it took a great deal to frighten polly maybright; no discipline, no hard words, no punishments, had ever been able to induce the smallest sensation of fear in her breast. as to the moor, she had been brought up on it; she had drank[pg 122] in its air, and felt its kindly breath on her cheeks from her earliest days. the moors were to polly like dear, valued, but somewhat stern, friends. to be alone, even at night, in one of the small ravines of peg-top moor had little in itself to alarm the moorland child.
it took polly some time to realize that she was absolutely unable to stir a step. struggle as she might, she could not put that badly-injured foot to the ground. even she, brave and plucky as she was, had not the nerve to undergo this agony. she could not move, therefore she could do nothing at present to recover little pearl. this was really the thought which distressed her. as to sleeping with her head pressed against the friendly bracken, or staying on peg-top moor all night, these were small considerations. but not to be able to stir a step to find the baby, to feel that flower was carrying the baby farther and farther away, and that polly’s chance of ever seeing her again was growing less and less, became at last a thought of such agony that the poor little girl could scarcely keep from screaming aloud.
“and it was all my fault!” she moaned. “i forgot what father said about climbing the highest mountain. when david came to me, and told me that flower was subject to those awful passions, i forgot all about my mountain-climbing. i did not recognize that i had come to a dangerous bit, so that i wanted the ropes of prayer and the memory of mother to pull me over it. no, i did nothing but rejoice in the knowledge that i didn’t much like flower, and that i was very, very glad to tease her. now i am punished. oh, oh, what shall i do? oh, if baby is lost! if baby dies, i shall die too! oh, i think i’m the most miserable girl in all the world! what shall i do? why did mother go away? why did flower come here? why did i want her to come? i made a mess of the housekeeping, and now i have made a mess of the visit of the strangers. oh, i’m the sort of girl who oughtn’t to go a step alone!—i really, really am! i think i’m the very weakest sort of girl in all the world!”
polly sobbed and sobbed. it was not her custom to give way thus utterly, but she was in severe pain of body, and she had got a great shock when the loss of little pearl had been announced by david.
“what shall i do?” she moaned and sobbed. “oh, i’m the sort of girl who oughtn’t to go a step alone.”
while she cried all by herself on the moor, and the friendly stars looked down at her, and the moon came out and shone on her poor forsaken little figure, an old verse she used to say in her early childhood returned to her memory. it was the verse of a hymn—a hymn her mother was fond of, and used often to sing, particularly about the time of the new year, to the children.
mrs. maybright had a beautiful voice, and on sunday evenings she sang many hymns, with wonderful pathos and feeling, to her children. polly, who cared for music on her[pg 123] own account, had loved to listen. at these times she always looked hungrily into her mother’s face, and a longing and a desire for the best things of all awoke in her breast. it was at such times as these that she made resolves, and thought of climbing high and being better than others.
since her mother’s death, polly could not bear to listen to hymns. in church she had tried to shut her ears; her lips were closed tight, and she diligently read to herself some other part of the service. for her mother’s sake, the hymns, with that one beautiful voice silent, were torture to her; but polly was a very proud girl, and no one, not even her father, who now came nearest to her in all the world, guessed what she suffered.
now, lying on the moor, her mother’s favorite hymn seemed to float down from the stars to her ears:
“i know not the way i am going,
but well do i know my guide;
with a trusting faith i give my hand
to the loving friend at my side.”
“the only thing that i say to him
as he takes it is, ‘hold it fast!
suffer me not to lose my way,
and bring me home at last!’”
it did not seem at all to polly that she was repeating these words herself; rather they seemed to be said to her gently, slowly, distinctly, by a well-loved and familiar voice.
it was true, then, there was a guide, and those who were afraid to go alone could hold a hand which would never lead them astray.
her bitter sobs came more quietly as she thought of this. gradually her eyes closed, and she fell asleep.
when flower started across the moor it was quite true that she was not in the least afraid. a great terror had come to her that night; during those awful minutes when she feared the baby was dead, the terror of the deed she had done had almost stunned her; but when maggie came and relieved her of her worst agony, a good deal of her old manner and a considerable amount of her old haughty, defiant spirit had returned.
flower was more or less uncivilized; there was a good deal of the wild and of the untamed about her; and now that the baby was alive, and likely to do well, overwhelming contrition for the deed she had done no longer oppressed her.
she stepped along as quickly as her uncomfortable boots would admit. the moonlight fell full on her slender figure, and cast a cold radiance over her uncovered head. her long, yellow hair floated down over her shoulders; she looked wonderfully ethereal, almost unearthly, and had any of the villagers been abroad, they might well have taken her for one of the ghosts of the moor.[pg 124]
flower had a natural instinct for finding her way, and, aided by maggie’s directions, she steered in a straight course for the village. not a soul was abroad; she was alone, in a great solitude.
the feeling gave her a certain sense of exhilaration. from the depths of her despair her easily influenced spirits sprang again to hope and confidence. after all, nothing very dreadful had happened. she must struggle not to give way to intemperate feelings. she must bear with polly! she must put up with maggie. it was all very trying, of course, but it was the english way. she walked along faster and faster, and now her lips rose in a light song, and now again she ran, eager to get over the ground. when she ran her light hair floated behind her, and she looked less and less like a living creature.
polly had slept for nearly two hours. she awoke to hear a voice singing, not the sweet, touching, high notes which had seemed to fall from the stars to comfort her, but a wild song:
“oh, who will up and follow me?
oh, who will with me ride?
oh, who will up and follow me
to win a bonny bride?”
for a moment polly’s heart stood still; then she started forward with a glad and joyful cry.
“it is flower! flower coming back again with little pearl!” she said, in a voice of rapture. “that is flower’s song and flower’s voice, and she wouldn’t sing so gayly if baby was not quite, quite well, and if she was not bringing her home.”
polly rose, as well as she could, to a sitting posture, and shouted out in return:
“here i am, flower. come to me. bring me baby at once.”
even flower, who in many respects had nerves of iron, was startled by this sudden apparition among the bracken. for a brief instant she pressed her hand to her heart. were maggie’s tales true? were there really queer and unnatural creatures to be found on the moor?
“come here, flower, here! i have sprained my ankle. what are you afraid of?” shouted polly again. then flower sprang to her side, knelt down by her, and took her cold hand in hers. flower’s slight fingers were warm; she was glowing all over with life and exercise.
“where’s baby?” said polly, a sickly fear stealing over her again when she saw that the queer girl was alone.
“baby? she’s in the hermit’s hut with maggie. don’t scold me, polly. i’m very sorry i got into a passion.”
polly pushed flower’s fingers a little away.
“i don’t want to be angry,” she said. “i’ve been asking god to keep me from being angry. i did wrong myself, i did[pg 125] very wrong, only you did worse; you did worse than i did, flower.”
“i don’t see that at all. at any rate, i have said i am sorry. no one is expected to beg pardon twice. how is it you are out here, lying on the moor, polly? are you mad?”
“no. i came out to look for baby, and for you.”
“but why are you here? you could not find us in that lazy fashion.”
“look at my foot; the moonlight shines on it. see, it is twisted all round. i fell from a height and hurt myself. i have been lying here for hours.”
“poor polly! i am really sorry. i once strained my foot like that. the pain was very bad—very, very bad. mother kept my foot on her knee all night; she bathed it all night long; in the morning it was better.”
“please, flower, don’t mind about my foot now. tell me about baby. is she ill? have you injured her?”
“i don’t know. i suppose i did wrong to take her out like that. i said before, i was sorry. i was frightened about her, awfully frightened, until maggie came in. i was really afraid baby was dead. i don’t want to speak of it. it wasn’t true. don’t look at me like that. maggie came, and said that little pearl lived. i was so relieved that i kissed maggie, yes, actually, although she is only a kitchen-maid. maggie got a warm bath ready, and put baby in, and when i left the hut she was sound asleep. maggie knew exactly what to do for her. fancy my kissing her, although she is only a kitchen-maid!”
“she is the dearest girl in the world!” said polly. “i think she is noble. think of her going to the hermit’s hut, and finding baby, and saving baby’s life. oh, she is the noblest girl in the world, miles and miles above you and me!”
“you can speak for yourself. i said she behaved very well. it is unnecessary to compare her to people in a different rank of life. now, do you think you can lean on me, and so get back to sleepy hollow?”
“no, flower. i cannot possibly stir. look at my foot; it is twisted the wrong way.”
“then i must leave you, for maggie has sent me in a great hurry to get milk, and comforts of all sorts, for baby.”
“please don’t stay an instant. run, flower. why did you stay talking so long? if father is in the house, you can tell him, and he will come, i know, and carry me home. but, oh! get everything that is wanted for baby first of all. i am not of the smallest consequence compared to baby. do run, flower; do be quick. it frets me so awfully to see you lingering here when baby wants her comforts.”
“i shan’t be long,” said flower. she gathered up her skirts, and sped down the path, and polly gave a sigh of real relief.
