Polly of Lady Gay Cottage

by Emma C. Dowd

Dear Uncle Maurice,—

I thought when you were here and when I was in New York that I could never accept your invitation to come and live with you. But I have changed my mind—no, I have not exactly changed my mind, because I don’t want to go as bad as ever—

“I’m afraid that isn’t very polite,” Polly thought ruefully, drew a deep sigh, and took a fresh sheet.

Dear Uncle Maurice,—

When you were here, last spring, I thought I could not ever come to live with you, but now it seems best for me to accept your invitation. Perhaps you don’t want me by this time, and if you don’t, please say so, because it won’t make any difference to me—I mean I shall be glad not—

Polly stopped suddenly. That would never do. She put the sheet aside, and began anew.

Dear Uncle Maurice,—

I wonder if you still want me to come and live with you. Because if you do, I will—

At the fatal word, Polly’s lip quivered, her pen turned, and a big splash of ink fell right in the middle of the fair page. She didn’t care. There were other splashes, too. Tears were sprinkling the paper and blotting her lines.