|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 44
"Edgar is growing up so fast," she thought, "I shall soon be afraid to
scold him or advise him, and
"'What will poor Robin do then, poor thing?'
"Upon my word, if I caught him misbehaving nowadays, I believe I should
hesitate to remonstrate with him. He will soon be capable of
remonstrating with me, at this rate. He is a goose,--oh, there 's no
shadow of doubt as to that, but he 's an awfully nice goose."
Mrs. Bird's letter ran thus:--
"MY DEAREST POLLYKINS:----We have lived without you just about as long
as we can endure it. The boys have returned to school and college.
Mr. Bird contemplates one more trip to Honolulu, and brother John and I
need some one to coddle and worry over. I have not spoken to you of
your future, because I wished to wait until you opened the subject. It
is too late for you to begin your professional training this year, and
I think you are far too delicate just now to undertake so arduous a
work; however, you are young, and that can wait for a bit. As to the
story-telling in the hospitals and asylums, I wish you could find
courage and strength to go on with that, not for your own sake alone,
but for the sake of others.
"As I have told you before, the money is set aside for that special
purpose, and the work will be carried on by somebody. Of course I can
get a substitute if you refuse, and that substitute may, after a little
time, satisfy the impatient children, who flatten their noses against
the window-panes and long for Mias Pauline every day of their meagre
lives. But I fear the substitute will never be Polly! She may 'rattle
round in your place' (as somebody said under different circumstances),
but she can never fill it! Why not spend the winter with us, and do
this lovely work, keeping up other studies if you are strong enough?
It will be so sweet for you to feel that out of your own sadness you
can comfort and brighten the lives of these lonely, suffering children
and these motherless or fatherless ones. It will seem hard to begin,
no doubt; but new life will flow in your veins when you take up your
active, useful work again. The joyousness that God put into your soul
before you were born, my Polly, is a sacred trust. You must not hide
it in a napkin, dear, or bury it, or lose it. It was given to you only
that you should share it with others. It was intended for the world at
large, though it was bestowed upon you in particular. Come, dear, to
one who knows all about it,--one whom you are sweet enough to call
"YOUR FAIRY GODMOTHER."
"Mrs. Noble," said Polly, with a sober smile, "the Ancon sails on the
20th, and I am going to sail with her."
"So soon? What for, dear?"
"I am going to be a banian-tree, if you please," answered Polly.
CHAPTER XV.
LIFE IN THE BIRDS' NEST.
Polly settled down in the Birds' Nest under the protecting wing of Mrs.
Bird, and a very soft and unaccustomed sort of shelter it was.
A room had been refurnished expressly for the welcome guest, and as
Mrs. Bird pushed her gently in alone, the night of her arrival, she
said, "This is the Pilgrim Chamber, Polly. It will speak our wishes
for us."
It was not the room in which Polly had been ill for so many weeks; for
Mrs. Bird knew the power of associations, and was unwilling to leave
any reminder of those painful days to sadden the girl's new life.
As Polly looked about her, she was almost awed by the dazzling
whiteness. The room was white enough for an angel, she thought. The
straw matting was almost concealed by a mammoth rug made of white
Japanese goatskins sewed together; the paint was like snow, and the
furniture had all been painted white, save for the delicate silver
lines that relieved it. There were soft, full curtains of white
bunting fringed with something that looked like thistle-down, and the
bedstead had an overhanging canopy of the same. An open fire burned in
the little grate, and a big white and silver rattan chair was drawn
cosily before it. There was a girlish dressing-table with its oval
mirror draped in dotted muslin; a dainty writing-desk with everything
convenient upon it; and in one corner was a low bookcase of white
satinwood. On the top of this case lay a card, "With the best wishes
of John Bird," and along the front of the upper shelf were painted the
words: "Come, tell us a story!" Below this there was a rich array of
good things. The Grimms, Laboulaye, and Hans Christian Andersen were
all there. Mrs. Ewing's "Jackanapes" and Charles Kingsley's
"Water-Babies" jostled the "Seven Little Sisters" series; Hawthorne's
"Wonder-Book" lay close to Lamb's "Tales from Shakespeare;" and
Whittier's "Child-Life in Prose and Poetry" stood between Mary Howitt's
"Children's Year" and Robert Louis Stevenson's "Child's Garden of
Verses."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|