Half a Dozen Girls | Page 3

she
did us older children."
As Aunt Jane paused, Mrs. Adams rose abruptly and left the room,
saying something about a letter which she must write in time for the
next mail.

Aunt Jane could be exasperating at times, as even her younger sister
was forced to admit, and occasionally she was driven to the necessity of
running away from her, rather than yield to the temptation of answering
sharp words with sharper. Mrs. Adams could and did bear patiently
with unasked advice in all matters but one; but in regard to the
discipline of her little daughter she stood firm, for she and her husband
had agreed that here Aunt Jane was not to be allowed to interfere. Yet,
though Aunt Jane soon found that her sister left her and went away
whenever the subject was mentioned, the worthy woman was not to be
turned aside, but returned to the charge with unfailing persistency.
The intimacy between mother and daughter was a peculiar one, and at
times seemed far more like that between two sisters. Mrs. Adams was
one of the women whose highest ambition was of the rather old-
fashioned kind,--to make a pleasant, homelike home, and to be an
intelligent, helpful wife and mother. From her quiet corner she looked
out at her friends who had "careers," with curiosity rather than envy,
and, for herself, was content to have her world bounded by the interests
of her husband and Polly. It might be a narrow life, but it was a busy
and a happy one. With all her household cares, she still found time to
look into the books which were interesting her husband, and
intelligently discuss their contents with him; she read aloud with Polly,
played games with her, and watched over her with a quick
understanding of this warm-hearted, impetuous little daughter, in whom
she saw herself so closely reflected that she knew, from the memory of
her own childhood, just how to deal with all of Polly's freaks and
whims. And her endless patience and devotion were well rewarded, for
Polly adored her pretty, bright little mother with all the fervor of her
being. There were times, it is true, when Polly rebelled against all
restraint; but such moments were of short duration, and, for the most
part, she yielded easily to the pleasant, firm discipline which made duty
enjoyable, and punishment the necessary result of wrong-doing, a result
as hard for the mother to inflict as for the child to bear. In her gentler
moods, Polly realized that nowhere else could she find so good a friend,
so interested and sympathetic in all that concerned her, and the two
spent long hours together, now talking quite seriously, now chattering
and laughing like children, with a perfect good-fellowship which

appeared very disrespectful to Aunt Jane, who believed in the old- time
rule, that children should be seen, not heard. However, Polly never
minded Aunt Jane's frown in the least, but went on playing with her
mother and petting her, confiding to her her joys and sorrows, her
friendships and her quarrels, and calling her by an endless succession
of endearing names, of which her latest was Jerusalem, an epithet taken
from her favorite, "Oh, Mother dear, Jerusalem," and adapted to its
present use, to the great mystification of her aunt, to whom Polly
refused to explain its derivation.
Between his office hours and his patients, Polly saw but little of her
father; for Dr. Adams was the popular physician of the large, quiet, old
New England town where they lived. A man who had grown up among
books, and among thinking, wide-awake people, he was a worthy
descendant of the two presidents with whom he claimed kinship. He
was a strong, fine-looking man, so full of quiet energy that his very
presence in the sick-room was encouraging to the invalid; and he had
come to be at once the friend, physician, and adviser of every family in
town, whether rich or poor. If his patients could afford to pay him for
his visits, very well; if not, it was just as well, for neither Dr. Adams
nor his wife desired to be rich. To live comfortably themselves, to lay
up a little for the future, and to be able to help their poorer neighbors,
now and then,--this was all they wished, and this was easily
accomplished. In past years, two or three other doctors had settled in
the town; but after a few months of trial they had closed their offices
and gone away, because not one of Dr. Adams's patients could be
tempted to leave him, and his lively black horse and shabby buggy
were seen flying about the streets, while their shiny new carriages
either stood idle in their stables, or were taken out