Half a Dozen Girls Part 32

"Not many doctors, either," suggested Alan.

"That may be; but just his doing it proves that it can be done, if anybody is willing to try. Don't s.h.i.+rk that way, Alan; it isn't like you. You can do it just as well as he can, and I mean you shall, some day, if teasing can do any good."

"Do you know, Polly," said Jessie; "you've talked about it till you make me want to be a doctor, myself. I don't suppose mamma would ever let me, but I'd like to try, and I think I could do it."

"Why don't you, then?" asked Polly heartily. "I don't want to myself, and I shouldn't succeed. I should be like the old doctor papa tells about, that used to swear at his patients when they didn't mind him. I never could keep cool when things went wrong.

Besides, I think it's a man's work, more than a woman's."

"I'd like to be one, and prove that you are wrong," returned Jessie, with some spirit.

"If I really made up my mind to be a doctor, I'd be a good one, if I had to give up everything else for the sake of it; but it isn't in my line," said Polly a little regretfully. "But when you and Alan are famous all over the world, I'll go around telling everybody how I was the first one to start you in that line; and they'll all be grateful to me, even if I haven't any career, see if they aren't."

"In the meantime," said Alan, suddenly breaking off the conversation, "has anybody the slightest idea where we are?"

"I haven't," said Jessie, pulling up Cob abruptly. "I've been so busy talking and thinking that I haven't paid any attention to where we were going."

"I never saw this road before," said Polly. "It's too far out of town for Job's wanderings. But go on; we shall come to a house or a guideboard before long."

"To judge by the sun and by my appet.i.te," remarked Alan pensively, "it must be almost noon."

"Oh, that makes me think!" exclaimed Polly. "Get up, Alan; you're right on them!"

"On what?" inquired the boy lazily, without stirring.

"On the gingersnaps. Mamma gave me some to put in my pocket, in case we should get hungry, and here you've been sitting on top of them, all the way!" There was an accent of despair in Polly's tone.

Alan rose, and she plunged her hand into her pocket.

"Just look here!" she said accusingly, as she drew out a crumpled paper bag.

Alan caught it from her hand and peered down into it.

"Pulverized gingersnaps!" he exclaimed. "Want some, Jessie?"

"I'm so hungry, I'm thankful for anything," she replied. "Let's eat up the largest pieces ourselves, Polly, and make Alan take the dust for his share, for he was the one to blame."

"I know it, and now he'll never know how good they were," returned Polly relentlessly, as the girls devoured the contents of the bag, even to the last crumb. "He deserves to go hungry."

"But what's that building over there?" asked Jessie, a little later, pointing to a great red house on the side of a distant hill.

"That? That's the poorhouse," replied Polly, after studying it for a minute or two. "I came here once with papa, ever so long ago.

I'd like to know how we ever managed to get here; it's seven or eight miles from town."

"Seven or eight miles from town! And we are dying of starvation,"

said Alan.

"Speak for yourself, please; Jessie and I have had lunch," said Polly. "But," she went on, struck with a sudden thought, "let's go and see Miss Bean, and maybe she'll invite us to dinner. She ought to, for she's been fed at our house often enough."

Jessie fell in with the idea.

"Let's try it, anyway," she said. "I've always wanted to see what they do in such a place, and I don't believe there would be any harm in it."

"What harm could there be?" said Polly. "We needn't tell her we've come to dinner; only, if she should happen to ask us, we could stay, after she's teased a little."

Turning from the main road, they drove under the great gateway and followed a winding drive up to the very door of the house. A few old crones sat in a row by the door, chattering like so many venerable crows; but when they caught sight of the children, their voices sank to whispers, as they watched Alan spring to the ground, hold up his arms to help Polly and Jessie, and then deliberately tie Cob to the nearest post.

At sight of the women in their plain white caps and dark calico gowns, Jessie was seized with a nervous desire to laugh, and hid behind Polly, whispering,--

"You do the talking, Polly; I can't."

"But what shall I say?" returned Polly, in the same tone.

"Isn't there a matron or something?" said Jessie doubtfully. "Ask for her."

By this time, Alan had joined them and they held a hasty consultation, as a result of which Alan walked straight up to the old women. Hat in hand, and a smile on his bright, boyish face, he bowed low before them and asked if he could be directed to the matron's room. Alan's smile never failed to move a woman's heart, no matter whether she was old or young. In the present instance, one of the aged dames tottered to her feet, saying,--

"Bless your heart, sonny! I'll show you, myself, to pay for your sweet manners." And she toddled away, followed by the girls and by Alan whose sweet manners had collapsed into a stifled giggle at the unlooked-for compliment.

They were taken into a long, wide hall through the middle of which ran a strip of rag carpet, edged with plain wooden settees.

Everything was scrupulously neat and clean, but the only ornament in sight was a stuffed poodle under a gla.s.s case, above which hung the somewhat inappropriate motto: _G.o.d loveth a cheerful giver_. Here they were told to sit down, while the old woman went in search of the matron. The next few moments were rather uncomfortable for all three of the children. Now that they were really inside the inst.i.tution, they were a little frightened at what they had done; and yet the ridiculous side of their being there struck them so keenly that they dared not speak, for fear of being found laughing, when the all-powerful matron should make her appearance. At length she came, a trim little woman, with an earnest face and a business-like manner. At Polly's request to be allowed to see Miss Bean, she shook her head doubtfully.

"It isn't one of our regular visiting days," she began." Was your errand an important one?"

"Not very," returned Polly, with a lingering accent on the second word, as she caught the sound of a distant clatter of dishes and breathed in a vague odor of boiled beef.

"I am sorry to disappoint you," the matron went on; "and if you have come all the way from town, it is too bad to send you back without seeing her, for a minute. Call Miss Bean," she said to a servant. "What name shall I tell her?" she asked Polly.

"Polly Adams, ma'am," answered Polly.

The matron became suddenly cordial, like a s...o...b..nk under the rays of the spring sun.

"Isn't this Dr. Adams's daughter?" she asked. "I thought I saw a familiar look about the lower part of the face."

"Yes, Dr. Adams is my father," said Polly, whose hopes of staying sprang into life once more.

"Indeed! I am very glad to see you for his sake," returned the matron. "Perhaps he sent you?"

"No--o, he didn't send us; we came," faltered Polly.

"Never mind; I am glad to see you, anyway. And these are your young friends, I suppose. Wouldn't you all like to stay and have dinner here? It is almost ready," she added, in a generous burst of hospitality.

"Thank you, we should be delighted," said Alan hastily, fearing Polly might lose the opportunity by politely hesitating.

"Well, Polly Adams, where in the name of time did you come from?"

asked Miss Bean's voice behind her.

Polly turned around. Could this be Miss Bean, this little, withered figure in the calico gown and white cap? Where was the green and black gown? Where were the lace mitts and the shaker bonnet? However, there could be no doubt of Miss Bean's ident.i.ty when she said, in her usual abrupt manner,--