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Page 49
"Now, don't tease," said Polly, with dignity; "this is in sober
earnest. What do you think, Fairy Godmother? I 've written to my dear
Miss Mary Denison in Santa Barbara, and she likes the idea."
"I think it is charming. In fact, I can hardly wait to begin. I will
be your business manager, my Pollykins, and we 'll make it a success,
if it is possible. If you 'll take me into your confidence and tell me
what you mean to do, I will plan the hows and whens and wheres."
"You see, dear people," continued Polly, "it is really the only thing
that I know how to do; and I have had several months' experience, so
that I 'm not entirely untrained. I 'm not afraid any more, so long as
it is only children; though the presence of one grown person makes me
tongue-tied. Grown-up people never know how to listen, somehow, and
they make you more conscious of yourself. But when the children gaze
up at you with their shining eyes and their parted lips,--the smiles
just longing to be smiled and the tear-drops just waiting to
glisten,--I don't know what there is about it, but it makes you wish
you could go on forever and never break the spell. And it makes you
tremble, too, for fear you should say anything wrong. You seem so
close to children when you are telling them stories; just as if a
little, little silken thread spun itself out from one side of your
heart through each of theirs, until it came back to be fastened in your
own again; and it holds so tight, so tight, when you have done your
best and the children are pleased and grateful."
For days after this discussion Polly felt as if she were dwelling on a
mysterious height from which she could see all the kingdoms of the
earth. She said little and thought much (oh, that this should come to
be written of Polly Oliver!). The past which she had regretted with
such passionate fervor still fought for a place among present plans and
future hopes. But she was almost convinced in these days that a
benevolent Power might after all be helping her to work out her own
salvation in an appointed way, with occasional weariness and tears,
like the rest of the world.
It was in such a softened mood that she sat alone in church one Sunday
afternoon at vespers. She had chosen a place where she was sure of
sitting quietly by herself, and where the rumble of the organ and the
words of the service would come to her soothingly. The late afternoon
sun shone through the stained-glass windows, bringing out the tender
blue on the Madonna's gown, the white on the wings of angels and robes
of newborn innocents, the glow of rose and carmine, with here and there
a glorious gleam of Tyrian purple. Then her eyes fell on a memorial
window opposite her. A mother bowed with grief was seated on some
steps of rough-hewn stones. The glory of her hair swept about her
knees. Her arms were empty; her hands locked; her head bent. Above
stood a little child, with hand just extended to open a great door,
which was about to unclose and admit him. He reached up his hand
fearlessly ("and that is faith," thought Polly), and at the same time
he glanced down at his weeping mother, as if to say, "Look up, mother
dear! I am safely in."
Just then the choir burst into a grand hymn which was new to Polly, and
which came to her with the force of a personal message:--
"The Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain;
His blood-red banner streams afar--
Who follows in His train?
Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears his cross below,
He follows in His train."
Verse after verse rang in splendid strength through the solemn aisles
of the church, ending with the lines:--
"O God, to us may strength be given
To follow in His train!"
Dr. George's voice came to Polly as it sounded that gray October
afternoon beside the sea; "When the sun of one's happiness is set, one
lights a candle called 'Patience,' and guides one's footsteps by that."
She leaned her head on the pew in front of her, and breathed a prayer.
The minister was praying for the rest of the people, but she needed to
utter her own thought just then.
"Father in heaven, I will try to follow; I have lighted my little
candle, help me to keep it burning! I shall stumble often in the
darkness, I know, for it was all so clear when I could walk by my
darling mother's light, which was like the sun, so bright, so pure, so
strong! Help me to keep the little candle steady, so that it may throw
its beams farther and farther into the pathway that now looks so dim."
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