are complete, you enter and do the real work, I retire, and the sole responsibility for success or failure rests upon your shoulders; I should think that would be enough to satisfy the most energetic young woman. I had decided on the library as the scene of action; an open fire is indispensable, and that room is delightfully large when the centre-table is lifted out: but I am afraid it is hardly secluded enough, and that people might trouble you by coming in; so what do you think of the music-room upstairs? You will have your fire, your piano, plenty of space, and a private entrance for the chicks, who can lay their wraps in the hall as they pass up. I will take the large Turkish rug from the red guest-chamber,—that will make the room look warmer,—and I have a dozen other charming devices which I will give you later as surprises.”
“If I were half as sure of my part as I am of yours, dear Fairy Godmother, we should have nothing to fear. I have a general plan mapped out for the stories, but a great deal of the work will have to be done from week to week, as I go on. I shall use the same programme in the main for both groups, but I shall simplify everything and illustrate more freely for the little ones, telling the historical and scientific stories with much more detail to the older group. This is what Mr. Bird calls my ‘basic idea,’ which will be filled out from week to week according to inspiration. For November, I shall make autumn, the harvest, and Thanksgiving the starting-point. I am all ready with my historical story of ‘The First Thanksgiving,’ for I told it at the Children’s Hospital last year, and it went beautifully.
“I have one doll dressed in Dutch costume, to show how the children looked that the little Pilgrims played with in Holland; and another dressed like a Puritan maiden, to show them the simple old New England gown. Then I have two fine pictures of Miles Standish and the Indian chief Massasoit.
“For December and January I shall have Christmas and winter, and frost and ice and snow, with the contrasts of eastern and Californian climates.”
“I can get the Immigration Bureau to give you a percentage on that story, Polly,” said Uncle Jack Bird, who had strolled in and taken a seat. “Just make your facts strong enough, and you can make a handsome thing out of that idea.”
“Don’t interrupt us, Jack,” said Mrs. Bird; “and go directly out, if you please. You were not asked to this party.”
“Where was I?” continued Polly. “Oh yes,—the contrast between Californian and eastern winters; and January will have a moral story or two, you know,—New Year’s resolutions, and all that. February will be full of sentiment and patriotism,—St. Valentine’s Day and Washington’s Birthday,—I can hardly wait for that, there are so many lovely things to do in that month. March will bring in the first hint of spring. The winds will serve for my science story; and as it chances to be a presidential year, we will celebrate Inauguration Day, and have some history, if a good many subscribers come in.”
“Why do you say ‘if,’ Polly? Multitudes of names are coming in. I have told you so from the beginning.”
“Very well, then; when a sufficient number of names are entered, I should like to spend ten dollars on a very large sand-table, which I can use with the younger group for illustrations. It is perfectly clean work, and I have helped Miss Denison and her children to do the loveliest things with it. She makes geography lessons,—plains, hills, mountains, valleys, rivers, and lakes; or the children make a picture of the story they have just heard. I saw them do ‘Over the River and through the Wood to Grandfather’s House we go,’ ‘Washington’s Winter Camp at Valley Forge,’ and ‘The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.’ I have ever so many songs chosen, and those for November and December are almost learned without my notes. I shall have to work very hard to be ready twice a week!”
“Too hard, I fear,” said Mrs. Bird anxiously.
“Oh, no; not a bit too hard! If the children are only interested, I shall not mind any amount of trouble. By the way, dear Mrs. Bird, you won’t let the nurses or mothers stand in the doorways? You will please see that I am left quite alone with the children, won’t you?”
“Certainly; no mothers shall be admitted, if they make you nervous; it is the children’s hour. But after two or three months, when you have all become acquainted, and the children are accustomed to listening attentively, I almost hope you will allow a few nurses to come in and sit in the corners,—the ones who bring the youngest children, for example; it would be such a means of education to them. There ‘s another idea for you next year,—a nurses’ class in story-telling.”
“It would be rather nice, would n’t it?—and I should be older then, and more experienced. I really think I could do it, if Miss Denison would help me by talks and instructions. She will be here next year. Oh, how the little plan broadens out!”
“And, Polly, you have chosen to pay for your circulars, and propose to buy your sand-table. This I agree to, if you insist upon it; though why I shouldn’t help my godchild I cannot quite understand. But knowing you were so absorbed in other matters that you would forget the frivolities, and remembering that you have been wearing the same two dresses for months, I have ventured to get you some pretty gowns for the ‘story hours,’ and I want you to accept them for your Christmas present. They will serve for all your ‘afternoons’ and for our home dinners, as you will not be going out anywhere this winter.”
“Oh, how kind you are, Mrs. Bird! You load me with benefits, and how can I ever repay you?”
“You do not have to repay them to me necessarily, my child; you can pass them over, as you will be constantly doing, to all these groups of children, day after day. I am a sort of stupid, rich old lady who serves as a source of supply. My chief brilliancy lies in devising original methods of getting rid of my surplus in all sorts of odd and delightful ways, left untried, for the most part, by other people. I ‘ve been buying up splendid old trees in the outskirts of certain New England country towns,—trees that were in danger of being cut down for wood. Twenty-five to forty dollars buys a glorious tree, and it is safe for ever and ever to give shade to the tired traveler and beauty to the landscape. Each of my boys has his pet odd scheme for helping the world to ‘go right.’ Donald, for instance, puts stamps on the unstamped letters displayed in the Cambridge post-office, and sends them spinning on their way. He never receives the thanks of the careless writers, but he takes pleasure in making things straight. Paul writes me from Phillips Academy that this year he is sending the nine Ruggles children (a poor family of our acquaintance) to some sort of entertainment once every month. Hugh has just met a lovely girl who has induced him to help her maintain a boarding establishment for sick and deserted cats and dogs; and there we are!”
“But I ‘m a young, strong girl, and I fear I ‘m not so worthy an object of charity as a tree, an unstamped letter, an infant Ruggles, or a deserted cat! Still, I know the dresses will be lovely, and I had quite forgotten that I must be clothed in purple and fine linen for five months to come. It would have been one of my first thoughts last year, I am afraid; but lately this black dress has shut everything else from my sight.”
“It was my thought that you should give up your black dress just for these occasions, dear, and wear something more cheerful for the children’s sake. The dresses are very simple, for I ‘ve heard you say you can never tell a story when you are ‘dressed up,’ but they will please you, I know. They will be brought home this evening, and you must slip them all on, and show yourself to us in each.”
They would have pleased anybody, even a princess, Polly thought, as she stood before her bed that evening patting the four pretty new waists, and smoothing with childlike delight the folds of the four pretty skirts. It was such an odd sensation to have four dresses at a time!
They were of simple and inexpensive materials, as was appropriate; but Mrs. Bird’s exquisite taste and feeling for what would suit Polly’s
