Playmate Polly

When Jessie started out in the morning to school, she began at the gate to say to herself, “Bridge, Railroad, Hill,” and when she started home again if she came alone, it was “Hill, Railroad, Bridge.” Home was at one end of the journey; school at the other; Bridge, Railroad and Hill were the stations between, Jessie told herself. If she were reasonably early, she would stop on the bridge and peep over at the running water. At the railroad she seldom stopped except to say good-morning to Ezra Limpett who sat outside his little box of a house on sunny days, and inside it on rainy ones. He always held out the red flag to show the engineer, when the trains went whizzing by. Once, when the train was behind time, he had allowed Jessie to hold the fluttering flag, but that was on her way home, and he had said she must never cross till the train had passed. It was on account of Ezra that Jessie was allowed to go to the Hill school, for he never failed to be at his post watching for her, and Jessie’s father knew she would be perfectly safe in crossing the track because Ezra was there. Of course, it was pleasanter to come from school than to go to it, not only because it was down hill and home was at the far end of the way, but because Effie Hinsdale could come nearly as far as the railroad with her, and a companion always makes the distance seem shorter. Furthermore, there was time then to loiter, unless one felt very hungry, though loitering meant a talk with Ezra about the engines and the trains. The engines were always spoken of as her and she and were known by their numbers.

One day when Jessie was about to skip across the railroad ties, she heard Ezra call out: “Better wait a bit. 589 ain’t came along yet. She’s late to-day by ten minutes, and she’s due just about now.”

“Will you let me hold the flag?” said Jessie, turning aside.

Ezra nodded. “Hold her good and tight, and don’t stand too near. She’ll go kitin’ to-day because she’s behind time. Here, stand on this stone and I’ll hold on to ye. That’s her whistle now, so up with ye.”

Jessie scrambled upon the stone and gripped the flag tightly, while Ezra took a firm hold upon her. The train was in sight in a second, and almost before she could wink, it went flying by, scattering the dust and causing Jessie’s skirts to flutter in the breeze it made. It was very exciting, though it was something of a relief to see the tail end of the train disappear down the track.

“Wouldn’t like to be in her way, would ye?” said Ezra, helping the little girl down.

“Indeed, I wouldn’t,” replied Jessie decidedly. “Do you like better to be inside your funny little house, Ezra, or outside it?”

“That depends. Wet days I’m glad to be in; sorter cozy with a fire and my pipe going. ’Tain’t very big, but it’s fair enough shelter, and it ain’t as if I hadn’t a roomier place to actually live in. I don’t have it so very bad, for there ain’t no night trains and I can get home and have my night’s rest. I’m always in by nine, for there ain’t no trains after six. If this was a big trunk line now, the trains would be chugging by all night.”

“Then don’t the conductors and engineers ever sleep?”

“Some of ’em mighty little. There’s hard tales about how they’re worked. Folks all well?”

“Yes, thank you,” returned Jessie, picking up her books which she had dropped on the ground, and being reminded by Ezra’s remark that she must not stay too long. “I reckon I’d better be going now; mother might be worrying about me.”

Ezra nodded. “That’s right. Days gettin’ kinder short, too. You won’t get home much before sundown, come winter.”

“Won’t I?” Jessie had not thought of this. “I’ll always have to hurry then.”

“And you won’t find me settin’ out in the cold so over often,” said Ezra.

“Good-bye,” said Jessie.

Ezra nodded and waved a stubby hand as if to a departing train, while Jessie ran across the track and took up the last part of her accustomed chant. Hill and Railroad were passed, so there was only Bridge left. “Bridge, Bridge, Bridge, Bridge,” she whispered, keeping time to her pace, and very soon Bridge, too, was left behind and she was within sight of the lane, the house, the barn, and, last, her mother’s anxious face at the window.

“You’re late, dear,” said Mrs. Loomis, as the little girl came into the sitting-room.

“Yes,” returned Jessie. “589 was behind time and Ezra wouldn’t let me come till she had passed. He let me hold the flag. I like the train to be late for it is exciting to have her go by so fast it almost takes your breath.”

“I don’t like it to be late,” replied Mrs. Loomis, “for I always feel anxious about you till you get home. If Ezra were not there, and if I didn’t know we could absolutely depend upon him to watch out for you, I don’t know what we should do.”

“What do you think you would do?” asked Jessie. “Would you or father have to come for me? Would you have to do that?”

“No, we couldn’t do that very well. We should have to send for you, probably, or else keep you from school altogether.”

“I’d like that,” said Jessie in a satisfied tone.

“You’d like to grow up a silly little dunce?” returned her mother, “and not know how to read or write? Would you like Max and Walter to come home from school and be ashamed of their little sister?”

“Oh, no,” Jessie was quite sure she would not. “But,” she said after a moment’s thought, “everybody doesn’t have to go to school. Cousin Lillian does not. I could have a governess.”

“That is what you would have to have, though it would be rather expensive. The boys have to go away to school and it costs a good deal for them. But we’ll not bother over the question while Ezra is on hand, for now it is perfectly safe for you to go to the Hill school.”

“Suppose something should happen to Ezra,” said Jessie, persistently following up the subject. “I should hate anything to happen to him, but if it should, and another man were to take his place, then would I have to stop going to school?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, child. We won’t discuss it now. It will be time enough when such a thing happens.” And Mrs. Loomis went out, leaving Jessie standing by the window.

Jessie stood for a few minutes looking out and then she, too, left the room. It was time to feed the chickens and after that her father would be coming in. The corn had been harvested and stood stacked in the fields. Jessie thought the stacks looked very much like Indian wigwams and she pictured to herself her terror if they really were such. However, the terror was not very keen and was soon forgotten when she reached the spot where the fowls were jostling one another and pecking eagerly at the corn Minerva was scattering on the ground. Minerva was the servant who had lived in the family ever since she was a little girl. She was very fond of Jessie and the two often had long talks about the chickens, the pigeons, the ducks and the turkeys.

“There’s two young turkeys missing,” said Minerva as Jessie appeared. “After I get through here you can go ’long with me if you like and look ’em up. You’re a right good hand for spying ’em out and they do beat everything for wandering.”

“I believe I know where they are,” Jessie told her. “I shouldn’t wonder if they were over there where the mountain cherries grow. I’ve seen them there lots of times.”

“Then that’s where we’ll look for ’em,” said Minerva, scattering another handful of corn. “They’re big enough now not to care much about being with the old ones, and I have to keep an eye on ’em.”

“Have you fed the young chickens yet?” asked Jessie. “How fast they do eat, Minerva. Look at that great piggy rooster driving away that smaller one. I never did like that old yellow fellow, anyhow.”

“He is kind of greedy,” agreed Minerva. “No, I haven’t fed the young chickens. You can mix the meal if you like. Don’t make it too wet like you did last time. Mrs. Speckle is a little droopy; she don’t take her food well at all. She’s such a good layer, I hope there’s nothing wrong with her.”

Jessie moved away to get the meal. Two measures of it she carefully piled up in the tin box which she found in the bin. This she emptied into a pan and then she poured in a little water at a time, stirring it with a spoon at first, and then with her whole hand. She liked the operation, and was so interested in squeezing the wet meal that Minerva finally had to call her.

“If you’re going to help me hunt those turkeys, you’d better hurry with that meal,” she said.

Jessie carried the tin pan to the enclosure where the young chickens were making a great fuss, poking their heads between the slats and peeping anxiously. But their peeping soon stopped as Jessie scattered little dabs of the food on the ground. “Don’t gather the eggs till I come,” she called to Minerva whom she saw searching the nests.

“Obliged to,” returned Minerva, “or there’ll be no time to look up the turkeys. It gets dark so much sooner these days, you know.”

With one swoop of the wooden spoon Jessie swept the rest of the meal into a pile on the ground, set down the pan and joined Minerva. “How many are there to-day?” she asked.

“Ten, so far.”

Jessie climbed upon a box and peered into a corner. “There are two more here,” she said. “Shall I take them?”