Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl by L. T. Meade (the lemonade war series .txt) 📗
- Author: L. T. Meade
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Before Mrs. Cameron had time to utter a word or in any way to expostulate, she found herself dragged down beside Flower, Flower’s head transferred to her capacious lap, and the precious Scorpion snatched out of her arms. Polly’s firm, muscular young fingers tightly held the dog’s mouth, and in an instant Scorpion and she were out of sight. Notwithstanding all his fighting and struggling and desperate efforts to free himself, she succeeded in carrying him to a little deserted summer pagoda at a distant end of the garden. Here she locked him in, and allowed him to suffer both cold and hunger for the remainder of the night.
There are times when even the most unkind are softened. Mrs. Cameron was not a sympathetic person. She was a great philanthropist, it is true, and was much esteemed, especially by those people who did not know her well. But[Pg 142] love, the real name for what the Bible calls charity, seldom found an entrance into her heart. The creature she devoted most affection to was Scorpion. But now, as she sat in the still house, which all the time seemed to throb with a hidden intense life; when she heard in the far distance doors opening gently and stifled sobs and moans coming from more than one young throat; when she looked down at the deathlike face of Flower—she really did forget herself, and rose for once to the occasion.
Very gently—for she was a strong woman—she lifted Flower, and carried her into the Doctor’s study. There she laid her on a sofa, and gave her restoratives, and when Flower opened her dazed eyes she spoke to her more kindly than she had done yet.
“I have ordered something for you, which you are to take at once,” she said. “Ah! here it is! Thank you, Alice. Now, Daisy, drink this off at once.”
It was a beaten-up egg in milk and brandy, and when Flower drank it she felt no longer giddy, and was able to sit up and look around her.
In the meantime Polly and all the other children remained still as mice outside the Doctor’s door. They had stolen on tiptoe from different quarters of the old house to this position, and now they stood perfectly still, not looking at one another or uttering a sound, but with their eyes fixed with pathetic earnestness and appeal at the closed door. When would the doctors come out? When would the verdict be given? Minutes passed. The children found this time of tension an agony.
“I can’t bear it!” sobbed Firefly at last.
But the others said, “Hush!” so peremptorily, and with such a total disregard for any one person’s special emotions, that the little girl’s hysterical fit was nipped in the bud.
At last there was a sound of footsteps within the room, and the local practitioner, accompanied by the great physician from London, opened the door carefully and came out.
“Go in and sit with your father,” said one of the doctors to Helen.
Without a word she disappeared into the darkened room, and all the others, including little Pearl in Nurse’s arms, followed the medical men downstairs. They went into the Doctor’s study, where Flower was still lying very white and faint on the sofa. Fortunately for the peace of the next quarter of an hour Mrs. Cameron had taken herself off in a vain search for Scorpion.
“Now,” said Polly, when they were all safely in the room—she took no notice of Flower; she did not even see her—“now please speak; please tell us the whole truth at once.”
She went up and laid her hand on the London physician’s arm.
“The whole truth? But I cannot do that, my dear young lady,” he said, in hearty, genial tones. “Bless me!” turning[Pg 143] to the other doctor, “do all these girls and boys belong to Maybright? And so you want the whole truth, Miss—Miss——”
“I’m called Polly, sir.”
“The whole truth, Polly? Only God knows that. Your father was in a weak state of health; he had a shock and a chill. We feared mischief to the brain. Oh, no, he is by no means out of the wood yet. Still I have hope of him; I have great hope. What do you say, Strong? Symptoms have undoubtedly taken a more favorable turn during the last hour or two.”
“I quite agree with you, Sir Andrew,” said the local practitioner, with a profound bow.
“Then, my dear young lady, my answer to you, to all of you, is that, although only God knows the whole truth, there is, in my opinion, considerable hope—yes, considerable. I’ll have a word with you in the other room, Strong. Good-by, children; keep up your spirits. I have every reason to think well of the change which has set in within the last hour.”
The moment the doctors left the room Polly looked eagerly round at the others.
“Only God knows the truth,” she said. “Let us pray to Him this very minute. Let’s get on our knees at once.”
They all did so, and all were silent.
“What are we to say, Polly?” asked Firefly at last. “I never did ’aloud prayers’ since mother died.”
“Hush! There’s the Lord’s Prayer,” said Polly. “Won’t somebody say it? My voice is choking.”
“I will,” said Flower.
Nobody had noticed her before; now she came forward, knelt down by Polly’s side, and repeated the prayer of prayers in a steady voice. When it was over, she put up her hands to her face, and remained silent.
“What are you saying now?” asked Firefly, pulling at her skirt.
“Something about myself.”
“What is that?” they all asked.
“I’ve been the wickedest girl in the whole of England. I have been asking God to forgive me.”
“Oh, poor Flower!” echoed the children, touched by her dreary, forsaken aspect.
Polly put her arms round her and kissed her.
“We have quite forgiven you, so, of course, God will,” she said.
“How noble you are! Will you be my friend?”
“Yes, if you want to have me. Oh, children!” continued Polly, “do you think we can any of us ever do anything naughty again if father gets better?”
“He will get better now,” said Firefly.
Whether it was the children’s faith or the children’s prayer, certain it is that from that moment the alarming symptoms in connection with Dr. Maybright’s illness abated. It was some days before he was pronounced out of danger, but even that happy hour arrived in due course, and one by one his children were allowed to come to see him.
Mrs. Cameron meanwhile arranged matters pretty much as she pleased downstairs. Helen, who from the first had insisted on nursing her father herself, had no time to housekeep. Polly’s sprained ankle would not get well in a minute, and, besides, other circumstances had combined to reduce that young lady’s accustomed fire and ardor. Consequently, Mrs. Cameron had matters all her own way, and there is not the least doubt that she and Scorpion between them managed to create a good deal of moral and physical disquietude.
“Well,” she said to herself, “when all is said and done, that poor man who is on the flat of his back upstairs is my sainted Helen’s husband; and if at such a time as this Maria Cameron should harbor ill-will in her heart it would but ill become the leader of some of the largest philanthropic societies in Bath. No, for the present my place is here, and no black looks, nor surly answers, nor impertinent remarks, will keep Maria Cameron from doing her duty.”
Accordingly Mrs. Power gave a month’s notice, and Alice wept so profusely that her eyes for the time being were seriously injured. Scorpion bit the new kitchen-maid Jane twice, who went into hysterics and expected hydrophobia daily. But notwithstanding these and sundry other fracases, Mrs. Cameron steadily pursued her way. She looked into account-books, she interviewed the butcher, she dismissed the baker, she overhauled the store-room, and after her own fashion—and a disagreeable fashion it was—did a good deal of indirect service to the family.
Flower in particular she followed round so constantly and persistently that the young girl began to wonder if Mrs. Cameron seriously and really intended to punish her, by now bereaving her of her senses.
“I don’t think I can stand it much longer,” said Flower to Polly. “Last night I was in bed and asleep when she came in. I was awfully tired, and had just fallen into my first sleep, when that detestable dog snapped at my nose. There was Mrs. Cameron standing in the middle of the room with a lighted candle in her hand. ‘Get up,’ she said. ‘What for?’ I asked. ‘Get up this minute!’ she said, and she stamped her foot. I thought perhaps she would disturb your father, for my room is not far away from his, so I[Pg 145] tumbled out of bed. ‘Now, what is the matter?’ I asked. ‘The matter?’ said Mrs. Cameron. ‘That’s the matter! and that’s the matter! and that’s the matter!’ And what do you think? She was pointing to my stockings and shoes, and my other clothes. I always do leave them in a little heap in the middle of the floor; they’re perfectly comfortable there, and it doesn’t injure them in the least. Well! that awful woman woke me out of my sleep to put them by. She stood over me, and made me fold the clothes up, and shake out the stockings, and put the shoes under a chair, and all the time that fiendish dog was snapping at my heels. Oh, it’s intolerable! I’ll be in a lunatic asylum if this goes on much longer!”
Polly laughed; she could not help it; and Firefly and David, who were both listening attentively, glanced significantly at one another.
The next morning, very, very early, Firefly was awakened by a bump. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and murmured, “All right!” under her breath.
“Put something on, Fly, and be quick,” whispered David’s voice from the door.
Firefly soon tumbled into a warm frock, a thick outdoor jacket, and a little fur cap; her shoes and stockings were tumbled on anyhow. Holding her jacket together—for she was in too great a hurry to fasten it—she joined David.
“I did it last night,” he said; “it’s a large hole; he’ll never be discovered there. And now the thing is to get him.”
“Oh, Dave, how will you manage that?”
“Trust me, Fly. Even if I do run a risk, I don’t care. Anything is better than the chance of Flower getting into another of her passions.”
“Oh, anything, of course,” said Fly. “Are you going to kill him, Dave?”
“No. The hole is big; he can move about in it. What I thought of was this—we’d sell him.”
“Sell him? But he isn’t ours.”
“No matter! He’s a public nuisance, and he must be got rid of. There are often men wandering on the moor who would be glad to buy a small dog like Scorpion. They’d very likely give us a shilling for him. Then we’d drop the shilling into Mrs. Cameron’s purse. Don’t you see? She’d never know how it got there. Then, you understand, it would really have been Mrs. Cameron who sold Scorpion.”
“Oh, delicious!” exclaimed Fly. “She’d very likely spend the money on postage stamps to send round begging charity letters.”
“So Scorpion would have done good in the end,” propounded David. “But come along now, Fly. The difficult thing is to catch the little brute.”
It was still very early in the morning, and the corridors and passages were quite dark. David and Fly, however, could feel their way about like little mice, and they soon[Pg 146] found themselves outside the door of the green room, which was devoted to Mrs. Cameron.
“Do you feel this?” said David, putting out his hand and touching Fly. “This is a long towel; I’m winding part of it round my hand and arm. I don’t want to get hydrophobia, like poor Jane. Now, I’m going to creep into Mrs. Cameron’s room so quietly, that even Scorpion won’t wake. I learned how to do that from the black people in Australia. You may stand there, Fly, but you won’t hear even a pin fall till I come back with Scorpion.”
“If I don’t hear, I feel,” replied Fly. “My heart does thump so. I’m just awfully excited. Don’t be very long away, Dave.”
By this time David had managed to unhasp the door. He pushed it open a few inches, and then lay flat down on his face and hands. The next moment he had disappeared into the room, and all was profoundly still. Fly could hear through the partly open door the gentle and regularly kept-up sound of a duet of snoring.
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