Hands waved frantically, David’s and Patricia’s wildly beat the air; but the young teacher either was too much occupied with her visitors or did not choose to notice, and the would-be defenders were soon called to recitation.
Polly sat still in her chair, dazed by the suddenness and injustice of it. She had meant only to spare Ilga further mortification—and had lost her expected treat. She took up her history with a long sigh.
It was a weary afternoon, and not alone to Polly. The children were distraught and restless, and things went wrong. The bell for dismissal struck a note of relief.
Polly had a faint, a very faint hope that Ilga would explain the matter, and she watched her furtively as she passed out; but the Senator’s daughter walked straight by the teacher’s desk without turning her head, and as Polly saw her plump figure disappear in the stairway she went back to her examples, philosophically thinking that, at any rate, she could get her lessons for the next day, and so have the evening free to enjoy with mother. If there were a best to any situation, Polly was sure to find it.
But to-night clouds gathered early about the sun, and presently the schoolroom grew dusky. Soon it was too dark to read, and with regret Polly shut her book. She looked at her little watch which she usually wore, the “wedding” gift of Colonel Gresham, and was surprised to find it to be after five. She did not put it directly back in its pocket, but held it in her hand, fingering it lovingly, thinking of David’s uncle, and then of the “stormy midnight” and the “sunshiny morning” which the little timepiece commemorated.
So absorbed was she that the opening of the door caused her to start; but she smiled when she recognized through the dimness Miss Cordelia, the younger of the two Townsend sisters who kept the school.
“My dear,” exclaimed Miss Cordelia’s soft voice, “I am so sorry this has happened. David Collins has been telling me how it was.”
“David?” repeated Polly in a glad tone. “But, Miss Cordelia, I went without permission.”
“Yes, dear; but a kind action is its own excuse. You were doubtless thinking only of Ilga.”
“That’s every single thing I thought of,” Polly assured her. “It seemed funny she didn’t put the paper out first and then come herself; but I s’pose she was flustered and didn’t think. I felt so sorry for her, and the next thing I knew I was racing over there. I didn’t mean to break the rule, truly I didn’t, Miss Cordelia!”