Half a Dozen Girls | Page 2

care," Polly interrupted saucily; "I never could see the use of
cutting up yards and yards of calico, just for the sake of sewing it
together again. Wouldn't you rather have me make you a pretty apron,
Jerusalem?" And she leaned over to pat her mother's cheek
affectionately, as she added, "And besides, Molly's gone home."
"Has she?" asked Mrs. Adams, in some surprise. "I thought she was
going to spend the day."
Polly blushed a little.
"So she was," she admitted at length; "but she changed her mind."
Mrs. Adams looked at her little daughter inquiringly for a moment, and
seemed about to speak, but catching the eye of Aunt Jane, who was
watching them sharply, she only said,--
"I am sorry; for I wanted to send a pattern to Mrs. Hapgood, when she
went home, and now I shall have to wait."
"I'll take it over now, mamma; I'd just as soon." And Polly jumped up
and caught her sailor hat from the table where she had tossed it.
"I should like to have you, if you will, Polly. It is in my room, and I'll
get it for you."
She put down her work and went out into the hall, followed by Polly.

"Have you and Molly been quarrelling again?" she asked, when the
door had closed between them and Aunt Jane.
"Only a little bit, mamma," confessed Polly. "Molly was teasing me all
the time, and at last I was mad, so I said I wished she'd go home, and
she went right straight off."
"I am sorry my daughter should be so rude to her company," began Mrs.
Adams soberly.
"So'm I," interrupted Polly; "I don't mean to; but she makes me cross,
and before I know it I flare up. I wish she hadn't gone, too; for we
promised to go over to see Florence this afternoon, and she'll think it is
queer if we don't."
"I wish you would try to be a little more patient, Polly," said her mother.
"You mustn't be cross every time that Molly laughs at you; and you
answered Aunt Jane very rudely just now. You need to watch that
tongue of yours, my dear, and not let it run away with you. And now
take this to Mrs. Hapgood, and tell her she will need to allow a good
large seam when she cuts it, for Molly is taller than you."
"Yes'm," said Polly meekly, as she held up her face for the kiss,
without which she never left the house.
Then she slowly went down the stairs, and out at the door, thinking
over what her mother had just said to her, and resolving, as she did at
least twice every day, that she would never, never quarrel with Molly
again. But not in vain had Mrs. Adams devoted the past thirteen years
to watching her only child, and she understood Polly's present mood
well enough to call to her from the window,--
"You'd better bring Molly back to lunch, I think. We're going to have
raspberry shortcake, and you know she likes that."
And Polly looked up, with a brightening face, to answer,--
"All right."

Then, in spite of the warm day, she went hurrying off down the street,
while her mother stood by the window, watching until the bright curls
under the blue sailor hat had passed out of sight. Then she turned away
with a half-smile, saying to herself,--
"Poor Polly! She has hard times fighting her temper; but Molly does
tease her unmercifully. After all, she comes naturally by it, for she's
very much as I was, at her age."
"What's the matter?" queried Aunt Jane, as her sister came back and
took up her work once more. "Have Molly and Polly been having
another fuss?"
"Nothing serious, I think," said Mrs. Adams lightly.
Aunt Jane's thin lips straightened out into an ominous line as she
answered,--
"Strange those two children can't get on together! I think it is largely
Polly's fault, for Molly is a sweet, quiet girl. You are spoiling Polly,
Isabel, as I keep telling you. Some day you'll come to realize it, and be
sorry."
Mrs. Adams bit her lip for an instant, and a clear, bright color came
into her cheeks; but after a moment she replied quietly,--
"You must allow me to be the judge of that, Jane."
"Of course you can do as you like with your own child," retorted Aunt
Jane stiffly; "but I can't shut my eyes to what is going on around me,
and let a naturally good child be spoiled for want of a firm hand,
without saying a word to stop it. Your mother didn't bring you up in
that way, Isabel, though she did indulge you a great deal more than