Children's Book Classics - Kate Douglas Wiggin Edition: 11 Novels & 120+ Short Stories for Children. Kate Douglas Wiggin

believe that voice is Edgar Noble’s, or else I ‘m very much mistaken. I thought of it when I first heard them singing. Yes, it is! Now, those hateful boys are going to get him into trouble!”

      Just at this moment four of the boys jumped from the ground and, singing vociferously—

      “He won’t go home any more,

       He won’t go home any more,

       He won’t go home any more,

       Way down on the Bingo farm!”

      rushed after young Noble, pinioned him, and brought him back.

      “See here, Noble,” expostulated one of them, who seemed to be a commanding genius among the rest,—“see here, don’t go and be a spoil-sport! What ‘s the matter with you? We ‘re going to chip in for a good dinner, go to the minstrels, and then,—oh, then we ‘ll go and have a game of billiards. You play so well that you won’t lose anything. And if you want money, Will’s flush, he ‘ll lend you a ‘tenner.’ You know there won’t be any fun in it unless you ‘re there! We ‘ll get the last boat back to-night, or the first in the morning.”

      A letter from his mother lay in Edgar’s pocket,—a letter which had brought something like tears to his eyes for a moment, and over which he had vowed better things. But he yielded, nevertheless,—that it was with reluctance did n’t do any particular good to anybody, though the recording angels may have made a note of it,—and strolled along with the other students, who were evidently in great glee over their triumph.

      Meanwhile Polly had been plotting. Her brain was not a great one, but it worked very swiftly; Dr. George called it, chaffingly, a small mind in a very active state. Scarcely stopping to think, lest her courage should not be equal to the strain of meeting six or eight young men face to face, she stepped softly out of her retreat, walked gently down the road, and when she had come within ten feet of the group, halted, and, clearing her throat desperately, said, “I beg your pardon”—

      The whole party turned with one accord, a good deal of amazement in their eyes, as there had not been a sign of life in the road a moment before, and now here was a sort of woodland sprite, a “nut-brown mayde,” with a remarkably sweet voice.

      “I beg your pardon, but can you tell me the way to Professor Salazar’s house? Why” (this with a charming smile and expression as of one having found an angel of deliverance),—“why, it is—is n’t it?—Edgar Noble of Santa Barbara!”

      Edgar, murmuring “Polly Oliver, by Jove!” lifted his hat at once, and saying, “Excuse me, boys,” turned back and, gallantly walked at Polly’s side.

      “Why, Miss Polly, this is an unexpected way of meeting you!”

      (“Very unexpected,” thought Polly.) “Is it not, indeed? I wrote you a note the other day, telling you that we hoped to see you soon in San Francisco.”

      “Yes,” said Edgar; “I did n’t answer it because I intended to present myself in person to-morrow or Sunday. What are you doing in this vicinity?” he continued, “or, to put it poetically,

      “Pray why are you loitering here, pretty maid?”

      “No wonder you ask. I am ‘floundering,’ at present. I came over to a Spanish lesson at Professor Salazar’s, and I have quite lost my way. If you will be kind enough to put me on the right road I shall be very much obliged, though I don’t like to keep you from your friends,” said Polly, with a quizzical smile. “You see the professor won’t know why I missed my appointment, and I can’t bear to let him think me capable of neglect; he has been so very kind.”

      “But you can’t walk there. You must have gotten off at the wrong station; it is quite a mile, even across the fields.”

      “And what is a mile, sir? Have you forgotten that I am a country girl?” and she smiled up at him brightly, with a look that challenged remembrance.

      “I remember that you could walk with any of us,” said Edgar, thinking how the freckles had disappeared from Polly’s rose-leaf skin, and how particularly fetching she looked in her brown felt sailor-hat. “Well, if you really wish to go there, I ‘ll see you safely to the house and take you over to San Francisco afterward, as it will be almost dark. I was going over, at any rate, and one train earlier or later won’t make any difference.”

      (“Perhaps it won’t and perhaps it will,” thought Polly.) “If you are sure it won’t be too much trouble, then”—

      “Not a bit. Excuse me a moment while I run back and explain the matter 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