“Manage it your own way, dear, I neither interfere nor wish to interfere. Oh, what a mess we shall be in! But thank heaven it is only for a week. My dear child, I allow you to have your way, but I own it is with trepidation. Now I must really go to Mrs. Judson.”
“But one moment, please, father. I have not shown you my plan. You think badly of me now, but you won’t, indeed you won’t presently. I am all system, I assure you. I see my way so clearly. I’ll retrench without being mean, and I’ll economize without being stingy. Don’t I use fine words, father? That’s because I understand the subject so thoroughly.”
“Quite so, Polly. Now I must be going. Good-night, my dear.”
“But my plan—you must stay to hear it. Do you see this box? It has little divisions. I popped them all in before dinner to-day. There is a lock and key to the box, and the lock is a strong one.”
“Well, Polly?”
The Doctor began to get into his overcoat.
“Look, father, dear, please look. Each little division is marked with a name. This one is Groceries, this one is Butcher, this is Milk, butter, and eggs, this is Baker, this is Cheesemonger, and this is Sundries—oh yes, and laundress, I must screw in a division for laundress somehow. Now, father, this is my delightful plan. When you give me my four pounds—my eighty shillings—I’ll get it all changed into silver, and I’ll divide it into equal portions, and drop so much into the grocery department, so much into the butcher’s, so much into the baker’s. Don’t you see how simple it will be?”
“Very, my dear—the game of chess is nothing to it. Goodnight, Polly. I sincerely hope no serious results will accrue from these efforts on my part to teach you experience.”
The Doctor walked quickly down the avenue.
“I’m quite resolved,” he said to himself, “to bring them all up as much as possible on their mother’s plan, but if Polly requires many such lessons as I am forced to give her to-night, there is nothing for it but to send her to school. For really such an experience as we are about to go through at her hands is enough to endanger health, to say nothing of peace and domestic quiet. The fact is, I really am a much worried man. It’s no joke bringing up seven motherless girls, each of them with characters; the boys are a simple matter—they have school before them, and a career of some sort, but the girls—it really is an awful responsibility. Even the baby has a strong individuality of her own—I see it already in her brown eyes—bless her, she has got her mother’s eyes. But my queer, wild, clever Polly—what a week we shall have with you presently! Now, who is that crying and sobbing in the dark?”