Polly Olivers Problem | Page 6

have done for them."
"Of course; it is n't every day they can secure an--an--elderly Juno like
you to carve meat for them, or a--well, just for the sake of completing
the figure of speech--a blooming Hebe like me (I 've always wondered
why it was n't Shebe!) to dispense their tea and coffee; to say nothing of
broma for Mr. Talbot, cocoa for Mr. Greenwood, cambric tea for Mrs.
Hastings, and hot water for the Darlings. I have to keep a schedule, and
refer to it three times a day. This alone shows that boarders are n't my
vocation."
A bit of conversation gives the clue to character so easily that Mrs.
Oliver and her daughter need little more description. You can see the
pretty, fragile mother resting among her pillows, and I need only tell
you that her dress is always black, her smile patient, her eyes full of
peace, and her hands never idle save in this one daily resting-hour
prescribed by the determined Miss Polly, who mounts guard during the
appointed time like a jailer who expects his prisoner to escape if he
removes his eagle eye for an instant.
The aforesaid impetuous Miss Polly has also told you something of
herself in this brief interview. She is evidently a person who feels
matters rather strongly, and who is wont to state them in the strongest
terms she knows. Every word she utters shows you that, young as she
looks, she is the real head of the family, and that her vigorous
independence of thought and speech must be the result of more care
and responsibility than ordinarily fall to the lot of a girl of sixteen.
Certain of her remarks must be taken with a grain of salt. Her assertion

of willingness to blow up innocent boarders in their beds would seem,
for instance, to indicate a vixenish and vindictive sort of temper quite
unwarranted by the circumstances; but a glance at the girl herself
contradicts the thought.
Item: A firm chin. She will take her own way if she can possibly get it;
but item; a sweet, lovable mouth framed in dimples; a mouth that
breaks into smiles at the slightest provocation, no matter how dreary
the outlook; a mouth that quivers at the first tender word, and so the
best of all correctives to the determined little chin below.
Item: A distinctly saucy nose; an aggressive, impertinent, spirited little
nose, with a few freckles on it; a nose that probably leads its possessor
into trouble occasionally.
Item: Two bright eyes, a trifle overproud and willful, perhaps, but
candid and full of laughter.
Item: A head of brilliant, auburn hair; lively, independent, frisky hair,
each glittering thread standing out by itself and asserting its own
individuality; tempestuous hair that never "stays put;" capricious hair
that escapes hairpins and comes down unexpectedly; hoydenish hair
that makes the meekest hats look daring.
For the rest, a firm, round figure, no angles, everything, including
elbows, in curves; blooming cheeks and smooth-skinned,
taper-fingered hands tanned a very honest brown,--the hands of a
person who loves beauty.
Polly Oliver's love of beautiful things was a passion, and one that had
little gratification; but luckily, though good music, pictures, china,
furniture, and "purple and fine linen" were all conspicuous by their
absence, she could feast without money and without price on the
changeful loveliness of the Santa Ynez mountains, the sapphire tints of
the placid Pacific, and the gorgeous splendor of the Californian
wild-flowers, so that her sense of beauty never starved.
Her hand was visible in the modest sitting-room where she now sat

with her mother; for it was pretty and homelike, although its simple
decorations and furnishings had been brought together little by little
during a period of two years; so that the first installments were all worn
out, Polly was wont to remark plaintively, before the last additions
made their appearance.
The straw matting had Japanese figures on it, while a number of rugs
covered the worn places, and gave it an opulent look. The table-covers,
curtains, and portières were of blue jean worked in outline embroidery,
and Mrs. Oliver's couch had as many pillows as that of an oriental
princess; for Polly's summers were spent camping in a cañon, and she
embroidered sofa-cushions and draperies with frenzy during these
weeks of out-of-door life.
Upon the cottage piano was a blue Canton ginger-jar filled with
branches of feathery bamboo that spread its lace-like foliage far and
wide over the ceiling and walls, quite covering the large spot where the
roof had leaked. Various stalks of tropical-looking palms, distributed
artistically about, concealed the gaping wounds in the walls, inflicted
by the Benton children, who had once occupied this same apartment.
Mexican water-jars, bearing peacock feathers, screened Mr. Benton's
two favorite