Part 26 (1/2)

But Parson Henderson liked the church of St. Jacques best of all things in Antwerp, and he used to steal away mornings to go there again and again. And he asked Polly and Jasper to go there with him one day, and Polly begged to have Adela go too, and they all came home as enthusiastic as he was.

And then suddenly Mr. King would wrench them all off from this delightful study and put his foot down peremptorily. ”No more cathedrals for a time,” he would declare; ”my old head cannot carry any more just yet.” And he would propose a little in-letting of fun. And then off they would go a-shopping, or to the Zoological Gardens; and they always had concerts, of course, wherever they were, for Polly and Jasper's sakes, if for no other reason. And by and by somebody announced, one fine morning, that they had been in Antwerp a fortnight.

And then one day Mother Fisher looked into Polly's brown eyes, and finding them tired, she calmly tucked Polly quietly in bed. ”Why, Mamsie,” declared Polly, ”I'm not sick.”

”No, and I'm not going to have you be,” observed Mrs. Fisher, sensibly.

”This running about sight-seeing is more tiresome, child, than you think for, and dreadfully unsettling unless you stop to rest a bit. No, Jasper,” as he knocked at the door, ”Polly can't go out to-day, at least not this morning. I've put her to bed.”

”Is Polly sick, Mrs. Fisher?” called Jasper, in great concern.

”No, not a bit,” answered Mrs. Fisher, cheerily, ”but she's tired. I've seen it coming on for two or three days back, so I'm going to take it in time.”

”And can't she come out, to-day?” asked Jasper, dreadfully disappointed, with a mind full of the host of fine things they had planned to do.

”No, Jasper,” said Mother Fisher, firmly, ”not to jaunt about.” So Jasper took himself off, feeling sure, despite his disappointment, that Polly's mother was right.

And there was another person who wholly agreed with Mother Fisher, and that was old Mr. King. ”If you can stop those young folks from killing themselves running about to see everything, you'll do more than I can, Mrs. Fisher,” he observed. ”It makes no difference how long I plan to stay in a town, so as to do it restfully, if they won't rest.”

”That is a fact,” said Mother Fisher. ”Well, that's my part to see that they do rest.”

”I don't envy you the job,” said the old gentleman, drily.

Polly fidgeted and turned on her pillow, knowing Mamsie was right, but unable to keep from thinking of the many beautiful plans that Jasper and she had formed for that very morning, till her head spun round and round. ”I can't get to sleep,” she said at last.

”Don't try to,” said her mother, dropping the heavy wool curtains till the room was quite dark; ”that's the worst thing in the world to do, if you want to rest. Just lie still and don't try to think of anything.”

”But I can't help thinking,” said poor Polly, feeling sure that Jasper was dreadfully disappointed at the upsetting of all the plans.

”Never say you can't help anything, Polly,” said her mother, coming over to the bedside to lay a cool hand on Polly's hot forehead, and then to drop a kiss there; and somehow the kiss did what all Polly's trying had failed to accomplish.

”That's good, Mamsie,” she said gratefully, and drew a long, restful breath.

Mother Fisher went out and closed the door softly.

It was just three o'clock that afternoon when Polly woke up.

”Oh, I'm dreadfully ashamed!” she exclaimed when she found it out.

”I've slept almost this whole day!”

Mother Fisher smiled, ”And it's the best day's work you've done in one long while, Polly,” she said.

”And here's my girl, Polly,” cried Grandpapa, when she ran down to him, and holding her at arm's length, he gazed into her bright eyes and on her rosy cheeks. ”Well, well, your mother's a clever woman, and no mistake.”

So Polly knew if she didn't take care and not get tired again, she would be tucked into bed another fine day.

It was a long summer morning, and they were sailing up the Rhine, with the delights of Brussels and Cologne behind them, and in between the covers of the purple book, No. 4, Polly had been looking at ruined castles and fortresses, at vine-clad terraces, and chalets, until she turned to Grandpapa with a sigh.

”Tired, Polly, little woman?” he said, cuddling her up against him.