The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1894-04-20
A HOME MISSIONARY.
How Polly's Hopes Of Doing Great
Things Were Realized.

dreamed ever since she was little tot
in pinafores of being a missionary on
''the burning plains of India" like
Harriet Newell; of going to nurse
wounded soldiers fighting in a grand
cause, like Florence Nightingale; of
leading great crusade against wrong,
like Frances Willard. But there seemed
little probability that these dreams
would be realized.
At the age of sixteen she was just
plain Polly Hopkins, with snub nose
and freckles. Not that she was an
ugly girl; by no means. She was as
fresh and wholesome as peach that
has ripened Ill a sunny garden. Her
figure was good, her teeth were white
and even, and her hair, though 1t was
undeniably red, was rich and album
dant. But Polly was dissatisfied with
the likeness reflected by her little look
ing-glass She adored great black
flashing eyes, and raven locks, and
pallor, and classical features Nobody
would ever take her for heroine, she
was sure. She was, in her own estima-
ton, much better fitted to be milk
maid.
But Polly suddenly began to look
less in the glass and more at her duty
as daughter and sister. She had been
to the village circulating-ibrary, one
day, and was returning through the
one long street OF Bakerville, on her
way to the little red cottage where
''the Hopkinses' lived. She had '"The
Wide, Wide World in her hand, and
was reading it's first pages with the
same interest that girls used to feel
forty years ago in the fascinating
story Suddenly she heard her pa
tronymic pronounced by an unfamiliar
voice.
"Hopkins?" said another voice.
''Yes," was the reply, George Hop
kins He's limb, an no mistake.
shouldn't be at all surprised if he was
concerned in that post Office business.
There was chestnut tree on the
other side of the wall that skirted the
street, and somebody was looking for
nuts, unaware that the conversation
was being overheard
Polly's heart seemed to stop beating
for an instant, then to go plunging on
as if it would suffocate her. That post
office business! Well she knew to
what the gossip referred. The post
office had been robbed not long before
of an insignificant sum-five or ten dol
lars-and it was currently reported
that certain boys were implicated in
the affair.
There were boys in Baskerville, as in
all villages, who had the reputation of
being scamps and dscalawags-boys who
robbed watermelon patches, nlillSed
cows on the sly, stoned the windows of
vacant houses. and frightened lone wom-
en- out of their seven senses. Polly had
| never dreamed that George was one of
of these; she did not now believe it; yet
| where there is much smoke there must
be some fire. George must have been
associating with companions that he
would be ashamed of if he were found
with them. He must have secrets from
his sister and mother. How far he had
gone in forbidden paths Polly had no
means of guessing. She could not con.
fide her trouble to her mother, for she,
poor lady! was an invalid from heart
trouble, and had to be guarded from
| all excitement.
All that | have written flashed
through the girls mind in the moment
after hearing her brothers name pro-
nounced by the unknown nutters. She
hurried home, her book forgotten, her
mind full of new and terrible fear.
Polly had stanch and wise friend,
one of her teachers in the high school,
Miss Weymouth. To her she went
with her trouble, the next day. School
was over, and Miss Weymouth pro-
posed a walk.
1--WE can talk as we go along" she
| said ''The fresh air will help us to a
more sane under the open sky,
| think"
1t was a crisp November day, with
nothing dreary in it's aspect. The
grass was still lush and green. here
and there belated buttereup showed
a golden disk, blue asters still clustered
by the old lichened walls, the chicka-
dees were calling cheerily in the grove
that the friends approached, and a
partridge whirred suddenly as they
passed in among the oaks and ever
greens.
81 am glad you have walked up" said
the teacher suddenly
Walked upp" echoed Polly.
Eyes, from your dreams of far-away
exploits, of missionarying, and preach
ing, and nursing imaginary heroes"
Don't you believe it is noble thing
to be missionary"
"Ohl yes, by all means; but not nee
essarily foreign missionary. The
home field has its claims too; pressing
claims, in many instances"
"You mean there is work for me to
do at home" said Polly. Then she told
Miss Weymouth all she had heard.
George needs a sister," said the
lady, looking intently into Polly's anx-
ious face.
"Tell me, Miss Weymouth, what can
do?"
"Fascinate him. Make home so
bright, so beautiful, that it will eclipse
every other place. Has he any special
tastes?"
"He likes chess, but it's the pokiest
game, l think-I never have patience
to play it; and he used to be always
fussing with his flute till / made so
much fun of it that he gave it up He
likes animals, too; he would bring
home every miserable cur that hap
pens to follow him, if would let him.
He seems to have taste for misery in
general You should see the gamins
he used to pick up and make friends of!