"Polly," said I, kindly, "sit down. I would like to have some talk with you."
The girl seemed taken by surprise. Her face warmed a little, and her eyes, which had been turned aside from mine, looked at me with a glance of inquiry.
"There, Polly"—and I pointed to a chair—"sit down."
She obeyed, but with a weary, patient air, like one whose feelings were painfully oppressed.
"Polly," said I, with kindness and interest in my voice, "has anything troubled you of late?"
Her face flushed and her eyes reddened.
"If there has, Polly, and I can help you in any way, speak to me as a friend. You can trust me."
I was not prepared for the sudden and strong emotion that instantly manifested itself. Her face fell into her hands, and she sobbed out, with a violence that startled me. I waited until she grew calm, and then said, laying a hand kindly upon her as I spoke—
"Polly, you can talk to me as freely as if I were your mother. Speak plainly, and if I can advise you or aid you in any way, be sure that I will do it."
"I don't think you can help me any, ma'am, unless it is to bear my trouble more patiently," she answered, in a subdued way.