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She often wondered what she should do when winter came and there were no sweet flowers to sell. It grieved her to think she should not then be able to help her dear mother, and as usual she opened her heart to that loving parent. "Ah, my Pollie!" said the mother, as she smoothed back the curls from the anxious little face, "have you forgotten? 'The Lord will provide."
The little girl seemed to guess the thought those anxious eyes revealed, and when she saw her dear mother looking wistfully upon her, she would say, striving to be gay, and hide from those loving eyes all trace of suffering "I'm so cosy in this nice chair, mother darling, and Nora is coming in soon, you know!" And of the many who love little Pollie, who so true as Sally Grimes?
She muttered something about her eyes being weak, and when after a little while she looked up, and lovingly kissed the child, Pollie feared they must be very bad indeed, they were so red, just as though she had been crying. "Ah, my little one," she said in a husky voice "may God ever keep you pure and simple in heart; yea, even as a little child!"
There is one song, an especial favourite with them both, called "Beautiful Blue Violets;" and very often, whilst listening to the sweet voice, Pollie falls asleep, soothed by the melody. Indeed, there is no lack of kind friends who love the little girl. Mrs.
No one, save good Mrs. Turner, had seen the poor girl since the evening Pollie had brought the lost one home. The poor mother hid, as it were, her recovered treasure, fearful that even the mere passing glance of scorn should for a moment rest on her blighted child. So up in that little room, away from prying eyes, lived the mother and daughter. Nora was not idle.
"Child!" she cried, "do you know what you touch? a wretch not fit to crawl the earth much less be touched by innocent hands like yours." Pollie shrank back in terror at these words, and the tone in which they were uttered, but Sally was equal to any emergency.
Pollie at first thought it was a dew-drop, but when she looked up into her neighbour's eyes she saw they were full of tears one was resting on the flowers! "Why are you crying?" asked the child softly; "are you ill?" "Oh no, Pollie," she sobbed forth; "but those sweet flowers recall the time when I was a little girl like you, and gathered them in the lanes near my happy home before mother died."
"Let go, you little vagabond!" exclaimed the indignant footman, taking Pollie by the arm to pull her away. Fortunately the lady turned on hearing her servant speak thus, and saw the child struggling in his grip. "What is the matter?" she asked. "Please, ma'am, this," cried Pollie, holding up the shilling. "That is for the violets you sold to me."
"I know she is very fond of them with her tea." "What are you going to buy for yourself?" asked the shopkeeper, as, after handing Pollie the freshest bunch in the basket, she stood watching her tiny customer. The little girl hesitated; at length she said
Poor sailorman, innocent of petticoats, caught in the esoteric web, pumping water for Pollie Lumm Pollie Lumm plump, pert, pink and pretty. And so they were married. Their wedding-journey was in a scow, across to the bridegroom's ship, riding at anchor, her cordage creaking in the rising breeze.
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