidence in
her approval.
Mrs. Adams laughed too.
"I didn't really think you would carry out your plan for very
long," she said. "Polly takes Aunt Jane's words too seriously. In
old times, everybody read 'Pilgrim's Progress,' but it's going out
of fashion now, and--Whoa, Job! What are you doing?" she
exclaimed, as the carriage tilted to one side so unexpectedly that
Florence and Molly screamed a little.
Job, grieved at finding himself ignored and left out of the
conversation, had apparently determined to amuse himself in his
own way. He had meandered back and forth across the road, as was
shown by the serpentine character of his tracks; now, catching
sight of a tempting stalk of mullein by the fence, he had walked
across the gutter and was just stretching his head forward to
seize the coveted morsel, when Mrs. Adams interrupted him. Her
first impulse was to draw him back, but kinder feelings prevailed,
and she bent forward to give him the full length of the lines,
saying indulgently,--
"The mischief is done already, Job, so you may as well have your
lunch, for you can't tip us up any farther." And she sat there
quite patiently, in spite of her strained position, until Job had
devoured the mullein in a leisurely fashion. Then she reined him
back into the road, remarking, "It isn't fair for poor Job to do
all the work and not have any of the fun, is it?"
"I'll tell you, Mrs. Adams," suggested Alan; "let's all get out
and put Job into the carriage, and draw him a mile or two, just to
rest him."
"You shan't make fun of Job!" said Polly indignantly. "You didn't
like what Jean said to you, and now you go and say, Job is o-l-d
and s-l-o-w."
"What in the world do you spell the words for, Poll?" asked Jean.
"I never have been able to make out."
"Why, Job knows what you are saying, as well as anybody, and may
be he is sensitive about it," replied Polly, to the great
amusement of the girls.
"We might read 'Pilgrim's Progress' to him, then," said Jean
wickedly. "Perhaps it would teach him to go ahead, if he knows so
much."
"Poor old Job! his going days are nearly over, aren't they, Joby?"
said Mrs. Adams caressingly, as she rubbed the whip up and down
over his glossy side. "Well, he's a poor, tired old fellow with a
heavy load, so perhaps we'd better turn here and go home."
This proceeding met with Job's full approval. He had been walking
more and more slowly, as if overcome by the effort which he had
been forced to make, and seemed scarcely able to totter onward,
stumbling at every stone. But with the change of direction, his
life came back to him, and with a whisk of his tail and an
ungainly flourish of his hind legs, he started off at a trot,
turning neither to the right nor the left, but only intent on
reaching home and supper.
"There!" said Mrs. Adams in a tone of disgust; "when Job does that
I just want to whip him. He has played that trick on me over and
over again, and still I am always deceived by it. It isn't more
than two weeks since Polly and I were driving to the Glen, one
very warm day. It was a strange road, and all at once Job was
taken ill in such a queer way; he staggered and almost fell. Polly
and I were so frightened, for we thought he was going to die,
right then and there. We jumped out and walked along beside him,
leading him and petting him. The road was so narrow that we
couldn't turn him around, without going on ever so far; nobody was
in sight, and we were both of us just ready to cry from sheer
nervousness. At last we came to where we could turn him, and
backed him around as carefully as could be. What did the old goose
do but put down his head and give it the funniest sideways toss,
and then trot off towards home, leaving us standing there in the
road."
"What did you do? did you walk home?" asked Alan, while the girls
laughed.
"No, indeed! We made him stop for us, and he had to trot the rest
of the way, you may be sure. Go on, Job!" urged Mrs. Adams,
shaking the lines violently.
But Job settled that matter by whisking his tail over the lines
and holding them firmly, in spite of the attempts his mistress
made to free them once more. Finding her labors of no avail, she
turned her attention to the girls again.
"What if you take another plan for your reading?" she asked,
pulling off one of her long gloves and turning slightly, as she
rested her elbow on the back of the seat. "If you care to come to
our house one or two mornings a week, through the rest of the
vacation, and read aloud with me some good book,--I don't mean
goody,--I should be delighted to have you. You could do the
reading and amuse me while I sew."
"That's elegant!" exclaimed Jean rapturously. "What shall we read,
girls?"
"But are you sure that you want us?" asked Florence doubtfully,
for her mother was not particularly hospitable to the members of
the V, and it seemed impossible to her that Mrs. Adams could be in
earnest in her proposition.
"Indeed I do," responded Mrs. Adams heartily. "I can take that
time for darning the doctor's stockings, and Polly's too, for that
matter, for her toes are always coming through. I don't like to do
it, but I shall be so well entertained that I probably shan't mind
it at all."
"See here," said the practical Jean; "let's all bring our
stockings to darn. There can't but one of us read at a time, and I
just hate to do nothing but sit and twirl my thumbs."
"But I don't know how to darn stockings," said Florence
helplessly.
"Time you did, then," said Jean. "If you had as many small
brothers as I do, you'd have plenty of practice. Besides, I think
any girl as old as we are ought to know how to mend her own
stockings, whether she's rich or poor."
"So do I, Jean," said Mrs. Adams approvingly; "and yet I am
ashamed to say that I have never taught Polly. But I think I'll
add your plan to mine, and tell the girls to bring their darning-
bags with them; and I will give you all lessons in a duty and
necessity that can be made almost a fine art."
"I hate to sew," said Molly disconsolately.
"So do I," responded Jean calmly, "but I have to just the same;
and that's the reason I thought I'd like to take the time when we
read to do some of the worst things."
"I say," remarked Alan meditatively, as he plunged his hands into
his pockets, "where's my share in this coming in?"
"Why, nowhere; you're nothing but a boy, you know," replied his
sister, with an air of conscious superiority.
"One boy is as good as a dozen girls, though, ma'am," retorted
Alan.
"Do you want to come too?" asked Polly. "He can, can't he, mamma?"
"I don't know as I want to, all the time," said Alan. "I'd like it
when I can't do anything else; but when the boys are round, I'd
rather be with them, of course."
"That settles it," said Polly, leaning forward to tickle his ear
with a long-stemmed daisy. "Take us or leave us; but we don't want
any half-way friends that like us when they can't get anything any
better."
"Don't you mind her, Alan," said Mrs. Adams. "You can come, if you
want to, and I'll protect you myself."
"If you come, though," added Polly, determined to have the last
word, "you'll have to bring some stockings to darn. We shan't let
in any lazy people."