if ever poor little girls found themselves in a sad plight it was the two who now huddled close together in the hermit’s hut. even polly was thoroughly frightened, and as to maggie, nothing but the angry growls of cinder restrained the violence of her sobs.
“oh, ain’t a hermit’s life awful!” she whispered more than once to her companion. “oh! miss polly, why did you speak of peg-top moor, and the hermit’s hut, and berries and water?”
“don’t be silly, maggie,” said polly, “i did not mention the wife of micah jones, nor these dreadful dogs. this is a misfortune, and we must bear it as best we can. have you none of the spirit of a heroine in you, maggie; don’t you know that in all the story-books, when the heroines run away, they come to dreadful grief? if we look at it in that light, and think of ourselves as distressed heroines, it will help us to bear up. indeed,” continued polly, “if it wasn’t for my having been naughty a few days ago, and perhaps father coming back to-night, i think i’d enjoy this—i would really. as it is——” here the brave little voice broke off into a decided quaver. the night was falling, the stars were coming out in the sky, and polly, standing in the door of the hut, with her arm thrown protectingly round maggie’s neck, found a great rush of loneliness come over her.[pg 74]
during those weary days spent in her bed-room, repentance, even in the most transient guise, had scarcely come near her. she was too much oppressed with a sense of injustice done to herself to be sorry about the feast in the attic. in short, all her time was spent in blaming aunt maria.
now with the lonely feeling came a great soreness of heart, and an intense and painful longing for her mother. those fits of longing which came to polly now and then heralded in, as a rule, a tempest of grief. wherever she was she would fling herself on the ground, and give way to most passionate weeping. her eyes swam in tears now, she trembled slightly, but controlled herself. on maggie’s account it would never do for her to give way. the ugly dogs came up and sniffed at her hands, and smelt her dress. maggie screamed when they approached her, but polly patted their heads. she was not really afraid of them, neither was she greatly alarmed at the thought of the wife of micah jones. what oppressed her, and brought that feeling of tightness to her throat, and that smarting weight of tears to her eyes, were the great multitude of stars in the dark-blue heavens, and the infinite and grand solitude of the moors which lay around.
the night grew darker; poor maggie, worn out, crouched down on the ground; polly, who had now quite made friends with cinder, sat by maggie’s side, and when the poor hungry little girl fell asleep, polly let her rest her head in her lap. the dogs and the two children were all collected in the doorway of the hut, and now polly could look more calmly up at the stars, and the tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
it was in this position that, at about a quarter to nine, dr. maybright found her. some instinct seemed to lead him to peg-top moor—a sudden recollection brought the hut to his memory, a ringing voice, and gay laugh came back to him. the laugh was polly’s, the words were hers. “oh, if there could be a delightful thing, it would be to live as a hermit in the hut at the other side of peg-top moor!”
“the child is there,” he said to himself. and when this thought came to him he felt so sure that it was a true and guiding thought that he whistled for the men who were to help him in the search, and together they went to the hut.
cinder and flinder had got accustomed to polly, whom they rather liked; maggie they barely tolerated; but the firm steps of three strangers approaching the hut caused them to bristle up, to call all their canine ferocity to their aid, and to bark furiously.
but all their show of enmity mattered nothing in such a supreme moment as this to polly. no dogs, however fierce, should keep her from the arms of her father. in an instant she was there, cuddling up close to him, while the men he had brought with him took care of maggie, and beat off the angry dogs.
“father, there never was any one as naughty as i have been!”
“my darling, you have found that out?”
“yes, yes, yes! and you may punish me just whatever way you like best, only let me kiss you now. punish me, but don’t be angry.”
“i’m going to take you home,” said doctor, who feared mischief from polly’s present state of strong excitement. “i expect you have gone through a fright and have had some punishment. the minute, too, we find out that we are really naughty, our punishment begins, as well as our forgiveness. i shall very likely punish you, child, but be satisfied, i forgive you freely. now home, and to bed, and no talk of anything to-night, except a good supper, and a long restful sleep. come, polly, what’s the matter? do you object to be carried?”
“but not in your arms, father. i am so big and heavy, it will half kill you.”
“you are tall, but not heavy, you are as light as a reed. listen! i forbid you to walk a step. when i am tired there are two men to help me. simpkins, will you and george give maggie a hand, and keep close to us. now, we had better all get home as fast as possible.”
it was more than half-past ten that night before polly and the doctor returned to sleepy hollow. but what a journey home she had! how comforting were the arms that supported her, how restful was the shoulder, on which now and then in an ecstasy to love and repentance, she laid her tired head! the stars were no longer terrible, far-off, and lonely, but near and friendly, like the faces of well-known friends. the moor ceased to be a great, vast, awful solitude, it smelt of heather, and was alive with the innumerable sounds of happy living creatures—and best of all, mother herself seemed to come back out of the infinite, to comfort the heart of the sorrowful child.
