CHAPTER III
POLLY VISITS ROSE
At last the day came when Polly was to make the little trip that would begin at the station in her own town, and end at a place, some miles distant, where, when the train stopped, she would see Rose waiting for her.
She thought it would seem finer to go quite alone, but Mrs. Sherwood would not permit that.
"The maid must ride with you, and remain beside you until Rose and her aunt meet you. Then, she can return on the next train," she had said, and Polly knew it was useless to object.
And when, at last, the excitement of saying "good-bye" was over, and the train had already left the little town far behind, Polly settled back in her seat, and fell to dreaming.
The thought of little Dollie, frightened, but unhurt, of Rob who had so bravely saved her, of Lena's pride in Rob, flitted through her mind. It would be a pleasant bit of news to tell Rose.
Then she began to think of Great-Aunt Rose, and to wonder how she looked.
"Rose has told me in her letter that she's a handsome old lady, but that isn't like seeing her. How ever SHALL I know her? Oh, of course, I will. She'll be with Rose."
The maid, who had taken the seat behind Polly, reached forward, and touched her shoulder.
"You're not getting drowsy, are you, Miss Polly?" she asked, "we're almost there."
A gay little laugh answered her question.
"How COULD I go to sleep on the way to see Rose?" she asked, "and how near are we now?"
"The next station, but one," said the maid, "and I'll begin to gather up the bag, and suit case."
"The next but one!" cried Polly, and she sat up very straight, and looked from the window. Was the town where Rose lived as pretty as this?
There were great trees that cast long shadows, and here, and there a glimpse of a river that reflected the blue sky, and the floating clouds. There were fine houses with spacious lawns, and lovely gardens, and over all the sunlight playing, and Polly felt that she was riding into an enchanted country, over which Rose, and Great-Aunt Rose presided.
Polly did not notice what the brakeman said, but the maid did, and she spoke quickly.
"Come, Miss Polly, here we are, and we'll do well to get off right now before folks crowd toward the door. By the looks I think everyone means to stop here!"
It certainly looked as if the maid had spoken truly, for men reached for parcels that had been stowed in bundle racks, and women commenced to gather up hand bags, and wraps.
Polly wondered if anyone intended to remain in the car.
She slipped from the seat to the floor, and then, just as they stopped at the station, she turned and peeped from the window.
"Oh, there she is! There she is!" she cried, "and she's in a fine carriage with an old lady that looks like a portrait in our drawing room. Look! Look!"
"We can't stop to look," said the maid, "or we'll be left on the train."
"Oh, we CAN'T stay!" cried Polly, as she hurried toward the door.
She could not imagine anything more dreadful than to be detained on the train, and ride on, and on, while Rose would find no little friend to welcome.
She alarmed the maid by rushing down the steps, and across the platform, and she almost took Great-Aunt Rose's breath away, when she flew at Rose, and the two little girls embraced laughing, and yes, crying just a little at the same time.
A slender figure, a huge picturesque hat, and a mass of curling, flaxen hair, were all that Aunt Rose had seen, but now hand in hand, they were coming toward the carriage.
"A lovely face, surely," murmured Great-Aunt Rose, "a sweet, and lovely face."
"This is Princess Polly," said Rose, "and Polly, dear, this is my
Great-Aunt Rose."
Aunt Rose, as she preferred to be called, offered her hand to Polly, who now stood beside the carriage. "I am so glad to see you, my dear," said the gentle old voice, and so cordially was it said, that Polly blushed, and smiled with delight.
She afterward told Lena Lindsey that she felt as if Aunt Rose were her own aunt, and that she had ALWAYS known her.
The ride to the house was along an avenue shaded with huge, old elm trees, and when they drew up at the house, Polly looked with round eyes at its grand, old portico, its great pillars, its terraces, and masses of lovely flowers.
Rose had said that the house was fine, but that had not told half the beauty of the grand, old mansion.
They sprang from the carriage, and Rose begged that she might run upstairs with Polly just a moment before lunch.
"I want to show her my room," she said, and Aunt Rose smiled, and nodded assent.
"Oh, Polly, Princess Polly!" she said, when they reached the pretty chamber, "it is so long since we've played together, and now—now I have you, all to myself. See the queer bed, with the canopy over it. The first night I came, I was afraid to sleep in it. Now, I like it, and to-night we'll cuddle close together in it, and draw the curtains."
"Oh, what fun!" cried Polly, "and we can play we're in a castle, and no one can enter, unless we let them!"
"Oh, yes, and we'll stay awake, oh, ever so long, just to talk," said
Rose.
And when Polly had seen everything in the chamber that Rose wished to show, they ran down to the parlor to see the portraits.
"I'd like to see them all," said Polly, "but most of all I want to see the picture of the old gentleman that sometimes smiles at you."
Together they ran down the stairway to the parlor.
How cool it was! Vines that hung upon the piazza shaded the windows, and flickering sunbeams danced upon the polished floor, and brightened the color of the Persian rug.
The portraits seemed to look with interest at Polly, and she smiled back at them, and nodded as she passed them.
"They look like real people," she said, "and it doesn't seem polite to pass them without nodding."
"I know it," agreed Rose, "and I nod and smile at them, but the picture at the end of the room smiles more than the others do. Come, and see him."
Together they stood looking at the little old gentleman.
Polly admired his flowered satin waistcoat, his powdered wig, and rosy cheeks, but most of all she liked his merry, twinkling eyes.
"He DOES smile," said Polly.
"Yes, he does," agreed Rose, "but now, just for a moment, frown, and then he doesn't SEEM to smile."
It was an odd sight, the two merry little faces puckered into an attempt at a frown, and the old portrait looking down at them, as if in surprise that their smiles had vanished.
"Now, let's both smile together!" cried Rose.
Immediately two pairs of merry eyes looked up at him, and two red mouths smiled, and showed rows of pearly teeth.
"There!" said Polly, "he ALMOST laughed, and that dimple in his chin looked DIMPLER than before."
"That's what I told you," said Rose, "and sometimes, when I'm lonesome, he's a comfort."
At lunch Aunt Rose talked much with Polly, and gentle Aunt Lois seemed charmed with the little guest.
When lunch was over, Aunt Rose left the little playmates to amuse themselves, because she felt sure that Polly must have a budget of news to tell, and they certainly would enjoy their bit of gossip better, if no older person listened.
They spent the afternoon in the garden, walking along, their arms about each other's waists.
Later they would care for games, but this first day was delightful just to talk together.
They passed a little arbor, and Polly stopped to admire it.
Just as she looked up at the vine that blossomed on its roof, a strange little face peeped over the hedge, then dodged out of sight.
"Who was that?" Polly asked.
"Who? Where?"
"Just behind the hedge," whispered Polly.
Rose looked, and in an opening at the lower part of the hedge she saw a bit of a dark gray frock.
"Oh, it's Evangeline Longfellow Jenks, the little girl that's going to be a poet," whispered Rose.
"But you said her poetry was funny," said Polly, as softly as Rose had spoken.
"It IS" declared Rose, "but she keeps writing it all the time."
Just then Evangeline's round, white face again appeared above the hedge, and at that moment Aunt Rose came out on the porch.
"Come over here, Evangeline," she said kindly, "and meet our little guest."
"I'm not dressed up," said the voice behind the hedge, "but I've just made a poem, and I can read it from here!"
Without waiting to be urged, and in a thin, high-pitched voice, she read these lines, which she earnestly believed were beautiful:
"Oh, the sun is shining,
And the moon is near by;
I can't see the moon,
But it's in the sky—
Somewhere.
"I need no sun or moon;
I'll be a poet soon.
I write every day
Some kind of a lay—
Somewhere."
"What DOES she mean?" whispered Polly.
"I don't think it means ANYTHING, but she enjoys making up verses whether they mean anything or not," Rose whispered in reply.
Polly was anxious to see what the little girl looked like who felt that she was to be a poet, but Evangeline Longfellow Jenks did not intend to be seen in an ordinary frock.
She felt that her position as a future poet demanded that she be finely dressed.
On this especial morning she had been doing a very unpoetic thing—she had been trying to drink from the hose!
Her skirts were completely soaked, and her shoes were covered with mud that the dripping hose had splashed up from the garden bed.
"A person like ME ought not to drink from a horrid old hose. My mama read about some one, I've forgotten who, who drank from a crystal chalice. I don't know what that is, but it sounds grand, and I wish I had one," murmured the small girl behind the hedge.
Aunt Rose repeated her invitation, but the poetic child seldom thought it necessary to be polite, and never replied unless she chose to. This time she remained silent, and Aunt Rose, with an odd little smile returned to the house.
Then a strange thing happened.
Another face peeped over the hedge, but this time it was a saucy one, with bright, brown eyes that fairly danced with merriment.
"Reg'lar ninny, ain't she?" he asked, with a chuckle.
"Oh, Lester, you MUSTN'T!" cried Rose.
"Yes, I must!" said the boy. "She sneaked off into the house when you weren't looking, so she can't hear me, and when she's too far off to hear, I have to call her some kind of a horrid name, 'cause it helps me some!"
"But she's your own cousin, and you oughtn't, you know. If it isn't wicked, it MUST be naughty to call her a ninny," said Rose.
"I wish she wasn't my cousin, I ain't fond of her," said the boy, with a frown on his handsome face.
"She did a mean thing this morning, and I'll get even with her," he continued, "and when she wrote one of her everlasting old poems about me, it was more than I could stand. Just read it and I guess you won't blame me."
He thrust a crumpled bit of paper over the hedge.
Rose ran to the hedge, and took the paper. She was curious to know what kind of a poem Lester had inspired.
Who could blame her that she laughed when she read the ridiculous lines?
"Lester's a boy, but he's not brave;
The cat scratched him, and he cried.
He's not the kind of a boy I like
Although I've often tried.
His eyes are brown, but I don't care;
His freckles are yellow, and so is his hair.
He teases, so he has no heart,
And he runs after the old ice-cart."
"Could a fellow stand THAT? said Lester, his cheeks very red.
"It wasn't nice," said Rose, "and Lester, wait a moment," as the boy turned to go.
"This is Polly Sherwood, my best friend. Polly, this is Lester Jenks.
He's a nice boy, only he's provoked this morning."
Polly offered her little hand over the hedge, and Lester blushed, and took it.
"Are you the little princess?" he asked bluntly.
"Just a make-believe one," said Polly.
"We all call her 'Princess Polly' at home," Rose explained.
"You look right to be called that anywhere," said Lester, and it was
Polly's turn to blush.
"I'd like to come over some day," he said.
"Come NOW," said Rose.
"I wish I could, but I can't," said the boy. "I've an errand to do for my aunt, and I ought to go now. I'll come some other day, perhaps to-morrow. I've some money, and I'd like to treat."
He looked admiringly at Polly, and Rose was delighted.
"He's ever so much fun," she said, when Lester had gone to do the errand that he had spoken of.
"He lives the next house to Evangeline," she continued, "and he's awfully tired of her poetry."
Polly did not wonder at that.
"And I DO hope, when he comes, Evangeline won't come with him," said
Rose.
"So do I," agreed Polly, "only it may be that she's nice SOMETIMES."
Rose came closer, and looking straight into Polly's blue eyes, she said:
"She brings her old poetry book EVERY time!"
"Oh, dear, can't she leave it at home?" said Polly.
"She WON'T," said Rose, "and she's either writing in it, or reading it all the time, so there's not a minute for play."
"Doesn't she care for 'Tag' or 'Hide-and-Seek?'" questioned Polly.
"She doesn't EVER like anything but that poetry," declared Rose.
"Oh, dear," sighed Polly, for she felt that if Evangeline were to come often, she would spoil much of the visit that, without her, would be so pleasant.
"We'll be out sometimes," said Rose, "for Aunt Rose will take us about, and we're to go to the studio some day when Aunt Lois goes. I've been there, and the pictures are lovely, and some days we shall drive, and then if she comes she won't find us."
"If she'll come on the days that we're OUT, and stay away the days that we're at home, it will be just FINE!"
"Oh, Rose, I believed it's naughty, but I would be glad if it happened, just HAPPENED that way," Polly said.