CHAPTER III

MISS POMEROY COMES

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

Polly Prentiss is an orphan who lives with a distant relative, Mrs. Manser, the mistress of Manser farm. Miss Hetty Pomeroy, a maiden lady of middle age, has, ever since the death of her favorite niece, been on the lookout for a little girl whom she might adopt. She is attracted by Polly’s appearance and quaint manners, and finally decides to take her home with her and keep her for a month to see if the plan would be agreeable to both. If Polly, whose real name is Mary, should fulfill her expectations she would then wish to adopt her.

Polly ran out of the room, and Mrs. Manser hurried through the house to open the front door; she stepped out to the wagon to greet Miss Pomeroy, and stood with the breeze fluttering her scanty front locks till Polly reappeared.

“I don’t know as she’ll be what you want, at all,” said Mrs. Manser, blinking up at the grave, kind face above her, for the sun shone in her eyes. “I’ll leave you to find out what sort of a child she is, as I told you the other day, for nobody can tell what will suit anybody else. I’ve tried to bring her up well, but, of course, she hasn’t had advantages, though she’s pretty bright in school, her teacher says.”

“I’m glad it’s vacation time,” said Miss Pomeroy, cheerily. “Polly and I will have so much better chance to get acquainted with each other, and become friends whether she stays with me always or not. Is she pleased to go, Mrs. Manser?”

“I guess she realizes what a great chance ’tis for her, and how good you are,” said Mrs. Manser, avoiding the direct gaze of the keen gray eyes. She began to wish she had left unsaid a few things, with which she had charged Polly’s mind. “Of course, ’tisn’t as if she had the sense of a grown person,” she added, somewhat vaguely.

“I don’t know about that,” laughed Miss Pomeroy; “it seems to me that little people have a wonderful amount of sense sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Manser, dubiously, “perhaps they have.”

Meanwhile Polly had run out to the shed, where the old people were waiting to say good-by to her. They had been marshaled into a line by Uncle Sam Blodgett, so that Polly might be hugged and kissed by each in turn, without loss of time; but the line wavered and broke as the little figure they all loved to see came flying in at the door. Poor Bob Rust, from his humble stand at the rear, gave a strange, sorrowful cry and turned to go out of the shed.

“Here,” called Polly, peremptorily, “I’ll kiss you first of all, on your forehead, because I don’t like all your whiskers, you know,” and the man stooped for his good-by, and then ran, stumbling, out of the shed and away to the cow pasture.

“I said good-by to the cows and all the hens and the pigs when I first got up,” said Polly, turning to her friends; “and I gave Prince some oats and said good-by to him right after breakfast. Now, Uncle Blodgett, it’s your turn.”

The old man swung her quickly up into his arms and gave her a hearty kiss.

“Here,” he said, as he set her down, “you take this bunch o’ slippery elm to keep me in mind, and you take this knife. One blade’s all right, and ’twould be an extra fine article if the other blade was fixed up a bit.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Polly, fervently, as she slipped her two presents into her petticoat pocket, “you’re just as good as you can be. Perhaps I shall come back here to stay, but, anyway, Miss Pomeroy would let me come to see you all, sometimes, I’m sure.”

“I reckon you’ll never come back here,” muttered Uncle Blodgett to the chopping block, “not to stay, if that Pomeroy woman has got eyes and a heart.”

Mrs. Ramsdell pressed Polly fiercely to her breast, and then let her go, after a searching look into the brown eyes.

“There, that’s over with,” she said, firmly. “One more thing gone, along with all the rest.”

“But I shan’t forget you,” faltered Polly, whose eyes were getting very misty indeed.

“Of course you won’t, dear child,” quavered Aunty Peebles, as she folded Polly in her arms, and as she released the little girl she pressed a tiny pin cushion into her hand, which speedily found a hiding-place with the slippery elm and the bladeless knife.

Last of all came Grandma Manser, who smoothed Polly’s curls with her trembling hands and could hardly bear to say good-by at all.

“If you get adopted, my lamb,” she whispered in Polly’s ear, “daughter Sarah says it’s likely she can buy me something to hear with, and Uncle Sam Blodgett’s promised to read to us now you’re going. But if you aren’t happy at Miss Hetty’s, dear, you come back, and nobody will be better pleased than I to see you; ’twill joy me more than an ear-trumpet!”

Polly swallowed hard, and dashed something from her eyes as she ran into the house. She said a hasty good-by to Father Manser, who was washing his hands at the kitchen sink for the third time since breakfast, and hurried out of doors with the big enamel cloth bag which contained her wardrobe.

She courtesied to Miss Pomeroy, and gave a faint “good-morning, ma’am,” in response to the cheery salutation from her new friend. Mrs. Manser gave her a peck on the lips and a forlorn “Good-by, child, and be as little trouble as you can to Miss Pomeroy,” and then Polly climbed into the wagon.

In another minute the wagon was rolling quickly down the road, the chorus of good-bys from old, familiar voices had hushed into silence, and Polly, stealing a glance at the gray eyes so far above the brim of her Sunday hat, felt that old things had passed away, and a new, strange life stretched out before her.

“Let me see, Mary, you are ten years old, aren’t you? When does your birthday come?” Miss Hetty asked suddenly, when they had gone a little way down the hill toward the village. The voice was kind and friendly, but the unwonted “Mary” which she must expect always to hear now, gave Polly a homesick twinge.

“It’s come,” she answered, glancing timidly up at Miss Hetty. “I had my birthday two weeks ago, and I was ten--if you please,” added the little girl, hastily.

“I guess I was just as polite as Eleanor that time,” she thought, and the idea that she had made a fair start cheered Polly, so that she smiled confidingly at Miss Pomeroy, who smiled at her in return.

“You don’t look as old as that,” she said, kindly, but her voice had a sober sound at which Polly took alarm.

“Yes’m. I’m small for my age,” she said, slowly, “but I’m real strong. I’ve never been sick, not one single day.” And then she thought, “Oh, dear! probably Eleanor was tall! I’m going to see if I can’t stretch myself out the way Ebenezer did when he was little. I can lie down on the floor in my room and reach my arms and legs as far as they’ll go--What, ma’am?” said Polly, quickly, as she realized that Miss Pomeroy was speaking.

“I was saying that I suppose you’re accustomed to play out of doors a good deal,” said Miss Hetty, a little sharply, “for you have such rosy cheeks. What are you thinking about, my dear?”

“I was thinking about Ebenezer, for one thing,” said Polly, truthfully. “Yes’m, my cheeks are always pretty red.” Then she was seized with dismay; probably Eleanor’s cheeks were white, like snowdrops. “They aren’t quite so red when I’m in the house,” she ventured, bravely, “and, of course, I shall be in the house a great deal now I’m getting on in years.”

Polly felt that this phrase, borrowed from Mrs. Manser’s stock, was most happily chosen. Miss Hetty made an inarticulate sound, and touched up her brown mare, but all she said was, “Who is Ebenezer?”

“Ebenezer is Mrs. Manser’s cat,” said Polly, glad to be on safe ground, “and he knows a great deal, Father Manser says. He is nearly as old as I am, and he has caught forty-three rats to Uncle Blodgett’s certain sure knowledge, and nobody knows how many more. He has eaten them, too,” said Polly, gravely, “though I don’t see how he could ever in this world; do you?”

“They wouldn’t be to my taste,” said Miss Pomeroy, briskly. “Who is Uncle Sam Blodgett? I mean, is he any relation of yours?”

“Oh, no, ma’am; he isn’t any relation of anybody,” said Polly. “His kith and kin have all died, he says, and he is a lonely old hulk--that’s what he told me he was,” she added, seeing a look which might be disapproval on Miss Hetty’s face. “He’s had adventures by land and sea and suffered far and near, and it’s a tame thing for him to saw and split now that his days are numbered.”

“Mercy on us!” ejaculated Miss Pomeroy. “Where did you ever get such a memory, child?”

“From--from my father, Mrs. Manser said,” faltered Polly. Here was a new cause of anxiety; evidently Eleanor’s memory had been quite different from hers. Polly looked steadily before her, and set her little mouth firmly. “Perhaps Arctura Green, that they’ve spoken of, can tell me about Eleanor’s memory,” she thought, suddenly; “maybe I can ask her about a good many things.”

Just then Daisy, the pretty brown mare, turned the curve at the foot of the long hill, and they were in the main street of Mapleton.