“Oh, yes; poor Nell, you’re the meekest and mildest of mortals. Now, look here, wouldn’t this be fun?”
Polly’s black eyes began to dance.
“You know how fond I always was of housekeeping. Let me housekeep every second week. Give me the money and let me buy every single thing and pay for it, and don’t interfere with me whatever I do. I’ll promise to be as good as gold always, and obey you in every single thing, if only I have this safety-valve. Let me expend myself upon the housekeeping, and I’ll be as good, better than gold. I’ll help you, and be your right hand, Nell; and I’ll obey you in the most public way before all the other girls, and as to Fly, see if I don’t keep her in hand. What do you think of this plan, Nell? I, with my safety-valve, the comfort of your life, a sort of general to keep your forces in order.”
“But you really can’t housekeep, Polly. Of course I’d like to please you, and father said himself you were to help me in the house. But to manage everything—why, it frightens me, and I am two years older.”
“But you have so very little spirit, darling. Now it doesn’t frighten me a bit, and that’s why I’m so certain I shall succeed splendidly. Look here, Nell, let me speak to father, myself; if he says ‘yes,’ you won’t object, will you?”
“Of course not,” said Helen.
“You are a darling—I’ll soon bring father round. Now, shall we go to bed?—I am so sleepy.”
The next morning at breakfast Polly electrified her brothers and sisters by the very meek way in which she appealed to Helen on all occasions.
“Do you think, Nell, that I ought to have any more of this marmalade on fresh bread? I ate half a pot yesterday on three or four slices of hot bread from the oven, and felt quite a dizzy stupid feeling in my head afterwards.”
“Of course, how could you expect it to agree with you, Polly?” said Helen, looking up innocently from her place at the tea-tray.