Princess Pollys Gay Winter | Page 3

shouted:
"Oh, what a shot! Ye couldn't hit the side of the house!"
That so maddened Gwen, that she forgot to run, and in the middle of
the street, stood stamping her foot, and shrieking.
Of course Gyp was delighted! If he had not frightened her, he had, at
least, the joy of seeing how angry Gwen could be. He vaulted over a
low wall, and carelessly whistling, went at high speed across the lawn,
toward the river, crossed the bridge, and, as usual, hid in the forest
beyond.
Gwen stood, where he had left her, watching him as he hurried away,
and finally disappeared.
"Horrid thing!" she cried. "How I wish I knew of something I could do
to plague him!"
Gwen was quickly angered, but her anger was never long-lived.
She turned toward home.

"Let him run, if he wants to. Who cares? I don't."
Already she was humming a merry tune.
"I read a story yesterday 'bout a house that had a secret closet in it.
'Twas a fine story, and I guess I'll tell it to the first girl I meet," she
said.
It happened that Rose and Polly were walking down the avenue, on the
way to Sherwood Hall, just as Gwen Harcourt gave up chasing Gyp.
"Hello!" she cried, "I wondered when you'd come to Avondale to live.
How long have you been here?"
"Two weeks," said Rose.
"Why didn't you let me know? I'd have been over to see you long
before this," Gwen replied.
Polly looked at Rose. She knew that Rose was not at all fond of Gwen,
and wondered what reply she would make.
Rose did not have to answer, for Gwen continued:
"Sit down on this wall, and I'll tell you a story. I'll come over to your
house some day this week, but now listen, while we sit here. It's a story
I read yesterday, 'bout a house that had a secret closet, and ours has one,
do you hear?" She leaned forward and pointed her ringer, first at Polly,
then at Rose.
"Our house has a secret closet. Don't you both wish yours had?"
"Why, Gwen Harcourt! What could we do with secret closets?" said
Rose.
"The girl in the story I read was locked into the closet by mistake, and
she couldn't get out!" said Gwen, looking quite as excited as if she were
telling something pleasant. Rose moved uneasily, and Polly shivered.

"Didn't they ever find her?" Polly asked.
"I guess not," said Gwen, "and the funny thing is that the story stopped
right there, so you see I'll never have any idea whether she ever got out
or not."
"Oh, I like pleasant stories," Rose said, as she slipped from the wall. In
an instant Polly stood beside her, and the two turned toward home, but
Gwen had no idea of losing her audience so soon.
"Wait a minute," she cried, "and I'll tell you 'bout the girl that fell into
the ditch, and had to be pulled out by her hair!"
"Oh, don't!" cried Polly, and clapping her hands over her ears, she
turned, and ran at top speed, followed by Rose.
They soon outran Gwen, and were glad to rest.
"Did you ever hear such horrid stories?" Polly asked.
"Never!" cried Rose, "unless it was other stories that she told at other
times. There's the one that she made us listen to when we were over to
Lena Lindsey's one day. The one about the ghost that rode down the
main street every night at twelve."
"Oh, I remember," said Polly. "That was the time that Rob Lindsey said
the shivers ran up and down his spine until his back was all humps! He
said the shivers had become chronic! We laughed at Rob, but even the
funny things he said couldn't drive away the thoughts of the story that
Gwen Harcourt had told."
* * * * * * * *
The bright, sunny days sped as swiftly at Avondale, as they had at the
shore.
Hints of pleasures that already were being planned for the coming
Winter were floating as freely as if the wind carried them, and all over
Avondale, wherever small girls and boys were at play, one might hear

scraps of conversation that told of anticipated pleasures.
Some of the gossip reached Aunt Judith's cottage, and she resolved to
do a bit of entertaining, if not on the grand scale in which her neighbors
indulged, at least in a manner that her little friends would enjoy.
She laughed softly as she moved about the tiny rooms, and thought of
the quaint, merry party that would at least be original.
"The cottage is small, and so it will have to be a little party, but we'll
call it 'small and select,'"