And on the morrow—oh, what a heap of money there was for the poor brakeman's family!—four hundred and twelve dollars. For a good many people had fairly insisted on paying twice the amount for their tickets; and a good many more had paid when they couldn't take tickets at all, going out of town, or for some other good reason.
And one old lady, a great friend of the family, sent for Polly Pepper the week before. And when Polly appeared before the big lounge,—for Mrs. Sterling was lifted from her bed to lie under the sofa-blankets all day,—she said, “Now, my dear, I want to take some tickets for that affair of yours. Gibbons, get my check-book.”
So Gibbons, the maid, brought the check-book, and drew up the little stand with the writing-case upon it close to the lounge, and Mrs. Sterling did a bit of writing; and presently she held out a long green slip of paper.
“Oh!” cried Polly, in huge delight, “I've never had one for my very own self before.” There it was, “Polly Pepper,” running clear across its face. And “Oh!” with wide eyes, when she saw the amount, “twenty-five dollars!”
“Haven't you so?” said Mrs. Sterling, greatly pleased to be the first in one of Polly's pleasures.
“Oh!” cried Polly again, “twenty-five dollars!” And she threw herself down before the lounge, and dropped a kiss upon the hand that had made all this happiness for the brakeman's poor children.
“Well now, Polly, tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Sterling, with a glow at her heart warm enough to brighten many a long invalid day. “Gibbons, get a cricket for Miss Mary.”
“Oh, may I sit here?” begged Polly eagerly, as Gibbons, placing the little writing-case back into position, now approached with the cricket; “it's so cosey on the floor.”
“Why, yes, if you don't wish the cricket,” said Mrs. Sterling with a little laugh, “and I remember when I was your age it was my greatest delight to sit on the floor.”