The anxious look had faded from Polly’s eyes and the anxious furrows had disappeared from between her brows when, at length, she stood before Miss Cicely’s cheval-glass all “booted and spurred and fit for the fight” as her hostess merrily sang. They had a cozy luncheon up-stairs—just Miss Cissy and Polly together—at which Polly was so excited she could hardly eat. It seemed as if it would never be three o’clock and time to go to the party, but at last it was time and then off they rolled in, what seemed to Polly, the most splendid carriage in the world; just exactly as if she were Cinderella herself and Miss Cissy the Fairy-Godmother.
By this time Polly knew about Priscilla, of course, but she did not know about the other children who, like herself, were to be brought to Priscilla’s home, the best to be chosen for Priscilla’s playmate. She just thought she was going to a party and to make a long visit afterwards, for Miss Cicely had decided that if Polly were not voted the best, and another child was selected in her stead she herself would keep the little girl for a while, at least, and in the meantime big sister should be sent to a hospital where she would receive the best of treatment and the kindest of care.
So, when the carriage came to a halt before the great house in which Priscilla lived, Polly’s little heart beat quick with pleasure and excitement. To go to a real party! In brand-new clothes! Why it was just too good to be true! Miss Cicely looked into the bright little face and sparkling eyes and was glad that Polly did not know the real state of the case—that, in fact, her present and, maybe her future, was to depend on the way she behaved at Priscilla’s “unbirthday party.” It might have sobered her happy heart had she known it, for Polly, young as she was, had felt responsibility before, and would have realized what a heavy one lay upon her now. But she did not know and Miss Cicely did not give her the least little bit of a hint.
“I want her to be quite herself—quite natural,” she thought. “That will be the only way to decide the stuff she’s made of, and whether she is really the best or not.”
So Polly and Miss Cissy went hand-in-hand up the broad flight of steps, from the street. A big door was mysteriously opened as soon as they reached the top, and then, as it closed behind them, Polly heard a loud hum of voices, saw a soft flood of light and knew she was really at the party.
CHAPTER III
“THE BEST OF ALL THE GAME”
Miss Cicely herself led Polly up-stairs and into a splendid room, where with her own hands, she unfastened the little girl’s coat and slipped off her hat and gloves. There was a fine young woman present who seemed to Polly to have manners which were ever so much prouder and haughtier than Miss Cissy’s and whose jaunty cap sat like a stiff crown upon her head, while her embroidered apron and white collar and cuffs were the crispest Polly had ever seen, and this dignified personage loftily offered to assist Miss Cicely, but was refused.
“No, thank you, Theresa, I prefer to do it myself,” Polly’s friend replied easily at once, as she smoothed out the wrinkles in Polly’s frock and plucked at the loops of her ribbon-bows. “By the way, are they all here, I wonder?”