12 A Warm Welcome

CHAPTER 12 A Warm Welcome Mr. King helped Polly out of the coach and up the steps. Jasper followed with Polly's trunk. A stiff butler opened the door. Polly felt as if she'd floated away to the fairyland of her dreams. Before her were warm greetings, large rooms, and high walls decorated with elegant paintings. Mr. King held her hand as though she were a

fragile package. Jasper bobbed around, introducing her to his nephews, Van, Percy, and Dick. Jasper's dog Prince jumped up and down trying to lick her face. Best of all was when Jasper's beautiful and kind older sister, Marian, smiled into Polly's upturned face and welcomed her with a hug and a kiss. "I am so very glad to have you here, Polly Pepper," Marian declared. From that moment on, Polly knew she would always love Marian. Marian took Polly's hand, "Come dear. I'll show you your room." "We want to see her. Let Polly stay and play!" Van, Percy, and Dick cried. "There's plenty of time for you to spend with Polly," Marian insisted, leading Polly up a wide oak staircase. Polly clung for dear life to Marian's soft, white hand as she led Polly down a lovely, long hallway.

"Now Polly, I'm going to put you here in the room right next to mine. I hope you will be very happy in it." Then, because she couldn't help it, Marian hugged the scared, little Polly in her arms. At dinner that night, all the boys chattered and laughed. They each had to tell Polly their stories. Polly described Ben and how much he liked to do woodwork. She explained about Phronsie and her adorable ways, and how Joel and Davie always made everyone laugh. By the end of the evening, it seemed as though Polly had always lived there. As they left the table, Dick rushed up to Polly and flung himself into her arms. "I love you!" Dick declared. Nothing more was needed to make Polly feel at home.

Each day, Polly awoke eager to learn as much as she could—for Mamsie. She carefully studied her school subjects and worked very hard at learning French. Most of all, Polly looked forward to her daily piano lessons. Polly loved the big piano in the drawing room. She barely noticed the shaded light, draped furniture, and thick, soft carpet. Polly only had eyes for the piano. Her music teacher was a funny, little man. Polly believed he was the magician who would unlock the secrets and mysteries of the piano. She admired him very much. The music teacher was charmed by Polly. He was very impressed with the way Polly devoted herself to her music lessons and how she practiced every day before he arrived. "I think Polly plays the piano better than any of us," Jasper announced proudly at dinner one evening.

"Polly is always practicing," Van said in a grumpy tone. "She never has time to play with us," Percy added. "I want Polly to play with me," Dick said. "Leave Polly alone," Jasper said sternly. "You think because you're thirteen you can tell us what to do," Van said. "But that's only three years older than I. So you can't tell me what to do, even if you are my uncle." Polly had never heard such angry talk at the Little Brown House. "Let's tell stories," Polly said in a bright voice. "We'll each tell one," she suggested. "You tell us a story, Polly. You tell the best stories," the little boys begged. So, Polly began one of her finest and funniest stories, which soon had all four boys giggling. Even Mr. King joined the fun. "How do you think of things like that, Polly Pepper?" Van asked, his face red from laughing.

"That isn't anything compared to the stories she used to tell at the Little Brown House," Jasper exclaimed. Jasper noticed Polly's face. At the mention of the Little Brown House, Polly had turned pale, and her brown eyes drooped. Her sad little face went right to Jasper's heart. Could Polly be homesick already? That night, and every night, when no one could see, tears would roll down Polly's rosy cheeks. The only place in the King house where Polly was truly happy, other than in front of the piano, was in the family greenhouse. After school-work, piano practice, and telling stories to the boys, Polly would rush to the greenhouse where old Turner, the gardener, tended the flowers. But even with the music and the flowers, the light in Polly's merry brown eyes was never very bright. She grew more silent and pale and droopy with each passing day.