He took no notice of the tossed hair, nor the stained, crumpled, cotton frock.
“Take my arm, Polly,” he said, almost cheerfully. And they went down together to the old parlor where mother would never again preside over the tea-tray.
It was more than a week since Mrs. Maybright had died, and the others were accustomed to Helen’s taking her place, but the scene was new to the poor, sore-hearted child who now come in. Dr. Maybright felt her faltering steps, and knew what her sudden pause on the threshold meant.
“Be brave, dear,” he whispered. “You will make it easier for me.”
After that Polly would have fought with dragons rather than shed a ghost of a tear. She slipped into a seat by her father, and crumbled her bread-and-butter, and gulped down some weak tea, taking care to avoid any one’s eyes, and feeling her own cheeks growing redder and redder.
In mother’s time Dr. Maybright had seldom spoken. On many occasions he did not even put in an appearance at the family tea, for mother herself and the group of girls kept up such a chatter that, as he said, his voice would not be heard; now, on the contrary, he talked more than any one, telling the children one or two most interesting stories on natural history. Polly was devoted to natural history, and in spite of herself she suspended her tea-cup in the air while she listened.
“It is almost impossible, I know,” concluded Dr. Maybright as he rose from the table. “But it can be done. Oh, yes, boys, I don’t want either of you to try it, but still it can be done. If the hand is very steady, and poised in a particular way, then the bird can be caught, but you must know how to hold him. Yes—what is the matter, Polly?”
“I did it!” burst from Polly, “I caught two of them—darlings—I was kissing them when—oh, father!”
Polly’s face was crimson. All the others were staring at her.
“I want you, my dear,” said her father, suddenly and tenderly. “Come with me.”