Arctura Green had never sat at the table with Miss Pomeroy in all the years of her faithful service, but it was understood to be purely a matter of choice on her part, and a few words were spoken now and then to make this state of affairs clear to any chance visitor.
Polly ate her steak and potato and fresh bread and butter, sitting opposite Miss Pomeroy, and only speaking in answer to questions. She looked at the spotless white table-cloth with its rose and fern pattern, at the shining glass tumblers, and the big glass water bottle, at the fat silver tea-pot and sugar-bowl, and the slender spoons and forks, at the knives, with mother-of-pearl handles, at the white plates with dull blue figures that matched those on the platter, and at the big bread plate with its gold rim. Then she looked at the buffet on which there were all sorts of shining things.
“It is because everything is so wonderful in the house that they like to stay here better than out-doors,” thought Polly, but in spite of everything her eyes turned wistfully to the window. The sunshine flickered and danced among the branches of the Pomeroy oaks, and Polly gave a half sigh as she looked at it.
“Don’t you like your pudding, my dear?” asked Miss Hetty, and the little girl turned quickly to her dinner again.
After dinner she followed Miss Pomeroy up the broad, shallow front stairs to the pretty room which had been prepared for her. It had a white bed, a white bureau, a white wash-stand, two little straight-backed white chairs, and a white rocking-chair. A pink stripe ran through the white near the edges of all these pieces of furniture, and Polly thought it was the most beautiful bed-room that could possibly be imagined.
“And here is your closet,” said Miss Hetty, as she opened a door, and showed what seemed to Polly like a good-sized room, with shelves and hooks. On the lowest shelf sat the big black enamel cloth bag, looking old and forlorn.
“Now, you’d better take out your things and put them away in the closet and the bureau, Mary,” said Miss Hetty, “and perhaps you’d like to lie down and rest awhile; I am going to take my nap now. When you wish to go downstairs you may, but I wouldn’t run out to-day, for the ground is so damp. I dare say you’ll find plenty to amuse you in the house, and you are free to go anywhere. I’m sure I can trust such a careful, quiet little girl as you are.”
When the door that led into Miss Pomeroy’s room across the hall was fairly shut, Polly executed a silent dance on the soft gray and pink carpet.
“I guess Mrs. Manser’d think I was doing pretty well,” said Polly, thrilling with pride. “I never was called ‘quiet’ or ‘careful’ before. She’d hardly believe it. I must be growing like Eleanor pretty fast. As soon as I’ve put away my things I shall lie right down on that bed. I wonder how long I ought to stay on it. I suppose most probably Eleanor would stay till she heard her aunt getting up; that’s what I’ll do. Mrs. Manser said most likely Miss Pomeroy would give me tests. I shall lie on that bed till I hear Miss Pomeroy if its—two hours,” said Polly, firmly, mentioning the longest space of time which she could conceive might be spent in sleeping by daylight.
Then Polly took the big bag out of the closet and proceeded to unpack it. There was her other new gingham frock on top of everything else; it had blue and white stripes, and was very pretty, Polly thought, as she laid it carefully away in the lowest of the four bureau drawers. Then came her little brown cashmere frock, made over from one which had done service for six years as Mrs. Manser’s Sunday gown; it was Polly’s Sunday best now, very brave with a little red piping around the neck and sleeves, and at the head of the ruffle. This Polly hung in the closet.