  “‘Rose of the World,’ my fate is to be decided on this coming Christmas night.” Polly O’Neill made this surprising statement on the same evening following the adventure that had befallen her and Betty earlier in the afternoon. The seven girls were sitting in a crescent upon sofa pillows before their living-room fire with Rose on a low stool in the center. Although it was now nearly bedtime no mention had been made of the cause of the two girls’ trip into town nor of their unusual experience. Nan had come home uncommonly tired and silent, and ever since supper time had been curled up on the floor using her pillow as a kind of bed and almost half asleep. But at Polly’s extravagant words she sat up and looked at her curiously and so did all the other girls except Betty, who only smiled sympathetically, nodding her head reassuringly at Mollie, who seemed a little puzzled and a little annoyed. “I don’t see why it is going to be your fate that is to be decided any more than Betty’s or any of the rest of us, Polly.” Mollie answered before their guardian could speak. “Just because you are going to have the chief part in our play when the rest of us just have less important parts.” But Polly, who was in one of her wildest moods to-night, flung her arms unexpectedly about her sister, almost overturning her by her ardor. “You don’t know what you are talking about, Mollie Mavourneen, because you haven’t heard my news, since I only learned it to-day in town. It can’t affect Betty or you or any of the other girls as it does me, because you haven’t been yearning ever since you were born to go on the stage as I have until the very thought of the footlights and the smell of the theater makes me hungry and dizzy and frightened and so happy!” “You haven’t been in the theater a dozen times in your life, Polly O’Neill,” Mollie returned, looking even more serious than before remembering her mother’s opposition and her own to Polly’s theatrical ambition, “and you know nothing in the world about what the life means.” “Well, I will know pretty soon, Mollie. You see I am sixteen now, almost seventeen. I will be through school in another year—and then—why if I have any talent mother must be persuaded to let me study and see what I can do. And thereby hangs my tale!” Two vivid spots of color were burning on Polly’s high cheek bones, her eyes were shining as though she saw only the joys of the career she hoped to choose for herself and none of its hardships, and she had to hold her thin nervous hands tight together to try to control her excitement. “Don’t tell, please, Betty, I am waiting to get more breath,” Polly pleaded, and Betty nodded reassuringly. Not for worlds would she have stolen this particular clap of thunder from her friend, and it was rather a habit with Polly not to be able to breathe very deeply when she was much agitated. “When Betty and I drove into town this morning,” she said in the next instant, “you know we stopped by Miss Adams’ to go over our Christmas rehearsals with her.” (Miss Adams was the teacher of elocution at the Woodford High School and greatly interested in Polly.) “Well, when we had finished and she had told Betty of half a dozen mistakes she was making and me of something less than a hundred, she said slowly but with a kind of peculiar expression all the time, ‘Girls, I wonder if you will be willing for me to bring a guest to your Christmas Camp Fire play?’ Betty answered, ‘Yes’ very politely, though you know we have asked more people already than we will ever have room for, but as I was mumbling over some lines of a speech I didn’t say anything. Then Miss Adams looked straight at me and said slowly just like this: ‘I am very glad indeed, Polly, for your sake, You remember that I have often spoken to you of a cousin of mine (we were like sisters when we were little girls) who is now one of the most famous, if not the very most famous, actress in this country. We write each other constantly and several times I have spoken to her about you. This very morning I had a letter from her saying she was tired and as she was to have a week’s holiday at Christmas might she come down and spend it with me if I would promise not to let anybody know who she was nor make her see any company.’ My heart had been pounding just like this,” Polly continued, making an uneven, quick movement with her hand, “but when Miss Adams ended in this cruel fashion it must have stopped, because I remember I couldn’t speak and felt myself turn pale. And then my beloved Betty saved me! She answered in just a little bit frightened voice. ‘But you think, Miss Adams, that you may be able to persuade your cousin to come to our play, if we don’t talk about it or let other people worry her, and then she can tell whether Polly has any real talent for the stage or whether we think so just because she wishes us to.’” At the end of this long speech Polly may have lost her breath. Anyhow, she became frightened and stopped talking, staring instead into the open fire. “It will be a great trial for the rest of us to have the great Miss Margaret Adams watching us act our poor little Camp Fire play,” Betty continued, “but I am sure we must all be glad to have her for Polly’s sake.” After this there was silence for a moment, so that the noise of the old clock ticking above the mantel could be distinctly heard. Then the new guardian shook her head. “I am sorry, Polly, but I am afraid that having Miss Adams talk to you about your future, whether she encourages you or not, will not be right without your mother’s consent.” Rose knew Mrs. O’Neill very well and understood how she dreaded the life of the stage for Polly’s emotional and none too well-balanced temperament. Polly’s fashion of living on her nerves rather than on any reserve of physical strength would be a serious drawback. For a moment the older woman wished that she might be able to accede to this Christmas experiment and that the great actress might be wise enough to recognize Polly’s unfitness for acting and persuade her to dismiss the entire idea from her mind. “Of course I will have to get mother’s consent,” Polly agreed more quietly than any one had expected, “but I think when I write and tell her exactly how I feel she will do as I ask.” It was now ten o’clock and Nan Graham rose first to make ready for bed. She was followed by Eleanor and Sylvia, as it was already an hour past their usual week-day bedtime, but Betty laid her hand quietly on Rose’s arm. “Please don’t go to your room yet,” she whispered, “I have something I want to talk to you about. It won’t matter if only Polly and Mollie stay with us.” She glanced expectantly at Esther, supposing of course that she would retire with the other girls, but instead Esther was sitting with her big, awkward hands clasped before her and such an utterly miserable expression on her plain face that Betty forgot her own problem and intended sacrifice. “What on earth is the matter with you, Esther Clark?” she demanded a little indignantly. “Half an hour ago you looked as you usually do, and I am sure I have heard no one since say anything to hurt your feelings. Why, please, should you now look as if you had lost your last friend on earth?” Esther laughed nervously. “Please don’t be angry, Betty, or Miss Dyer, or Polly, and don’t think I mean to be hateful or unaccommodating, but really I don’t think I can sing on the evening of our Christmas entertainment. I have been trying to make up my mind to tell you for days and days, that I know I shall simply break down and disgrace us all.” “And since you heard that we were to have a famous woman as a member of our audience you are more sure than ever that you won’t be able to sing?” Polly questioned. Esther nodded silently, while Polly’s eyes gazed past her as though they were trying to solve some puzzle. “It is odd, isn’t it,” she continued, speaking to all or to none of the little company. “Here I am with just a slight talent for acting, and perhaps not even that, dreaming and longing to have this Miss Adams’ criticism, even though I may break down when the time comes, and here is Esther with a really great gift liking to hide her light under a bushel. Oh me, oh my, and it’s a queer world, isn’t it?” “Yes, but Esther isn’t going to hide her light this time, it’s too silly of her,” Betty rejoined. “She has that perfectly wonderful song that Dick got for her last summer and has been practicing it for months. Besides we have asked our funny old German, who rescued us in the storm, to play Esther’s accompaniment on his violin. He has practiced with her in town and is enraptured. Says Esther sings like a ‘liebe angel.’” Esther rose slowly to her feet. “Of course if you really wish me to, Betty, with all you have done for me——” But Betty gave her an affectionate push toward the bedroom door. “Oh, go to bed, Esther, what I have done for you has nothing to do with your singing and certainly gives me no right to try to run you. It is only that I don’t mean you to take a back seat all your life if I can possibly shove you forward.” At any other time Esther might have felt wounded at Betty’s so evidently wishing to get rid of her and have her older friends stay behind (for Esther had that rather trying sensitiveness that belongs to some shy people and makes them difficult), but with Christmas near at hand secrets were too much a part of Camp Fire life to be regarded seriously, so that Esther straightway left the O’Neill girls, Betty and Rose, to themselves. Then Betty went immediately over to a closet and brought out the locked tin box. As she opened it she explained her plan to Rose, who said nothing at first, merely leaning a little curiously over one of Betty’s shoulders watching her take out her pretty ornaments, while Mollie and Polly stood guard on the other side. Betty of course had the usual discarded childish trinkets—a string of amber beads, pins and a small ring—but these she put hastily aside as of no value, and then with a little sigh of admiration and regret drew forth a really beautiful possession, a sapphire necklace with tiny diamonds set between the blue stones, which Betty loved and had chosen for her special jewel. “I expect this is worth the amount of my debt,” Betty suggested huskily. Her father had given her the necklace the last summer they were in Europe together. But Rose Dyer shook her head decisively. “Not that, Betty; indeed I have not yet made up my mind whether you ought to be allowed to part with any of your jewelry, at least before you ask your brother Dick.” Next the girls considered Betty’s blue enamel watch which her brother had given her on her last birthday and a small diamond ring. She had just about decided that she preferred to part with the ring when Polly exclaimed thoughtlessly, “Are those the papers you were so unwilling to give up this afternoon, Princess?” At this Betty nodded, frowning slightly. They had decided not to make any mention of the afternoon’s experience in order that Nan should never hear about it. “There is some mystery or other about these papers,” she explained, picking up a large envelope with an official seal on the outside. “Father asked me to take good care of this envelope all my life and never to open it unless there was some very special cause. As he never told me what the reason should be I suppose I will keep it sealed forever.” Then Betty with a little cry of delight dropped the envelope inside the box picking up another paper instead, which had a gold seal and two strings of blue ribbon pasted upon it. “What a forgetful person I am!” she exclaimed in a relieved voice. “Why here is a two hundred dollar bond which honestly belongs to me, since once upon a time I actually saved the money for a whole year to buy it. It will pay all I owe without any bother.” And Betty tucking her precious box under her arm, straightway the little company made ready for bed. |
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