So, after all, the kirmess ended in a blaze of glory for Polly as well as for every one else and she would have thought herself the happiest girl in the world even if, at the close of the evening, when they were sitting under the trees, eating ice cream and cake and resting after the fatigue of the day, Miss Cicely had not risen and said:

“Now I hope all present who vote our kirmess a success will give a cheer for the two ladies who, from the first, have been the means of making it so. I propose a cheer for our two Sweet P’s.”

“Three cheers and an extra one for good measure!” cried Uncle Arthur jumping to his feet, and although Aunt Laura murmured, “Don’t be absurd, Arthur!” they were given with a will.

But the next day! Oh dear, how different everything seemed then! The grounds were littered with torn paper and scorched lanterns and scraps of twine and tattered shreds of muslin and bunting. The grass of the lawns was cruelly trodden down and, in some places, fairly torn up by the roots. Indoors it was no better. The articles that had been left over from the fair were scattered here, there, and everywhere in everybody’s way.

Priscilla looked pale and worn out and, for the first time since Polly had known her, was, as Hannah expressed it, “cross as two sticks.” Polly herself was far from well. There was a big aching bump upon her head and her body felt stiff and sore all over. Her cheeks were flushed and feverish and she, as well as Priscilla, felt so tired and forlorn that they could hardly drag themselves to the stable on a visit of condolence to Oh-my, when it was discovered that the poor little pony had been overdriven the day before, had caught cold and would have to be very carefully tended before he could recover. Even Hannah was inclined to be irritable, and there was no doubt at all about Theresa’s and the other servants’ ill-temper.

The sight of the empty place upon her table where her precious bank had stood made Polly so melancholy that she felt like sitting down and having a “good cry” over it, but she remembered sister’s advice to “hold her little head up no matter how she felt” and decided that she would follow it at once. But the sacrifice of her savings meant a real struggle, for Polly had had great plans as to what she meant to do with her money and now it looked as if all those lovely dreams could never be realized. As soon as her breakfast was eaten she left the nursery, inclining to confess to Miss Cissy about the little chamois-skin bag, but everything was in confusion down-stairs for, it appeared, Miss Cicely had to hurry off at once to join a party of friends at the seaside, the rest of the relations were going their own ways and, in a very little while, the house would be left deserted and dull to struggle with the sultry, trying weather alone.

“Let’s come out under the trees and play house,” suggested Polly to Priscilla.

“I don’t want to,” Priscilla murmured, a little fretfully, letting herself drop limply upon the veranda cushions with a whimper.

“My child, Ruthie Carter, has got the mumps and the doctor said I must take her to the seashore right away,” explained Polly, clasping the invalid-doll in her arms and trying to make herself believe she cared whether Ruthie Carter recovered from her attack or not.

Priscilla did not answer.

“Is your baby quite well, Mrs. Priscilla?” inquired Mrs. Polly politely.

Mrs. Priscilla shook her head silently, and after a few more unsuccessful attempts to engage her in conversation, Mrs. Polly gave it up and sauntered slowly across the lawn, bound for the seashore to which the imaginary doctor had advised her to take her ailing child. She chose the pretty, rustic summer-house called Pine Lodge, for her play to-day, because it was shady and quiet there, and its sides, which were open half-way down from the roof, let the breeze in unhindered. A bench ran round the walls of the place, and was very useful and convenient for housekeeping; purposes, for, with a little arrangement and imagination, it could be made to serve as table, cupboard, bed, piano, and a host of other things, just as one chose. One section of it only was forbidden ground: that running along the side of the summer-house that overhung the ravine. It was a rule remaining over from Priscilla’s baby-days that she was never to be left alone in Pine Lodge, and that she was never, never, never to mount upon that particular portion of the bench, for though now she was old enough to realize the danger of leaning over the wall’s edge, an accident might occur, and the ravine was deep and its steep walls rocky and sheer, while the tall trees that clung to them showed many a bare and unsupported root. When Polly had passed quite out of sight Priscilla began to cry. She had not wanted to play with her, but neither had she wanted Polly to go off and play by herself.

“She’s real mean to leave me all alone,” she sobbed irritably. “I don’t think she’s very polite.”

But only a robin, hopping nimbly across the driveway, heard her complaint, and as he did not seem to sympathize with her, she felt it was of no use to say any more. She gathered herself up with a pettish sigh and set out to follow Polly across the lawn.

“Hello!” said Polly as she came in sight.

“Hello,” returned Priscilla.

“Didn’t you bring your child with you? The seashore will do her a lot of good. My Ruthie Carter’s almost well already.”

Priscilla shook her head.

“Don’t you want to go and fetch your baby?” inquired Polly. “Let’s play you came to visit me and didn’t bring her along, ’cause you were afraid she’d be a bother, and I said: ‘No, indeed, I’d be pleased to have her!’”

“I don’t want to,” returned Priscilla. “My feet hurt. You go.”

“My feet hurt, too, and so do my arms and all the rest of me.”

“I don’t think you’re very polite, Polly Carter, so there! Your head doesn’t feel half as bad as mine does.”

Polly jumped up and laid Priscilla’s hand on the big bump that was throbbing beneath her hair. “There!” she said, triumphantly, “what do you think of that? Doesn’t that thump? And it aches like anything.”

“How did you do it?”

“I tripped last night in the dark and knocked it against that iron fence by the driveway. I was running as quick as I could to make change and all of a sudden I fell down and my money-bag—the one Miss Cissy gave me with five dollars in it—jogged out of my hand and I hit my head and—I guess you’ll believe I don’t feel very well now!”

Under all Priscilla’s real sweetness of nature there lay a hidden rock of obstinacy that made her, at times, a very difficult little personage to deal with. Hannah had encountered it often and often, but Hannah was indulgent and excused her pet to herself by saying: “She’s so young; she’ll outgrow it by and by.”

Polly had, up to this, given in almost entirely to Priscilla, no matter what her whims might be, and so had not really had any conflict with the quiet persistence and iron will that underlay the little girl’s other really lovable traits. But she was to have one now.

Priscilla listened attentively to the story of the bag and the bruise and then repeated slowly: “I don’t think you’re very polite. I think you might get my doll.”

“Hannah told me not to wait on you so much. She says it spoils you.”

Priscilla silently regarded the toes of her shoes and seemed to be considering. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and she did not reply for a minute. Then she said gently: “I think you might get my doll.”

Polly pretended not to hear. She bent over the mumpy Ruth and drew her handkerchief across the sick infant’s chest to shield her from the supposed fresh sea-breeze that was blowing inshore smartly from the great stretch of imaginary ocean beyond.

“I think you might get my doll,” droned Priscilla again.

“I’ve been hunting for that bag so long this morning I’m tired clear through to my bones,” explained Polly at length, with a touch of reproach in her voice.

“Where do you s’pose it is?” asked Priscilla.

“I don’t know. Down the bank, maybe, and in the water. Theresa said it was. I went back to the place before breakfast and searched and searched.”

“Let’s lean over the edge of this and p’raps we can see it.”

“No, no,” protested Polly, quickly. “Don’t you! don’t you! Your mother ’spressly told us never to do that. She said you might fall over. She said I was never to leave you here alone—and that’s another reason why I can’t go get your doll.”

For answer Priscilla rose slowly and crossed the summer-house to the side that overhung the ravine. Very slowly and deliberately she mounted the bench, knelt up upon it and, leaning far over the ledge, peered into the dark depths of the ravine below.

Polly held her breath for a moment, too horrified to speak. Then she gasped out imploringly: “Don’t, don’t! Oh, Priscilla, don’t do so! Your mother told you not to. She said it was dangerous!”

For response Priscilla leaned out a little further.

Polly was speechless. She grasped the little girl’s dress and clutched it fiercely; it was all she could do.

“I think you might get my doll,” repeated Priscilla.

“Oh, Priscilla, how can I? I couldn’t leave you here alone like this for anything. They’d think I was awful; they’d scold.”

“You might get my doll.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I’ll lean out further.”

“Don’t you! Don’t you!”

“I will, ’less you get my doll!”

Priscilla was beginning quite to enjoy herself. Her usually gentle heart was hardened now with the determination to have her own way at any cost. There was a fearful excitement in leaning over that forbidden ledge, and it was “fun” of a sort to know that Polly stood in fear of what she would do. She did not draw back an inch, and the hand on her skirt tightened fiercely.

“Let go my dress!”

“I mustn’t: you’ll fall!”

“I won’t fall if you’ll get my doll!”

“Will you get down if I do? Really and truly?”

“Yes; if you’ll get my doll, I’ll get down.”

Polly struggled with herself.

“Oh, I can’t,” she panted. “They told me not to let you be here alone. I can’t! Honest, I can’t.”

“I think I see your bag. It’s over there! ’Way over there down behind the roots of that tree,” declared Priscilla, unconcernedly.

“Never mind! Don’t lean over so! Don’t look! You’ll get dizzy! Come away! Let’s play——”

“If you’ll get my doll.”

Polly gasped helplessly. “Well—well——” she stammered, “I—I will—if you’ll solemnly promise to come down, I will.”

Priscilla had won the battle.

“I’ll promise,” she said gently and slid back upon the bench and then down to the safety of the floor, as quietly and obediently as if she had never been defiant in all her life.

But the scare and the struggle had been too much for Polly. At sight of Priscilla’s innocent air, her eyes blazed resentfully. She felt, somehow, that she was being terribly wronged and imposed upon, and for the first time since she had known Priscilla she was thoroughly indignant at her.

The sound of the sweet little voice repeating softly: “Aren’t you going to get my doll?” roused her to a sudden quick and uncontrollable anger. She grasped Priscilla by the arm and shook her fiercely; shook her till her bright, flossy hair danced up and down upon her shoulders in a golden cloud and all the color was gone from her lips and cheeks. Polly’s own face was scarlet and her eyes flashing fire.

“You are a naughty girl!” she cried, vehemently. “As naughty as you can be. You ought to be punished!”

Priscilla simply gazed at her and made no answer. She was so pale, Polly’s heart misgave her.

“I—I’m sorry I shook you,” she burst out remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to, Priscilla. I don’t know what made me do it! I’m awfully sorry.”

Still Priscilla was silent.

“You’re not angry at me, are you, Priscilla?”

Priscilla’s white lips opened just far enough to let out the words: “I think you might get my doll.”

Polly started to run, but on the threshold she stopped and turned back. “Remember what you’ve promised,” she said, with trembling lips.

Priscilla nodded; the next minute she was alone. She watched Polly scudding across the lawn, her soft blue eyes grown hard and gray as flint. The thoughts in her busy brain swarmed as stinging midges. She was very, very angry. Never before in all her young life had rough hands been laid upon her. Polly had shaken her! Her face was white as snow, but her heart was hot with fury. She was shocked, frightened and terribly resentful. Polly had said she was naughty and ought to be punished! No one had ever before spoken so harshly to her. It was Polly who was naughty and ought to be punished. Polly had said she was sorry, but there was time enough to think of that. The thing to do now was to pay Polly back for what she had done. The stinging thought-midges in the back of her brain buzzed so loud they made her dizzy. In a minute Polly would come back with her doll and then she would want to make up and be friends again. Priscilla’s lips pressed tight, one upon the other. She did not want to be friends with any one just yet. All she wanted was to pay Polly back.

Meanwhile Polly was making what haste she could in search of the miserable doll that, as she said to herself, had been the beginning of all the trouble, but it was not in its accustomed place in the nursery, nor yet in the little girls’ bedroom. Hannah was busy helping settle the place down-stairs and could not stop to tell her where it was likely to be found. Up-stairs and down she hurried, but to no purpose; here, there and everywhere she hunted, but all in vain. She dared not go back to Priscilla without the doll and still, she had been told over and over again never to leave her alone in that dangerous Lodge. What should she do? As a last resort she burrowed among the cushions upon the veranda where Priscilla had lain a little while before and there, sure enough, lay the wretched rag-baby, peacefully and uncomplainingly buried beneath a mountain of down. Polly snatched her up fiercely and started across the lawn.

“Helloa there, Polly!”

It was James who called.

Polly paused and turned. “Oh, James, I’m in an awful hurry,” she gasped anxiously.

The butler smiled. “Another of your busy days, I s’pose,” he remarked teasingly. “You seem to have a good many of ’em, first and last. Take my advice, go slower and you’ll go surer. It pays in the long run—and the short one too, for that matter. The more haste the worse speed, you know.”

“Oh, James,” protested Polly again.

“Well, if you’re catching a train I guess I’d better not detain you. I just had something to say, I thought you’d like to know, that’s all. About the little chamois-bag you dropped last night. I’m going down the ravine to hunt for it.”

But Polly had sped out of hearing before he had finished his sentence and he strolled slowly after her saying to himself: “She must want something to do, sprinting around like that, this hot day! But children don’t seem to mind the heat. My! But her face is red! All the blood’s in her head! Hannah ought to tell her she hadn’t ought to exert herself like that when it’s ninety-four in the shade.”

It seemed no time at all to Priscilla before Polly reappeared across the lawn. She was holding the doll and running as fast as her feet would carry her.

The biggest and fiercest thought-midge of all stung Priscilla with so sharp a point that she started as if she had been pricked with a needle. In a flash she saw how she could revenge herself on Polly, could punish her so that her face would look as queer and terrified as it had done a little while ago when she had been afraid Priscilla would fall over the ledge of Pine Lodge and had implored her to come away from it; in fact had made her getting down from the bench the condition on which the doll was to be brought. Priscilla had gotten down, as she had promised to do. But she had not promised not to get up again. Her teeth set hard.

SHE WAS LEANING FAR, FAR OUT