to the boys.”
The boys did not require any elaborate explanation.
Oh, the power of a winsome face! No better than many other good things, but surely one of them, and when it is united to a fair amount of goodness, something to be devoutly thankful for. It is to be feared that if a lumpish, dumpish sort of girl (good as gold, you know, but not suitable for occasions when a fellow’s will has to be caught “on the fly,” and held until it settles to its work),—if that lumpish, dumpish girl had asked the way to Professor Salazar’s house, Edgar Noble would have led her courteously to the turn of the road, lifted his hat, and wished her a pleasant journey.
But Polly was wearing her Sunday dress of brown cloth and a jaunty jacket trimmed with sable (the best bits of an old pelisse of Mrs. Oliver’s). The sun shone on the loose-dropping coil of the waving hair that was only caught in place by a tortoise-shell arrow; the wind blew some of the dazzling tendrils across her forehead; the eyes that glanced up from under her smart little sailor-hat were as blue as sapphires; and Edgar, as he looked, suddenly feared that there might be vicious bulls in the meadows, and did n’t dare as a gentleman to trust Polly alone! He had n’t remembered anything special about her, but after an interval of two years she seemed all at once as desirable as dinner, as tempting as the minstrels, almost as fascinating as the billiards, when one has just money enough in one’s pocket for one’s last week’s bills and none at all for the next!
The boys, as I say, had imagined Edgar’s probable process of reasoning. Polly was standing in the highroad where “a wayfaring man, though a fool,” could look at her; and when Edgar explained that it was his duty to see her safely to her destination, they all bowed to the inevitable. The one called Tony even said that he would be glad to “swap” with him, and the whole party offered to support him in his escort duty if he said the word. He agreed to meet the boys later, as Polly’s quick ear assured her, and having behaved both as a man of honor and knight of chivalry, he started unsuspectingly across the fields with his would-be guardian.
She darted a searching look at him as they walked along.
“Oh, how old and ‘gentlemanly’ you look, Edgar! I feel quite afraid of you!”
“I ‘m glad you do. There used to be a painful lack of reverence in your manners, Miss Polly.”
“There used to be a painful lack of politeness in yours, Mr. Edgar. Oh dear, I meant to begin so nicely with you and astonish you with my new grown-up manners! Now, Edgar, let us begin as if we had just been introduced; if you will try your best not to be provoking, I won’t say a single disagreeable thing.”
“Polly, shall I tell you the truth?”
“You might try; it would be good practice even if you did n’t accomplish anything.”
“How does that remark conform with your late promises? However, I ‘ll be forgiving and see if I receive any reward; I ‘ve tried every other line of action. What I was going to say when you fired that last shot was this: I agree with Jack Howard, who used to say that he would rather quarrel with you than be friends with any other girl.”
“It is nice,” said Polly complacently. “I feel a sort of pleasant glow myself, whenever I ‘ve talked to you a few minutes; but the trouble is that you used to fan that pleasant glow into a raging heat, and then we both got angry.”
“If the present ‘raging heat’ has faded into the ‘pleasant glow,’ I don’t mind telling you that you are very much improved,” said Edgar encouragingly. “Your temper seems much the same, but no one who knew you at fourteen could have foreseen that you would turn out so exceedingly well.”
“Do you mean that I am better looking?” asked Polly, with the excited frankness of sixteen years.
“Exactly.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, Edgar. I ‘m a thousand times obliged. I ‘ve thought so myself, lately; but it’s worth everything to have your grown-up, college opinion. Of course red hair has come into vogue, that’s one point in my favor, though I fear mine is a little vivid even for the fashion; Margery has done a water color of my head which Phil says looks like the explosion of a tomato. Then my freckles are almost gone, and that is a great help; if you examine me carefully in this strong light you can only count seven, and two of those are getting faint-hearted. Nothing can be done with my aspiring nose. I ‘ve tried in vain to push it down, and now I ‘m simply living it down.”
Edgar examined her in the strong light mischievously. “Turn your profile,” he said. “That’s right; now, do you know, I rather like your nose, and it’s a very valuable index to your disposition. I don’t know whether, if it were removed from your face, it would mean so much; but taken in connection with its surroundings, it’s a very expressive feature; it warns the stranger to be careful. In fact, most of your features are danger signals, Polly; I ‘m rather glad I ‘ve been taking a course of popular medical lectures on First Aid to the Injured!”
And so, with a great deal of nonsense and a good sprinkling of quiet, friendly chat, they made their way to Professor Salazar’s house, proffered Polly’s apologies, and took the train for San Francisco.
Chapter VII.
“Where Ignorance Is Bliss.”
The trip from Berkeley to San Francisco was a brilliant success from Edgar’s standpoint, but Polly would have told you that she never worked harder in her life.
“I ‘ll just say ‘How do you do?’ to your mother, and then be off,” said Edgar, as they neared the house.
“Oh, but you surely will stay to dinner with us!” said Polly, with the most innocent look of disappointment on her face,—a look of such obvious grief that a person of any feeling could hardly help wishing to remove it, if possible. “You see, Edgar” (putting the latch-key in the door), “mamma is so languid and ill that she cannot indulge in many pleasures, and I had quite counted on you to amuse her a little for me this evening. But come up, and you shall do as you like after dinner.”
“I ‘ve brought you a charming surprise, mamacita!” called Polly from the stairs: “an old friend whom I picked up in the woods like a wild-flower and brought home to you.” (“Wild-flower is a good name for him,” she thought.)
Mrs. Oliver was delighted to see Edgar, but after the first greetings were over, Polly fancied that she had not closed the front door, and Edgar offered to go down and make sure.
In a second Polly crossed the room to her mother’s side, and whispered impressively, “Edgar must be kept here until after midnight; I have good reasons that I will explain when we are alone. Keep him somehow,—anyhow!”
Mrs. Oliver had not lived sixteen years with Polly without learning to leap to conclusions. “Run down and ask Mrs. Howe if she will let us have her hall-bedroom tonight,” she replied; “nod your head for yes when you come back, and I ‘ll act accordingly; I have a request to make of Edgar, and am glad to have so early an opportunity of talking with him.”
“We did close the door, after all,” said Edgar, coming in again. “What a pretty little apartment you have here! I have n’t seen anything so cosy and homelike for ages.”
“Then make yourself
