Polly of Lady Gay Cottage. Dowd Emma C.

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СКАЧАТЬ her heart happy and fearful all at once.

      “That you, Polly? Oh, say, we are cousins – third cousins! Isn’t that great?”

      “Beautiful!” responded Polly.

      “We had the longest time finding the book! I was afraid we’d left it in Nevada, and mamma was too; but it was ’way down in the bottom of a trunk. Do say you’re glad, and say it good and strong, so I’ll know you mean it! I couldn’t wait till to-morrow! I hope I haven’t bothered your father.”

      Polly’s reply seemed fully to satisfy the other end of the line, and, with a good-night and a promise to be early at school the next morning, she hung up the receiver.

      CHAPTER V

      A MONOPOLIST AND A FANFARON

      On their way to school Polly and David were joined by Patricia; but soon afterwards the lad courteously excused himself, to run across the street to see an acquaintance.

      “Nice boy, isn’t he?” observed Patricia.

      “He’s lovely,” praised Polly, but she scowled a little, her eyes following David. “I wish he hadn’t gone off so quick,” she added regretfully; “I wanted you to know each other.”

      “I like him,” admired Patricia, “and I like my new cousin,” she giggled, squeezing Polly’s arm, “I just love her!”

      So for the moment David was forgotten, and the boy, viewing them from a little distance behind, saw them enter the school yard in high glee. Laughter was far from his face as he followed. He wished that Patricia Illingworth had stayed in Nevada.

      At the foot of the staircase the two girls met Ilga Barron. The Senator’s daughter instantly seized upon Patricia with a playful reprimand.

      “You ran away from me last night!”

      “Yes, I went to carry my cousin home,” retorted Patricia roguishly.

      “Who, I’d like to know? Nobody in this school!”

      “Yes, she’s right here!” laughed the other, enjoying Ilga’s puzzled stare. “Allow me to present my cousin, Polly Dudley!” She drew Polly forward.

      “Huh, not much! You can’t make me swallow that!”

      “It’s true! Isn’t it, Polly? We’re third cousins! I found it in the Genealogy last night! Her mother was an Illingworth!”

      Ilga’s face lighted.

      “Oh, you’re ’way off!” she broke out. “She isn’t related to her mother at all. She’s only an adopted child.”

      “But I mean her real mother!” returned Patricia indignantly. “Her own mother was Phebe Illingworth, and was second cousin to my father – as if I didn’t know!”

      “I don’t care!” Ilga retorted. And she ran up the stairs.

      Some of the girls, standing by, snickered; but Polly and Patricia gazed soberly at each other. Then they walked over to the rows of hooks, unbuttoning their coats as they went.

      “I think Ilga Barron’s just horrid!” whispered Patricia. “I didn’t like her yesterday, and to-day I hate her!”

      “Oh, you mustn’t!” objected Polly.

      “Why not?”

      “Because we ought to love everybody, I s’pose,” Polly answered slowly.

      “Do you love her?” demanded Patricia. “Do you, honest?”

      Polly shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t now,” she admitted; “but maybe I can some time.”

      Patricia laughed. “I don’t b’lieve I shall – ever,” she declared; “you can love her enough for us both.”

      A flock of girls came in from outside, and confidences were hushed, the two presently going upstairs arm in arm.

      “Don’t forget that you are to go home with me right after school to-night!” whispered Patricia, just before they reached the upper door.

      “I couldn’t,” was the smiling answer. And Polly went to her seat, still thinking of the pleasure ahead.

      At noon David lingered behind until the girls were gone, and hurried off in advance of them on the way back, trying to satisfy his conscience with the argument that they wouldn’t want him “tagging on anyway.” So the new friends were left for the greater share of the walk quite to themselves, Polly, when not too much interested in tales of the pet broncho back in Silverton, keeping a lookout for David, and wondering where he could possibly be. She even went so far as to wish, away down in her secret heart, that David were going with her on the first visit to her new cousin.

      Opening from the principal schoolroom was a deep, narrow closet where the working supplies were kept. To reach the shelves at the back one must pass through the pinched little door, an easy matter for a sprite like Polly, who flitted in and out at any angle; but an occasional plump pupil was obliged to slip in sideways or be unpleasantly squeezed.

      The afternoon was half through when extra paper was needed, and Miss Carpenter, an assistant teacher, asked Ilga Barron to fetch some.

      “One of those large packages on the third shelf,” she explained, as the girl started.

      Strangely enough, Ilga had never been to the closet, and was unprepared for its cramped dimensions. A bit elated with the importance of her errand, she went heedlessly forward, bumping against the mouldings as she entered, and flushing with vexation on hearing a giggle from one of the boys. In her confusion she grabbed two packages instead of one, and attempted to make her exit; but to her dismay she found that with the bulky parcels in her arms the return passage was to be difficult if not impossible. Scarlet with mortification, yet holding blindly to her bundles, she twisted this way and that, while the children, bubbling with suppressed mirth, watched her breathlessly. To add to her discomfiture, several distinguished-looking visitors were approaching from the next room, whither the teacher had gone to meet them, and Polly, throbbing with sympathy, saw that she was on the verge of tears.

      Suddenly, with no thought save of Ilga herself, Polly sprang to her feet, and running lightly over to the prisoner put out her hands for the parcels. But Ilga, misinterpreting the motive, drew back in anger, muttering something about wishing “folks would mind their own business.” Polly, however, loyal to her aim, followed into the closet, and in an earnest whisper urged the other to give up the paper, that she might pass out in freedom. Finally, just as Miss Carpenter appeared, to learn the cause of the commotion, Ilga emerged, red-faced and sullen.

      “What is all this fuss about? Polly, how came you here without permission?”

      “To help Ilga,” she faltered.

      “I have never known a girl to need assistance in getting a ream of paper,” the teacher replied severely, “especially so big a girl as Ilga.”

      A titter ran through the room, and an uncontrollable smile flickered on Polly’s lips.

      Nettled by this show of levity, for which she discerned no cause, Miss Carpenter’s sentence upon the supposed culprit was instant and merciless.

      “Go СКАЧАТЬ