Princess Polly's Gay Winter Part 4

"I wonder if anyone knows if one is really finer than the other. They're so different."

Then again she sat dreaming. Sir Mortimer came around the corner of the house, and went straight to Sprite for the caress everyone offered him. He listened to her sweet voice as she told him what a fine cat he was, he arched his back, and purred his loudest.

After a time he lay down on the gra.s.s beside her, taking his morning sunbath.

Princess Polly, in the meantime, had awakened and missed Sprite. She dressed hastily.

As she pa.s.sed the window a soft voice talking to Sir Mortimer made her pause and look out. She leaned from the window.

"Oh, there you are!" she cried. "I missed you, and I couldn't guess where you were. I'll come right down to the garden." She flew down the stairs, and out into the sunlight.

Sprite ran to meet her, and with their arms about each other, they paced up and down the broad piazza.

Sir Mortimer blinked at them as he sat in the sunlight, as if he approved of their merry chatter. Possibly he thought it fine that there were to be two little girls at Sherwood Hall to pet him.

"The garden is so lovely," Sprite said, as they paused to look out across the lawn.

"Come!" cried Polly. "I'll show you all the prettiest places."

The big cat followed them, trotting along the gravel walk, pausing whenever they did, as if all that Polly was showing was new to him.

And when they had admired the rippling brook that ran through the garden, the tall white lilies standing in queenly grace beside the stone wall, the terraces crowned with rose bushes, and the gorgeous beds of geraniums, they ran back to the piazza, and seated themselves in the hammock that swung in the breeze.

"Do you remember any of the pretty songs you used to sing last Summer when we were out on the beach, or sitting on the ledge?" Polly asked.

"There's one I always like to sing when I'm in a dory," Sprite said.

"Then let's rock this hammock, and play it's a dory, and while we're swinging, you sing," Polly said.

With a voice in which a thrill of happiness made wondrous music, little Sprite sang:

"Bright is the sky above us, Blue is the sea below.

Seagulls are hovering 'round us Fluttering to and fro.

Faith is the sky above us, The sea is the earth below.

Gulls are the friends who love us, Following where'er we go.

Suns.h.i.+ne above, around us, White caps floating by, None in the world is happier Than you, my love, and I."

CHAPTER III

GWEN

Little Sprite Seaford felt so completely "at home," that it seemed to her as if she had always lived at Avondale. There were times when she felt homesick. At early morning, before Polly was awake, she would lie with wide open eyes, gazing around the lovely room, and missing the dear voices that always greeted her so cheerily. At twilight, when the shadows grew deeper, there would be a longing for the dear ones at home, and her loving little heart would ache, and she would have to struggle to keep back the tears.

She knew, however, that she must be a bright, cheerful little guest.

Had not dear father and mother said so?

Throughout the sunny days she was the life of the merry playmates who lived so near that they were always together. Polly and Rose she had played with at the sh.o.r.e in the Summer, and at the children's party that Mrs. Sherwood had given, she had met the boys and girls who had come from Avondale for that evening.

They had all liked the "little Sea Nymph," as they had called her, and now were glad to renew the acquaintance.

There was one small girl who, thus far, had shown no interest in Polly's guest, and that was Gwen Harcourt.

She had seen Sprite with Polly, and her playmates, but she had watched them from a distance.

From her own piazza she could look across to Sherwood Hall, and see the children at play.

In a few days she had tired of watching the merry friends, and she longed to join them. She had heard Lena Lindsey say that Sprite was charming.

Leslie Grafton, only the day before, had said that one reason why she enjoyed playing with Sprite was because she was so _different_ from any girl that she knew.

What was this "_difference_" that Leslie spoke of?

Harry Grafton had declared that little Sprite was a trump.

"What's a _trump_?" said Gwen, as she sat swinging her feet, and looking up and down the avenue.

"What's a _trump_?"

She was perched on the top of the stone post at the entrance to the driveway, and watching intently for a glimpse of little Sprite.

She had been curious about the new little girl ever since the first day that she arrived at Avondale. _Now_, she was _determined_ to know her.

"If she'd go by while I'm sitting here I'd _make_ her come into my garden. I'd like to have her all to myself the first time I talk to her," she said softly.

Of course Gwen wished to meet Sprite when she was quite alone. Anyone who had ever known Gwen would know why.

She knew that all of her playmates were aware that she told very large stories, and that none of them were true.

If she had Sprite, quite by herself, she could tell what she chose.

Luck favored her, for she had sat on the great post but a moment longer, when a soft voice singing made her look up.

Sprite, her hands filled with flowers, was coming toward her.

She was looking down at her blossoms, and did not notice the child on the post.

"Bright, glist'ning summer sea, Bring thou a s.h.i.+p to me, Sailing so gallantly over the main.

Down deep within its hold Will there be bags of gold, Or sparkling gems untold, All, all for me?

Now my heart cries to thee; Bring not from o'er the sea Bright glitt'ring gems for me, nor bags of gold.

I'd rather have a heart, Mine from all else apart, From him I'd _never_ part, Love's more than gold."

Little Sprite Seaford had learned the song in her home by the sea. Its words were tender, its melody graceful and sweet, but Gwen Harcourt cared little for music. Her only thought was to startle Sprite. With this delightful thought in her mind, she waited until Sprite was about to pa.s.s the post, when she slipped to the ground directly in front of her, causing her to "jump," and drop half of her flowers.

"Oh, how you frightened me!" she cried, as Gwen peeped impudently right into her face.