“The poor scrap,” she muttered uneasily, “I hope she’ll come to no harm. Who knows, if Angeline had been like her, I might have been different—better!—And then, again, who knows, if I’d been like her, Angeline might have been different—better. Perhaps I’ll try, if I go away from here, to be nicer to Angeline and maybe, if I am, and her mother helps me, we can make a good child of her, after all. And maybe we’ll be better, helping her, you can’t tell.”
Theresa’s eyes grew curiously blurred and dim at the vision and her hard, handsome face took on a very gentle, softened look. But all of a sudden its expression changed to one of eager anxiety. She dropped Mrs. Duer’s brush and comb, with a handful of other toilet articles she had been in the act of replacing in the traveling-bag, which her mistress intended taking with her when she went to the city, as she expected to do, that afternoon; flew to the window and gazed out in a sort of trance of amazement, for there, coming around the driveway, was one of the station hacks and in it were Miss Cicely, Polly and some one else whom, she knew at a glance, to be sister herself.
Priscilla had lain hidden away in a shady corner of the veranda since breakfast, mourning lonesomely, and refusing to be comforted, when the sound of wheels upon the gravel made her look up. One glance was enough. She was on her feet in an instant, rushing wildly to the carriage entrance and crying: “Polly! Oh, my Polly! My Polly!” between a shower of happy tears and a quiver of joyous laughter.
Polly’s wistful face lit up with sudden surprise. Her lips trembled and her cheeks grew pale. For a moment she could not speak; her heart was too full. But Priscilla, frantic with delight, noticed nothing but that she had her Polly back again.
“Polly, oh, my Polly! My Polly!” she repeated over and over, while James came running around the side of the house at the sound of her happy voice, victoriously swinging the recaptured “chamois bag” above his head, and Mrs. Duer and Hannah appeared simultaneously from the house to join in the general jollification.
It was a reception to be remembered.
Priscilla clung to Polly and would not let her out of her sight for an instant. Even the beloved Cousin Cicely had to take second place on this occasion, but far from objecting, she joined with the others in giving the little wanderer a royal welcome home and told the story of her trials with so much truth and tenderness that—well, even James was guilty of a stealthy sniff as he listened to the recital.
Lawrence and Richard came up from the stables for the express purpose of shaking Polly by the hand and telling her they were glad to have her back again and Bridget and the rest had to be allowed to give their greeting too, while the only one who did not appear was Theresa and even she, it proved, had left her message behind her, for later in the day Polly, on going to the nursery, discovered a hurriedly-written note upon her bureau which read:
“I’m going away. I’m sorry I acted mean to you. Tell them to send my trunk where it’s directed to.
“Theresa.”