“Mercy me, that’s almost like play acting!” cried Arctura. “I guess Hiram can teach you gestures easy enough. I understand you’re going to commit ‘On Linden.’ Well, it’s a real stirring piece, and it’ll give you good exercise. Hiram’s all over the lot, when he says it. He rehearsed it to me last night, and I said to him he’d got to bear in mind that little girls weren’t grown men, and not keep you thrashing round, stooping down, and reaching up every last living minute. I pointed out a few places where he could omit some of his arm work, and he’s going to do so. I shall expect to be invited to a performance when you get it all learned.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Polly, gayly, “and perhaps Miss Pomeroy would come, too. I know some pieces that Uncle Blodgett taught me, but they hadn’t any gestures except a bow at the beginning and one at the end. And Mr. Hiram must know other poems, doesn’t he?”
“He’s full of ’em as a nut is of meat,” laughed Arctura, “both prose pieces and poetry, and all he wants is opportunity. Why, I’ve heard him many a time, spouting away to himself in the barn, but I’ve never taken any notice, for you give an inch to these people that recite, and they’ll take an ell quick enough; it’s just like starting a leak. But a regular performance, such as you speak of, with different ones taking part, I believe Miss Hetty would enjoy it for once, anyway; she don’t have much to amuse her.”
“And you would sing?” asked Polly, eagerly.
“Um-m—’twould be according to whether I could depend on my voice. I could try it with the scales, I expect, late in the afternoon,” said Arctura, “and then we could give the entertainment right after supper, soon as the dishes were cleared up. Goodness me! look at that clock! It’s most half-past ten!” and then there was a busy time in the kitchen until the noon hour brought dinner and rest.
CHAPTER XII
SESAME AND LILIES
AFTER her resting hour on the bed Polly took her book again from the low shelf and read another ten pages. Before Miss Pomeroy went to her room after dinner, Polly asked for a pencil and paper, and Miss Hetty gave her a pad of smooth paper in a pretty linen cover, to which a sharp pencil was attached by a long red ribbon.
“Another present!” the little girl exclaimed when Miss Pomeroy told her she was to keep the pad “for her very own.”
“Another present,” said the mistress of the house, smiling down into the brown eyes, and she kissed Polly as she stood at the foot of the stairs.
Polly’s head felt warm and tired, and she longed to run out into the woods with her book, but with the thought of Eleanor in her mind, she set her lips firmly and took her seat on the south porch, and began her self-appointed task. Polly would have been spared a good deal of trouble if she could have overheard what Miss Pomeroy was saying to Arctura, while the little girl sat so quietly reading and copying words from the leather-covered book to the paper in her lap.