Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1878-05-08
Dark DAYS.

Dark Days.
London, on the very hottest of July day.
not, perhaps, the place of all Other
where one would choose to live, awav
suppoSlng that the power of choice wer
left us. We should find the glare on tn
pavements and on the white houses, tb
close. oppressive atmosphere, the brow
md wilhered grass in the squares, perfect
y lnsupportable after few days, and w
should fly to Cowes or Ryle, to Norwa,
or New York, for change and refresh
mrnt.
But if, like Polly Marker and "th
boys" we were monryless, homeless
iriendless. outside the great Babylon, W,
we should probably spend the July day.
us she did, and revel, rs the hoys used tt
do, in the "j)ly heat"
Polly was the eldest of the family b,
four years and if you care to look ut her,
as she stands clinging to the ratings o
the square. there is something in her face
that makes you wish to look again
Straight soft hair laid smoothly on each
side of narrow head, surmounted by a
sunbonnrt; ii wide, sal mouth and hnmor-
Gus eyes that belize by their sudden twink.
ling glances. the story of the face. he
ewes are II family feature, moreover. only
Dicks were larger, and the lashes that
shade them are more indisputaby Irish,
and are Polly s pride. Dick is standiey.
with his hands in his pockets, leaning
against lamp post whistling, while the
baby lies lazily at her feet, sucking the
brushes out of his shoe black box-for the
whole family are waiting for II job.
Suddenly Polly, who has been gazing
intently and wislfully at the geranlums in
the square, and making believe she is a
lady and this is her own garden. drops
her hands hastily from the railings and
retreats backward toward the BOYS as the
square gardener shakes his fist at her from
the inside. And if YOU could give me II
few flowers for the evening, Stanley, she
saws in loud clear voice-for she was
still making believe" that this is her
own gardener-I shall be much obliged.
on, | say, Polly, says Dick, remon-
str'tingly, as the baby sets up II howl Of
anguish, you're just tresding on him, you
know. and you should just look where you
are going, you know.
Poly's dream thus rudely disturbed, she
becomes proSaic instantly; picks up the
box she has upset, gives the baby IN ad-
montory slap, and thumps him down on
the pavement some two yards further off.
where he cries privately, in silly. whim-
rcring way for some minutes, and then
bgins laborious progress toward the
backing box again.
Suddenly out of Green street, over
which the afternoon shadows were folding
down, IL h'rse came picking its way dain-
tily into quiet, sunny, Grosvenor squire.
The horse WAS wicked looking chestnut,
and it came up the cenler of the road.
tossing its pretty head, and stepping high
with its four white stockinged feet. The
whole family rose with one accord, and
Polly pointed out the beautiful creature
for baby's admiration, but Dick had caught
sight OF the rider, and was standing mo.
tionless. The rider was a lady--young
enough in reality but old to Dick, to whom
twenty-one lay in such very dim future
She sat her horse well and lightly. looking
straight between the delicate, sensitive
ears. She had golden brown hair that
the sun caught and gilded into II glory,
and she had brown eyes that lighted upon
lhC IuCI SlOO'l
watching her. Her groom had Just turned
the corner rs she beckoned TO Dick and
handler him letter.
Will you drop that into the letter-box
for mep she said, and here isl sxpence.
Dick took the letter, touching his rag
ged curls to the sweet eyes and shining
f,ce; then he closed his hand on the mon.
ev, and darled across the road to drop the
letter into the box
The lady turned and called out, THANK
you." as she passed him, canlcring out of
the square. and smiled again, leaving
Dick gazing after her entranced.
What II beautiful lady! he said. going
back to Polly's side, with sigh.
Yes, very pretty, said Polly; and, my!
what horse
She had such a low voice!
Yes, precious low, said Polly; /
couldn't hear word she said. My how
could she come a-walking into the square
like tha!-wouldn' have been canter-
ing just?
Hadn't we better 60 homep ventured
Dick, presently; there's no use standing
here all day.
How much did she give youp said prac-
tical Polly, stretching out her hand to
touch the one that covered the sixpence
Sixpenre, said Dick, opening his fin
gers; but here was II mistake somewhere
for in the middle of his hot little palm lay
II shining sovereign, and all the glory Of
the sinking sun seemed to flicker in little
shafts of light ON the piece of gold.
Shut your band. tight, said Polly. in a
breathles whisper-the gardener, you
know, and we'll 90 home.
But mayn we spend the sixpence? said
Dick, aggrieved, while his lips quivered-
Just for dinner, Polly?
OF course, said Polly SHARPLY; we'll
change it and have dinner, and keep the
change; only don't cry. Dickie, and ifI
you Il take baby. I'll carry the box.
They sauntered along, in n little process
sion Of three, all down Green street and
into dirtier. dretrier part of the town
little dinner shop that Polly knew, where
the procession stopped.
Two slices OF bread and two bacons,
said Polly, to whom the possession of the
sovereign impaired u novel dignity, and
ha porth of milk, and this to change, Mrs.
Nixon.
Mrs. Nixon rang the coin down on the
counter in business-like way, and then
looked sharply at Polly for minute, and
said:
You're rich, amt you, my dearp and
where did it come fromp
Oh, we've got 1t to change, said Polly,
and we're to keep the sixpence.
Well! you're honest children, said Mrs.
Nixon kindly, and take after your mother;
SO there's your dinners, and there's the
change--hiheteen blessed shillings and a
sixpence.