Polly | Page 2

were lying flat out in the shade which the wide eaves
of the house afforded. There was a flower garden in front, and a wide
gravel sweep, and a tennis court and croquet lawn, and a rose arbor,
and even a great, wide, cool-looking tent. But as far as human life was
concerned the whole place looked absolutely deserted. The pigeons
cooed languidly, and the dogs yapped and yawned, and made ferocious
snaps at audacious and troublesome flies. But no one handled the tennis
bats, nor took up the croquet mallets; no one stopped to admire the
roses, and no one entered the cool, inviting tent. The whole place might
have been dead, as far as human life was concerned; and although the
smoke did ascend straight up from the kitchen chimney, a vagrant or a
tramp might have been tempted to enter the house by the open hall door,
were it not protected by the lazy dogs.
Up, however, by the hedge, at the other side of the kitchen garden,
could be heard just then the crackle of a bough, the rustle of a dress,
and a short, smothered, impatient exclamation. And had anyone peered
very close they would have seen lying flat in the long grasses a tall,
slender, half-grown girl, with dark eyes and rosy cheeks, and tangled
curly rebellious locks. She had one arm raised, and was drawing herself
deliberately an inch at a time along the smooth grass. Several birds had
taken refuge in this fragrant hedge of hawthorn and wild roses. They

were talking to one another, keeping up a perpetual chatter; but
whenever the girl stirred a twig, or disturbed a branch, they stopped,
looking around them in alarm, but none of them as yet seeing the prone,
slim figure, which was, indeed, almost covered by the grasses. Perfect
stillness once more--the birds resumed their conversation, and the girl
made another slight movement forward. This time she disturbed no
twig, and interrupted none of the bird gossip. She was near, very near, a
tempting green bough, and on the bough sat two full-grown lovely
thrushes; they were not singing, but were holding a very gentle and
affectionate conversation, sitting close together, and looking at one
another out of their bright eyes, and now and then kissing each other
with that loving little peck which means a great deal in bird life.
The girl felt her heart beating with excitement--the birds were within a
few inches of her--she could see their breasts heaving as they talked.
Her own eyes were as bright as theirs with excitement; she got quite
under them, made a sudden upward, dexterous movement, and laid a
warm, detaining hand on each thrush. The deed was done--the little
prisoners were secured. She gave a low laugh of ecstasy, and sitting
upright in the long grass, began gently to fondle her prey, cooing as she
talked to them, and trying to coax the terrified little prisoners to accept
some kisses from her dainty red lips.
"Poll! Where's Polly Parrot?--Poll--Poll--Poll!" came a chorus of voices.
"Poll, you're wanted at the house this minute. Where are you
hiding?--You're wanted at home this minute! Polly Parrot--where are
you, Polly?"
"Oh, bother!" exclaimed the girl under her breath; "then I must let you
go, darlings, and I never, never had two of you in my arms at the same
moment before. It's always so. I'm always interrupted when I'm
enjoying ecstasy. Well, good-by, sweets. Be happy--bless you,
darlings!"
She blew a kiss to the released and delighted thrushes, and stood
upright, looking very lanky and cross and disreputable, with bits of
grass and twig sticking in her hair, and messing and staining her faded,
washed cotton frock.

"Now, what are you up to, you scamps?--can't you let a body be?"
"Oh, Polly!"
Two little figures came tumbling down the gravel walk at the other side
of the wire fence. They were hot and panting, and both destitute of hats.
"Polly, you're wanted at the house. Helen says so; there's a b-b-baby
come. Polly Perkins--Poll Parrot, you'd better come home at once,
there's a new b-b-baby just come!"
"A what?" said Polly. She vaulted the dyke, cleared the fence, and
kneeling on the ground beside her two excited, panting little brothers,
flung a hot, detaining arm round each.
"A baby! it isn't true, Bunny? it isn't true, Bob? A real live baby? Not a
doll! a baby that will scream and wriggle up its face! But it can't be. Oh,
heavenly! oh, delicious! But it can't be true, it can't! You're always
making up stories, Bunny!"
"Not this time," said Bunny. "You tell her, Bob--she'll believe you. I
heard it yelling--oh, didn't it yell, just! And Helen came, and said to
send Polly in. Helen was crying, I don't