Polly | Page 3

dogs, and they surrounded her, impeding her progress.
"Not a bark out of one of you," she said, sternly, "lie down--go to sleep. If you even give a yelp I'll come out by and by and beat you. Oh, Alice, what is it? What's the matter?"
A maid servant was standing in the wide, square hall.
"What is it, Alice? What is wrong? There's a new baby--I'm delighted at that. But why is Helen crying, and--oh!--oh!--what does it mean--you are crying, too, Alice."
"It's--Miss Polly, I can't tell you," began the girl. She threw her apron over her head, and sobbed loudly. "We didn't know where you was, miss--it's, it's--We have been looking for you everywhere, miss. Why, Miss Polly, you're as white, as white--Don't take on now, miss, dear."
"You needn't say any more," gasped Polly, sinking down into a garden chair. "I'm not going to faint, or do anything silly. And I'm not going to cry either. Where's Helen? If there's anything bad she'll tell me. Oh, do stop making that horrid noise, Alice, you irritate me so dreadfully!"
Alice dashed out of the open door, and Polly heard her sobbing again, and talking frantically to the dogs. There was no other sound of any sort. The intense stillness of the house had a half-stunning, half-calming effect on the startled child. She rose, and walked slowly upstairs to the first landing.
"Polly," said her sister Helen, "you've come at last. Where were you hiding?--oh, poor Polly!"
"Where's mother?" said Polly. "I want her--let me go to her--let me go to her at once, Nell."
"Oh, Polly----"
Helen's sobs came now, loud, deep, and distressful. There was a new baby--but no mother for Polly any more.
CHAPTER II.
ALL ABOUT THE FAMILY.
Dr. Maybright had eight children, and the sweetest and most attractive wife of any man in the neighborhood. He had a considerable country practice, was popular among his patients, and he and his were adored by the villagers, for the Maybrights had lived in the neighborhood of the little village of Tyrsley Dale for many generations. Dr. Maybright's father had ministered to the temporal wants of the fathers and mothers of these very same villagers; and his father before him had also been in the profession, and had done his best for the inhabitants of Tyrsley Dale. It was little wonder, therefore, that the simple folks who lived in the little antiquated village on the borders of one of our great southern moors should have thought that to the Maybrights alone of the whole race of mankind had been given the art of healing.
For three or four generations the Maybright family had lived at Sleepy Hollow, which was the name of the square gray house, with its large vegetable garden, its sheltered clump of forest trees, and its cultivated flower and pleasure grounds. Here, in the old nursery, Polly had first opened her bright blue-black eyes; in this house Dr. Maybright's eight children had lived happily, and enjoyed all the sunshine of the happiest of happy childhoods to the full. They were all high-spirited and fearless; each child had a certain amount of individuality. Perhaps Polly was the naughtiest and the most peculiar; but her little spurt of insubordination speedily came to nothing, for mother, without ever being angry, or ever saying anything that could hurt Polly's sensitive feelings, had always, with firm and gentle hand, put an extinguisher on them.
Mother was really, then, the life of the house. She was young to have such tall slips of daughters, and such little wild pickles of sons; and she was so pretty and so merry, and in such ecstasies over a picnic, and so childishly exultant when Helen, or Polly, or Katie, won a prize or did anything the least bit extraordinary, that she was voted the best playfellow in the world.
Mother was never idle, and yet she was always at leisure, and so she managed to obtain the confidences of all the children; she thoroughly understood each individual character, and she led her small brood with silken reins.
Dr. Maybright was a great deal older than his wife. He was a tall man, still very erect in his figure, with square shoulders, and a keen, bright, kindly face. He had a large practice, extending over many miles, and although he had not the experience which life in a city would have given him, he was a very clever physician, and many of his brothers in the profession prophesied eminence for him whenever he chose to come forward and take it. Dr. Maybright was often absent from home all day long, sometimes also in the dead of night the children heard his carriage wheels as they bowled away on some errand of mercy. Polly always thought of her father as a sort of angel of healing, who came here, there, and everywhere,