Half a Dozen Girls

Excerpt

CHAPTER I.

THE ADAMS FAMILY.

   "'There was a little girl,
   And she had a little curl,
 And it hung right down over her forehead;
   And when she was good,
   She was very, very good,
 And when she was bad, she was horrid!'"

"And that's you!" chanted Polly Adams in a vigorous crescendo, as she watched the retreating figure of her guest. Then climbing down from her perch on the front gate, she added to herself, "Mean old thing! I s'pose she thinks I care because she's gone home; but I'm glad of it, so there!" And with an emphatic shake of her curly head, she ran into the house.

Up-stairs, in the large front room, sat her mother and her aunt, busy with their sewing. The blinds were closed, to keep out the warm sun of a sultry July day, and only an occasional breath of air found its way in between their tightly turned slats. The whir of the locust outside, and the regular creak, creak of Aunt Jane's tall rocking-chair were the only sounds to break the stillness. This peaceful scene was ruthlessly disturbed by Polly, who came flying into the room and dropped into a chair at her mother's side.

"Oh, how warm you are here!" she exclaimed, as she pushed back the short red-gold hair that curled in little, soft rings about her forehead.

"Little girls that will run on such a day as this must expect to be warm," remarked Aunt Jane sedately, while she measured a hem with a bit of paper notched to show the proper width. "Now if you and Molly would bring your patchwork up here, and sew quietly with your mother and me, you would be quite cool and comfortable."

"Patchwork!" echoed Polly, with a scornful little laugh. "Girls don't sew patchwork nowadays, Aunt Jane."

"It would be better for them if they did, then," returned Aunt Jane severely. "It is a much more useful way of spending one's time, than embroidering nonsensical red wheels and flowers and birds on your aprons, as you have been doing. Your grandmother used to make us sew patchwork; and before I was your age, I had pieced up three bedquilts,—one rising-sun, one fox-chase, and the other just plain boxes."

"I don't care," Polly interrupted saucily; "I never could see the use of cutting up yards and yards of calico, just for the sake of sewing it together again. Wouldn't you rather have me make you a pretty apron, Jerusalem?" And she leaned over to pat her mother's cheek affectionately, as she added, "And besides, Molly's gone home."

"Has she?" asked Mrs. Adams, in some surprise. "I thought she was going to spend the day."

Polly blushed a little.

"So she was," she admitted at length; "but she changed her mind."

Mrs. Adams looked at her little daughter inquiringly for a moment, and seemed about to speak, but catching the eye of Aunt Jane, who was watching them sharply, she only said,—

"I am sorry; for I wanted to send a pattern to Mrs. Hapgood, when she went home, and now I shall have to wait."

"I'll take it over now, mamma; I'd just as soon." And Polly jumped up and caught her sailor hat from the table where she had tossed it....