“Everybody is so kind,” she sobbed,” and I was so wicked, I don’t
deserve it.”
“Oh, yes, you do; don’t think of that, but rest and let us pet you.
The old life was too hard for such a little thing as you, and we are
going to try and make the new one ever so much easier and
happier,” said Polly, forgetting everything except that this was a
girl like herself, who needed heartening up.
“Do you live here?” asked Jenny, when her tears were wiped away,
still clinging to the new-found friend.
“Yes, Miss Mills lets me have a little room up stairs, and there I
have my cat and bird, my piano and my posy pots, and live like a
queen. You must come up and see me to-morrow if you are able. I
‘m often lonely, for there are no young people in the house to play
with me,” answered Polly, smiling hospitably.
“Do you sew?” asked Jenny.
“No, I ‘m a music teacher, and trot round giving lessons all day.”
“How beautiful it sounds, and how happy you must be, so strong
and pretty, and able to go round making music all the time,” sighed
Jenny, looking with respectful admiration at the plump, firm hand
held in both her thin and feeble ones.
It did sound pleasant even to Polly’s ears, and she felt suddenly so
rich, and so contented, that she seemed a different creature from
the silly girl who cried because she could n’t go to the party. It
passed through her mind like a flash, the contrast between her life,
and that of the wan creature lying before her, and she felt as if she
could not give enough out of her abundance to this needy little
sister, who had nothing in the wide world but the life just saved to
her. That minute did more for Polly than many sermons, or the
wisest books, for it brought her face to face with bitter truths,
showed her the dark side of life, and seemed to blow away her
little vanities, her frivolous desires, like a wintry wind, that left a
wholesome atmosphere behind. Sitting on the bedside, Polly
listened while Jane told the story, which was so new to her
listener, that every word sank deep into her heart, and never was
forgotten.
“Now you must go to sleep. Don’t cry nor think, nor do anything
but rest. That will please Miss Mills best. I ‘ll leave the doors open,
and play you a lullaby that you can’t resist. Good night, dear.” And
with another kiss, Polly went away to sit in the darkness of her
own room, playing her softest airs till the tired eyes below were
shut, and little Jane seemed to float away on a sea of pleasant
sounds, into the happier life which had just dawned for her.
Polly had fully intended to be very miserable, and cry herself to
sleep; but when she lay down at last, her pillow seemed very soft,
her little room very lovely, with the fire-light flickering on all the
home-like objects, and her new-blown roses breathing her a sweet
good-night. She no longer felt an injured, hard-working, unhappy
Polly, but as if quite burdened with blessings, for which she was n’t
half grateful enough. She had heard of poverty and suffering, in the
vague, far-off way, which is all that many girls, safe in happy
homes, ever know of it; but now she had seen it, in a shape which
she could feel and understand, and life grew more earnest to her
from that minute. So much to do in the great, busy world, and she
had done so little. Where should she begin? Then, like an answer
came little Jenny’s words, now taking a,’new significance’ to Polly’s
mind, “To be strong, and beautiful, and go round making music all
the time.” Yes, she could do that; and with a very earnest prayer,
Polly asked for the strength of an upright soul, the beauty of a
tender heart, the power to make her life a sweet and stirring song,
helpful while it lasted, remembered when it died.
Little Jane’s last thought had been to wish with all her might, that