“Indeed, that’s very surprising,” and the minister smiled most cordially at the little cook. Polly was perfectly delighted when Miss Pomeroy suggested that instead of a nap she might take a walk with the minister and show him the grounds. Miss Pomeroy was to drive him back to Deacon Talcott’s house late in the afternoon.
“I will take my nap as usual, Mary, if you think you can look after Mr. Endicott,” she had said, and the minister and Polly exchanged a glance of much confidence and friendliness.
They walked about, hand in hand, and there was no doubt that Polly entertained the minister.
“Miss Pomeroy tells me she hopes you will stay with her for always,” the minister said, as they stood together looking down at the brook in a place where it tinkled over some stones. Polly gave a little cry of delight and squeezed the minister’s hand.
“Oh, did she say it that way?” she asked, earnestly.
“Why, yes,” said the young man, smiling down at her, “didn’t you know it?”
“She’s a beautiful, kind lady,” said Polly, shaking her brown curls till they danced, “and I do truly love her, but she’s so tall and quiet I shouldn’t like to ask her questions all the time, and I have to ask her a good many—about my clothes and ever so many other things. Now if it was you, I shouldn’t be a bit afraid, because your eyes look so young and happy,” said the little girl, frankly. “Miss Pomeroy has sad eyes, and I’m always afraid I’ll make them sadder. Don’t you see?”
“I think I do,” said the minister, gently, “but I am sure you will help Miss Pomeroy’s eyes, and not hurt them, by talking freely to her.”
“Yes, sir,” said Polly, doubtfully. “Do your little sisters like to read, Mr. Endicott? I am reading a book called ‘Sesame and Lilies,’ by Mr. Ruskin.”
“Phew!” said the minister. “That’s a fine book, Mary, but I should say it was a little old for you. Who chose it—Miss Pomeroy?”