Polly's shop

Front matter

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN About the Clam-Bake . ILLUSTRATIONS

“But do you think you ought to spend so much? ” asked Polly (Page 156)

Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

“See my water-horse,” she remarked . 82

Rate wasted no time in argument . . 202

The Captain heaped up the weed . . 228

CHAPTER ONE Tells About the Summer Plan

T HE last Saturday in April saw Polly Winsor curled on the window-seat, think¬ ing how lucky it was that glass was made to let in light and to keep out water. On the other side of that window a great deal of rain was falling.

It was the gray kind of rain, not the white kind, and it fell too quickly to be pleasant for the flowers. Grandma Clifford’s daffodils, bordering the walk to Three Gates, as Polly’s home was called, were getting dirty faces from the mud that splashed them. One could not expect either earth or flowers to drink water so fast. Such speed was enough to choke any¬ body.

When she woke, Polly had been disappointed to find the day so stormy, but though she and

Mother could not plant flower-seeds, Mother didn’t have to teach school, and would be at home all day. Polly had wiped the breakfast dishes and helped make the beds, and was wait¬ ing until Mother was ready to sit down. When that time came, she was to hear something in¬ teresting.

Kerry Crumb, Uncle Jack’s Irish terrier, jumped on the window-seat beside Polly, and sat down with a sigh. He put his head on her shoulder.

“ You tickle,” said Polly. “ Don’t breathe in my ear. And don’t lick the window. Silly Kerry! Don’t you know the water is on the outside? ”

THE SUMMER FLAN

Mittens, Polly’s kitty, came into the room, and Kerry jumped down to chase him. Mit¬ tens liked a frolic as much as he. Round and round they went, through sitting-room, dining¬ room, and hall until Mittens had enough. He jumped on the table and from there to the man¬ tel over the big old open fireplace. Kerry stood looking up. He was panting for breath, and not a rug on the floor was in place.

When Mother came in from the kitchen, Polly was straightening the rugs. “ Look what Kerry did! ” she said with a sigh. “ Up¬ set all the rugs, and made my poor kitty jump ’way up there.”

“ Kerry is rather rough with Mittens,” Mother agreed. “ I don’t think Mittens should be blamed for jumping anywhere to get away from him.”

“ You are very rough with Mittens,” Polly reproved the puppy. “ If you don’t treat him better, I shall take him away from you, and get you a little rubber kitty.”

“ Better make it a cast-iron cat,” said Mother, laughing. “ Kerry would enjoy chewing a rubber one.”

Mother helped straighten the largest rug, and they sat down together on the window-seat.

“Now, it is time for the something inter¬ esting! ” coaxed Polly.

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Winsor.

“ Let me guess,” said Polly, snuggling against her. 44 Is it something for us all to do?”

44 For you and me.”

44 Not Grandma and Uncle Jack? ”

44 Not this time.”

44 Is it something to do in the city? ” asked Polly, greatly interested.

44 No,” replied Mother. 44 It is a plan for the summer vacation.”

THE SUMMER PLAN

“ Are we going to see Aunt Barbara? ” ex¬ claimed Polly.

“ Not this year. You can never guess what it is, darling, because it is something you never dreamed of doing. You know Cousin May? ” Polly knew Cousin May very well. She was about Mother’s age, and though May lived in a distant city, they were good friends. Polly liked to have Cousin May visit at Three Gates, because she knew a great many stories, which she was always willing to tell a little girl.

“ Cousin May wants to start a bookshop,” went on Mrs. Winsor. “ Her father thinks it wiser for her to try it first, just for a summer. Do you remember when Uncle Jack drove us down in Maine last August, there was a beauti¬ ful beach at a place called Ponagansett? ”

“ Is that where we ate our lunch, and the sand was all pretty colors? ” Polly asked eagerly.

“ You do remember! Yes, that was Ponagansett. It is a place where artists go to paint, and there is a part which we didn’t see, with rocks and fish-houses instead of a sandy beach. Cousin May is going to rent one of those fish-houses and make it into a bookshop. And, Polly, she wants you and me to come for all summer, and help her manage the bookshop.”

Polly’s eyes were sparkling. From her voice, she knew that Mother wanted very much to go.

“ There will be the beach,” Polly said half to herself. “ And books! Oh, Mother, are we going? Mother, will there be any books for children, and will Cousin May let me read them? ”

It seemed that the shop was to have books only for children, and that Cousin May would doubtless let her see them all. When she heard this, Polly got up and danced about the room.

THE SUMMER PLAN

“ Mother! ” she said at last. “ I am so happy it ’most hurts! And when are we going? ”

“ May and I are going as soon as my school closes,” Mother replied. “ That will be just before Memorial Day.”

“ But my school doesn’t stop so soon,” said Polly soberly.

“ No,” said Mother, “ and I wanted to speak to you about that, Polly. You know school is too important for you to miss. It will mean your staying here with Grandma for three weeks after I go. The Saturday after your school closes, Uncle Jack has promised to drive you down to Ponagansett. Perhaps Grandma will come with him, if she thinks it isn’t too long a drive for just two days’ stay.”

“ Three weeks without you is a very long time, Mother,” said Polly.

“ And it is very long for me without you. But there is school, you know.”

Yes, Polly knew. Mother explained that the reason she could not wait for Polly’s school to close was because Cousin May needed her help in getting the fish-house ready to use for a bookshop. When she heard this, Polly saw that it would be selfish to expect their plans to be changed for her.

“But I wish Grandma could come and be with us all summer,” she said.

“ I wish so, too. But you see, Polly, I don’t know just how comfortable that fish-house is going to be. IN’ow, you and I don’t mind camp¬ ing, and we can wash our faces at the kitchen sink, if necessary, and I am pretty sure that will be the only place to wash them, and we can take our baths in the ocean, and so can Cousin May, but you know a house like that wouldn’t be so pleasant for Grandma.”

Polly agreed that this was so. Mother added that perhaps, when Uncle Jack had his two

THE SUMMER PLAN weeks’ vacation in August, both he and Grandma would come and stay at some hotel or boarding-house. That could be decided later. The important thing was that Cousin May was to have her bookshop, and that Mother and Polly were to help her sell the books.

CHAPTER TWO Tells How They Named the Shop

C OUSIN MAY came to spend the next week-end with Mother and to talk about the shop. She told Polly that she could help her a great deal by reading the new books as they came. Then, when a little girl could not make up her mind which of two books to buy, Polly could tell her about both, and help her decide.

Polly didn’t know about that part. To read the books would be delightful, but telling strange little girls about them was quite a dif¬ ferent matter. Still, if it would help Cousin May, she would do her best.

Another way she could help was to make a

THE SHOP 23

list of all the books she liked best, and the stories she best liked to hear. Cousin May would be sure to buy these books and would tell some of the stories. That was a part of the plan, — a story-hour for children who were staying at the beach. Mothers would buy tickets so that the children could come for the stories.

When she heard this, Polly looked sober.

“ But I didn’t mean that you must buy a ticket, Polly dear,” exclaimed Cousin May when she saw that serious expression. “You are to be part of the bookshop, you know, and so you are to hear all the stories.”

Polly gave a little sigh of content. A great many stories had come her way in the eight years of her life, and it seemed quite dreadful to think that some little girls had heard so few that their mothers would pay to have some told to them.

“ I thought all mothers could tell stories,” she said.

“ Some mothers are too busy, and some don’t know the right kind of stories,” Cousin May explained.

There was great discussion as to what to name the bookshop. Cousin May suggested The Oyster Shell. Mother thought of The Gray Gull. Uncle Jack rapidly suggested one name after another: The Pirate Cave; The Limping Lobster; The Lame Crab; The Last Chance; The Kippered Herring; The Baited Hook; until Cousin May threw a sofa-pillow at him.

When Uncle Jack and Cousin May had picked up the four books and all the spools and pins and buttons from Grandma’s workbasket, and the little table they had upset in their frolic, and had agreed that the base of the electric lamp was not hurt, and that its parchment shade looked even prettier for a

THE SHOP 25

slight dent, they asked Grandma what name she would suggest.

“ I haven’t an idea,” said Grandma, “except that I would choose a name that wasn’t queer, and that would sound like an invitation to come in.”

“ But that is just what we are trying to find,” her daughter and her niece said together.

“ How about The Fish-Trap? ” Uncle Jack began again, but Cousin May held up a hand to stop him, and turned to Polly.

“ What would you call it? ” she asked. “ Sup¬ pose it were your very own bookshop, what would you name it? ”

“ If it were mine, really mine,” said Polly, with her eyes shining, “ I would just call it my shop, — Polly’s Shop.”

Cousin May and Mother looked at each other. “ Let’s! ” they said. Uncle Jack grabbed the sofa-pillow.

“ Jack! ” exclaimed Grandma. “ Don’t up¬ set anything more.”

“ I’m congratulating this wise child,” said Uncle Jack, and he threw the pillow up to the ceiling. “ Polly’s Shop! Just the checker! ”

“ A hanging sign, with a little girl reading a book,” began Cousin May.

“ Which Edith can paint,” interrupted Un¬ cle Jack, looking at his sister. “ How does that name strike you, Mother? ”

“ It certainly is not queer,” said Mrs. Clif¬ ford slowly, “ and, yes,” she added with a smile at her little granddaughter, “ it sounds as though it would be pleasant to visit it.”

“ But it isn’t my shop,” said Polly doubt¬ fully. “ It belongs to Cousin May.”

“You would lend me your name, wouldn’t you, Polly dear? ” coaxed Cousin May.

“ Yes,” said Polly. “ If you want it. Only, would it be true? ”

THE SHOP

“ True enough for the purpose,” said Cousin May. “ We will name the little girl on the sign, the sign Mother is to make. She will he Polly, and the lettering will read ‘Polly’s Shop.’ People who come to buy books needn’t know that you are Polly, too.”

That made it seem right to Polly. “ I’ll lend the little girl my name,” she agreed happily.

Then they began to talk about book-shelves, and about staining the inside of the fish-house, and about wearing smocks, and whether Mother should take some of the pretty things she was always making, and have them for sale with the books. They forgot Polly’s bedtime. She grew quiet and then sleepy. Uncle Jack saw her eyes closing, and scooped her into his arms.

“ Look at your neglected child, Edith? ” he exclaimed. “ Here she is perishing with sleep, and you sit talking about smocks.”

“ Carry her upstairs,” said Grandma, laying down her sewing. “ I’ll put her to bed, Edith, and you and May can finish your plans.”

There were too many plans to be completed in that one visit from Cousin May, and some had to be arranged by letter. It seemed to Polly that Mother was busier than ever, and she never had been idle. Between the garden, which needed much weeding, as well as plant¬ ing, and making the sign for the bookshop, and helping Uncle Jack plan about the shelves, and seeing about Polly’s summer clothes, because she had outgrown everything she had, there were fewer Saturday picnics than usual.

The weeks seemed like little dashes between two dots for Sundays, and the last week in May was busiest of all. Mother’s school in the city closed, and then there was a great deal of pack¬ ing to be done. Uncle Jack was to drive her down to Ponagansett and help them get settled.

They left about six the evening before Me-

THE SHOP 29

morial Day. Justin, Uncle Jack’s little Ford, was so crammed with luggage that it did not look as though there was room to add even a postage-stamp. Piled along the runningboards were the shelves and uprights for the cases to be put up in the bookshop. Uncle Jack had made them to measures which Cousin May sent. Grandma was doubtful about their fit¬ ting.

“ I shall take a saw and a hammer and nails,” Uncle Jack told her. 44 Being an architect, I understand the use of a few simple tools.”

Polly laughed. When she thought of all the pencils and the odd-shaped drawing-tools which littered Uncle Jack’s drafting-table in the attic workroom, it would indeed be odd if he could not saw a board or drive a nail where it was needed.

It was well that Polly had something to laugh at, because having Mother go for three whole weeks before she could join her was a sobering thought. Grandma was serious, too, but partly because she did not like them to start so late, nor drive so far after dark. There were kisses and hugs and waving hands till the car was out of sight, and then Polly suddenly thought that in the excitement of their starting, she had for¬ gotten to tell Mother about a most interesting thing that happened that afternoon in the chil¬ dren’s room of the Public Library. She told Grandma all about it, while they were work¬ ing together in the pretty kitchen, the kitchen which Polly had helped paint as a Thanksgiving surprise for Grandma.

It was about an old man who made a mistake in the library doors and came to the children’s room instead of upstairs where the older peo¬ ple belonged. And his mistake ended in a way that so interested the children that it is a story all by itself and must have a chapter of its own.

CHAPTER THREE Tells About the Old Grandpa

I T was on a rainy Friday afternoon that the old man first came to the children’s room at the Longfield Public Library. Because it rained, books to read at home that evening were important, and the room was crowded with boys and girls.

The old man looked around with a timid smile, but nobody seemed to notice him. Miss Burt and Miss Canfield were both busy at the desk, and the children were choosing stories. For some time he looked along the shelves, and then took a volume and sat down at the table with the littlest children. It was the table that held the picture-books.

Later in the afternoon, Miss Burt noticed him, absorbed in his book. He was perfectly quiet, only, as he read, he pronounced each word with his lips, without making any sound. When the whistles blew at six o’clock, the old man rose and put his book back in the place it be¬ longed. He looked across the room at Miss Burt, made her a funny little bow, and went away.

The next afternoon he came again and sat at the same table with the same book. This time the children noticed him.

“ This is our room,” said Morris Troubetsky to Miss Burt. “ The big people have their own place. He ought to go there to read.”

“ Probably he won’t come again,” said Miss Burt. “ If he is a stranger in town, maybe he doesn’t know that there is another part to the building.”

“ I could tell him,” said Tanis. “ I could show him the other door to the big library.”

“ There is room for him here,” said Miss Burt. “ He is not doing anybody any harm, is he?”

“ No-o,” said Morris doubtfully, “ only it is our room and he doesn’t belong here.”

“ I think we had better let him stay,” said Tanis. “ Perhaps he is somebody’s grandpa, and that is a book he read when he was a little boy.~

“ I feel sure he is somebody’s grandpa,” agreed Miss Burt. “ Let’s treat him as we would want our own grandpas to be treated.”

“ That would be politely,” admitted Morris, and the other children around Miss Burt’s desk agreed that the old grandpa should not be told that he was not expected to sit in the children’s room.

“ Would it be impolite to look at the book he is reading? ” asked Tanis.

“ Not if you do it carefully,” said Miss Burt after a minute. “ I should like to know my¬ self.”

“ I will be careful,” said Tanis, and she went to the table where the old grandpa sat.

The children and Miss Burt all watched. Tanis passed behind the old grandpa and looked over his shoulder. Then she leaned across the table and took a picture-book. She looked at it for several minutes. She came back to the desk.

“ He is reading the life of Abraham Lincoln,” she whispered to Miss Burt. “ He is at the top of page 8.”

“ There are plenty of lives of Lincoln,” said Morris. “ That is all right, then. He can come and read it if he wants to.”

Morris went away from the desk, and the other children scattered to select their books. The old grandpa sat on, turning a page at long intervals.

At six, he made Miss Burt his little bow, and went away. On Monday afternoon he came again, took his book and sat down at the table, and the next day and the next.

The children accepted him without further comment. They even found him useful. He helped Mary Shameklis pull on her too-small overshoes. He was quite willing to “ mind ” a loaf of bread for Nellie Skea, and he could be trusted as a parking-place for valuable toy automobiles. And Henry of Navarre, the li¬ brary cat, liked the old grandpa. He jumped on his knee the third time he came.

When Henry did this, the old grandpa looked startled, but then he smiled, and stroked Hen¬ ry’s head. Henry began to purr and turned round and round, and settled down for a nap. The children and Miss Burt smiled. Henry did not often choose to get into anybody’s lap. Perhaps he knew that the old grandpa was much more likely to sit still than were the restless children.

Very slowly the old grandpa read from page 8 to page 45. And then, one day after he had gone, a shocking thing happened.

Miss Burt saw the group of boys arguing by the door. Harry was its centre, and he looked red and angry. Morris was blocking the way out, and Tom and Isidor and Bene Avere trying to get hold of something which Harry held be¬ hind him.

Miss Burt left the desk. “ What is the trouble?” she asked. “What is the matter with Harry? ”

“ He has taken the old grandpa’s book,” said Morris and Tom together. “ Miss Canfield stamped it for him. She didn’t know it was that book. Harry is a pig to take it away.”

Miss Burt looked at Harry. “ You didn’t know it was his book, did you? ” she asked.

“ Yes, I did,” said Harry crossly. “ I don’t see why I can’t take it. He is gone, and the book was back on the shelf for anybody to take.”

“ The old grandpa isn’t through with it,” burst out Morris. “ There is his book-mark at page 78. He will come to-morrow and the book won’t be here for him.”

“ He can read another,” said Harry, still holding behind him the Life of Lincoln .

“ So can you,” said Tom.

“ I have a right to take it,” said Harry. “ Haven’t I, Miss Burt? ”

Everybody within hearing had stopped read¬ ing to look at Miss Burt and the boys.

“ You have the right,” said Miss Burt slowly, “ but I don’t believe, Harry, you really want to use that right, do you? ”

Harry looked crosser than ever, but he also grew a little redder.

“ Some other life of Lincoln would do just as well for you, wouldn’t it? ” asked Miss Burt. “ I have a very interesting new one, with pic¬ tures, on the shelf of new books. You are al¬ ways careful, Harry, about having your hands clean. How about taking that new one and leaving this for the old grandpa to finish? ”

“ All right,” said Harry gruffly.

Miss Burt took the new life of Lincoln from the special shelf and changed it for the one Harry held. The boys all went away except Morris. He asked Miss Burt for a pencil and a piece of paper. Miss Burt put the book back on the shelf just where the old grandpa was ac¬ customed to find it.

Morris wrote on his paper. He put it in the book-pocket of the Life of Lincoln. Then he went home.

Tanis had been reading at a table. After Morris went away, she got up and looked at the book. She brought it to the desk to show Miss Burt.

Upon the paper Morris had written: NO- BODDY IS TO SNITCH THIS BOOK HOME TILL THE OLD GRANDPA GETS THROUGH.

“ Shall I leave it? ” asked Tanis.

Miss Burt looked at the paper for quite a long time without answering.

Snitch ’ is not polite,” said Tanis, “ and ‘ nobody ’ has only one d. Shall I change it? ”

“ No,” said Miss Burt. “ We will leave it in the book, and just as Morris wrote it.”

So the next afternoon when the old grandpa came, his book was on the shelf and Henry was waiting to get into his lap.

There were 194 pages in the Life of Lincoln and it took the old grandpa almost a month to a day to read it. By that time, the children would have missed him had he not come. The chair he liked best was always left for him, for nobody thought of taking it any more than his book.

He finished the Life of Lincoln at twenty minutes past four on the day before Memorial Day. He laid it on the table before him and took off his glasses with their rusty steel bows. He looked around at the children and smiled at those nearest. After a little, he put Henry gently on one of the window-seats. He took the book and went up to the library desk.

“ I am very much obliged to you, ma’am,” he said to Miss Burt, with his stiff little bow. “ It has meant a lot to me to read that book.. And I like your cat and your children.”

“Won’t you find another book to read?” asked Miss Burt. “ Henry and the children like to have you come.”

“ I am going away,” said the old grandpa. “ I was only visitin’ my son here in Longfield.

It was just that book I wanted to read. You see I once met Lincoln.”

Quite a number of children were standing near the desk. Such a silence as fell upon them! Even Miss Burt gave a little gasp.

You knew Lincoln? ” she exclaimed.

“ Yes, ma’am,” said the old grandpa. “ He once shook my hand.”

As he spoke, the old grandpa looked at the knotted, worn fingers of his right hand. He did not seem to notice the awed stillness of the room.

Miss Burt rose. “Children!” she said, “ this gentleman, who has been our guest, knew President Lincoln! ” Then she turned to the old grandpa. “ Won’t you tell us about it? ” she asked.

“ Why, yes, ma’am,” said the old grandpa, straightening his shoulders, “ though there isn’t much to tell. It was over sixty years ago.

I was a boy of sixteen when I ran away and enlisted. I’m eighty now, ma’am. It was the worst year of the war, just after Gettysburg.”

He stopped to look around the room. The children, sitting at the tables, or leaning against the shelves, were all looking at him and all were breathlessly still. Harry and Morris had crept to the door to see that no newcomer interrupted the story.

“ President Lincoln came to camp to talk things over with the commandin’ generals. Headquarters was in an old farmhouse, and I was told off with the guard. ’Twas a cold night and they sent out for more wood. I took it in, and glad I was of the chance. The President was sittin’ in an ordinary camp chair, big and sort of sprawlin’, for he was a loose-constructed kind of man. I was so scart by the idee of seein’ him that I dropped some of the wood. He looked at me then and sort of smiled.

And where do you come from, boy ? 9 he asked.

Illinois, Mr. President,’ says I.

“ 4 So do I,’ says he, and then he holds out his hand. 4 Shake, Neighbor,’ says President Lincoln.

44 And that’s how I came to shake hands with Lincoln,” ended the old grandpa.

44 It is a wonderful thing to remember,” said Miss Burt softly.

44 Yes, ma’am, so it is,” agreed the old grandpa. 44 And it was a fine thing to happen to a boy. Boys are harum-scarum animals, al¬ ways into mischief and up to all sorts of un¬ mannerly behavior. It made me stop and think, you know, — that I must keep my hand from bad deeds, because it once held Lincoln’s hand.”

He stopped again to look thoughtfully at his gnarled fingers. 44 I’ve worked hard all my years and never seemed to get much ahead, ma’am, but I’ve so lived that I wouldn’t be ashamed to give my hand again to Lincoln.”

Miss Burt’s eyes looked a little misty. She glanced quickly at the children, quiet as mice, gazing with absorbed interest at the old grandpa who had known Lincoln.

“ Would you do something for us that we

shall consider a great honor? ” she asked.

“ Would you be willing to shake hands with us

all? I know it is a good deal to ask, but you

see President Lincoln died before any of us

were born. We never before met anv one who saw him alive. And to-morrow will be Memo¬ rial Day.”

“ Indeed, ma’am, I’ll be pleased and proud to do so,” said the old grandpa earnestly, and he threw back his head, and straightened his shoulders as a good soldier should.

Miss Burt took his hand first, and then he stood by the desk and shook hands with all the children, as, one by one, they filed gravely past. Miss Burt stood watching them: among them, Morris from Russia; Tanis from Greece; Rene from France; Katie from Ireland; Jessie from Scotland, together with Polly Winsor and Carola Thorne, whose very-great-grandfathers helped settle New England in the days of the Pilgrims and Puritans.

Yet they were all loyal Americans, and all were equally thrilled by the honor of touching the hand of the old grandpa who had once held the hand of President Lincoln.

CHAPTER FOUR Tells How Polly Went to Ponagansett

W HEN Uncle Jack came back very late on Sunday evening, Polly was in bed, and she did not hear much about the fish-house Cousin May had rented, except that Uncle Jack thought it would “ do,” and that he liked Pona¬ gansett, and, if the bookshop lasted through the summer, he thought he would like to spend his vacation there. Perhaps he told his mother rather more the night before, but when Polly saw him on Monday morning, he was hurrying through his breakfast in order to catch the early train for the city. She did learn that the meas¬ urements for the bookcases were not so far wrong that he could not make the shelves fit, and that they were all in place, ready for the girls to stain.

Not to have Mother coming home at night was really dreadful. Neither did Polly like Mother’s empty bed across her room, even though she knew that Grandma’s door was wide open, and that she would hear if Polly spoke. The days of the first week were twice as long as usual, and Mother was too busy to write often, but the second week seemed shorter, and the third was happiest of all.