PLAYMATE POLLY

Elizabeth Otis

PLAYMATE POLLY

BY
AMY E. BLANCHARD
Author of “Little Miss Oddity,” “Little Miss Mouse,” “Little
Sister Anne,” “Mistress May,” etc.

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1909, by
George W. Jacobs and Company
Published June, 1909
All rights reserved
Printed in U. S. A.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
Up Hill and Down

CHAPTER I
Up Hill and Down

When Jessie started out in the morning to school, she began at the gate to say to herself, “Bridge, Railroad, Hill,” and when she started home again if she came alone, it was “Hill, Railroad, Bridge.” Home was at one end of the journey; school at the other; Bridge, Railroad and Hill were the stations between, Jessie told herself. If she were reasonably early, she would stop on the bridge and peep over at the running water. At the railroad she seldom stopped except to say good-morning to Ezra Limpett who sat outside his little box of a house on sunny days, and inside it on rainy ones. He always held out the red flag to show the engineer, when the trains went whizzing by. Once, when the train was behind time, he had allowed Jessie to hold the fluttering flag, but that was on her way home, and he had said she must never cross till the train had passed. It was on account of Ezra that Jessie was allowed to go to the Hill school, for he never failed to be at his post watching for her, and Jessie’s father knew she would be perfectly safe in crossing the track because Ezra was there. Of course, it was pleasanter to come from school than to go to it, not only because it was down hill and home was at the far end of the way, but because Effie Hinsdale could come nearly as far as the railroad with her, and a companion always makes the distance seem shorter. Furthermore, there was time then to loiter, unless one felt very hungry, though loitering meant a talk with Ezra about the engines and the trains. The engines were always spoken of as her and she and were known by their numbers.

One day when Jessie was about to skip across the railroad ties, she heard Ezra call out: “Better wait a bit. 589 ain’t came along yet. She’s late to-day by ten minutes, and she’s due just about now.”

“Will you let me hold the flag?” said Jessie, turning aside.

Ezra nodded. “Hold her good and tight, and don’t stand too near. She’ll go kitin’ to-day because she’s behind time. Here, stand on this stone and I’ll hold on to ye. That’s her whistle now, so up with ye.”

Jessie scrambled upon the stone and gripped the flag tightly, while Ezra took a firm hold upon her. The train was in sight in a second, and almost before she could wink, it went flying by, scattering the dust and causing Jessie’s skirts to flutter in the breeze it made. It was very exciting, though it was something of a relief to see the tail end of the train disappear down the track.

“Wouldn’t like to be in her way, would ye?” said Ezra, helping the little girl down.

“Indeed, I wouldn’t,” replied Jessie decidedly. “Do you like better to be inside your funny little house, Ezra, or outside it?”

“That depends. Wet days I’m glad to be in; sorter cozy with a fire and my pipe going. ’Tain’t very big, but it’s fair enough shelter, and it ain’t as if I hadn’t a roomier place to actually live in. I don’t have it so very bad, for there ain’t no night trains and I can get home and have my night’s rest. I’m always in by nine, for there ain’t no trains after six. If this was a big trunk line now, the trains would be chugging by all night.”

“Then don’t the conductors and engineers ever sleep?”

“Some of ’em mighty little. There’s hard tales about how they’re worked. Folks all well?”

“Yes, thank you,” returned Jessie, picking up her books which she had dropped on the ground, and being reminded by Ezra’s remark that she must not stay too long. “I reckon I’d better be going now; mother might be worrying about me.”

Ezra nodded. “That’s right. Days gettin’ kinder short, too. You won’t get home much before sundown, come winter.”

“Won’t I?” Jessie had not thought of this. “I’ll always have to hurry then.”

“And you won’t find me settin’ out in the cold so over often,” said Ezra.

“Good-bye,” said Jessie.

Ezra nodded and waved a stubby hand as if to a departing train, while Jessie ran across the track and took up the last part of her accustomed chant. Hill and Railroad were passed, so there was only Bridge left. “Bridge, Bridge, Bridge, Bridge,” she whispered, keeping time to her pace, and very soon Bridge, too, was left behind and she was within sight of the lane, the house, the barn, and, last, her mother’s anxious face at the window.

“You’re late, dear,” said Mrs. Loomis, as the little girl came into the sitting-room.

“Yes,” returned Jessie. “589 was behind time and Ezra wouldn’t let me come till she had passed. He let me hold the flag. I like the train to be late for it is exciting to have her go by so fast it almost takes your breath.”

“I don’t like it to be late,” replied Mrs. Loomis, “for I always feel anxious about you till you get home. If Ezra were not there, and if I didn’t know we could absolutely depend upon him to watch out for you, I don’t know what we should do.”

“What do you think you would do?” asked Jessie. “Would you or father have to come for me? Would you have to do that?”

“No, we couldn’t do that very well. We should have to send for you, probably, or else keep you from school altogether.”

“I’d like that,” said Jessie in a satisfied tone.

“You’d like to grow up a silly little dunce?” returned her mother, “and not know how to read or write? Would you like Max and Walter to come home from school and be ashamed of their little sister?”

“Oh, no,” Jessie was quite sure she would not. “But,” she said after a moment’s thought, “everybody doesn’t have to go to school. Cousin Lillian does not. I could have a governess.”

“That is what you would have to have, though it would be rather expensive. The boys have to go away to school and it costs a good deal for them. But we’ll not bother over the question while Ezra is on hand, for now it is perfectly safe for you to go to the Hill school.”

“Suppose something should happen to Ezra,” said Jessie, persistently following up the subject. “I should hate anything to happen to him, but if it should, and another man were to take his place, then would I have to stop going to school?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, child. We won’t discuss it now. It will be time enough when such a thing happens.” And Mrs. Loomis went out, leaving Jessie standing by the window.

Jessie stood for a few minutes looking out and then she, too, left the room. It was time to feed the chickens and after that her father would be coming in. The corn had been harvested and stood stacked in the fields. Jessie thought the stacks looked very much like Indian wigwams and she pictured to herself her terror if they really were such. However, the terror was not very keen and was soon forgotten when she reached the spot where the fowls were jostling one another and pecking eagerly at the corn Minerva was scattering on the ground. Minerva was the servant who had lived in the family ever since she was a little girl. She was very fond of Jessie and the two often had long talks about the chickens, the pigeons, the ducks and the turkeys.

“There’s two young turkeys missing,” said Minerva as Jessie appeared. “After I get through here you can go ’long with me if you like and look ’em up. You’re a right good hand for spying ’em out and they do beat everything for wandering.”

“I believe I know where they are,” Jessie told her. “I shouldn’t wonder if they were over there where the mountain cherries grow. I’ve seen them there lots of times.”

“Then that’s where we’ll look for ’em,” said Minerva, scattering another handful of corn. “They’re big enough now not to care much about being with the old ones, and I have to keep an eye on ’em.”

“Have you fed the young chickens yet?” asked Jessie. “How fast they do eat, Minerva. Look at that great piggy rooster driving away that smaller one. I never did like that old yellow fellow, anyhow.”

“He is kind of greedy,” agreed Minerva. “No, I haven’t fed the young chickens. You can mix the meal if you like. Don’t make it too wet like you did last time. Mrs. Speckle is a little droopy; she don’t take her food well at all. She’s such a good layer, I hope there’s nothing wrong with her.”

Jessie moved away to get the meal. Two measures of it she carefully piled up in the tin box which she found in the bin. This she emptied into a pan and then she poured in a little water at a time, stirring it with a spoon at first, and then with her whole hand. She liked the operation, and was so interested in squeezing the wet meal that Minerva finally had to call her.

“If you’re going to help me hunt those turkeys, you’d better hurry with that meal,” she said.

Jessie carried the tin pan to the enclosure where the young chickens were making a great fuss, poking their heads between the slats and peeping anxiously. But their peeping soon stopped as Jessie scattered little dabs of the food on the ground. “Don’t gather the eggs till I come,” she called to Minerva whom she saw searching the nests.

“Obliged to,” returned Minerva, “or there’ll be no time to look up the turkeys. It gets dark so much sooner these days, you know.”

With one swoop of the wooden spoon Jessie swept the rest of the meal into a pile on the ground, set down the pan and joined Minerva. “How many are there to-day?” she asked.

“Ten, so far.”

Jessie climbed upon a box and peered into a corner. “There are two more here,” she said. “Shall I take them?”

“If you’re careful not to break them,” Minerva told her.

Jessie gently lifted one egg at a time and put it in the basket Minerva carried. “That makes a dozen,” she said.

“And here’s another in this nest,” Minerva went on. “Old Posy is laying again, I expect.”

This was the last egg found, and the two left the hen-house. Minerva carried the basket into the house and then she and Jessie started off toward a corner near the garden where the mountain cherries grew, and where many other wild things made a close thicket, so that it was hard to penetrate the middle of the place. But Jessie had been there many a time. It was one of her favorite spots in summer. So now she pressed her body through the tangle of blackberry vines, pokeweed, sumach and laurel bushes to a less crowded part of the thicket. There was a dogwood tree here, and upon its lower branches sat the two turkeys entirely satisfied with the roost they had selected for the night.

“Here they are,” sang out Jessie.

Minerva followed the little girl. “Well, I declare!” she exclaimed. “It takes you to find ’em. I believe you know every foot of this place.” She grabbed first one turkey, then another. They set up protesting cries which were of no use whatever, for Minerva held them firmly and carried them home triumphantly under each arm. “It’s too cold for you to be out,” she said, addressing the turkeys. “I should think you’d have better sense. I shouldn’t wonder if we were to have frost to-night, and then where would your toes be?”

“Why, they’d be under them all covered up with feathers,” put in Jessie.

Minerva laughed. “You know more about it than I do, it seems. Well, anyhow, they’d better be in where it’s safe and warm. Young turkeys are delicate. Besides, some crittur might catch them.”

This was not to be denied as Jessie informed the turkeys. “You’re much safer in the hen-house, you two silly things,” she said, “so you ought to be much obliged to us for getting you. I’m sure I shouldn’t want to stay out in the cold and dark all night and have wild beasts get after me. Minerva, that yellow house just this side the bridge must be taken, for there are people living in it. I saw a cat sitting on the porch and there was a little rocking-chair in the garden. Do you suppose it belonged to a little girl?”

“It might. I should say it was very likely to. Little boys don’t usually care for rocking-chairs.”

“I hope it is a nice little girl and that I shall get acquainted with her,” returned Jessie. “Effie Hinsdale is my nearest girl friend and neighbor and she lives across the railroad track. Mother says twice a day is as often as she likes to think of my crossing the track, but when Ezra is there I shouldn’t think she’d mind.”

“I should think she would mind,” said Minerva. “Don’t you see enough of the girls at school?”

“Ye-es,” said Jessie doubtfully, “I suppose I do, but it’s only at recess, you know, for I always hurry home. I was late to-day because 589 was behind time.”

“That’s the four o’clock, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but Ezra always calls her 589.”

“And that’s why you do. I suppose that’s a fairly good reason. There’s your father and Sam coming up the lane. I’ll put up the turkeys and you can open the gate for them.”

Jessie ran down the long avenue of trees which led up to the house, opened the gate and stood there while her father drove in.

“Climb up, Puss,” he said, “and I’ll take you around to the barn. Been a good girl to-day? Missed any lessons?”

“I didn’t know how to spell ‘conscientious,’” Jessie told him, “and two examples weren’t quite right.”

“That’s not so bad. A good many people don’t know how to spell ‘conscientious,’” said her father with a little laugh. “Any demerits?”

“One,” said Jessie a little shamefacedly and quickly changing the subject. “I held the flag for 589,” she said. “Ezra let me.”

“The train was late, I know,” said Mr. Loomis. “I heard the whistle and hoped you were safe across.”

“I wasn’t. Ezra wouldn’t let me go, though there was plenty of time. He said suppose I should fall.”

Her father nodded. “He’s right. Nice old chap, Ezra is. Well, here we are. Run in and tell Minerva that Sam has a basket of peaches in the wagon. They’re the last we’ll get this year.”

“Where did you get them, father?”

“From that tree over in the south field; it’s a late variety, but they will be pretty good for preserves.”

“I’m going to have one before that happens,” said Jessie, running into the kitchen and meeting Sam just as he was bringing in the peaches.

“Work for you to-morrow, Minervy,” he said as he set down the basket.

“That’s so,” returned Minerva. “Well, I don’t mind. Them white peaches makes fine preserves and we haven’t any too many peaches put up this year. Hungry, Sam?”

“You bet,” he replied. “Always am. Seems to me I don’t more’n get one meal down than I’m ready for another.”

“It ain’t quite as bad as that,” returned Minerva. “I’ll have your supper ready in the shake of a sheep’s tail. By the time you’ve done milking, anyway.”

Sam went out with the milk-buckets and Jessie returned to the sitting-room. Her father was at his desk, setting down some accounts; her mother was watering the plants which had lately been brought in and put in the south windows. Jessie stood looking out into the gathering twilight. Everything showed forth duskily. Many of the trees were shedding their leaves. Down by the brook a row of willows looked fantastically like people with big heads and wild hair, Jessie thought. There was one quite small, which seemed very human. Jessie regarded it interestedly for some time before she turned and said, “Mother, what is the little tree down by the brook? the one with a funny head. What’s its name?”

“Pollard Willow,” replied her mother, glancing out of the window toward the place Jessie pointed out.

“Polly Willow,” whispered Jessie to herself. “Polly Willow! What a funny name.”

CHAPTER II
Playmate Polly

CHAPTER II
Playmate Polly

It was some time after this that Jessie made the acquaintance of Polly Willow and it came about in a way that Jessie had not expected. It was due in the beginning to 589 which seemed of late to be getting into a habit of tardiness. One morning when Jessie was going to school she missed her good friend Ezra at the door of his little house. A stranger was there, a gruff sort of somebody who cried out sharply: “Get over there quick, sissy. You ain’t no business crossing tracks when trains is coming.”

“There isn’t any train coming,” said Jessie. “I know all about the trains. There isn’t any after the 803 when 411 comes along. The next train is at twelve and the one after at four.”

“Much you know,” replied the man. “I suppose the president of the road has sent you a special message saying he’s just changed the fall schedule. I had my information from Ezra, but I reckon he don’t know. He told me to look out for a train at 8:35.”

“There wasn’t any such train on Friday,” said Jessie.

“Fall schedule hadn’t come into effect. Time changes to-day.”

“Where is Ezra?” asked Jessie, still unbelieving, but by this time safely across the track.

“Took down with rheumatiz. Been bothering him on and off for some time. Now he’s laid up in bed.”

“Dear me, but I am sorry,” said Jessie.

“That don’t cure his aches and pains,” returned the man. “You’d better hustle along, sis. I’ve got to signal to this here train and I can’t stand here all day talking to you.”

Jessie turned away indignantly. Ezra would have asked if she didn’t want to hold the flag when the train went by, and he would not have told her in that rude way to “go along.” She did not like this man at all. She wondered if Ezra would be ill all winter, and then suddenly she thought of what her mother had said; that if anything happened to Ezra, her parents would not feel that they could allow Jessie to take the walk to the Hill School.

However, Ezra and the trains were forgotten when the little girl reached school, for there were several interesting things to take up her thoughts that morning. In the first place, there was a new scholar named Anna Sharp. She had come to live with her aunt in the neighborhood and was going to attend the Hill School. Next Effie Hinsdale whispered that there were four dear new kittens in the barn and that Jessie could have one if she liked. Effie had been given a demerit for whispering, and that had so disturbed Jessie that she missed her geography lesson and had to recite it after school, so altogether there was quite enough to put Ezra out of her mind.

She remembered him before she reached the railroad, and then she determined that she would not pay the least attention to the flagman who was taking Ezra’s place, but that she would run across the tracks without turning her head. She had not resisted the temptation to stop at Effie’s long enough to see the new kittens, and had chosen the gray one, so that it was later than usual when she reached the railroad. Of course 589 must have gone by, for it was the express and was due at four o’clock. There could not be the least danger, thought Jessie. She saw that the flagman had his back to her and was standing looking up the track. She made haste to cross before he could see her, and, in her hurry, she tripped over the rail and her books were scattered in every direction. She picked herself up and was about to gather her books together when she heard the shrill whistle of an approaching train, while from up the track she saw the express rapidly advancing upon her. For a second she stood, numb with fright, and then she leaped across the rails, her heart beating fast. Another moment and the train went flying by. She was safe if her books were not. She saw her geography go careering down the road, her arithmetic lying some distance away, and her reader nowhere to be seen. But books were of no account just then. The child’s whole thought was to get home as quickly as possible. Without looking back once she sped along as fast as she could run, tears coursing down her cheeks and herself so shaken that when she reached home she burst into the sitting-room and flung herself, sobbing, into her mother’s arms.

“Why, my darling, what is the matter?” asked Mrs. Loomis anxiously.

“589 was late and Ezra has the rheumatism and they have changed the time and I tripped on a rail and lost my books. There was a horrid man there, too, and he called me ‘sis.’”

In this rather mixed-up speech her mother recognized that something alarming had really happened. “Never mind, dearie,” she said soothingly. “Wait till you can stop crying and then tell me all about it. Mother has you safe anyhow, hasn’t she?” She cuddled the little girl closely in her lap and in a few minutes Jessie was able to give a better account of what had occurred.

Mrs. Loomis looked very grave as she shook her head. “Thank heaven,” she said, “that you were not so bewildered as to stand still. We didn’t know the winter schedule was in effect. Ezra would have sent us word if he had not been ill. Oh, my child!” She hugged Jessie suddenly to her and after a moment continued, “It is clear to me that it is not safe for you to go to school by yourself. I will see if we can arrange to have Sam take you, and I might be able to spare Minerva to bring you home. You could go as far as the Hinsdales and wait there for her. I should never have an easy moment if you were to go over that road alone. Try to forget this afternoon’s fright, dear child, and go talk to Minerva. I see your father coming.”

Jessie went to Minerva and helped her feed the chickens, almost forgetting in this task, that she had been so frightened. But after supper her father took her on his knee and questioned her about the matter.

“No more school for you yet a while, miss,” he said. “I can’t spare Sam just now for I am a man short, and it won’t hurt you to stay at home for a week while we plan what is to be done next. I pinned my faith on Ezra, but now that he is out of the question we shall have to think of some other way of doing.”

So the next day Jessie stayed home from school, and not only the next, but for several days she was free to wander about the place and do pretty much as she pleased. “She’s had a bad fright,” said Mr. Loomis to his wife, “and she is a nervous, imaginative little thing, so she’d better stay out-of-doors all she can till she gets over this. I don’t think we need let her bother with lessons for a while yet.”

The first day Jessie amused herself near the house; the next she wandered as far as the mountain cherry-tree; the third found her down by the brook, and there she saw Polly Willow waiting for her.

“I’ve just got to have somebody to play with,” said Jessie, looking at Polly Willow’s funny head. “I think maybe you’ll do for a playmate, Polly. There’s one thing about it; you can’t run away and you’ll always be here when I want you. Of course you are pretty big, but so are the other people in your family. You are much the smallest of any of them, so I don’t suppose you are any older than I. I think the first thing I do must be to get you a hat. I know where there is one I think I can have.”

She ran back to the house and up to the attic where she found an old straw hat. On her way down she stopped at the door of her mother’s room to poke in her head and say: “May I have this, mother?”

“What is it?”

“An old hat. I want to play with it.”

Her mother glanced at the hat. “Yes, you may have it. Where are you playing?”

“Down by the brook.”

“Don’t get your feet wet. So long as you have your rubbers on and are in the open air, I am satisfied.”

With the hat in hand Jessie ran back to the brook. The fallen leaves already dappled its surface with red and yellow, but goldenrod and asters made a gay fringe along the sides. Sitting down on a fallen log she proceeded to trim the hat with flowers. A plume of goldenrod decorated one side; a bunch of asters the other, and when it was finished, Jessie stood on tiptoe and stuck the hat on Polly’s big head. “It’s rather small for you,” she said as she gravely regarded the effect, “but it makes you look more like a little girl. Now, Polly, we’ll play. I’m going to live over there.” She waved her hand in the direction of a large rock a short distance away. “I see Mrs. Mooky is coming to see me, so I shall have to go, but I’ll come over again after a while. Good-bye, Polly.”

A pretty fawn-colored cow was grazing near the big rock. This was the person Jessie called Mrs. Mooky. The little girl was not in the least afraid of cows, of this one in particular, for she had been accustomed to seeing Mrs. Mooky ever since she was a little calf which had fed from her hand. So now she approached her boldly, saying, “Good-morning, Mrs. Mooky. I’m very glad to see you. I am sorry I was not at home when you called just now, but I had to run over to Polly’s. She has a new hat that she wanted me to see.”

The cow lifted her head and gave a gentle “moo.”

“I understand,” Jessie went on. “You’ll come again some other day. Very well. Good-bye.” And the cow moved on. “I’m going to ask mother if I can’t have a tea-party here with Playmate Polly. No, I won’t say with Playmate Polly; she might laugh. A grown person couldn’t exactly understand how nice it is to have a Playmate Polly for a friend. I’ll bring one of the dolls, and—oh, dear, I wish the gray kitten were big enough. Mother says I can’t have it till it is quite able to do without its mother, so I’ll have to wait, and I shall have to get Charity.”

Again she went back to the house, this time to get the doll which had been bought at a bazaar in the city by Jessie’s aunt who had suggested the old-fashioned name of Charity for her, since it was a charity bazaar at which she had been bought, and because the doll was dressed in a very old-fashioned costume to represent a Colonial Dame. She had now a long cloak to cover her brocade frock, a cloak that Jessie had made from a piece of gray flannel, and in consequence of her having this warm garment, Jessie thought her better prepared for outdoor play than the other dolls.

“May I have something for a party? I’m taking Charity with me down to the brook,” she said to her mother whom she found in the kitchen.

“Why, yes,” said her mother, “what do you want?”

“What is it that smells so good?”

“Peach marmalade, I suspect. We’re making some.”

“I’d like some of that on some bread.”

“It’s hot,” said Minerva, “and it isn’t done yet, but I reckon it will taste good and it will soon cool off in the open air. What will you have it in? Oh, I know; one of those little jars the beef extract comes in. There are some in the pantry on the shelf behind the door.”

Jessie set Charity on one of the kitchen chairs, and went to the pantry for the little jar which Minerva filled with marmalade. She then cut a couple slices of bread, buttered them and put them wrapped in a napkin, into a small egg basket, adding the jar of preserves and an apple. “Be careful how you carry it,” she warned Jessie. “You don’t want to smear that sticky stuff all over the basket, and be sure to bring it and the jar back when you come. Now, don’t forget.”

“I’ll remember,” said Jessie. “Thank you, Minerva. I shall have a lovely time.”

“Here, come back,” cried Minerva, as Jessie went out. “I didn’t put in any spoon. Would you rather have a spoon or a knife?”

“A spoon, I think,” said Jessie, “for then if I want to eat any preserves I can do it easier, and a spoon will do to spread with, too.”

“One of the kitchen spoons, Minerva,” said Mrs. Loomis. “We don’t want the silver lost at the bottom of the brook.”

Jessie was quite satisfied with a kitchen spoon and went happily on her way, holding the little basket and her doll, carefully. “We’re going over to Playmate Polly’s, Charity,” she informed her doll. “You don’t know her, but she is a very nice little girl, just the kind I like. She knows all about the flowers and birds and such things, for she lives right down by the brook where they live. She told me this morning that she is very intimate with the birds especially, and now that they are going south for the winter she would be very lonely if I didn’t play with her. I think she will be glad to see you, too, for I am sure she doesn’t have much company these days. Mrs. Mooky comes pretty often, but then she is not a little girl like me, and that makes a great difference.”

Talking thus to her doll, she went on her way and soon reached the brook. The marmalade was still warm, but when it was spread on the bread which Jessie laid out on the red doily, it soon cooled, and if Jessie was obliged to eat both Polly’s and Charity’s share by proxy, she did not have to eat for the birds, who were glad of the crumbs, and who, when the last speck had vanished, came near enough to look inquiringly with their bright eyes as if to ask, Is that all?

“Now, Polly,” said Jessie, “I’m going to ask you to take care of Charity for me a little while. She isn’t very well this morning, and I want to see the doctor about her. You know Dr. Bramble, of course.”

Polly, answering in Jessie’s voice, said she knew Dr. Bramble very well indeed, that he was a sharp sort of person, and often very disagreeable, but that he was a good doctor and his cordial fine stuff.

So, leaving Charity in Polly’s care, Jessie went to hunt up Dr. Bramble. She was obliged to stay quite a while for when she reached his house she found that Mrs. Bramble had a few belated blackberries for her, and they were so tempting that Jessie was obliged to gather them all. “They’ll do finely for pills for Charity,” she said, “or maybe I’d better make medicine of them; I can mash them in the jar with the spoon and give her a teaspoonful at a time!”

The berries were rather hard and could not be easily crushed, but finally Jessie accomplished the work and Charity was given her first dose, though she cried a good deal over it and insisted that she could not take it. “But you must, my dear,” said Jessie firmly, “or you will not get well. Do you want to be ill and not have any more of the nice marmalade Minerva is making?”

Charity deciding that she preferred marmalade to illness, at last took the medicine by means of Jessie’s mouth, and was then put to bed and covered up with leaves. Then Jessie amused herself a long while with Playmate Polly. They talked about many things; the birds, the fishes, the flowers, the gray kitten and of Charity’s illness, and the time went so pleasantly that when the dinner horn sounded Jessie had no idea that it was so late. She had enjoyed her morning hugely, and had come to have a great affection for her new friend, Playmate Polly.

CHAPTER III
The Neighbor of the Yellow House

CHAPTER III
The Neighbor of the Yellow House

Every morning after this Jessie went down to the brook to play with Playmate Polly. Charity soon recovered from her illness, Dr. Bramble’s medicine being the very thing for her, and she was able to enjoy her share of the scrapings of marmalade which Jessie ate for her from the big preserving-kettle. Mrs. Mooky called frequently, and so did other persons. Jessie made the acquaintance of a lively cricket which lived under the big stone that she was accustomed to call her house, and she also had several conversations with a fat toad which would come out and blink at her on mild days. Still it was Playmate Polly whom Jessie liked the best. She kept the knowledge of this queer friend a secret from everybody, and for that very reason probably enjoyed her the more.

One afternoon, however, when she and Polly had been having a particularly interesting talk, Jessie heard a laugh from the other side of the brook, and looking up quickly she saw a little girl with very black hair and eyes, astride a fallen log. “Hello!” said the little girl.

Jessie looked at her interestedly. “Hello!” she responded. She had never seen the little girl before;—not at church, nor on the road, nor anywhere, and she wondered who she could be. “Who are you?” she asked presently, “and how did you get over there?”

“I’m Adele Pauline Falaise Hallett,” was the reply, “and I got here by walking.”

“Goodness! what a long name,” said Jessie. “Do you live near here?”

“Yes, I live in the yellow house this side the bridge.”

“Oh, I know now,” returned Jessie; “you’re the new people. Did you come through the woods or by the road?”

“Through the woods. What’s your name?”

“Jessie Loomis.”

“Who was it that you’ve been talking to all this time? I looked and listened for ever so long and I couldn’t see anybody.”

“I was talking to my doll, Charity, part of the time,” said Jessie, after a little hesitation. She did not want to tell her secrets to a stranger.

“Who is Polly Somebody? You kept saying Polly this and Polly that. Hare you a parrot over there?”

“Dear me, no,” returned Jessie. “I was talking to a make-believe friend of mine.”

“What kind of friend? Can’t you see her truly?”

“Yes, I can see her. She’s this tree.” Jessie laid her hand affectionately on Playmate Polly’s rough bark.

Adele laughed. “That’s a mighty funny sort of friend. I’m coming over to you. Where can I get across?”

“There’s a log higher up,” Jessie told her. “I cross that way sometimes, and in summer when the brook is very low I can cross on the stones.”

“It isn’t so very low now.”

“No, and so you’d better try the log. I’ll show you where it is.” She took the path on one side the brook, Adele following that on the other, and pretty soon they came to a log thrown across the stream.

“It’s a little wobbly,” said Jessie, “so you’d better be careful.”

With some small shrieks and exclamations Adele managed to cross the bridge without mishap. “Now show me where you play,” she said somewhat commandingly, Jessie thought, and therefore she led the way silently to her favorite spot.

“This is Playmate Polly,” she said as if introducing a friend.

Adele laughed. “What do you call it that for?”

“Because it is her name,” rejoined Jessie stoutly, as she turned toward the big stone near by. “This is my house,” she went on; “it is where Charity and I live. Charity is my doll.”

Adele, without answering, picked up Charity and looked her over. “She wears mighty queer clothes,” she remarked after a moment.

“That’s because she is a Colonial Dame,” returned Jessie in a superior tone.

“Oh,” said Adele, setting down Charity carefully. She did not know just what a Colonial Dame was and did not want to show her ignorance. “What do you call her Charity for?” she asked presently.

“My Aunt Lucy bought her at a charity bazaar, and she said as Charity was one of the old-fashioned names, she thought it would suit an old-fashioned doll. I like it,” she added with decision.

“I knew a girl once named Temperance,” remarked Adele. “They used to call her Tempy.”

“Where was that?”

“In New Orleans where I lived before we came here; before—” she hesitated, and then added in a low voice, “before I lost my mother.”

“Oh!” Jessie gazed at her with sympathetic eyes. She had never known, before this, any little girl who had not a mother. “Was it very long ago?” she asked softly.

“A little over a year,” Adele told her. “I have six dolls,” she went on, changing the subject. “How many have you?”

“Five, but I like Charity the best. She is the biggest and prettiest, too. I have one a little smaller named Lucy, and a little China boy-doll I like very much; he is about so high.” She measured a height of four inches or so. “I bring him down here because he is so little that I can put him most anywhere.”

“What is his name?” asked Adele.

“Peter Pan,” returned Jessie. “Then I have a baby in long clothes and a German doll my uncle brought me when he came from Europe.”

It seemed a very interesting family to Adele who said regretfully, “My dolls are so much alike I don’t care much more for one than another. Some are newer than others; that’s all. Will you show me all your dolls some day?”

“Why, certainly,” returned Jessie warmly, adding, “I’m awfully glad you live near. There’s no one this side the bridge at all. Effie Hinsdale is the nearest, but she lives across the railroad track.”

“Aunt Betty won’t let me cross it,” said Adele.

“I used to do it every day; that was before Ezra had rheumatism. I don’t go to school now. Do you go to the Hill school?” Jessie asked, then added, “Oh, no, of course you don’t, if you can’t cross the railroad track.”

“No, I don’t go anywhere,” returned Adele. “I am going to have a governess next week.”

“Shall you like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I like Miss Eloise. She is a friend of my aunt’s and she is very nice and kind, at least she is now.”

“I thought governesses were always cross,” said Jessie as if it were a well-known fact.

“Maybe she will be when she gets to be a governess,” Adele remarked. “I hope she will not. I believe I’d rather not have her anyway. I hate lessons.”

“So do I,” returned Jessie delightedly. “I’m so glad you feel that way. I was so pleased when I knew I could stay at home for a while.”

“Are you going to stay away from school always?” asked Adele.

“Oh, I am sure I don’t know. I suppose we have to have educations, but it is very disagreeable. I don’t see why educations can’t come like teeth, when you’re ready for them, or an easier way still would be to wake up some morning and find you could do every example in the arithmetic, and another morning you could speak French, and another you would know all the rivers and capitals and mountains and things. Wouldn’t that be fine?”

Adele laughed. “I wake up every morning and know I can speak French.”

“Oh, do you?” Jessie looked at her half incredulously. “I didn’t know any little girls could do that unless they were real French children who couldn’t speak English. How does it happen?”

“My grandmother was French. I am named after her,” Adele told her, “and my mother spoke French as well as English. I always had a French nurse, too, so I learned French at the same time I did English.”

Jessie looked at her admiringly, then she sighed. “Well, I don’t know a word of French or anything except ‘Guten Tag.’ We had a German to work for us once and he taught me that much.”

“Don’t let’s talk about such stupid things,” said Adele suddenly. “What is behind those branches piled up against that place in the bank here?”

Jessie looked at her quickly. It seemed as if Adele’s quick eyes and ears would discover all her secrets. “You won’t tell?” she asked after a minute’s pause. “Cross your heart you won’t? It’s a secret, you see. Playmate Polly is a secret, too. Not even mother or Minerva know about her.”

“I promise,” said Adele readily. “Who is Minerva?”

“Our girl. She is as nice as she can be. I’m awfully fond of her.”

“Show me what is behind the branches.”

Jessie led the way to the spot where the bank dropped three or four feet. She carefully removed the branches, saying mysteriously: “It is a cave, a grotto.”

Adele knelt down and peeped in to see where the bank, shelving in, made quite a little hollow. The floor of the small grotto was paved with pebbles upon which lay rugs of green moss. A piece of looking-glass set in the earth served for a tiny lake. The sides of the grotto were hung with another kind of moss. At one end two small candlesticks, bearing red candles, were set up and in a chair between them was the little china doll.

“This is where Peter Pan lives,” said Jessie. “I’ll light the candles and you can see the lake better. That pile of moss over there is Peter Pan’s bed. I haven’t any table for him yet. I am hunting for a nice little square block of wood, or a smooth round stone would do. I haven’t really finished the grotto yet Don’t you think it is right pretty?”

“It is perfectly beautiful,” said Adele enthusiastically. “I don’t see how you did it. Oh, won’t you let me come and play with you sometimes?”

Jessie felt that she was very generous to be sharing her secrets with a stranger, but when she remembered that Adele was motherless she felt that anything she could do to give her pleasure would be a small thing, so she responded cordially, “Why, of course.”

“I haven’t any little doll like Peter Pan,” Adele went on, “but maybe a paper doll would do till I could get the right kind.”

“A paper doll would do very well and you could call her Wendy,” said Jessie with satisfaction.

“Why?”

“Oh, don’t you know Peter Pan? I thought every one did,” said Jessie in surprise.

“Please tell me.”

“All right, I will. I know all about him. When I went to see Aunt Lucy last winter she took me to see Peter Pan, and oh, it was the loveliest thing you can imagine. Sit down here and I will tell you.” Adele did as she was told and Jessie launched forth into her story, Adele listening attentively.

But before the story was finished a shrill whistle sounded from the house. “Oh, dear,” said Jessie jumping up, “I must go. That is for me.”

“How do you know it is for you?”

“Mother has a little whistle that she blows whenever she wants me to come home.”

“Can’t you just stay long enough to finish the story?” said Adele coaxingly. “Please do.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. There is a lot more, and mother doesn’t like me to stay out too late.”

“She won’t mind just this once.”

Jessie hesitated and glanced toward the house. Again the whistle sounded.

Hastily gathering up Peter Pan and Charity she made ready to return home.

“I think you are real mean,” cried Adele. “You just get into the most interesting part and then you stop. I don’t like you one bit. I’m just going home and you can talk to your old dumb Polly after this.” She stalked away indignantly while Jessie slowly made her way toward the house, looking back every little while over her shoulder. She knew she was doing right, but she did wish Adele had not gone off in a huff. After all, perhaps Playmate Polly was more satisfactory, for she never quarreled with her. This thought made her turn and run back a few steps to call out: “Good-night, Polly.”

Just then she heard a scream and some one crying out: “Jessie, Jessie!” in tones of distress. For only a second Jessie hesitated and then she rushed to the spot from which the voice came to find Adele splashing about in the brook.

“I slipped off the log,” she cried. “I’m all wet and drownded and there is a cow coming!”

Fortunately the brook was not very deep, particularly at this point. Jessie laid down her dolls, and went to the bank near the log, reaching out her hands and calling to Adele, “Come up here.”

Adele cast a frightened look over her shoulder at Mrs. Mooky, who was taking an evening drink from the stream. “She won’t hurt you, will you, Mrs. Mooky?” said Jessie encouragingly.

The cow lifted her head and looked fixedly at Jessie, moving a few steps nearer.

“Oh, she’s coming! She’s coming!” cried Adele frantically trying to scramble up the bank.

“No, she isn’t,” Jessie assured her. “Give me your hand. There now, you are safe, but you are awfully wet. Come right home with me and get some dry clothes.”

“No, no,” protested Adele, “I’ll go home.”

“It’s further to your house. You’d better come,” said Jessie decidedly.

“It was all that horrid cow,” said Adele. “She came splashing down into the water and scared me so my foot slipped and down I went.”

Jessie smiled. She could not imagine any one being afraid of Mrs. Mooky, but she saw that Adele was really frightened so she only repeated: “You’d better come home with me.”

“What will your mother say?” said Adele, still holding back.

“She’ll say she’s very sorry it happened, and she’ll have Minerva take you home unless Sam is there with the carriage. Father went to town to-day and maybe Sam hasn’t gone to meet him yet. Come right along; you’ll get cold.”

Thus admonished, Adele allowed herself to be led up to the house. Mrs. Loomis met the two little girls at the porch steps. “This is Adele Hallett,” said Jessie. “She lives in the yellow house, and she slipped off the log into the brook just now. Mrs. Mooky frightened her.”

“That was very unkind of Mrs. Mooky,” said Mrs. Loomis smiling down at Adele. “Come in, dear. You must be chilled to the bone in those wet clothes. There is a good fire in the sitting-room. I always like to have it bright and cheery for Jessie’s father when he comes in. Take your friend in there, Jessie, and I will go up for some dry clothes.”

The open wood-fire was sending out a comforting heat as Adele shiveringly came up to it. “You’d better take off your shoes and stockings first; they are the wettest,” Jessie told her. “Your feet must be very cold. I’ll take off one shoe and you do the other.”

Adele sat down meekly on the big fur rug, while Jessie helped her to take off her wet foot gear. “There,” said Jessie, “stick out your feet and get them good and hot while I unbutton your frock.” Adele obeyed without a word.

Presently Mrs. Loomis returned with the dry things and bade Jessie take the wet ones to Minerva to dry. “We’ll send them home to you,” she told Adele as she helped her into Jessie’s garments. They were a little large for her, but they did very well.

Jessie laughed when she came back. “It is another me, isn’t it, mother?” she said. “Only that me isn’t as big as this me, and it has black hair instead of light brown, and black eyes instead of blue. Do you feel as if your name were Jessie, and are you real warm, Adele?”

“I feel quite warm,” said Adele in a low voice, her head drooping.

“I’m going to mix something good and hot for her to drink,” said Mrs. Loomis, “and then Sam can take her home. Miss Hallett will be anxious about her, and Sam is about ready to go to the station to meet your father.”

As soon as Mrs. Loomis had left the room Adele lifted her eyes, and Jessie saw that they were full of tears. “I said I didn’t like you one bit,” she burst out, “but I do, I do. I love you. I love you dearly.”

“Oh!—why——” Jessie began. She felt embarrassed and was glad of her mother’s reappearance. Mrs. Loomis held a glass in her hand. “Drink this, dear,” she said to Adele. “You will find that it tastes very good and it will keep you from taking cold.” Adele silently obeyed, and found it a spicy-sweet draught which sent a warm glow through her.

Jessie pulled her mother’s head down to her level and whispered something to her. Mrs. Loomis nodded understandingly and when Adele set down the glass she lifted the child’s face and kissed her gently on the cheek. “You must come again,” she said.

“And will you take me to see her?” asked Jessie eagerly.

“To be sure I will,” replied Mrs. Loomis. “I am going to call on your aunt, dear,” she said to Adele, “and I hope we shall all be good friends and neighbors.”

Adele looked at her for a moment and then she caught her hand and laid her own cheek against it. “You are lovely,” she said, “and Jessie is just like you. I want her to be my friend forever.”

Then Minerva appeared at the door to say that Sam was ready with the carriage.

CHAPTER IV
Aunt Betty

CHAPTER IV
Aunt Betty

The next day there was no sign of Adele, though from time to time Jessie looked up from her play to see if her new friend by chance might be coming along the path on the other side of the brook. Sam had delivered the little girl’s belongings at the yellow house, and had been told that none of the family were up. Later Jessie’s clothes were returned with a note of thanks. So Playmate Polly had it all her own way that day, and Peter Pan was provided with more moss hangings as well as a new ornament in the shape of a bright pink pebble for his grotto. Jessie had told her mother all that she had learned about Adele and had received some information in return. Miss Betty Hallett, Adele’s aunt, was a delicate woman, and Adele herself was not strong, so the doctor had declared they would both be better in the country, and as Mr. Hallett had removed his business from the south to the middle states he had discovered in the yellow house by the brook, just the place which he thought would suit his sister and his little daughter. It was not so far from the city where he had his office but that he could come home frequently to spend Sunday, and it was in a healthful region as well as a very attractive one.

“So now,” Mrs. Loomis told Jessie, “I must call on Miss Hallett at once, for we are her nearest neighbors and I am sure she must be lonely.”

They set off, therefore, one afternoon, in the little phaeton which Mrs. Loomis always drove herself, and soon they drew up before the yellow house and were ushered into a room filled with stately old furniture and sombre portraits. “I don’t think it is as cozy as our house,” whispered Jessie.

“Hush, dear,” returned Mrs. Loomis. “It is far handsomer, and probably after a while it will look more cheerful. You see everything is not settled.”

At this moment Miss Hallett entered and Jessie shrank back against her mother, surprise and something like horror in her eyes, for she saw a tiny little woman with deep dark eyes, a mournful mouth and rather a large head set down between her shoulders. Jessie had never come in contact with a hunchback before and she gripped her mother’s hand hard. Mrs. Loomis gave her fingers a gentle pressure before she rose to meet Miss Hallett whose sudden smile lighted up her sallow face. “I hope we are not coming to you before you are ready to receive a call,” said Mrs. Loomis. “We are your nearest neighbors, Miss Hallett, and I hope you will believe that we want to be true ones.”

“I am so glad to see you,” returned Miss Hallett. “This dull day has given me an attack of the blues, and you could not have chosen a better time for coming. I have been wanting an opportunity to thank you for your kindness to Adele, but we have been so busy, it seemed impossible for me to find time to go anywhere. Adele has talked of nothing else but you and your little girl since her rather awkward tumble. I am afraid she gave you a great deal of trouble.”

“Not a bit of it,” returned Mrs. Loomis. “I only hope she didn’t take cold.”

“No, she did not, thanks to your prompt measures. She is an impulsive, headstrong little creature, and I am at loss sometimes just how to manage her. Fortunately my friend Miss Laurent has consented to come to us, and with her coöperation I hope we shall do great things for Adele. I wanted to have the house all in order before Miss Laurent should come, and it has been such a task.”

Jessie wished very much that Miss Hallett would send for Adele instead of talking about her, and presently was relieved when a tall mulatto woman was summoned. “Go tell Miss Adele that she is to come in, Angeline,” said Miss Hallett. “Or,” she turned to Mrs. Loomis, “perhaps your little girl would rather go out to Adele. She is in the summer-house. My brother has had it enclosed with glass, and Adele rather likes to play there. Would you rather go to Adele?” she asked Jessie.

There was no doubt in Jessie’s mind that she would very much prefer this, and in another moment she was following Angeline through the hall to a side door and down a broad walk to the summer-house.

“Young lady to see you, honey baby,” said Angeline putting her head in the door.

Adele, who was busy over something in one corner, turned suddenly and caught sight of Jessie standing on the sill. She darted forward, and flung her arms around her visitor, kissing her first on one cheek and then on the other. “I am so glad you have come,” she cried. “I thought you never would. You may go, Angeline.” She turned to the tall maid who drew down her mouth and disappeared leaving the little girls alone.

“I thought of course you would come over yesterday, to the play place, you know,” returned Jessie.

Adele dropped her eyes and appeared to be looking attentively at her toes. “I couldn’t,” she said presently.

“Why not?”

“She wouldn’t let me.”

“What she?”

“Aunt Betty. She’s horrid like that sometimes and is just as mean as she can be.”

“Is that because she isn’t—she isn’t just like other people?” asked Jessie hesitatingly. She could readily understand that a person who looked like Miss Hallett might have reason to be disagreeable.

Adele looked at her fixedly for a moment, then to Jessie’s great discomfiture she burst into tears. “She isn’t! She isn’t! She isn’t!” she repeated. “She is just like other people and she is dear and good and lovely. You shan’t say she is not.”

Jessie was bewildered. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean——” she began helplessly.

“It was I who was horrid,” Adele went on. “It was all my doing. I got mad and screamed and fought Angeline and wouldn’t eat my supper because I couldn’t have coffee and lots, lots, lots of sugar in it, and so Aunt Betty said I shouldn’t go to see you till she said I might. She isn’t horrid at all, and you shan’t say she is. She is perfectly beautiful.”

“It wasn’t I who said she was horrid, you know,” said Jessie with an emphasis on the I.

“Well, I don’t care. You thought so.” Adele wiped her eyes and stood thoughtfully picking off the dead leaves from a potted geranium on a shelf near by. Jessie was silent. She hardly knew whether to go or stay.

Presently Adele turned around with the sweetest of smiles. “Let’s play,” she said. “I’ll show you all my dolls. Why didn’t you bring Charity or Peter Pan with you?”

“I will next time,” said Jessie, relieved at the turn of affairs, but wondering what kind of girl Adele really was.

“Come,” cried Adele, grasping Jessie’s hand. “The dolls are all up in the playroom. I was making medicine for them just now. They have ague, every blessed one of them, and they are shaking their heads off, at least one of them is,” she added with a laugh. “I’ll show you which one it is.” She pulled Jessie along the boardwalk and up-stairs to a pleasant upper room where six dolls were abed, most of them staring smilingly at the ceiling, though two of them had their eyes shut. Adele picked up one of them and showed a very wobbly head which seemed in danger of soon departing from its body. “This is the shakiest one,” she said, “and she’ll have to have a double dose of medicine. Indeed, I don’t know but that she will have to go to a hospital. That is my newest one.” She pointed to a very fresh and smiling flaxen-haired beauty.

“What is her name?” asked Jessie.

“She hasn’t any in particular. I never name my dolls.”

“Oh, don’t you?” This seemed as incredible to Jessie as if she had been told that a family of children had been left unnamed. “I don’t see how you get along if you don’t name them,” she said.

“Oh, I scarcely ever play with more than one at a time, and then I can always call that one dolly or honey or something,” was the reply.

“I should think you would have to name them,” persisted Jessie. “When you are talking about them what do you say?”

“I hardly ever do talk about them. When I do it is to Aunt Betty, and then I say the new doll, or the doll with the brown hair, or something of that kind. Don’t let’s play with dolls. I bet you can’t catch me before I get downstairs.” And while Jessie was recovering herself Adele was off and away down the stairs at the foot of which she stood laughing as Jessie descended more slowly. “I think I shall ask Angeline for some cakes,” she said. “Come along into the kitchen. I suppose that cross old Roxy wouldn’t give us any, but I can coax Angeline into anything. Angeline! Angeline!” she called imperiously, “come here.”

Angeline appeared at the entry door. “I want some cakes,” said Adele, “some for Jessie and me. We’re hungry.”

“Dey ain’ no mo’ cakes, honey,” said Angeline. “Yo done eat ’em all up.”

“Then make some right away, or tell Roxy she’s got to do it.”

“Roxy she done gone to de sto’.”

“Oh, bother! You go along and make some, and be quick about it, too,” ordered Adele.

“Law, honey chile, how long yuh spec’ it tek to mek up de fiah an’ bake cake? Yuh foolish, chile. I done got some sweet ertaters in de ashes,” she hastened to say as she saw Adele’s face puckering up for a cry. “I tell yuh what, honey; I git yuh two nice bowls o’ milk an’ nice sweet ertaters an’ yuh kin tek ’em out in de summah-house an’ eat ’em.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” said Adele with resignation. “Do you like sweet potatoes and milk?” she asked Jessie.

“I never ate any. At least, of course I have eaten sweet potatoes often enough and I drink milk, but I never ate them together.”

“They are mighty good together,” Adele assured her. “Bring ’em along, Angeline, to the summer-house, and don’t you be forever about it either.” And Adele stalked off with Jessie in her wake.

“She’s very good-natured, isn’t she?” remarked Jessie when they had reached the summer-house.

“Who? Angeline? Oh, so so.”

“I wouldn’t dare to talk to Minerva that way,” said Jessie after a pause.

“You wouldn’t? I don’t see why. I always talk as I please to Angeline. She nursed my mother and she nursed me, and she doesn’t care what I say to her. Besides, I am her mistress.” Adele held her head high, and Jessie looked at her admiringly.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose that must make a difference; Minerva was never nurse to my mother.”

The two bowls of milk and warm sweet potatoes soon appeared and though Jessie did not care very much for the combination, she ate part of her share fearing she might seem rude if she did not. She was glad, however, that she did not have to finish, and that a message from her mother obliged her to return to the house.

“We must go now, dear,” said Mrs. Loomis. “We have made a long call.” She smiled at Adele as the two little girls came in.

“Oh, no, you mustn’t go,” spoke up Adele. “At least, you might let Jessie stay. Won’t you, please?”

“Not to-day,” said Mrs. Loomis gently. “Your aunt has been kind enough to promise that we may have you to-morrow to spend the day, so I think Jessie and I will have to say good-bye now.”

“Oh, am I going for the whole day?” exclaimed Adele delightedly, catching her aunt’s hand and pressing her cheek against it as was her way of doing. “Is Angeline going to take me, or can I go alone? I know the way.”