Pretty Polly Perkins

by Ethel Calvert Phillips

Finally the dog, with one last joyous bark and whirl, trotted off to tell his nearest neighbor, a white, fluffy dog, who only walked out on a leash, what a pleasant time he had had playing in the snow.

Then Anne Marie, stopping to catch her breath, turned about and discovered that Polly Perkins was gone! The sled was empty, and along the whole length of the long city block Polly was not to be seen.

This was too dreadful! Anne Marie pressed her red-mittened hands together hard. What should she do? She wanted to sit down on the sled and cry, but she knew that was not the way to find Polly Perkins.

To and fro ran Anne Marie in the snow, hunting for Polly Perkins. Up and down the street she went again and again, looking from side to side. But her search was in vain. Polly was not lying in the snow. She had not been tossed out into the street. There was not a trace left of Polly Perkins. There was not a glimpse to be seen of her pretty pink dress nor of the tufted pink-and-blue coverlet in which she had been so warmly wrapped. Anne Marie could scarcely believe it, but it was true. Polly was gone.

Anne Marie went home in tears. They rolled so fast down her cheeks that the gay red mittens could not wipe them away. And once home she could hardly tell what had happened, she was so choked with sobs.

Every one was sorry for Anne Marie. Papa Durant left his baking, though there were pastries in the oven, and went out to look for Polly Perkins in the snow. Maman drew Anne Marie into the golden cage, and, smoothing back her curls, not only whispered that Noel was near and that the little Noel might possibly place another bébé in Anne Marie’s shoe, but she also slipped a rich yellow sponge cake into the little girl’s hand.

‘Do not weep, Anne Marie. The Saints will bring back your bébé,’ declared Grand’mère, so distressed at Anne Marie’s sorrow that she dropped three stitches in her knitting, a thing she had never been known to do before.

Then Grand’mère laid aside her knitting and took Anne Marie upon her lap, and told her the fairy story of the White Cat, without once stopping to go and prepare the evening soup.

But even all this kindness could not console Anne Marie for the loss of Polly Perkins.

Sadly the bright new red-and-yellow sled was left standing in the lower hall behind the door to the street. Anne Marie could play no more that day. Her heart was too heavy.