CHAPTER VIII. SIX YEARS AFTERWARD

reed,andsoonthethreewerewalkingbrisklyawaytoPolly'snewhome,inaquietstreet,whereafewoldtreesrustledinthesummer,andthemorningsunshonepleasantlyinwintertime. “Thewayintomyparlor Isupawindingstair,” sangPolly,runninguptwoflightsofbroad,old-fashionedsteps,andopeningthedoorofabackroom,outofwhichstreamedthewelcomeglowoffirelight. “Thesearemypets,Maud,”sheadded,pausingonthethreshold,andbeckoningthegirlstolookinquietly. Ontherug,luxuriouslybaskinginthewarmth,layagraykitten,andcloseby,meditativelyroostingononeleg,stoodaplumpcanary,whocockedhisbrighteyeatthenew-comers,gavealoudchirpasiftowakehiscomrade,andthenflewstraighttoPolly'sshoulder,wherehebrokeintoajoyfulsongtowelcomehismistresshome. “Allowmetointroducemyfamily,”saidPolly“thisnoisylittlechaptheboysnamedNicodemusandthisdozycatiscalledAshputtel,becausethejoyofherlifeistogetamongthecinders.Now,takeoffyourthings,andletmedothehonors,foryouaretostoptotea,andthecarriageistocomeforyouateight.Iarrangeditwithyourmotherwhileyouwereupstairs.” “Iwanttoseeeverything,”saidMaud,whenthehatswereoff,andthehandswarmed. “SoyoushallforIthinkmyhousekeepingarrangementswillamuseyou.” ThenPollyshowedherkingdom,andthethreehadamerrytimeoverit.ThebigpianotookupsomuchroomtherewasnoplaceforabedbutPollyproudlydisplayedtheresourcesofherchintz-coveredcouch,forthebackletdown,theseatliftedup,andinsidewereallthepillowsandblankets.“Soconvenient,yousee,andyetoutofthewayinthedaytime,fortwoorthreeofmypupilscometome,”explainedPolly. Thentherewasabrightdruggetoverthefadedcarpet,thelittlerocking-chairandsewing-tablestoodatonewindow,theivyranallovertheother,andhidthebanquetingperformanceswhichwentoninthatcorner.Book-shelveshungoverthesofa,apictureortwoonthewalls,andagreatvaseofautumnleavesandgrassesbeautifiedthelowchimney-piece.Itwasaveryhumblelittleroom,butPollyhaddoneherbesttomakeitpleasant,anditalreadyhadahome-likelook,withthecheeryfire,andthehouseholdpetschirpingandpurringconfidinglyontherug. “Howniceitis!”exclaimedMaud,assheemergedfromthebigclosetwherePollykeptherstores.“Suchacunningteakettleandsaucepan,andatete-a-teteset,andlotsofgoodthingstoeat.Dohavetoastfortea,Polly,andletmemakeitwiththenewtoastingforkit'ssuchfuntoplaycook.” Fannywasnotsoenthusiasticashersister,forhereyessawmanytracesofwhatseemedlikepovertytoherbutPollywassogay,sosatisfiedwithhersmallestablishment,sofullofhappyhopesandplans,thatherfriendhadnotthehearttofindafaultorsuggestanimprovement,andsatwhereshewastold,laughingandtalkingwhiletheothersgottea. “Thiswillbeacountrysupper,girls,”saidPolly,bustlingabout.“Hereisrealcream,brownbread,home-madecake,andhoneyfrommyownbeehives.Motherfittedmeoutwithsuchasupply,I'mgladtohaveaparty,forIcan'teatitallquickenough.Butterthetoast,Maudie,andputthatlittlecoveroverit.Tellmewhenthekettleboils,anddon'tsteponNicodemus,whateveryoudo.” “Whatacapitalhouse-keeperyouwillmakesomeday,”saidFanny,asshewatchedPollyspreadhertablewithaneatnessanddespatchwhichwaspleasanttobehold. “Yes,it'sgoodpractice,”laughedPolly,fillinghertinyteapot,andtakingherplacebehindthetray,withamatronlyair,whichwasthebestjokeofthewhole. “ThisisthemostdeliciouspartyIeverwentto,”observedMaud,withhermouthfullofhoney,whenthefeastwaswellunderway.“IdowishIcouldhaveaniceroomlikethis,andacatandabirdthatwouldn'teateachotherup,andadearlittleteakettle,andmakejustasmuchtoastasIlike.” SuchapealoflaughtergreetedMaud'spensiveaspiration,thatMissMillssmiledoverhersolitarycupoftea,andlittleNickburstintoaperfectecstasyofsong,ashesatonthesugar-bowlhelpinghimself. “Idon'tcareforthetoastandthekettle,butIdoenvyyouyourgoodspirits,Polly,”saidFanny,asthemerrimentsubsided.“I'msotiredofeverybodyandeverything,itseemssometimesasifIshoulddieofennui.Don'tyoueverfeelso?” “Thingsworrymesometimes,butIjustcatchupabroomandsweep,orwashhard,orwalk,orgoatsomethingwithallmymight,andIusuallyfindthatbythetimeIgetthroughtheworryisgone,orI'vegotcourageenoughtobearitwithoutgrumbling,”answeredPolly,cuttingthebrownloafenergetically. “Ican'tdothosethings,youknowthere'snoneedofit,andIdon'tthinkthey'dcuremyworrying,”saidFanny,languidlyfeedingAshputtel,whosatdecorouslybesideher,atthetable,winkingatthecreampot. “Alittlepovertywoulddoyougood,Fanjustenoughnecessitytokeepyoubusytillyoufindhowgoodworkisandwhenyouoncelearnthat,youwon'tcomplainofennuianymore,”returnedPolly,whohadtakenkindlythehardlessonwhichtwentyyearsofcheerfulpovertyhadtaughther. “Mercy,no,IshouldhatethatbutIwishsomeonewouldinventanewamusementforrichpeople.I'mdeadsickofparties,andflirtations,tryingtoout-dressmyneighbors,andgoingthesameroundyearafteryear,likeasquirrelinacage.” Fanny'stonewasbitteraswellasdiscontented,herfacesadaswellaslistless,andPollyhadaninstinctivefeelingthatsometrouble,morerealthananyshehadeverknownbefore,waslyingheavyatherfriend'sheart.Thatwasnotthetimetospeakofit,butPollyresolvedtostandreadytooffersympathy,ifnothingmore,whenevertheconfidentialminutecameandhermannerwassokind,socomfortable,thatFannyfeltitssilentmagic,grewmorecheerfulinthequietatmosphereofthatlittleroom,andwhentheysaidgood-night,afteranold-timegossipbythefire,shekissedherhostesswarmly,saying,withagratefullook,“Polly,dear,Ishallcomeoften,youdomesomuchgood.”