amuse you.”
Then Polly showed her kingdom, and the three had a merry time
over it. The big piano took up so much room there was no place
for a bed; but Polly proudly displayed the resources of her
chintz-covered couch, for the back let down, the seat lifted up, and
inside were all the pillows and blankets. “So convenient, you see,
and yet out of the way in the daytime, for two or three of my pupils
come to me,” explained Polly.
Then there was a bright drugget over the faded carpet, the little
rocking-chair and sewing-table stood at one window, the ivy ran
all over the other, and hid the banqueting performances which
went on in that corner. Book-shelves hung over the sofa, a picture
or two on the walls, and a great vase of autumn leaves and grasses
beautified the low chimney-piece. It was a very humble little
room, but Polly had done her best to make it pleasant, and it
already had a home-like look, with the cheery fire, and the
household pets chirping and purring confidingly on the rug.
“How nice it is!” exclaimed Maud, as she emerged from the big
closet where Polly kept her stores. “Such a cunning teakettle and
saucepan, and a t^te-.-t^te set, and lots of good things to eat. Do
have toast for tea, Polly, and let me make it with the new toasting
fork; it ‘s such fun to play cook.”
Fanny was not so enthusiastic as her sister, for her eyes saw many
traces of what seemed like poverty to her; but Polly was so gay, so
satisfied with her small establishment, so full of happy hopes and
plans, that her friend had not the heart to find a fault or suggest an
improvement, and sat where she was told, laughing and talking
while the others got tea.
“This will be a country supper, girls,” said Polly, bustling about.
“Here is real cream, brown bread, home-made cake, and honey
from my own beehives. Mother fitted me out with such a supply, I
‘m glad to have a party, for I can’t eat it all quick enough. Butter
the toast, Maudie, and put that little cover over it. Tell me when
the kettle boils, and don’t step on Nicodemus, whatever you do.”
“What a capital house-keeper you will make some day,” said
Fanny, as she watched Polly spread her table with a neatness and
despatch which was pleasant to behold.
“Yes, it ‘s good practice,” laughed Polly, filling her tiny teapot, and
taking her place behind the tray, with a matronly air, which was
the best joke of the whole.
“This is the most delicious party I ever went to,” observed Maud,
with her mouth full of honey, when the feast was well under way.
“I do wish I could have a nice room like this, and a cat and a bird
that would n’t eat each other up, and a dear little teakettle, and
make just as much toast as I like.”
Such a peal of laughter greeted Maud’s pensive aspiration, that
Miss Mills smiled over her solitary cup of tea, and little Nick burst
into a perfect ecstasy of song, as he sat on the sugar-bowl helping
himself.
“I don’t care for the toast and the kettle, but I do envy you your
good spirits, Polly,” said Fanny, as the merriment subsided. “I ‘m
so tired of everybody and everything, it seems sometimes as if I
should die of ennui. Don’t you ever feel so?”
“Things worry me sometimes, but I just catch up a broom and
sweep, or wash hard, or walk, or go at something with all my
might, and I usually find that by the time I get through the worry is
gone, or I ‘ve got courage enough to bear it without grumbling,”
answered Polly, cutting the brown loaf energetically.
“I can’t do those things, you know; there ‘s no need of it, and I don’t
think they ‘d cure my worrying,” said Fanny, languidly feeding
Ashputtel, who sat decorously beside her, at the table, winking at
the cream pot.
“A little poverty would do you good, Fan; just enough necessity to
keep you busy till you find how good work is; and when you once