Part 24 (1/2)
”What would you wish for, Pollykins?” asked Marraine, softly.
”Oh, lots of things!” said Polly, perching in her lap. ”First--first of all, I wish that I could keep you here forever and forever, darling Marraine!”
”Well, you have me for six weeks every summer,” laughed Marraine.
”But that isn't forever and forever,” sighed Polly. ”And mamma and dad and grandmamma and everybody else want you, too.”
”Are you sure of that?” asked the lady, kissing the upturned face.
”Oh, very sure!” replied Polly, positively. ”They say it's all nonsense for you to go to the hospital and take care of sick people. It's--it's something--I don't remember what.”
”Stubborn pride?” suggested Marraine, with a merry sparkle in her eyes.
”Yes,” said Polly, ”that's just what grandmamma said. And stubborn pride is something bad; isn't it, Marraine?”
”Well, yes, it is,” agreed Marraine,--”when it _is_ stubborn pride, Pollykins. But when one has empty hands and empty purse and--well, an empty life, too, Pollykins, it is not stubborn pride to try to fill them with work and care and pity and help.”
”And that is what you do at the hospital, Marraine?”
”It is what I try to do, Pollykins. When my dear father died, and I found all his money gone, this beautiful home of yours opened its doors wide for me; dad, mamma, grandma, everybody begged me to come here. But--but it wasn't my real home or my real place.”
”Oh, wasn't it, Marraine?” said Polly, sadly.
”No, dear. In our real home, our real place, G.o.d gives us work to do,--some work, even though it be only to bless and love. But there was no work for me here; and so I looked around, Pollykins, for my work and my place. If I had been very, _very_ good, I might have folded my b.u.t.terfly wings under a veil and habit, and been a nice little nun, like Sister Claudine.”
”Oh, I wouldn't have liked that at all!” said Polly, with a s.h.i.+ver.
”I'm afraid I wouldn't either,” was the laughing answer. ”Still, it's a lovely, useful, beautiful life, little girl. And the next--the very next--best place and best work seemed to me the hospital, with the white gown and cap I can put off when I please; with sickness and sorrow and suffering to soothe and help; with little children holding out their arms to me, and old people calling to me in their pain, and dying eyes turning to me for hope and help. So I am nurse in a hospital, and out of it, too, when there is need. And it's not for stubborn pride, as grandma says, and no doubt thinks; but because I believe it to be my real work and my real place. Now get your dollar, and we'll be off to Jonah's junk shop to look for Aladdin's lamp.”
And Polly danced off for her flower-wreathed hat, and the two were soon on their way down the narrow streets to the dull, dingy little shop near the water, where several customers were already looking over the curiously a.s.sorted stock, that on weekdays was spread far out on the sidewalk to attract pa.s.sers-by. Among these was a big, burly grey-haired man, whose bronzed face and easy-fitting clothes proclaimed the sailor.
”Why, Captain Carleton!” greeted Miss Stella, in some surprise.
”G.o.d bless my heart and soul!” was the hearty response, and the Captain held out both hands to the speaker. ”This is sailor's luck, indeed! From what star of hope did you drop, Miss Stella?”
”Oh, I drop here for a holiday every summer!” she answered gaily. ”I am glad to see you looking so well and strong again, Captain.”
”Thanks to you, my dear lady! Under the great Master of life and death, thanks to you! I was about as far on the rocks as an old craft could be without going to pieces entirely. How that soft little hand of yours steered me into safe water I'll never forget, dear lady,--never forget.
And I was a tough patient, too; wasn't I?”
”Well, you did say things sometimes that were not--prayers,” was the laughing answer.
And, chatting on pleasantly of the Captain's last winter in the hospital, they glanced over old Jonah's stock until something of interest caught the sailor's eye.
”By George! How in thunder did this get here?”
”A find,--a real find, Captain?” asked Miss Stella. ”What is it?”
”A medal,” he answered,--”a medal awarded for 'Brave and faithful service on the ”Reina Maria” sixty years ago.'” (He was scanning the bronze disc as he spoke),--”'Juan Farley.' Good Lord! Yes, poor old Jack! I wonder how he lived and died? And what in Heaven's name is his medal doing here?”