“It’s what I call fair,” said Arctura, with decision, “and that’s what I like in real life or in a story. And that’s why I expect that the poor folks that get hurt and slammed around and put upon in this world are going to have crowns of gold and harps of silver and songs of everlasting praise and joy in the next one; or whatever those things stand for, to ’em. We’ll have another of those stories next time we come out a pleasuring together, won’t we?”
Polly assented with joy, and all through the talk that followed, while she told of her morning’s trip to the village, those delightful words “next time” rang out their lovely promise in Polly’s happy ears.
She and Arctura walked home arm in arm, although that meant that Polly had to stretch up, and Miss Green to reach down, but the path was broad enough for two, and they sang “Marching Through Georgia,” and stepped gayly along to the brisk measures.
“Slow walking, except for those that have infirmities and are obliged,” said Arctura, “is a trial of the flesh and spirit, or it might be, if it ain’t,” and little Polly, with more color in her cheeks than had been there for days, looked joyfully up at her.
“Oh, Miss Arctura,” she said, fervently, “you do have such splendid ideas!”
“Don’t try to flatter an old lady of fifty-four, child,” said Miss Green, shaking her ball of yarn at Polly with pretended severity. “You turn your mind on those clouds; see how the wind’s backing round through the north? I can smell the east,” and she sniffed with her nose well in the air. “We’re in for rain to-morrow, I do believe. It’ll be just the day for you to write that letter you’re going to send with the candy, and there’s a number of matters you can help me about, and if you’ve got any mending to do maybe we’ll find time to sit down together, and I’ll relate that story about the Square and me.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Polly, as they marched up the driveway, “and I’ve got to practice with Mr. Hiram, you know. I expect it will be a grand day!”
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Think not of far-off duties,