"Maimie Flinders is sick," said Prue, coming in from school the next noon, and hastening to thrust first one foot and then the other into warmth issuing from the open oven-door, for the day was cold. "I met Mr. Flinders, and he said 'Maimie was pretty miserable1, and they was worried about her.'" Prue pulled down the corners of her mouth, imitating Farmer Flinders's drawl as she spoke2.
"I must go see her," said Rob. "Poor little Pollykins! She's a misfit in that household—a dear, quaint3 little soul! None but a very nice child could admire me the way that mite4 does. I think I owe her a cheering visit. Look out, Prudy; let me get the pudding out."
After dinner Rob girded herself in her warm, ex-parlor-curtains coat, and having selected from her accumulation of the Rutherfords' contributions to her entertainments some things that she[182] thought would amuse the sick child, started out to make a call which was not alluring5 for many reasons.
Farmer Flinders lived in a yellowish-brown house from which the green blinds that adorned6 it in summer had been removed to save them unnecessary wear during the winter. It was square and bare, and Rob felt its bleakness7 anew as she entered the gate, passing the straggling stalks which in summer developed into a lilac and syringa bush, and pulled the octagonal glass door-bell, remembering the solitary8 and sensitive child who was trying to grow into a woman in these surroundings.
Mrs. Flinders opened the door, cautiously displaying a little of her gaunt person.
"We heard that Maimie was sick," said Rob. "I should like to see her, if I may."
"Come in," said Maimie's mother. "She's pretty mis'rable, but if anything could do her good 'twould be seein' you. I always say that to Mr. Flinders when he's talkin' of the bother he has with your place, an' you bein' pretty spunky. 'Eliab,' I says, 'there's got to be good in a girl that children take to, an' I never see our Maimie take to anyone 's she doos to Roberta Grey. She makes her laugh,' I says, 'an' she[183] seems to chirk her right up.' An' you can see yourself, Roberta, that if you'd had seven children, an' all had died but jest this one, you'd take to anyone she took to yourself, no matter who 'twas."
Roberta accepted these dubious9 remarks as complimentary10, that being, on the whole, apparently11 their intention, but she had considerable difficulty in keeping her face straight, for it did not seem to her necessary for Mrs. Flinders to apologize to her, either for her liking12 for Rob, nor for her desire to have Maimie made happy.
She followed Mrs. Flinders into the kitchen, which was also the sitting-room13, and saw the little white face which she hoped to make smile, languidly looking out on the glimpse of the world allowed the child by the enormous chintz arm-chair, with its extended side-pieces, in which she was very nearly swallowed up. A long, thin, little hand came out from the plaid shawl enveloping14 Maimie and waved feebly to Rob, while a piping voice cried: "Oh, Rob Grey, I'm awful glad to see you!"
"That's right," cried Rob, running over to give the child a hug. "So you should be, because I'm glad to see you, though I'm not one bit glad[184] to see you ill. But, you see! I always told you they ought to call you Polly, and not Maimie—because it was 'little Polly Flinders sat among the cinders15, warming her pretty little toes.' And if you're not among the cinders, you're close to the stove, Pollykins! But we're certain sure you're not the real Polly Flinders, in Mother Goose, because 'her mother came and caught her, and whipped her little daughter, for spoiling her nice new clothes.' That can't happen to you, you know, because you've got on your wrapper!"
The child laughed out. "You're funny, Rob," she said, stroking Rob's cheek.
"And you're funny, Polly; as funny as a fiddler-crab, with this big chair high up above your head, and your thin little face peering out! What do you play all day—do you play you're a little turtle and this is your shell?" laughed Rob, her heart full of pity for the wan16 little creature.
"Nothin'," said Polly. "I don't play nothin'; I just sit an' sit."
"Read?" hinted Rob.
Polly shook her head. "I can't read fast, 'cause I didn't go to school much, an' it makes me awful tired."
[185]
"Well, now, reading is hard work, because they won't stop writing books long enough to let us catch up," laughed Rob. "I've been telling stories, telling them to lots of little children, and we do have the most fun!"
"Father told about that," cried Polly eagerly. "He said 'twas queer folks paid to hear 'em, but I know! You've told me stories, an' I know! I wish I could be there when you tell 'em, but father wouldn't get a ticket, not ever."
"What does the doctor say about Polly, Mrs. Flinders?" asked Rob, who had been forming her own unprofessional opinion, and deciding that poor little Polly was dying of pure dreariness17.
"He says she ain't any stamina18, an' he's afraid she'll go like the rest. He says she don't seem to have any real disease, but too much Flinders—you know Dr. Fairbairn, an' the way he says things. I guess he means she'll go like the rest," said Mrs. Flinders, apparently oblivious19 to Polly's intense gaze.
Rob thought that she did indeed "know Dr. Fairbairn," and read in his diagnosis20 of "too much Flinders" confirmation21 of her own judgment22 on poor Polly. The mite looked so frightened at the prospect23 of "going like the others" that[186] Rob was divided between pity for the shrinking child and wondering wrath24 at her obtuse25 mother.
"Now, I'll tell you what it is, Mrs. Flinders," cried Rob, "Polly isn't going like the others; she isn't going at all. But she's sick and lonely, and I think a bit of cheering would do her more good than medicine—or even than splendid Dr. Fairbairn can do! I want you to lend us Polly. We've plenty of room in the little grey house—we always have room and time to do what we want to do—and I'll take Polly under my special charge, so the others shall not have any trouble about it. I'll tuck her up in the little bed we three girls had in turn when we were little, and we'll let her play with our dear white kitten Kiku, and she'll hear us chatter26, and I'll tell her stories, and you see if she doesn't get to be another Polly in no time!"
"Oh, mother, mother!" cried Polly, starting up in uncontrollable rapture27 and clasping her thin hands prayerfully. "Oh, mother, mother!"
Mrs. Flinders stared at Rob in amazement28, then she wiped her eyes on the corner of her faded apron29. "Well, Roberta, you're a good girl, an' I'll say that for you," she said, her reserve dropping from her suddenly. "Young as[187] you be, you see what's the matter with Maimie. The child's just pining and pindling out of the world, an' I can't stop her. He's near; you know how he is. He's got plenty money an' no one but us, an' if Maimie dies, what's the use of it all? But he won't send the child away—says it's all nonsense. An' the house 's lonely, an' I can't amuse her, an' so I stand by an' see her going the way they all went, till it seems 's if there wa'n't enough vim30 in me to git her supper—let alone savin' her. If you could—and would—take her awhile, I know she'd come right up. But they ain't many's 'd do it, an' I guess he's been tryin' enough to you fer you not to feel gret interest in his child. An' what'd your folks say?"
"I'd do anything I could for dear little Polly, Mrs. Flinders," said Rob. "And as to my mother and father, the one thing that makes them happy is a chance to do a slight kindness for someone. You needn't be afraid that Polly won't be welcome. I know, or I wouldn't have spoken—or at least not until I had first consulted them. You get her ready, and I'll ask the Rutherford boys to come here and carry her off to the little grey house. Will Mr. Flinders let her go?"
[188]
"He'll do anything as long's it don't come out of him," said Mrs. Flinders, bitterly. "I know in his heart he'll be pleased, for this child's the only thing he doos care about. An' I guess you no need to ask those boys to fetch her; we've got a horse, an' if she's goin' visitin' I'll see she gets there properly."
"Then it's settled!" cried Rob, and, turning to Polly, who had been listening to this conversation with her breath fluttering over her parted lips, and color coming and going in her pinched face, she added: "Are you glad to come, Pollykins?"
"Glad, Rob!" cried little Polly. "It'll be 'most heaven. I'm sure I'll have a better time than the others."
And Rob knew that she referred to the other little Flinders, and was as delighted with Polly's gratitude31 as if she had not seen how much the small creature dreaded32 following them to greater happiness than the little grey house could give her.
When Rob announced at home the prospective33 visitor there was consternation34 for a time, but it was not long before her mother and Wythie were planning for Polly's comfort with as much pleasure as Rob felt, and Prue fell to washing[189] and setting in order the wardrobe of her discarded doll for Polly's delectation.
Mrs. Flinders drove the child over in the buggy with the purpling wheel-spokes and the wood obtruding35 through the back of the seat. Polly was wrapped so closely that only her dilated36 eyes showed, and her mother sat, uncompromising and severe, beside her, hauling on the reins37 which guided the temperate38 horse.
The Rutherfords were at the grey house when the little invalid39 arrived, and Bruce's strong arms lifted her out with a gentleness that warranted his choice of vocation40, and bore her into the warmth of the open fire in the dining-room.
"These are her drops," said Mrs. Flinders, setting a bottle on the table. "We're very much obliged to you for taking Polly, Mis' Grey. He's obliged too—I guess he's some ashamed of being so cantankerous41 to you about the garden truck. If she's troublesome you let me know, an' I'll fetch her back."
"She will trouble us only by looking pale," said Mrs. Grey. "If she gets better as fast as we hope to have her she will trouble us no more than a little cricket on our hearth42."
"We shall have to hide Polly from Aunt Azraella," said Wythie, returning from seeing[190] Mrs. Flinders's departure. "If she disapproved43 of our extravagance in having a kitten, what will she say to a child in the house?"
"We always have plenty of what we don't want," said Rob. "We run no risk of impoverishing44 ourselves in sharing our deprivations45 with Pollykins."
"It's a funny little grey house, with all its bothers," said their mother. "It always seems to be able to bear a bit more—that often cheers me when I think it has almost more than it can bear."
"We have to go up to the attic46, Pollykins, to put away lots and lots of old clothes—the oldest kind of old clothes!" said Rob, on her knees before Polly, unbuttoning the child's coat. "Some day, when it's warmer, or you're strong enough to go where it's cold, I'll show you the funniest old hats and bonnets47 and dresses you ever saw in all your little life! We don't like to put them away, but we must. Last night we dressed up in them, and danced, and so to-day we have to pay the fiddler—that means we have to pack them all away again, whether we like to or not. You won't mind if you have to stay here alone with Hortense, do you? That's the doll's name.[191] By and by Prudy will come in, and we shall be down soon."
"I don't mind, Rob," said Polly, eying Hortense longingly48. "I'll play house and rock that dolly. Does she shut her eyes?"
"Yes, indeed; goes to sleep like a good baby whenever she is bidden. Why, you're better already! You didn't feel like playing house when I saw you after dinner, did you?" cried Rob, delighted.
Polly shook her head with happy solemnity. "I never had such a nice doll," she said.
Mr. Grey came in looking pale and tired, but he smiled at white little Polly, and said, as he tipped up her chin: "Rob says you're little Polly Flinders who sat among the cinders, but I think she's turned you into a little coal of fire, right out of the cinders. Do you know what that means—to be a coal of fire?"
Polly smiled, evidently feeling it safer not to commit herself, and trustingly confident that whatever it meant to be a coal of fire, it was something pleasant.
"I am going to lie down here, please little Polly, and if you will sing to Hortense while you rock her I shouldn't be surprised if you made me[192] go to sleep too," said Mr. Grey, stretching out on the old couch with a sigh of relief.
"Do you feel ill, Sylvester dear?" asked Mrs. Grey, stroking the hair from his forehead. "You look tired."
"Not in the least ill, Mary dear, but tired, yes," replied her husband, kissing the gentle hand. "I did not sleep much last night—too excited and happy, you know—but I am quite well, and still most happy. Still happy? Why, I'm going to be happy all my days!"
"You've won, Sylvester," said Mrs. Grey, and she laid her cheek for a moment where her hand had rested.
"I've won—we've won through Rob, my son! That's what I've been saying over and over, for the past twenty-four hours," cried Mr. Grey, triumphantly49. "You never can know what a help and a comfort you are, Rob boy! It's a good deal of a joy to a man who has been accounted a failure, to know his brains have given his dear ones all they need! If you orderly housewives don't make too much noise in the attic, I'm going to sleep, to dream of my happiness, and for the first time in all my life waken from such a dream to find it true."
"Put me in your dream, Patergrey," cried[193] Rob, as she ran out of the room, seeing that little Polly had already established herself in the small rocking-chair brought out for her use, and was hushing Hortense to sleep with low croonings.
Wythie joined her mother and Rob in the upper hall, and all three went atticward, laden50 with the garments of last night's frolic.
It took a longer time to put them away than they had foreseen, for the chests had been sadly upset, and required much rearranging.
The brief winter light had nearly faded before Mrs. Grey straightened herself, and said, with a sigh for the knees which the bare floor had hurt: "Dear girls, it must be more than time to put the kettle on!"
"Perhaps Polly has done it; she ought, to preserve the unities51. I don't know what the unities are, but I mean well, and I'm trying to quote 'Polly, put the kettle on' in that clever, indirect way people make allusions52 in novels," said Rob.
"Thanks, Rob," said Wythie, quietly. "We know the poem."
The little procession of three filed down the narrow stairs, stepping slowly and carefully in the dusk. The house was absolutely still; Prue[194] had evidently not come in, and perhaps Polly had fallen asleep with Hortense, Wythie suggested.
There was a faint glow in the dining-room from the fire burning low on the hearth. By its light they saw Mr. Grey lying on the couch as they had left him, and Polly's little figure drooping53 over Hortense in her arms, sound asleep in Prue's outgrown54 chair.
"The palace of the Sleeping Beauty," whispered Rob, thinking it a pretty picture.
"I can't bear to disturb your father, but we must get tea," whispered her mother back.
Wythie struck a light and Polly stirred, straightened herself, looked, startled, around the room, and then smiled at Rob.
"I didn't know where I was," she said, running to her idol55. "Your father woke up and said something quick, and I woke up, too, but when I went to him he was asleep, so then Hortense and I went to sleep again."
"What did papa say, Polly?" asked Wythie, with a sudden fear.
Her mother had crossed to the couch, and knelt beside it. She took her husband's face in her hands, and something in her attitude brought her girls to her instantly. Mrs. Grey laid the[195] beloved head back on the pillow and raised her face to Wythie and Rob without a sound.
"Mardy!" cried the girls together, dropping on their knees beside her.
There was no need of question nor of answer; no need of the frantic56 pressure of the motionless heart. No need of Rob's rushing to meet Prue, who opened the door at that moment, nor of bidding her hasten for her life for Dr. Fairbairn.
For they knew, the stricken wife and daughters, that Sylvester Grey had slipped painlessly, quietly away from them, and from the joy of the triumph of his loving efforts for them, into the joy that should never end.
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1
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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bleakness
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| adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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14
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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15
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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16
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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stamina
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| n.体力；精力；耐力 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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vim
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| n.精力，活力 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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32
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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33
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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35
obtruding
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的现在分词 ) | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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43
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impoverishing
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| v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的现在分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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45
deprivations
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| 剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 )； 被夺去； 缺乏； 匮乏 | |
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46
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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47
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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48
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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49
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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50
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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51
unities
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| n.统一体( unity的名词复数 )；（艺术等） 完整；（文学、戏剧） （情节、时间和地点的）统一性；团结一致 | |
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52
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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53
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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54
outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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55
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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56
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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