Polly of the Circus Part 16

She was interrupted by Douglas, who came from the house. "h.e.l.lo, Strong, back again?" he asked, in some surprise. Polly remained with her eyes fixed upon the deacon, searching for some way of escape. The pastor approached; she burst into nervous laughter. "What's the joke?" Douglas asked.

"It's only a little surprise that the deacon and I are planning." She tried to control the catch in her voice. "You'll know about it soon, won't he, deacon? Good afternoon, Mr. Strong!" She flew into the house, laughing hysterically.

Douglas followed her to the steps with a puzzled frown. It was unlike Polly to give way to her moods before others. "Have you gentlemen changed your minds about the little girl staying on?" he asked, uneasily.

"It's all right now," said Strong, seating himself with a complacent air.

"All right? How so?" questioned Douglas, more and more puzzled by the deacon's evident satisfaction.

"Because," said Strong, rising and facing the pastor, "because your circus-ridin' gal is goin' to leave you of her own accord."

"Have you been talking to that girl?" asked Douglas, sternly.

"I have," said Strong, holding his ground.

"See here, deacon, if you've been browbeating that child, I may forget that I'm a minister." The knuckles on Douglas's large fists grew whiter.

"She's goin', I tell yer, and it ain't because of what I said either.

She's goin' back to the circus."

"I don't believe you."

"You would a-believed me if you'd seen the fellow that was just a-callin' on her, and her a-huggin' and a-kissin' of him and a-promisin'

that she'd be a-waitin' for him here when he come back."

"You lie!" cried Douglas, taking a step toward the retreating deacon.

"There's the fellow now," cried Strong, as he pointed to the gate.

"Suppose you ask him afore yer call me a liar."

Douglas turned quickly and saw Jim approaching. His face lighted up with relief at the sight of the big, lumbering fellow.

"How are yer, Mr. Douglas?" said Jim, awkwardly.

"You've seen Polly?" asked Douglas, shaking Jim cordially by the hand.

"Yes, I've seen her."

"The deacon here has an idea that Polly is going back to the circus with you." He nodded toward Strong, almost laughing at the surprise in store for him.

"Back to the circus?" asked Jim.

"Did she say anything to you about it?" He was worried by the bewilderment in Jim's manner.

Before Jim could reply, Polly, who had reached the steps in time to catch the last few words, slipped quickly between them. She wore her coat and hat, and carried a small brown satchel.

"Of course I did, didn't I, Jim?" she said, turning her back upon the pastor and motioning to Jim not to answer. Douglas gazed at her in astonishment.

"What do you mean?" he asked in a hoa.r.s.e, strained voice. He glanced at the coat and hat. "Where are you going?"

Polly avoided his eyes and continued nervously to Jim.

"What made you come back? Why didn't you wait for me down the street?

Now, you've spoiled everything." She pretended to be very vexed with him. The big fellow looked puzzled. He tried to protest, but she put a warning finger to her lips and pressed the little brown satchel into his hand. "It's no use," she went on hurriedly. "We might as well tell them everything now." She turned to Douglas and pretended to laugh. "You have found us out."

The deacons were slightly uneasy; the frown on Douglas's forehead was deepening.

"Oh, see how serious he looks," she teased, with a toss of her head toward the grim-visaged pastor.

"Is this some trick?" he demanded, sternly.

"Don't be angry," she pleaded. "Wish me luck."

She held out one small hand; he did not take it. She wavered, then she felt the eyes of the deacons upon her. Courage returned and she spoke in a firm, clear voice: "I am going to run away."

Douglas stepped before her and studied her keenly.

"Run away?" he exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes, to the circus with Jim."

"You couldn't DO such a thing," he answered, excitedly. "Why, only a moment ago you told me you would never leave me."

"Oh, but that was a moment ago," she cried, in a strained, high voice.

"That was before Jim came. You see, I didn't know HOW I felt until I saw Jim and heard all about my old friends, how Barker is keeping my place for me, and how they all want to see me. And I want to see them, and to hear the music and the laughter and the clown songs--Oh, the clown songs!" She waltzed about, humming the s.n.a.t.c.h of melody that Mandy had heard the morning that Polly first woke in the parsonage.

"Ting, ling.

That's how the bells ring, Ting, ling, pretty young thing."

She paused, her hands clasped behind her head, and gazed at them with a brave, little smile. "Oh, it's going to be fine! Fine!"

"You don't know what you're doing," said Douglas. He seized her roughly by the arm. Pain was making him brutal. "I won't LET you go! Do you hear me? I won't--not until you've thought it over."

"I have thought it over," Polly answered, meeting his eyes and trying to speak lightly. Her lips trembled. She could not bear for him to think her so ungrateful. She remembered his great kindness; the many thoughtful acts that had made the past year so precious to her.

"You've been awfully good to me, Mr. John." She tried to choke back a sob. "I'll never forget it--never! I'll always feel the same toward you.

But you mustn't ask me to stay. I want to get back to them that knew me first--to my OWN! Circus folks aren't cut out for parsons' homes, and I was born in the circus. I love it--I love it!" She felt her strength going, and cried out wildly: "I want Bingo! I want to go round and round the ring! I want the lights and the music and the hoops! I want the shrieks of the animals, and the rumble of the wheels in the plains at night! I want to ride in the big parade! I want to live and die--just die--as circus folks die! I want to go back! I want to go back!"

She put out one trembling hand to Jim and rushed quickly through the gate laughing and sobbing hysterically and calling to him to follow.

Chapter XII

LONELY days followed Polly's desertion of the parsonage. Mandy went about her duties very quietly, feeling that the little comments which once amused the pastor had now become an interruption to thoughts in which she had no part. He would sit for hours with his head in his hands, taking no notice of what pa.s.sed before him. She tried to think of new dishes to tempt his appet.i.te, and shook her head sadly as she bore the untasted food back to the kitchen.

She sometimes found a portfolio of drawings lying open upon his study table. She remembered the zeal with which he had planned to remodel the church and parsonage, when he first came to them; how his enthusiasm had gradually died for lack of encouragement; and how he had at last put his books in a cupboard, where they grew dusty from long neglect. She marvelled at their reappearance now, but something in his set, far-away look made her afraid to inquire. Thus she went on from day to day, growing more impatient with Hasty and more silent with the pastor.

Mandy needed humor and companionship to oil the wheels of her humdrum life; there was no more laughter in the house, and she began to droop.