“That is a good omen, Polly,” said Mabel, as she rose and opened the door of the cage, “but it is not Poll who ought to ‘cheer up’ but I, you pretty bird.” Poll hopped out and perched upon her finger and looked so knowingly at her, that it almost broke down the resolution she had formed. Mabel was accustomed to take Poll out and talk to her, and brother Ben, who was an amateur photographer, had taken a picture of the pretty pair, so Polly was already immortalized.
“Poor Ben! Poor Ben!” said Polly. “‘On Linden when the sun was low’—ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Poor Ben! Poor Ben!” laughed and shouted Polly.
“Poor Ben, indeed!” said Mabel, “though the Ben you first heard about was another Ben, and used to break down with his recitation and be laughed at. I wonder where he is now, and whether he is dead, my brave soldier uncle! If he were alive, and should come back, what would he think to find another Polly just like the one he left behind, who had learned some of the things his Polly used to say. Mamma says your predecessor died of old age, Polly; I wonder if that will be your destiny. I shall never know; for I am going to sell you to the lady up at the hotel, who saw you hanging outside, and wanted you for her little girl. She said she would give me five dollars, and when I refused she offered me ten. I could not let you go, Polly, but now I must. I must say ‘good-bye’ to you now, Polly, for I shall never take you out of the cage again.”
“Cheer up! cheer up!” sang Polly, as Mabel put her back, and closing the cage, left the room.
The boys were leaving the sitting-room when she went down stairs, and as Ben passed her, she said, “Do not go to bed till I come up again. I want to speak to you. Wait in my room.”
Mrs. Ross was getting ready to go up to her room when Mabel entered.
“Are you going up, mamma?” said she, “I will not keep you long; but I want to tell you, that I think I know a way for you to get some money. I wish to keep it a secret for the present; but I think I can safely promise you some. The last thing before I came down, Polly called, ‘cheer up, cheer up,’ and it is a good omen; so I say the same to you, mamma.”
“You are a good girl, Mabel, but I am afraid you are too sanguine. How can you hope to succeed where I have failed?”
“You will believe me when you see the money, shall you not, mamma?”
“There would not be much merit in that, dear, but I will trust you, and whatever happens I will believe you did what you thought was right, and that God does every thing for the best.”