Polly of Lady Gay Cottage Part 32

"Oh, splendid!" she cried. "I'm so glad! I did want to help! I was afraid for a minute that you were not going to let me keep the money; but a present has to be kept, doesn't it? Only this wasn't exactly a present, if she did call it so. I'm glad you didn't mean that." She drew a long, satisfied breath.

The Doctor smiled across at his wife over Polly's curls, and her eyes told him he had decided in the wisest way.

They were still talking when Colonel Gresham and his family drove in.

Polly called a cheery, "Hullo, David!" and then, of course, they all had to come over and tell her how glad they were to see her.

It was late before the mother could get her nestling snug for the night; but Polly was at home again, and n.o.body cared.

CHAPTER XIX

TWO LETTERS

A week after Polly's return, Lady Gay Cottage was sold. Polly brought the news from Colonel Gresham's, the Colonel having heard it downtown.

"Now what shall we do?" she questioned, atop of the announcement.

"Colonel Gresham says we can all come over there."

Dr. Dudley laughed. So did his wife, but she grew grave almost at once.

"Very likely we can stay on just the same," was the Doctor's cheerful opinion. "Martin Clapp isn't going to give up his new home and move his family in here; so don't worry about it."

It was as Dr. Dudley prophesied, the tenants could remain, but with this difference,--the rent was raised five dollars a month. The Doctor made light of it; still Polly knew by her mother's face that it would mean a harder pinch on other things.

If only they hadn't bought that new tire! It was delightful to be riding again in the Colonel's beautiful present, yet the shadow that often she detected on her mother's face she attributed to this new trouble, and it worried her. What made it worse, she worried in secret. The thought intruded while she was playing with Leonora and David, it haunted her dreams by night. She began to wonder again if she ought to have gone to live with Uncle Maurice. The question was still undecided when something occurred that seemed to make matters clearer.

She had been up to Mrs. Jocelyn's and was returning home late in the afternoon. As she came in view of the hospital she noticed a small boy standing by the gate. On nearer approach the lad's delicate profile grew familiar, and suddenly she darted forward, crying joyfully:--

"Chris! Oh, Chris!"

He turned weakly, took a step to meet her, and then throwing out his hands dropped to the sidewalk.

With a little scream, Polly was down beside him, moaning:--

"Oh, he's dead! he's dead!"

But in a moment, to her relief, his eyes opened, and he murmured, "Polly!"

A physician, driving up to the hospital entrance, took the boy in his arms, and carried him inside.

The office was empty, but presently Dr. Dudley returned to find a patient on his couch, and Polly acting as nurse.

"Daddy's gone away," the lad explained, "and he sent word to have me come right up here and see you. I've got a letter"--fumbling for the inner pocket of his coat. Finally, with Polly's help, he brought forth a closely sealed envelope directed to Dr. Dudley.

The physician laid it aside until his patient could be made more comfortable, and at once administered a light restorative.

Chris had not been well for a good while, he admitted, and had been separated from "daddy" much of the time since leaving Fair Harbor. In the brief little note that had come to him, his father had not said where he was going, but as business would be likely to keep him away for some months he directed him to come to Dr. Dudley and deliver the letter in person.

"Yes, we will have him up in the convalescent ward," the physician replied, in response to Polly's question, and he stepped to the telephone, to order a bed prepared for him at once.

Polly saw a shadow of anxiety on the pale little face, and began to rea.s.sure him.

"It is lovely up there, and you'll get well right away and have such good times. I'm over here every day, sometimes two or three times a day--I shall be now to see you."

And so the lonely heart was comforted.

The day was full of work for Dr. Dudley, and Mr. Morrow's letter stayed unopened in his pocket until his evening rounds had been made.

In his first leisure moment, he cut the envelope and skimmed the closely written pages. He read them twice before he laid them down.

Then, leaning back in his chair, he pondered the strange situation.

Finally he took up the letter and read it through again. It bore neither date nor address nor signature, and began abruptly.

DEAR DOCTOR,--

Here I am!--up for two years, and G.o.d only knows what will become of my boy! He is, as you know, an abnormally sensitive child, who will grieve for "daddy" to the breaking of his heart, unless you open your heart and home and take him in. You were good to him once, and he loves you and your Polly. I am sure he would be happy with you. Will you do this kindness for me? No, not for me,--a man who has not the slightest claim upon you and who would not deserve it if he had,--but for the sake of his angel mother, for the sake of the poor little kid himself, perhaps you will not refuse.

Chris does not know where I am, and he must not be told,--_he must never know_. When my two years are up, we will go somewhere and begin life all over again. I have had enough of this infernal business, and am going to live straight as soon as I get another chance. In the six years I have been at it I have been lucky, many times slipping out of the very teeth of the law, until they called me "Slippery 'Chard." I thought I was smart enough to elude anybody; but this last job was my undoing. My partner was too fond of talk and whiskey--he gave us away easy, and we're both out of it for these two years. I ought to have known better than to take him on.

It cut me up to have to lie to your little girl when she recognized me at Midvale--I guess I deserve all that's coming to me! I'm sorry about that pin Chris gave to Polly.

The other fellow went through those rooms, and, of course, took the pansy with the rest. I knew it soon as I spied it, and was going to send it back to her; but they didn't give me time enough, and now it is gone. Perhaps you will think it is just as well, for it was swiped to start with. Buy her another, something pretty, and I'll foot the bill. You needn't be afraid of the money--it is as honest as yours. It was left the boy by his mother, and I have never touched it, so there's quite a neat little sum now. Charge me whatever you please for the kid's board. I'm willing to leave it to you, and I will see that you are paid promptly every month.

If you'll only take care of him, and bring him up right, and not let him know that his father is a criminal, I will bless you to my last breath--as if my blessing could be worth anything to such a man as you! Well, the best it is you shall have it, and that is all I can do. If it hadn't been for Chris and his faith in me I should have gone to h.e.l.l long ago--I've been down to the gates, as it was. It isn't the fault of my rearing,--my folks were all right, they trained me, they educated me, they loved me. I am the first to sully the name, but I've kept the name itself out of the mud as much as possible. Write to Peter Connell, New York, and I shall get the word.

Think what it would mean to you to be shut away from your little girl, never to look on her for two long years, with no decent friend to care for her--and then keep my little Chris! Oh, Doctor, keep him, and don't let him know about me!

Good-bye.

Richard Morrow was wise when in his extremity he turned to Dr. Dudley.

The Doctor's heart was big and always ready to open its door to anybody in distress of body or mind. Of course, little Chris stayed--at the hospital until he was strong again, then in the physician's own home.

The lad grieved for his father, Polly often finding him in some obscure corner reading over with tears his latest note from "daddy."

"I can't make it seem right that he doesn't come to see me just once,"

he complained to Polly. "I should think he might get away from his business for a little tiny while,--ten minutes or so,--even if he went back on the next train. It isn't a bit like daddy,--not a single bit!"

And Polly, able to understand it no better than he, would strive to comfort him.

Sometimes Mrs. Dudley wondered if, after all, it would not have been really kinder to tell the little lad the truth.

Nothing was said to Polly about the boy's board, and this gave her an additional anxiety. He had now the appet.i.te of a young convalescent who was rapidly gaining strength, and Polly watched his plate at mealtime with dismay in her heart. She would zealously try to curb her own appet.i.te, but found it a difficult task, and finally, in desperation, she made a weightier decision, and then ate what she pleased and as much, as seemed proper for the short time that remained. For, at last, after days of argument with herself, when both sides of the question were, as she honestly believed, fairly dealt with, Polly concluded to write to Uncle Maurice.

The time had been set for a Wednesday morning, but was postponed until afternoon, and then three o'clock came before Polly went about it.

Chris had proposed going over to the convalescent ward for a little visit; but Polly was in no visiting mood, so she had allowed him to go alone.

Slowly she mounted the stairs to her own room. Even now she was tempted to put off writing until to-morrow. Perhaps so long afterwards Uncle Maurice would not be ready to welcome her. But in her heart she knew this was false reasoning, and with a catch in her breath she sat down by her small writing desk, and pulled out paper and envelopes.

It was some minutes before she started to write.