Polly of Lady Gay Cottage. Dowd Emma C.

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      “No, she isn’t – ‘than you are!’” retorted Ilga, with sarcastic emphasis and a disagreeable laugh.

      Polly’s eye blazed. She clinched her little fists.

      “And you are too contemptible to – talk with!” she cried scornfully, and whirled away.

      But Ilga’s instant rejoinder seemed to retard her feet, for she was conscious of walking slowly, missing none of the words that bit into her sensitive heart.

      “Oh! I am, am I? Well, you are a regular nobody! You put on airs just because Dr. Dudley adopted you; but he isn’t anybody! He wouldn’t stay at the hospital for that little bit of a salary if he was. He can’t get a place anywhere else – he’s a no – body!”

      Ilga knew her victim well enough to realize that any taunt flung at the adored father would rebound upon his daughter with double force, and she winked exultingly to her companions as Polly made no attempt at retort, but went straight to her desk and bent her white, drawn little face over her speller. It would have given her an added delight if she had known that the book was upside down and its print blurred by a mist of tears.

      At the close of a session Polly usually waited for David; but this noon she hurried on alone, and he overtook her only after a quick little run.

      “This is great, to go off and leave a fellow!” he grumbled pleasantly.

      “Oh, excuse me!” she replied. “I forgot.”

      “Forgot!” he began laughingly, but stopped. Her gravity did not invite humor.

      He wondered what had gone wrong, but was wise enough to ask no questions. After an ineffectual attempt at talk, they fell back into silence, separating at the cottage entrance with sober good-byes.

      The kitchen door was unlocked, and Polly walked slowly through the house, longing yet dreading to meet her mother. Down the stairway came the sound of voices. She stopped to listen.

      “Oh, dear! – Miss Curtis!” she sighed, and turned towards the little library.

      Although since the recovery of Elsie’s birthday ring the nurse had been unusually kind and friendly, Polly could not help remembering that she had once believed her to be the cause of its mysterious disappearance, and just now it seemed impossible to meet her with composure. So she curled up forlornly in her father’s big chair, hastily grabbing a book as an excuse for being there.

      The story was one she had never read, and its interest was proved in that time and troubles were soon forgotten. Thus her mother found her, and thanks to the respite from Ilga’s haunting words she was able to respond to the visitor’s greeting with something of her usual happy humor.

      Dr. Dudley had been unexpectedly called out of town, so the three dined together most unconventionally. The ladies talked over old hospital days, and Polly, greatly to her relief, was left much to herself. But although she rarely joined in the converse, her thoughts were not allowed to revert to their unpleasant channel, with the result that when she returned to school things had regained a little of their accustomed brightness, and she was ready to smile a greeting to her friends.

      But this happier mood vanished with the opening of the door into the school dressing-hall.

      A group of girls were removing their wraps, among which was Ilga Barron. Two of them nodded carelessly to Polly, and then went on talking in low tones, with side glances towards the new-comer. Polly hurried off her coat and hat, but before they were on their hook Ilga broke out in a loud whisper, plainly intended to carry across the hall: —

      “Dr. Dudley don’t know much anyway! He’s got a sister that’s an idiot – a real idiot! They have to keep her shut up!”

      Even Ilga herself, turning to gloat over the effect of her words, was so startled that she led the way quickly upstairs to the school room, leaving Polly standing there alone, her horrified brown eyes staring out of a colorless face.

      “What in the world’s the matter?” cried Glen Stewart, appearing in the outer doorway, at the head of a string of girls. “Are you sick?”

      “No – yes – oh, I don’t know!” she stammered, catching her breath piteously.

      They clustered around her, distressed and helpless.

      “Are you faint? I’ll get you a drink!” And Lilith Brooks ran to fetch a glass.

      Polly drank the water, grateful for the kindness, although she was aware of neither faintness nor thirst. Presently she went upstairs with her friends, and the long, dragging afternoon session began.

      Several times her recitations were halting, once woefully incorrect. The teacher in charge was about to reprove her for inattention; but the wide, sorrowful eyes made an unconscious appeal, and the blunder was suffered to pass unnoticed.

      Polly was glad with a dreary kind of gladness when the hour of dismission came, and she hurried away by herself, intent only on a refuge where she should be alone and could think things out. She found the kitchen door locked and the key in its accustomed hiding-place; so she let herself in, knowing that her mother was not at home. Up in her own room she sat down by the low side window, and looked out on the bare landscape of early December.

      Aimlessly she let her eyes wander over the desolate garden of the next house, so recently robbed of all its greenery; then the muslin-draped windows opposite came within her vision. The caroling canary, in his little gilded prison, caught a glance, a frolicking squirrel running an endless race in his make-believe home, a lady stitching on a pink gown, and so towards the street. What she saw there made her start as if with pain.

      Up the sidewalk strolled a lad, “Foolish Joe” people called him, and he was, as usual, accompanied by a little band of fun-loving, teasing boys. In a moment they were gone; but the shambling central figure with its vacant face stayed with her to accentuate her distress. She leaned her head upon her arm, but she could not shut out the picture.

      Ilga’s sneering phrases rang back and forth in her brain, until clear thought was impossible.

      “Lucy! Polly! Are you up there?”

      She had not heard any one come in, and she started at sound of her father’s voice. Instead of answering she shrank back into her chair, involuntarily delaying the moment of meeting.

      Dr. Dudley was mounting the stairs, two steps at a time.

      “Well!” His tall figure filled the doorway. “Where is your mother?”

      “I – don’t know,” Polly faltered. “She’s gone out – the door was locked – maybe with Miss Curtis. Miss Curtis was here to dinner.”

      “Was she!” And then, “I am going down to Linwood, and I thought you folks would like the ride. We shall have to go alone, shan’t we?”

      Polly did not look up, – perhaps could not would be nearer the truth; but she rose instantly.

      The Doctor took a step forward, and tilted her chin upon his finger.

      In spite of her efforts to smile, her lip quivered.

      “You and David been having a quarrel?” he asked whimsically.

      “Oh, СКАЧАТЬ