Miss Arabella looked severe. "Polly!" she cried, appearing at the door. "Now, Polly, be good. You were jist awful yesterday, when the doctor was passing. You'll try not to say that awful thing, won't you, Polly?"
"Oh, Annie Laurie, Annie Laurie, Annie Laurie!" gabbled Polly, walking along her perch head downward. "I'll be good, I'll be good."
Thus assured, Miss Arabella slipped into her spare bedroom. It was a tiny room, with a close, hushed air. Most of the space was taken up by a huge feather-bed, whose white surface bulged up like a monstrous baking of bread. Against the crinkly spars of the low headboard two stiff pillow-shams stood erect, like signboards, each bearing the legend, worked in red, "Sweet Dreams." The floor was covered with a home-made rug, displaying a branch of yellow roses, upon which stood a mathematically straight line of purple-breasted robins. The one window was draped in stiff, white lace curtains that fell from the ceiling in a billowing cascade and flowed out into the middle of the room. Here the flood was dammed, very appropriately, by two large, pink-tinted seashells. In one corner stood a high, old-fashioned chest of drawers, covered with a white cloth worked in red to match the "Sweet Dreams" on the pillows. It held a small looking-glass flanked by a couple of china figures; a gay Red Riding-Hood, with a pink wolf, set primly opposite a striped Bo-peep and a sky-blue lamb. There were pebbles and shells and pieces of coral, and baskets of beadwork, and many other ornaments dear to Miss Arabella's heart. She closed the old, creaking door, placed the one chair against it, and trembling as though she were about to commit a burglary, she stealthily opened the lowest drawer of the dresser and took from it a large parcel. She sat down on the low rocker and carefully untied the string. Her breath was coming fast, her eyes were shining. The stiff paper opened, and revealed a roll of bright blue silk, just the tint of the May skies. Miss Arabella touched it lovingly.
"You're the very color," she whispered; "you've never faded a bit, and it's been such a long time—oh, an awful long time!" She sighed deeply; her little face looked wan and old.
"But you haven't started to ravel yet." Her fingers had been running carefully up and down the silk, and she stopped with a start of dismay. She hurried to the low window. Yes, there along several of the folds, the blue fabric was showing signs of wear! Miss Arabella sank back into her chair and sat motionless, gazing at the bright heap in her lap. Slowly two big tears gathered, and slipped down her cheeks. She hastily covered the precious silk from possible damage, wiped her eyes with her apron, and replaced the bundle in the drawer.
"It must be a sign," she whispered tremulously. "It 'ud never 'a' begun to wear if it was goin' to be any use to me. It's a sign!" She locked the drawer, and went out slowly. Her little figure had a more pronounced droop, her eyes were very piteous.
She went back to her tasks in the tiny kitchen with a dull, hopeless air. She had just set a pail of soapy water on the back doorstep, preparatory to scrubbing the porch floor, for Susan insisted that this must be done once a week, no matter how clean it might be, when Polly's voice reached her. It was raised in uttering that shocking phrase which her mistress had forbidden, and which Polly refused to unlearn. Miss Arabella hurried out to the front veranda, fearful lest the minister or the new doctor might be within earshot.
"Good-morning, Arabella!" called a sweet voice from the other side of the cedar hedge.
Miss Arabella ran joyfully to the gate. "Oh, Elsie, is it you? Come away in and sit a minute; do, now."
"No, thank you, Arabella; not this morning. Mother sent me up to see what sort of baby Jake and Hannah have adopted. Come with me."