was sorely tried, and he giggled more than once, while waiting on the
table.

Polly had donned a trailing black silk skirt of her mother's, with a
white chuddah shawl for a court train, and a white lace waist to top
it. Her hair was wound into a knot on the crown of her head and
adorned with three long black ostrich feathers, which soared to a great
height, and presented a most magnificent and queenly appearance.

Tom Mills, whose father was four times a millionaire, wondered why they
never had such gay times at his home, and tried to fancy his sister
Blanche sparkling and glowing and beaming over the prospect of earning
twenty-five dollars a month.

Then, when bedtime came, Polly and her mother talked it all over in the
dark.

"Oh, mamacita, I am so happy! It's such a lovely beginning, and I
shall be so glad, so glad to do it! I hope Mrs. Bird did n't invent
the plan for my good, for I have been frightfully shabby each time she
has seen me, but she says she thinks of nothing but the children. Now
we will have some pretty things, won't we? And oh! do you think, not
just now, but some time in the distant centuries, I can have a string
of gold beads?"

"I do, indeed," sighed Mrs. Oliver. "You are certainly in no danger of
being spoiled by luxury in your youth, my poor little Pollykins; but
you will get all these things some time, I feel sure, if they are good
for you, and if they belong to you. You remember the lines I read the
other day:--

"'Hast not thy share? On winged feet,
Lo! it rushes thee to meet;
And all that Nature made thy own,
Floating in air or pent in stone,
Will rive the hills and swim the sea
And, like thy shadow, follow thee.'"

"Yes," said Polly contentedly; "I am satisfied. My share of the
world's work is rushing to meet me. To-night I could just say with
Sarah Jewett's Country Doctor, 'My God, I thank thee for my future.'"

CHAPTER XII.

THE GREAT SILENCE.

The months of April and May were happy ones. The weather was perfect,
as only California weather understands the art of being; the hills were
at their greenest; the wind almost forgot to blow; the fields blazed in
wild-flowers; day after day rose in cloudless splendor, and day after
day the Golden Gate shone like a sapphire in the sun.

Polly was inwardly nervous. She had the "awe of prosperity" in her
heart, and everything seemed too bright to last.

Both she and Edgar were very busy. But work that