Part 91

Polly turned the sheet back again, and obeyed. But she hadn't read more than a paragraph when she came to a dead stop.

"Go on," commanded Mrs. Chatterton, her eyes sparkling. She had forgotten to play with her rings, being perfectly absorbed in the delicious morsels of exceedingly unsavory gossip she was hearing.

Polly laid the paper in her lap, and her two hands fell upon it. "Oh, Mrs. Chatterton," she cried, the color flying from her cheek, "please let me read something else to you. Mamsie wouldn't like me to read this." The brown eyes filled with tears, and she leaned forward imploringly.

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton passionately. "I command you to read that, girl. Do you hear me?"

"I cannot," said Polly, in a low voice. "Mamsie wouldn't like it." But it was perfectly distinct, and fell upon the angry ears clearly; and storm as she might, Mrs. Chatterton knew that the little country maiden would never bend to her will in this case.

"I would have you to know that I understand much better than your mother possibly can, what is for your good to read. Besides, she will never know."

"Mamsie knows every single thing that we children do," cried Polly decidedly, and lifting her pale face; "and she understands better than any one else about what we ought to do, for she is our mother."

"What arrant nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton passionately, and unable to control herself at the prospect of losing Polly for a reader, which she couldn't endure, as she thoroughly enjoyed her services in that line. She got out of her chair, and paced up and down the long apartment angrily, saying all sorts of most disagreeable things, that Polly only half heard, so busy was she debating in her own mind what she ought to do. Should she run out of the room, and leave this dreadful old woman that every one in the house was tired of? Surely she had tried enough to please her, but she could not do what Mamsie would never approve of. And just as Polly had about decided to slip out, she looked up.

Mrs. Chatterton, having exhausted her passion, as it seemed to do no good, was returning to her seat, with such a dreary step and forlorn expression that she seemed ten years older. She really looked very feeble, and Polly broke out impulsively, "Oh, let me read the other part of the paper, dear Mrs. Chatterton. May I?"

"Read it," said Mrs. Chatterton ungraciously, and sat down in her favorite chair.

Polly, scarcely believing her ears, whirled over the sheet, and determined to read as well as she possibly could, managed to throw so much enthusiasm into the fashion hints and social items, that presently Mrs. Chatterton's eyes were sparkling again, although she was deprived of her unsavory morsels.

And before long she was eagerly telling Polly to read over certain dictates of the Paris correspondent, who was laying down the law for feminine dress, and calling again for the last information of the movements of members of her social set, till there could be no question of her enjoyment.

Polly, not knowing or caring how long she had been thus occupied, so long as Mrs. Chatterton was happy, was only conscious that Hortense came back from the errands, which occasioned only a brief pause.

"Put the parcels down," said Mrs. Chatterton, scarcely glancing at her, "I cannot attend to you now. Go on, Polly."

So Polly went on, until the fashionable and social world had been so thoroughly canvassed that even Mrs. Chatterton was quite convinced that she could get no more from the paper.

"You may go now," she said, but with a hungry glance for the first page. Then she tore her gaze away, and repeated more coldly than ever, "You may go."

Polly ran off, dismayed to find how happy she was at the release. Her feet, unaccustomed to sitting still so long, were numb, and little prickles were running up and down her legs. She hurried as fast as she could into Mamsie's room, feeling in need of all the good cheer she could find.

"Mrs. Fisher has gone out," said Jane, going along the hall.

"Gone out!" repeated Polly, "Oh, where? Do you know, Jane?"

"I don't exactly know," said Jane, "but she took Miss Phronsie; and I think it's shopping they went for. Mr. King has taken them in the carriage."

"Oh, I know it is," cried Polly, and a dreadful feeling surged through her. Why had she spent all this time with that horrible old woman, and lost this precious treat!

"They thought you had gone to the Salisbury School," said Jane, wishing she could give some comfort, "for they wanted you awfully to go."

"And now I've lost it all," cried Polly at a white heat--"all this perfectly splendid time with Grandpapa and Mamsie and Phronsie just for the sake of a horrible--"

Then she broke short off, and ran back into Mamsie's room, and flung herself down by the bed, just as she used to do by the four-poster in the bedroom of the little brown house.

"Why, Polly, child!" Mother Fisher's voice was very cheery as she came in, Phronsie hurrying after.

"I don't see her," began Phronsie in a puzzled way, and peering on all sides. "Where is she, Mamsie?"

Mrs. Fisher went over and laid her hand on Polly's brown head. "Now, Phronsie, you may run out, that is a good girl." She leaned over, and set a kiss on Phronsie's red lips.

"Is Polly sick?" asked Phronsie, going off to the door obediently, but looking back with wondering eyes.