IN THE COUNTRY
Priscilla and Polly proved to be famous travelers, for everything about
the journey interested them. They thought it great sport to look out of
the car-window and watch the telegraph-poles flash past and when this
grew less amusing they made up words to the tune the train was grinding
out.
“Going to the country! Going to the country!” chanted Polly, “that is
what it says.”
“Priscilla and Polly! Priscilla and Polly!” sang Priscilla, “don’t
you hear it?” And, sure enough, the tune did actually seem to change
as they listened, and that set them to composing other words for the
wheels to whirl out, and the accommodating train sang them all.
Then, it was fun to sit opposite each other across the aisle and count
the white cows they saw. First there seemed to be more on Polly’s side
than on Priscilla’s, but all at once they flashed by a meadow where
quite a drove of cattle was grazing and Priscilla got all the benefit
of the white cows in it.
But when, at last, they arrived at “the country” itself, Polly could
hardly keep from shouting with delight. Why, it was just the most
beautiful place she had ever dreamed of, and it was precisely as
sister had said it would be. There were the blossoming flowers and the
singing birds and the green fields all starred over with dandelions and
daisies. The daylight was fading as they drove through the leafy lanes
from the railroad-station to the house and Priscilla’s tired eyelids
were drooping, but Polly was as wide-awake and alert as when she
started out. She saw a big gate of “curly” iron set between two huge
stone posts, a cozy little cottage that Hannah said was “the Lodge”
nestling beside it, broad lawns and towering trees and then, after
they had passed all these, a great house standing high and stately
against the glowing sky. It was beneath the carriage entrance of this
that they stopped and Polly was just beginning to feel strange and
awe-struck when out came James, with smiling face, to welcome them and
she felt at home at once. In another moment Theresa appeared and busied
herself carrying in the wraps and umbrellas, while she gave Priscilla
a radiant smile and Polly a not unkindly pat on the shoulder. She even
assisted James to serve them at tea, and was so altogether amiable and
accommodating that Polly concluded the city air had not agreed with her
and that she felt better in her mind here. But she did not have much
opportunity to think about it, for Hannah whisked her and Priscilla
up-stairs and had them safely tucked into bed in no time and then,
somehow, that was the end of things until the next morning.
It appeared that, in the stable, there was a little square basket,
perched on two wheels, which was to be drawn by a wee scrap of a shaggy
pony not much bigger than a St. Bernard dog, and this was Priscilla’s
own private and particular turnout. She could not be trusted alone to
manage her fiery steed and therefore Hannah always went along when she
and Polly drove out, but, dear me! they didn’t mind that! Hannah was
just like another little girl, she was so jolly and full of fun. What
splendid times they had, to be sure, trundling along the country-roads
behind “Oh-my.”
Polly thought Oh-my a very curious name and Priscilla had to explain
that pony received it from Uncle Arthur who had said “He was little
but, Oh my!”
“I don’t care if he is little,” asserted Priscilla, “I love him just
the same.”
“Why, of course you do,” responded Polly. “He’s the best and smartest
horse I ever saw. He understands everything we say and sometimes I
think he likes jokes, ’cause when we make ’em and laugh he starts up
quick as anything, and his sides just shake, as if he were laughing
too.”
So Oh-my was made one of them, as it were; was included in most
of their play and had to “make-believe” he was everything from an
elephant in an Indian jungle to one of the rats that drew Cinderella’s
pumpkin-coach to the ball.
April was gone in a flash and May and June followed mild and warm.
Then, one day in late July the Sweet P’s had a bright idea. Polly had
been telling Priscilla about when she was “at home, where the poor
people live” and had grown quite excited over her description of the
sickly, poverty-stricken children that thronged the tenements and
swarmed out into the streets these breathless days, and Priscilla had
sighed and said, “Oh dear! I didn’t know they were ever like that! I
wish I could give them some money.”
“I earned quite a lot being cash-girl,” ventured Polly.
“I wish I could be a cash-girl!” murmured Priscilla.
“For the land’s sake!” Hannah exclaimed.
Polly was silent for a moment. Then she jumped to her feet with a
bound. “I tell you what!” she cried. “Let’s make a fair. We can sew
lots of pretty things and tie ribbons around them and Hannah can sell
them behind a counter and you and I’ll be cash-girls. Miss Cissy and
all the rest will buy from us and pay real money and we’ll give it to
the people who have the Fresh Air Fun’.”
Hannah turned away her head and coughed violently into her
handkerchief, but Priscilla clapped her hands.
“Oh, do! Oh, let’s!” she cried eagerly.
“Sister can make the loveliest lace you ever saw,” continued Polly,
“and she’ll do some for us if we ask her, and--and---- Oh! I know we
could have a beautiful fair.”
Priscilla was so captivated by the idea that she could hardly wait for
a chance to lay it before her mother. The dear little girl was timid
even with those she loved best and it required considerable courage
to go and knock upon the great living-room door and ask if she might,
“please come in.”
“Is that my Priscilla?” asked a dear voice in response.
“Yes, mamma,” replied the younger Sweet P.
Mrs. Duer held out her arms and gathered her small daughter into them
with a quick laugh of pleasure.
“Mother is always glad to see her little girl,” she said.
Priscilla smiled.
“What have you been doing to-day? Having a nice time?”
Priscilla nodded.
“Where is Polly?”
“Up-stairs,” whispered Polly’s partner.
“I wonder,” ventured Mrs. Duer, “if there is anything particular mother
can do for her little girl?”
Priscilla ducked her head quickly.
“What is it you want, darling? Tell mother and, who knows, perhaps she
can get it for you.”
Priscilla smiled and swallowed hard.
“What is it, sweetheart? Surely you’re not afraid to speak to mother!
What do you want?”
“A fair,” murmured Priscilla with an effort, “We want to make one,
Polly and I do, and tie it with ribbons and have Hannah sell it behind
a counter. Polly and I will be cash-girls and give the money to the
Fresh Air Fun’.”
Mrs. Duer hesitated a moment, for Priscilla’s description of the Sweet
P’s plan was not altogether as clear as it might have been. But the
anxious, small face, flushing and paling with eagerness, hastened her
answer.
“Why, yes, you dear child,” she returned. “If you and Polly want to
have a fair I see no reason why you should not have one. In fact, I
shall be very glad to help you all I can. You may tell Theresa to give
Hannah my piece-bag and silk-boxes and you can choose all the fancy
bits you like for pin-balls and needle-cases and book-marks. And when
you have shown what you can do I will fit out a table for you myself.”
Priscilla did not wait for more. She pressed her cheek lovingly against
her mother’s for an instant and then hurried away to tell Polly the
glorious news.
How they did work after that! They sat under the trees and stitched
away until the robins must have wondered what manner of nests these
large birds were building that required such an endless supply of
threads and silks and sweet-smelling cotton-wool. Hannah was kept
breathlessly busy, planning and cutting out and basting, for when
fingers are willing, needles fly.
A little bird (perhaps one of the robins) told Miss Cissy what was
afoot and the first thing the Sweet P’s knew there she was, declaring
she did not intend to be excluded from all the fun and that if they
did not mind she was going to have a finger in their Fresh Air pie. In
spite of their good-will they had discovered that a fair meant pretty
hard work and, sew as diligently as they might, they seemed to make
very little progress after the first few days. But when Miss Cicely
arrived everything was changed. She helped them with such energy that,
before they knew it their stock in trade had outgrown the nursery
limits and had to be shifted to the great picture-gallery. Then,
suddenly, contributions began to pour in from every side. Grandpapa
and grandmamma sent a huge boxful of the most wonderful articles and
all the uncles and aunts followed suit, until it was plain that the
Sweet P’s modest fair was developing into a very elaborate affair. Miss
Cicely had said she would take charge of one of the booths, but she
soon discovered she could not do it alone, even with the assistance of
two such tireless cash-girls as Priscilla and Polly, and so she asked
their permission to invite some of the neighborhood ladies to lend
a hand. Then some one suggested that it would sound much grander if
the fair were called a kirmess and, this being agreed upon, of course
all the booths had to be arranged in the quaint fashion of those at
a German village festival and the attendants dressed in the peasant
costume. The Sweet P’s were to be arrayed in scarlet woolen petticoats;
black-velvet, gold-laced bodices over white guimpes, with white aprons,
black velvet caps, low, gilt-buckled shoes and dark-blue stockings.
Oh-my heard them talking about it as they sat behind him in the little
basket-cart that he drew so patiently over hill and dale for their
amusement, and Polly was quite certain his feelings were hurt because
he was not included in the plans for the bazaar.
“The poor, dear thing!” she confided to Priscilla. “He feels left out
in the cold.”
Hannah laughed. “Cold, is it?” she repeated, fanning herself with her
apron and trying to dodge the hot sun beneath the little canopy-top of
the cart. “Well, he may be glad of it. I wouldn’t mind being left out
in the cold myself for a bit these stifling days.”
“Well, heat, then,” Polly laughingly corrected herself but with a
pretended pout. “I’m quite certain he feels left out in the--heat.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Priscilla. “Oh, poor pony! We didn’t
really mean it! We didn’t really mean to leave you out.”
“But he mustn’t be left out,” insisted Polly, decidedly. “He just has
got to be part of it, that’s all. We’ll ask Miss Cissy as soon as we
get home what he can do to help.”
Miss Cicely knew at once. “He can take all the little boys and girls
for a drive; fare, five cents. We’ll put ribbons and bells on the cart
to make it look festive and we’ll get some nice lad, who is a careful
driver, to dress himself up as a German Hans, and then you see if Oh-my
does not make a nice pocketful of money for us.”
Polly clapped her hands. She was convinced that Oh-my understood and
would be charmed with the idea. And certainly this seemed to be the
case, for when the great day of the kirmess arrived he proved as
earnest and excited a worker as any there. Up the driveway and down he
scampered, prancing a bit at the turning where a low railing protected
the road from the edge of a steep bank of the ravine, and mischievously
making the happy children who crowded the basket to the brim shriek
aloud with excitement that was half fun, half fear. He was, in fact,
one of the most popular attractions at the festival and Uncle Arthur,
who was in charge of the prize-parcel booth, threatened to put him off
the grounds, he was so dangerous a rival and monopolized so much of the
custom.
Polly and Priscilla fluttered about like two tireless, industrious
Gretchens, filling orders and carrying bundles and doing their duty so
thoroughly and well that it was a pleasure to watch them. The grounds
were thronged and it was difficult to get about amid such a crowd, but
their patience never wavered and the day bade fair to prove a glorious
success. Polly carried a little chamois-skin bag filled with quarters
and dimes and nickels and whenever there was a bill to change she
seemed to be on the spot to assist in the transaction.
“Keep your eyes open, Pollykin,” Miss Cicely had advised. “And don’t
let any one escape with the apology that they have nothing but bills.
Make it easy for them to get change and then they will have no excuse
for not buying.”
Polly laughed. “I’ll try,” she said, over her shoulder, as she skipped
away, her eyes flashing and her breath coming fast.
But if the gaily decked booths, the pretty nurses and children and the
gold-laced uniforms of the orchestra-men gave a festive look to the
place in the daytime, the numberless chains of dainty Chinese lanterns
and sparkling electric lights glowing among the trees made it appear
like fairy-land at night.
Priscilla and Polly were in an ecstasy, for they were to stay up as
long as the kirmess lasted and do their part to the very end. It was
the proudest day in their lives, for even Oh-my had been led off to
his stable at sunset, and it seemed very grown-up and important to
be tripping about when all the other children were safely in bed and
asleep. But Polly found her responsibilities heavier than ever, for
whereas the place had been crowded with nurses and children during the
daytime, it was thronged with gentlemen and ladies now; and gentlemen
and ladies who seemed to carry nothing but big bills in their pockets,
which frequently the saleswomen in the booths were unable to change.
She was here, there and everywhere at once and as fast as her coins
disappeared she went to Miss Cicely for more.
“Now, here’s another bagful of silver,” explained Miss Cissy. “Five
dollars’ worth, in halves and quarters and dimes. Take good care of
it, dear, and see that you don’t stumble in the shadows; these electric
lights are shifty and it is easy to trip.”
Polly picked her way carefully over the patches of light and shadow in
the grass and fastened her fingers more securely about the money-bag
she carried. She was congratulating herself that she had not had one
mishap all day and she was determined it should not be her fault if
everything did not end as well as it had begun. She was proud of
Miss Cissy’s confidence in her and anxious to prove she deserved it.
These thoughts and a crowd of others were flashing through her mind
when--alas for Polly! she never knew how it happened, but before she
had time to prevent it, she had missed her footing, had fallen, struck
her head sharply against the iron railing that guarded the driveway
from the steep bank of the ravine and was only saved from pitching
headlong down into the gorge by the slender bar itself. For one instant
she lay quite still, then she struggled to her feet in terror, for in
the midst of her pain and shock she realized that her precious bag was
gone. The jolt of her fall had wrenched it from her grasp. Her hands
were bruised and scratched by the sharp gravel-stones, a rapidly-rising
lump upon her head throbbed heavily, but she lost no time in
considering these. Her one thought was for the money-bag. On hands and
knees she crept up and down and across the spot where she had fallen,
groping for her treasure, but all to no purpose; the bag was nowhere to
be found. Big tears of dismay welled up into her eyes, as second after
second passed and still she had not recovered it. Suddenly she saw a
figure coming toward her that proved to be Theresa hurrying to the
house on some errand or other.
“What’s the matter?” asked the maid pausing in surprise.
“Oh, dear!” Polly almost sobbed, “I fell---- I tripped and fell, and my
money-bag is gone--with five dollars in it.”
Theresa gave a pretended gasp of horror. “Gracious me!” she exclaimed.
“You are in trouble, for sure, aren’t you? I don’t wonder you feel
bad. Five dollars! That’s a big pile of money, when you haven’t got
it! Like’s not your bag is at the bottom of the ravine this minute,
floating down the brook. I declare I’m sorry for you, for of course if
you don’t hand it over prompt and quick to Miss Cicely, she’ll think
hard things of you, and maybe turn you out besides. Goodness! if it was
me, I’d run away this minute and never come back here again. I’d be
that frightened and ashamed!”
Polly stopped short in her search and looked up at Theresa with a new
terror in her eyes. “What--what do you mean?” she stammered. “Why
should I be frightened--and ashamed? It wasn’t my fault! I tried to be
careful. Why should they turn me out?”
“Because, silly! That’s why,” replied the maid sourly. “If you don’t
hand that bag over to Miss Cicely right away she’ll think hard things
of you. She’ll say you’re careless and not to be trusted. Oh, dear,
there is no knowing what she will say and do, she’ll be so angry at the
loss of that much money. I wouldn’t risk it, if I were you. I’d run
away before they found out.”
Polly gasped painfully. “It isn’t my fault,” she repeated, sobbing. “I
have tried to be careful, I have, really and truly. I don’t think Miss
Cissy will think those things of me you say she will, but--but--even
if she does, I can’t run away. It wouldn’t be right to run away. If I
can’t find the bag and she blames me, I’ll have to--to tell her all
about it and stand it, somehow.”
Theresa gave a sharp laugh. “Well, do as you please,” she cried
harshly. “It’s none of my business, I’m sure. But I can tell you this
much, you won’t find your bag, and you will be blamed, so there! You’re
mighty brave and courageous now, but wait till you’re turned out in
disgrace, and then see how you’ll feel. I guess you’ll wish you had
taken my advice then. Listen to me! if you want, I’ll hide you in my
room to-night, and to-morrow morning I’ll smuggle you out of the house
as quiet as a mouse, and no one will ever be the wiser. I’ll slip
you down to the station, and you can go to your sister in the cars,
and--and----”
For a moment Polly saw herself as Theresa pictured her: blamed,
disgraced, turned out of this home maybe, where every one had been so
kind to her, and it seemed as if she could not face it.
“Will you do as I say?” demanded Theresa eagerly, catching her by the
arm.
Polly gave a quick, low sob and shook her head.
Theresa released her hold with sudden violence, turned short round upon
her heel and, without another word, strode toward the house. Polly
looked after her with misery and despair in every line of her pale
little face. Then she fell to searching again, feeling about blindly
along every inch of the spot where she had fallen. But still the bag
could not be found. Time was flying, and Theresa had said if she did
not return the money at once they would think hard things of her. She
could not believe it! She could not bear it! She struggled to her feet
and tried to gather her wits together. What should she do? What would
sister tell her to do if she were here and knew the truth. Suddenly
Polly gave a little gasp of joy and flew toward the house as fast as
her feet would carry her. She had found a way out of her trouble, and
her heart beat so quick with the relief of it, that it almost took her
breath away. Up into the nursery she ran, and to her own particular
little table upon which her bank stood. It was so heavy with money it
would hardly rattle, and every cent of it was her very own by right,
to do with as she chose. But how was she to get at the money? The bank
was locked and she had given sister the key. She twisted and tugged
at it fiercely, but only a stray copper or nickle slipped through the
opening in the top, and at this rate it would take her all night to
shake out the rest. She thought of James. James would help her! James
was a good friend of hers. She flew down-stairs like a small whirlwind,
and surprised the butler as he stood in the front doorway, watching the
gaieties outside and resting for a moment from his labors. He heard her
out patiently, though she was so excited her words came in gasps, and
she made confusing work of her story.
“So you fell and hurt yourself, and lost your bag of change, eh?” he
commented. “Well, I declare, that’s rare hard luck, it is! No mistake!
And you want me to open this affair and get the money out of it to
make up for what you lost? Well, you’re a real up-and-down square one,
you are. Now just you wait. I’ve a big ring of keys down-stairs, and
I’ll bring it up and see if we can’t fit one into this lock, and if we
can’t--why!----”
He did not wait to explain what would happen then but ran quickly below
and before many minutes was back again and trying one key after another
into the obstinate lock that absolutely refused to be fitted. Polly, at
his side, twisted and jerked with impatience and excitement, and when
at last James shook his head and said with a sigh: “It’s no use! there
ain’t one in the whole lot that’ll do,” she almost broke into crying
again.
The kind fellow gave her an encouraging glance. “Don’t you worry,” he
said. “If we can’t do one way we’ll do another. If we can’t unlock the
door we’ll have to break open the bank. Are you willing?”
Polly nodded eagerly. “Yes, oh yes!” she quivered.
“Well, come along then,” returned James and led the way down-stairs.
Polly following dumbly. She could hardly wait while he got from his
tool-chest the things he needed and set to work. Once, twice, three
times the heavy hammer fell, and then, with a cry of joy, Polly made a
dash toward the shattered bank and gathered up the stream of coins that
poured out of it.
“Oh, James, I thank you ever so much,” she cried gratefully.
“Hadn’t you better count your money,” suggested the butler sensibly.
“Are you sure there’s enough here? It takes a good many pennies and
nickles to make five dollars, you know.”
The next moment he was almost sorry he had spoken when he saw all the
brightness vanish from her face as quickly as it had come there. But
she did not stop to lament.
“Take half, please,” she said, “and count it and I’ll count the other
part and then we’ll add what we’ve both got.”
Poor James! He was not, as he himself admitted, “a lightening
calculator,” and his progress was very slow, so that Polly had
announced: “One dollar and sixteen cents,” while he was still stumbling
over, “A quarter--and ten cents: that makes thirty-five! And five more:
that makes forty,” and so on. Would he never get done? Would he never
say, “One dollar!” Suppose there were not enough!
“One dollar!” announced James triumphantly, and Polly’s heart beat fast
for he still held quite a little heap of coins that were uncounted. It
was a great trial of patience to stand there and wait and wait, when so
much was at stake. Polly wanted to jump up and down and cry: “Hurry!
Hurry!” to urge him on, but she shut her teeth hard and kept the words
back.
“One dollar and fifty!” droned James. “And a dime: that makes sixty:
and five pennies: that makes sixty-five. And a quarter: that makes
ninety: a dollar and ninety! I guess I’ve got most of the big pieces!
And a dime: two dollars! Two dollars and ten cents! fifteen! eighteen!
and another dime: that’s twenty-eight! And, hey there! If here ain’t a
fifty-cent piece! That makes two dollars and seventy-eight. I say, two
dollars and seventy-eight is better than nothing! And your one dollar
and sixteen added to that! why that makes--that makes--three dollars
and ninety-four. Now ten cents makes four dollars and four cents and
six more is ten and--and--four dollars and ten cents and--and--that’s
all!”
Yes, Polly had seen it was all. A couple of great tears crowded out the
sight of James and the cruelly disappointing pile of money he held, and
then rolled down her burning cheeks in two hot streams. But the next
moment she had brushed them hastily aside, for the butler had grasped
her arm with a jolly laugh.
“Oh, I say!” he shouted. “See here! What’s the matter with counting
in this nice one-dollar bill lying there all hid away where we didn’t
see it! I ain’t a lightening calculator, and I ain’t proud if I am
handsome, but the way I add up four dollars and ten cents and a one
dollar bill, brings it up to five dollars, with a silver dime over.
Now, young lady, just you take this money and skip as fast as ever you
can.”
Skip! Why Polly fairly flew and James, looking after her with a smile,
patted his vest-pocket approvingly, muttering to himself: “I got a
dollar’s worth of fun just seeing the worry go out of her eyes and the
glad look come back again. I ain’t rich, but I’m satisfied I spent that
money right!”