There
seemed to be no apology that could fitly meet the occasion and do
away with the gloomy suggestiveness of the situation.
Aunt Jane rarely had time to drive with Job, for an ordinarily
fast walker could pass him by; but Polly and her mother enjoyed
him to the utmost, and spoiled him as much as they enjoyed him,
letting him stroll along as he chose, stopping whenever and
wherever he wished. To avoid being dependent on the man, who was
often away driving the doctor upon his rounds, Mrs. Adams had
learned to harness Job herself, and nearly every pleasant day she
could be seen buckling the straps and fastening him into the
carriage, while the old creature stood quiet, rubbing his head
against her shoulder, now and then, with a gentle, caressing
motion, or turning suddenly to pretend to snap at Polly, who was
much in awe of him, and then throwing up his head and showing his
teeth, in a scornful laugh at her fear.
This was the family circle in which Polly Adams had spent the
thirteen happy years of her life, respecting and loving her
father, adoring her mother, and continually coming in conflict
with Aunt Jane. And Polly herself? Like countless other girls, she
was good and bad, naughty and lovable by turns, now yielding to
violent fits of temper, now going into the depths of penitence for
them; but always, in the inmost recesses of her childish soul,
possessed with a firm resolve to be as good a woman as her mother
was before her.
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