Chapter 10

"Nothing could be better, my dear," said Grandpapa, blandly; "it is a fine likeness of Phronsie." And then he questioned her as to her training in the art, and what she meant to do in the future, and where she intended to study and all that, getting an immense amount of information so artfully that Adela never for an instant suspected his reason. All the time he was holding the sketch of Phronsie in his hand, and intently gazing on it most of the time.

"Well," he said at last, "I won't keep you young people any longer,"--for Jasper had thrown down the portfolio and joined the group,--"so run back to your own corner. Dear me," pulling out his watch, "it's only twenty minutes to luncheon. How time does fly, to be sure! To-morrow morning, remember, we are off for Antwerp."

"O dear, dear!" exclaimed Polly, as they ran back and bent over the portfolio again, "we haven't half seen Amsterdam, Jasper."

"No, and you wouldn't if you stayed a year," observed Jasper, wisely.

"We must go over to the Ryks Museum once more," said Polly.

"Yes, let us go there directly after luncheon," proposed Jasper. "I know what you want to do, Polly,--sit in front of 'The Night Watch' again."

"Yes, I do," said Polly. "I couldn't go away without seeing that picture once more, Jasper."

"I don't like that 'Night Watch,'" said Adela, "it's too dark and too smutty. I don't see why people like it so much."

"Well, I do like it very much," reiterated Polly. "I know it's dreadfully dark, but the people in front seem to be stepping right out of the shadows, and to be alive. It seems to me they are just going to come right up toward me, as I sit there."

"And that, after all, I suppose is the best thing one can say of a picture," said Jasper. "And it is always the finest time to look at that picture in the afternoon, you know, so we will go there, Polly, after luncheon."

"And then Phronsie will want to see that picture of a woman with a cat, I suppose," said Polly. "Dear me, who was it that painted that, Jasper? I never can remember the artists' names."

"Metsu was it--Jan--no, Gabriel--Metsu," answered Jasper, wrinkling his brows. "Neither can I remember all those fellows' names. Yes, indeed, you'll find Phronsie won't let us go there without paying respects to her special picture."

"And then I suppose Grandpapa will take us for a last drive in Vondel Park. Oh, what nice times we have had, Jasper King!" exclaimed Polly, leaning back against the sofa, and clasping her hands restfully. "I just love Amsterdam! And I hate to leave it!"

"So you said about The Hague, Polly," observed Jasper, turning to her with a little laugh.

"Well, wasn't it perfectly beautiful?" asked Polly, flying up straight again. "Just think of that dear 'House in the Wood,' Jasper."

"I know it; you wanted to go there day after day," laughed Jasper.

"Why, we only went there three times," said Polly, "I'm sure, Jasper. And the picture-gallery--"

"That is in the Maurit--rit, whatever is the rest of it? Oh, I know," said Jasper, guilty of interrupting, "Mauritshuis, that is where the picture-gallery is, Polly."

"Yes, that's it," echoed Polly; "it's fine--Paul Potter's 'Bull' is there."

"Oh, I want to see that picture very much!" exclaimed Adela. "I've never been to The Hague."

"Well, you'll go, perhaps, sometime," said Polly, with an uncomfortable feeling that she ought not to enjoy the things that Adela hadn't seen. "And you are going to Antwerp with us to-morrow, anyway," she added, brightening up.

"Yes," said Adela, "Grandmamma is really going there. But that's all; for we go straight over to England then, and I sha'n't see you ever again, Polly Pepper," she finished gloomily.

And that evening Grandpapa sat down by little old Mrs. Gray in the parlour after dinner, and though he began about something as far distant as possible, before long he was talking about Adela, and her wonderful talent. And the most surprising thing about it all was, that the little old lady, not intending to do it in the least, nor really comprehending how much she was telling, soon had him informed on all that he had set his heart on learning--how Adela had just been taken from the Paris school, because the little fortune her father had left, had somehow shrunk up, and there was no more money to keep her there. "I can't tell how it is, sir," she mourned, raising her faded eyes under the widow's cap to the kind old face above her, "I thought there was enough to educate my grandchild; it wasn't a big sum, but I supposed it was quite sufficient; but now it appears to be almost gone, and I have only just enough to keep me." She didn't add that the curate, her husband, when he crept into his grave, in the English churchyard, had left her nothing but the memory of his good name, her small means coming as a legacy from some of his grateful friends, they, too, long since dead.

Old Mr. King made no comment, only passed on with a few little leading remarks when the information seemed to be on the wane. And then he said he thought he would like a game of backgammon, and he challenged the parson to come on and be beaten. And at an early hour the party broke up. "For remember," said Grandpapa, for about the fiftieth time that day, "it's Antwerp to-morrow!"

So it was at Antwerp that the whole splendid business was concluded. And when the story of it came out, there was a regular jubilee all around. For were not Adela and Adela's grandmother going with the King party around a bit more on the continent, and then off to Paris again, and back to the beloved school--Grandpapa's gift to the girl with the talent, to keep it alive!

And the little widow, stunned at first by the magnitude of the gift, could do nothing but feebly protest, "Oh, no, sir!" and put up both shaking hands to ward off the benefaction.

"It's your duty, Madam," said Mr. King, sternly, at which she shrank down farther in her chair. "Who knows what such talent will do in the world? and it's my duty to see that it is kept alive,--nothing more nor less than a question of duty."

He stamped up and down the room vehemently, and the little old lady protesting that she wanted to do her duty,--she was sure she always did,--the hardest part was over, and old Mr. King chuckled to himself triumphantly.

"And now," cried Polly, in a transport, when the first surprise was over, and everybody had settled down to the quiet enjoyment of it all, "we've really and truly got a celebrated artist all to ourselves," and she drew herself up in pride.

"I'm not celebrated yet," said Adela, with two little red spots on her cheeks, and with happy eyes on her grandmother. "You had better wait till I am."

"Oh, well; you will be," said Polly, confidently, "sometime, and then we can say 'yes, we knew her when she was a girl,' and we'll go to picture-galleries the same as we do here, and see your name stuck up in the corners of the very best ones, Adela."

XVI

"LET US FLY AT THOSE BOOKS"

"Now, Polly, in Antwerp," said Jasper, "we can see Rubens to perfection. Won't we just revel in his paintings, though!"

"Won't we!" ejaculated Polly. "I'm so glad Grandpapa came here to this hotel." She leaned out of the window as she spoke.

"Under the very eaves of the Cathedral, almost, isn't it?" said Jasper, in satisfaction.

The chimes just then pealed out. Indeed, it seemed as if they did nothing but ring, so short were the intervals. But to Polly and Jasper they brought only echoes of delight.

"There are forty of those bells, aren't there?" asked Polly, resting her elbows on the window-sill.

"I believe so," answered Jasper, absently. Polly looked at him curiously.

"Polly," he said abruptly, "do you know what I mean to do?"

"No," said Polly; "tell me, do, Jasper."

"Well, I mean to sit right down and finish my book. I'm ashamed to confess that it's not up to date."

"Neither is mine," confessed Polly.

"Well, now, that won't do," said Jasper, decidedly. "You see if we once let those books get behindhand, we're lost. We never can catch up, in all this world."

"We've had so much to do and to see," began Polly.

"That won't be any excuse that will amount to anything," said Jasper, shaking his head. "Let's fly at them and tackle them now, Polly."

"I say so, too," she cried, and deserting the window, they surrounded the centre-table, and soon had the big journals, photographs, and pictures, of every sort and size, the ink bottle, and library paste, scissors, and all the rest of the paraphernalia, spread out on it.

"It's good that Grandpapa is lying down and doesn't wish to go out," remarked Polly, snipping away at a fearful rate, and pausing only to write down the dates and other bits of information around each picture, as she pasted it in. "Now we'll have all this morning to finish these books up to to-day."

"And none too much for the job," said Jasper, sagely. "I declare I shall feel like enjoying myself twice as well, when once they're up to date. They've been hanging round my conscience every day since I slackened work on them."

"And I am so glad you made me come away from that window, and set to work," said Polly, "or I never would have commenced on mine to-day."

"Oh, yes, you would, I think, Polly," said Jasper. "Well, we are at it now, and that's enough. Now says I, I'm on book No. 2!" And he flapped down the cover of the completed one. "That's done, thank fortune!"

"Oh, Jasper, have you the green one done?" asked Polly. "Why, I have three more pages of mine to do."

"Well, you'll catch up on the red one, I dare say," said Jasper, opening No. 2. "We are getting on famously, aren't we, Polly?" glancing over at her work.

"Yes, and I'm so glad you proposed this way to keep a journal," said Polly, "to have them labelled 'My Notes on My European Journey,' and to have No. 1 green, and No. 2 red, and so on all through the rest of the colours."

"That will help us to find them in a hurry," said Jasper, "and keep them distinct; but I didn't propose it, Polly, about the books. It was your plan as much as mine."

"No." Polly was guilty of contradicting. "I never should have thought of having the books of different colours and labelling them in that way, Jasper."

"Well, you first thought of cutting out pictures and all sorts of items, and then writing the dates and whatever else we wanted to around the pictures," said Jasper. "I'm sure that's more important than the title of the book, Polly."

"Well, won't the boys love to see them," asked Polly, suddenly, with a light in her eyes, ignoring the question as to her claim to the idea, "when we get home, Jasper?"

"Won't they, though!" he responded, falling to work with a will.

And so Antwerp was entered with clear consciences as to journals, and a strict determination not to fall behind again on them.

But Polly slipped in so many of the beautiful photographs of the "Descent from the Cross," and the other two famous pictures by Rubens, that her red book was closed the third day of their stay in the old town of Antwerp; and the photographs had even overflowed into the yellow book, No. 3.

They had a habit, most of their party, of dropping into the Cathedral once a day at least, usually in the morning, and sometimes before service. And then when it was quiet, and before the ordinary throng of sight-seers trailed through, Jasper would hire some chairs of one of the old women who always seem to be part and parcel of European cathedrals; and they would sit down before the painting, its wings spread over the dingy green background, and study what has made so many countless travellers take long and oftentimes wearisome journeys to see.

And Polly always wanted to go after that to see the "Assumption," which is the altar-piece, and then the "Elevation of the Cross," both by Rubens. "And I am sure, Grandpapa," she would always say, "I like them as well as I do the famous painting."

"And so do I, Polly, in a way," Grandpapa would invariably reply. "They are all marvellous, and that is all we can say, for no expressions could give the truth about them."

After the Cathedral, which they loved all the more,--"for being perched under its eaves" (as Polly always said when speaking of the hotel that was for the time being their home),--Polly and Jasper set next in their regard the Musée Plantin-Moretus. They were never tired of running down there to the Marché du Vendredi, until it became a regular question every day at dinner, "Well, what more have you discovered at the Musée Plantin?"

And old Mr. King would often answer, for he was as interested as the young people, "Marvellous things." And then he would expatiate on the antique furniture, the paintings, engravings, and tapestries, till the little doctor, fresh from his hospital visitations, would remark that it was just as good as if he had time to visit the place, to hear Grandpapa tell it all. And Adela would bring out her little sketches, which now she was not averse to showing, since everybody was so kind and sympathising, and there would be some little nook or corner of corridor or court that Polly would fall upon and pronounce, "Just perfect, and how did you get it?"

"Oh, I just drew a bit now and then when you were looking at things," said Adela, carelessly.

"Everything just dances off your pencil," said Polly, wishing she could draw, and wondering if it was any use for her to try to learn.

And every afternoon they would go to drive as usual, very often around the docks, which gave them all a good idea of this wonderful port. They were never tired of watching the hydraulic cranes, of inspecting the dry docks; the intertwining railways by which all the docks, large and small, are connected, and the two basins, Le Petit and Le Grand Bassin.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Jasper, on one of these occasions, "I thought Amsterdam docks were huge affairs, but Antwerp!" And he left his sentence in mid-air, which was more impressive after all.

But Parson Henderson liked the church of St. Jacques best of all things in Antwerp, and he used to steal away mornings to go there again and again. And he asked Polly and Jasper to go there with him one day, and Polly begged to have Adela go too, and they all came home as enthusiastic as he was.

And then suddenly Mr. King would wrench them all off from this delightful study and put his foot down peremptorily. "No more cathedrals for a time," he would declare; "my old head cannot carry any more just yet." And he would propose a little in-letting of fun. And then off they would go a-shopping, or to the Zoological Gardens; and they always had concerts, of course, wherever they were, for Polly and Jasper's sakes, if for no other reason. And by and by somebody announced, one fine morning, that they had been in Antwerp a fortnight.

And then one day Mother Fisher looked into Polly's brown eyes, and finding them tired, she calmly tucked Polly quietly in bed. "Why, Mamsie," declared Polly, "I'm not sick."

"No, and I'm not going to have you be," observed Mrs. Fisher, sensibly. "This running about sight-seeing is more tiresome, child, than you think for, and dreadfully unsettling unless you stop to rest a bit. No, Jasper," as he knocked at the door, "Polly can't go out to-day, at least not this morning. I've put her to bed."

"Is Polly sick, Mrs. Fisher?" called Jasper, in great concern.

"No, not a bit," answered Mrs. Fisher, cheerily, "but she's tired. I've seen it coming on for two or three days back, so I'm going to take it in time."

"And can't she come out, to-day?" asked Jasper, dreadfully disappointed, with a mind full of the host of fine things they had planned to do.

"No, Jasper," said Mother Fisher, firmly, "not to jaunt about." So Jasper took himself off, feeling sure, despite his disappointment, that Polly's mother was right.

And there was another person who wholly agreed with Mother Fisher, and that was old Mr. King. "If you can stop those young folks from killing themselves running about to see everything, you'll do more than I can, Mrs. Fisher," he observed. "It makes no difference how long I plan to stay in a town, so as to do it restfully, if they won't rest."

"That is a fact," said Mother Fisher. "Well, that's my part to see that they do rest."

"I don't envy you the job," said the old gentleman, drily.

Polly fidgeted and turned on her pillow, knowing Mamsie was right, but unable to keep from thinking of the many beautiful plans that Jasper and she had formed for that very morning, till her head spun round and round. "I can't get to sleep," she said at last.

"Don't try to," said her mother, dropping the heavy wool curtains till the room was quite dark; "that's the worst thing in the world to do, if you want to rest. Just lie still and don't try to think of anything."

"But I can't help thinking," said poor Polly, feeling sure that Jasper was dreadfully disappointed at the upsetting of all the plans.

"Never say you can't help anything, Polly," said her mother, coming over to the bedside to lay a cool hand on Polly's hot forehead, and then to drop a kiss there; and somehow the kiss did what all Polly's trying had failed to accomplish.

"That's good, Mamsie," she said gratefully, and drew a long, restful breath.

Mother Fisher went out and closed the door softly.

It was just three o'clock that afternoon when Polly woke up.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully ashamed!" she exclaimed when she found it out. "I've slept almost this whole day!"

Mother Fisher smiled, "And it's the best day's work you've done in one long while, Polly," she said.

"And here's my girl, Polly," cried Grandpapa, when she ran down to him, and holding her at arm's length, he gazed into her bright eyes and on her rosy cheeks. "Well, well, your mother's a clever woman, and no mistake."

So Polly knew if she didn't take care and not get tired again, she would be tucked into bed another fine day.

It was a long summer morning, and they were sailing up the Rhine, with the delights of Brussels and Cologne behind them, and in between the covers of the purple book, No. 4, Polly had been looking at ruined castles and fortresses, at vine-clad terraces, and châlets, until she turned to Grandpapa with a sigh.

"Tired, Polly, little woman?" he said, cuddling her up against him.

"No, not tired, Grandpapa," said Polly, "but, oh, there's so very much of it over here in Europe."

"If you've found that out, you've learned the lesson early," said old Mr. King, with a laugh. "As many times as I've been over here, there's nothing that surprises me so much as the presumption with which we travellers all rush about, expecting to compass all there is."

"But we ought to see everything," said Polly, "oughtn't we, Grandpapa, when we've come so far to see it?" and she looked troubled.

"There's just where you are wrong, Polly, child," said old Mr. King. "And this 'ought to see,' why, it's an old dragon, Polly, lying in wait to destroy. Don't you let it get hold of you, but take my advice and see only what you can make your own and remember. Then you've got it."

XVII

POLLY WROTE A NICE LITTLE NOTE

"Polly," said Jasper, running down the stairs after her, on her way to the little garden on the terrace at Heidelberg, "here's something for you; just came in the mail."

"For me," said Polly, as he put a little parcel in her hand.

"Yes," said Jasper, "father just gave it to me."

"What can it be!" cried Polly, wonderingly; "oh, something from Alexia or one of the other girls, most likely," and she tore off the outer wrapper.

"It is registered," said Jasper, "and Mr. Henderson got it out for you, father said; that can't be from one of the girls, Polly," as the next layer of paper dropping off, disclosed the name of one of the biggest of big London jewellers across a wooden box.

"What can it be!" gasped Polly, tugging at the cover.

"Here--let me." Jasper essayed to open it, but it stuck fast in the slide. Another pull, and a little red leather case appeared in view.

"What in the world--" began Polly; "oh, it can't be for me!" and she stood staring at it, without any attempt to take it out.

"It must be for you, Polly," said Jasper. "There couldn't be any other Miss Mary Pepper, and besides it is addressed to father's care, and comes through our bankers,--see here." He stooped, and picked up the outer wrapper; it was torn almost in two, but the name and address was all there.

So Polly lifted out the little red leather case, still feeling very much as if she were opening a parcel belonging to some one else, and touching a spring at the end, the top flew up, and there on a white satin bed lay a little green enamelled watch set with diamonds.

"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, tumbling back in the utmost distress, "now I _have_ got some one else's box, Jasper. How very dreadful!"

"Let us go to father," said Jasper, feeling this quite beyond him. "Shut the box up tight, Polly; it might tumble out on the way."

"You carry it, do, Jasper," begged Polly, with an eye askance at the little case; and snapping the cover down, she set it in his hand.

"All right, now, then," said Jasper. "We must carry these papers, and wooden box, and the whole business. Don't worry, Polly," seeing her face, "father will straighten it out."

"Give me the wrapper, Jasper, and the wooden box, if only you'll take the other," said Polly, feeling very much depressed at coming into possession of other people's property; and Jasper followed with the little enamelled watch.

And Grandpapa was just as much astounded as was Polly herself; and all the family congregating in Mother Fisher's room, the little watch was handed about from one to the other, and everybody stared at everybody else, and the mystery thickened every moment. And the strangest thing about it was that no one opened the little back cover where any one might have read:--

"Polly Pepper, from her grateful friend, Arthur Selwyn."

--until the middle of the night, when Jasper was awakened by a noise as if some one were prowling around in his father's room. He started up and listened.

"It's I," said old Mr. King's voice. So Jasper threw on his wrapper, and hurried in. There sat his father, in dressing-gown and slippers, by the table, with the little enamelled watch in his hand.

"Of all the idiots, Jasper," he exclaimed, "your father is the very worst. I've only just this moment thought to look in here." He flashed the little watch around in Jasper's face; it was now opened at the back.

"Dear me!" cried Jasper, for want of anything better to say, as he read the inscription. Then he looked helplessly at his father.

"Earl or no earl, this piece of foolishness goes back," fumed old Mr. King, getting out of his chair, and beginning to march back and forth across the floor as he always did when irritated. "Yes, sir, the very first thing in the morning," he repeated, as vehemently as if Jasper had contradicted him.

"But, father--" began the boy.

"Yes, sir, it goes back, I tell you," repeated his father, now well wrought up to a passion. "What right has he to send such a piece of foolishness to my Polly Pepper? I can give her all the watches she needs. And this trumpery," pointing to the jewelled gift still lying in Jasper's hand, "is utterly unfit for a schoolgirl. You know that yourself, Jasper."

"But Polly was kind to him," began Jasper, again.

"Kind to him!" snorted his father, "don't I know that? Of course she was. Polly Pepper would be kind to any one. But that's no reason why the old idiot should presume to give her such a silly and expensive present as that. The man doesn't know anything who would do such a thing. And this one is queerer than the average."

"As you say, he is eccentric," observed Jasper, seeing here a loophole by which to get in a soothing word.