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Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Part 1 - Chapter 12. Potatoes--Minus Point |
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_ Part 1#CHAPTER XII. POTATOES--MINUS POINT Dr. Maybright had reason again to congratulate himself when he sat down to a humble dinner of boiled potatoes. "If this regimen continues for a week," he said, under his breath, "we must really resort to tonics. I perceive I did Polly a gross injustice. She does not mean to make us ill with rich living." The doctor ate his potatoes with extreme cheerfulness, remarking as he did so on their nutritive qualities, and explaining to his discontented family how many people lived on these excellent roots. "The only thing we want," he said, "is a red herring; we might then have that most celebrated of all Irish dishes--'potatoes and point.'" "Do tell us what that is, father," said Helen, who was anxious to draw the direful glances of the rest of the family from poor Polly. "'Potatoes and point,'" said Dr. Maybright, raising his head for a moment, while a droll glance filled his eye, "is a simple but economical form of diet. The herring is hung by a string over the center of the board, and each person before he eats his potato points it at the herring; by so doing a subtle flavor of herring is supposed to be imparted to the potato. The herring lasts for some time, so the diet is really a cheap one. Poll, dear, what is the matter? I never saw these excellent apples of the earth better cooked." Polly was silent; her blushing cheeks alone betrayed her. She was determined to make a good meal, and was sustained by the consciousness that she had not betrayed Maggie, and the hope that the apple-tart would prove excellent. It certainly was a noble apple-pie, and the faces of the children quite cheered up at the sight of it. They were very hungry, and were not particular as to the quality of the crust. Mrs. White's cream, too, was delicious, so the second part of Polly's first dinner quite turned out a success. After the meal had come to an end, Helen called her second sister aside. "Polly," she said, "I think we ought to speak to father now about the strangers' coming. Time is going on, and if they come we ought to begin to prepare for them, and the more I think of it the more sure I am that they ought to come." "All right," said Polly. "Only, is this a good time to speak to father? For I am quite sure he must be vexed with me." "You must not think so, Polly," said Helen, kissing her. "Father has given you a week to try to do your best in, and he won't say anything one way or another until the time is up. Come into his study now, for I know he is there, and we really ought to speak to him." Polly's face was still flushed, but the Doctor, who had absolutely forgotten the simplicity of his late meal, received both the girls with equal affection. "Well, my loves," he said, "can I do anything for you? I am going for a pleasant drive into the country this afternoon. Would you both like to come?" "I should very much," said Helen; but Polly, with a somewhat important little sigh, remarked that household matters would keep her at home. "Well, my dear, you must please yourself. But can I do anything for either of you now? You both look full of business." "We are, father," said Polly, who was always the impetuous one. "We want to know if Paul and Virginia may come." "My dear, this is the second time you have spoken to me of those deserted orphans. I don't understand you." "It is this, father," explained Helen. "We think the children from Australia--the children mother was arranging about--might come here still. We mean that Polly and I would like them to come, and that we would do our best for them. We think, Polly and I do, that mother, even though she is not here, would still like the strangers to come." "Sit down, Helen," said the Doctor; the harassed look had once again come across his face, and even Polly noticed the dimness in his eyes. "You must not undertake too much, you two," he said. "You are only children. You are at an age to miss your mother at every turn. We had arranged to have a boy and girl from Australia to live here, but when your mother--your mother was taken--I gave up the idea. It was too late to stop their coming to England, but I think I can provide a temporary home for them when they get to London. You need not trouble your head about the strange children, Nell." "It is not that," said Polly. "We don't know them yet, so of course we don't love them, but we wish them to come here, because we wish for their money. It will be eight pounds a week; just what you spend on the house, you know, father." "What a little economist!" said Dr. Maybright, stretching out his hand and drawing Polly to him. "Yes, I was to receive L400 a year for the children, and it would have been a help, certainly it would have been a help by and by. Still, my dear girls, I don't see how it is to be managed." "But really, father, we are so many that two more make very little difference," explained Helen. "Polly and I are going to try hard to be steady and good, and we think it would certainly please mother if you let the strangers come here, and we tried to make them happy. If you would meet them, father, and bring them here just at first, we might see how we got on." "I might," said the Doctor in a meditative voice, "and L400 is a good deal of money. It is not easily earned, and with a large family it is always wanted. That's what your mother said, and she was very wise. Still, still, children, I keep forgetting how old you are. In reality you are, neither of you, grown up; in reality Polly is quite a child, and you, my wise little Nell, are very little more. I have offended your aunt, Mrs. Cameron, as it is, and what will she say if I yield to you on this point? Still, still----" "Oh, father, don't mind what that tiresome Aunt Maria says or thinks on any subject," said Polly. "Why should we mind her, she wasn't mother's real sister. We scarcely know her at all, and she scarcely knows us. We don't like her, and we are sure she doesn't like us. Why should she spoil our lives, and prevent our helping you? For it would help you to have the strangers here, wouldn't it, father?" "By and by it would," answered the Doctor. "By and by it would help me much." Again the troubled expression came to his face and the dimness was perceptible in his eyes. "You will let us try it, father," said Helen. "We can but fail; girls as young as us have done as much before. I am sure girls as young as we are have done harder things before, so why should not we try?" "I am a foolish old man," said the Doctor. "I suppose I shall be blamed for this, not that it greatly matters. Well, children, let it be as you wish. I will go and meet the boy and girl in London, and bring them to the Hollow. We can have them for a month, and if we fail, children," added the Doctor, a twinkle of amusement overspreading his face, "we won't tell any one but ourselves. It is quite possible that in the future we shall be comparatively poor if we cannot manage to make that boy and girl from Australia comfortable and happy; but Polly there has taught us how to economize, for we can always fall back on potatoes and point." "Oh--oh--oh, father," came from Polly's lips. "That is unkind, dear father," said Helen. But they both hung about his neck and kissed him, and when Dr. Maybright drove away that afternoon on his usual round of visits, his heart felt comparatively light, and he owned to himself that those girls of his, with all their eccentricities, were a great comfort to him. _ |
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