CHAPTER III.

_A NEW FRIEND._

"THAT is better, my dear," remarked her aunt, when she re-appeared with her best hat on. "You must not mind, Mary, if I get you a few things: I told your mother I should do so. You see town ways are so different from country ways, and what will do for a village will not do for Chichester."

So two smarter dresses were purchased, and then Pollie was led into the millinery department, where her aunt chose a new hat for her, remarking that Clara had better retrim the one she had on, to make it look more fashionable.

Pollie tried to cheer up, but her heart felt like lead. Ten times better would it have been to bear the heaviest yoke that had ever been given her at home!

The dresses were to be made at the draper's at which they were purchased, and were promised for the next evening; the hat was to be sent home at once, and with a few ribbons and gloves the party returned home, Clara congratulating her cousin with bright smiles, on the pretty new things which she had received.

Thus, Pollie settled down to her visit. No more was said about her clothes, and so long as she put on what they suggested, she was now free to enjoy herself.

Clara was very kind to her, and to a certain extent she did enjoy herself. But the two sisters had a good many secrets from which she was excluded.

Laura was out a great deal, and seldom enlarged on what she had done, and where she had been, to her family circle. She attended classes at the School of Art, and went and came very much as she liked.

But Pollie, who saw a little more of what went on behind the scenes, fancied that her devotion to art was more assumed than real. She could not help noticing that she went early and returned late, and that Clara and she always had secrets when she returned from the lessons.

Flowers, which were put into vases in her bedroom, but never appeared downstairs, became more frequent as the days came and went. And once, meeting her cousin in the hall unexpectedly, Pollie saw her put her hand down by her side as if to conceal something. And when she next went into Laura's room, a glass of lovely fresh roses stood on her dressing-table, which had not been there half an hour before.

Polls felt very uneasy, and once or twice tried to hint a protest to Clara.

"Oh, my dear, what nonsense!" was her light answer. "All is fair in love and war, you know. Ma will know all in good time if there is anything to know, and if not, where is the good? All the girls of our acquaintance have somebody devoted to them, and why should not Laura?"

"I don't know," sighed Pollie. "I wish I knew. It can't be right to be secret over it. I'm not at all nice to mother at home, but I never keep anything from her!"

"That's your way, and this is ours," said Clara, comfortably. "There would be no fun in life if we came and told ma everything."

"I am afraid it isn't right," persisted Pollie, "and I don't believe Laura will be a bit the happier for it. She looks so restless now, and turns so red and white whenever anyone speaks to her."

"Nonsense!" said Clara, looking rather uneasy. "What a stupid little thing you are. We move in a perfectly different circle from you, and you can't judge. Pa's shop is ever so much better a position than your mill, and girls like us do differently of course to what you do. Why we keep two servants, and you haven't one!"

"It is not riches but right," said Pollie, stoutly, though she felt very hurt, and turned to her book resolutely, wishing once again that she were back at her mother's side, helping her with the housework, and doing even the little services which she particularly disliked.

One morning her uncle said to her at breakfast, "Mary, I am going to drive a little way out of town to-day. There's an old lady lives there that your father wished you to call on. I have not had an opportunity yet, but we will go to-day."

Pollie was delighted to go with her kind, genial uncle, especially as she would have him all to herself, and she enjoyed that drive more than anything she had done since she had been at Chichester.

Mr. Brown said he had business further on, and promised to call for her in half an hour. So Pollie entered the little rose-covered house, and was ushered by a smart little maid into the presence of her father's friend.

"Welcome, my dear," said the old lady. "I have been looking for you for a fortnight, but you've come now, and we will enjoy each other I hope. Sit down, my dear, and take that plate of strawberries, and help yourself to some cream. There! Such a hot day as this, they are acceptable. And while you eat them, I will have some too, to keep you company."

Pollie had been dreadfully shy, but the sweet old lady was so cosy that she felt at ease at once. And by the time she had helped her to some fruit and sugar, she thought it was impossible she could have been a perfect stranger only five minutes ago.

The old lady chatted away to her, and only seemed to play with her own strawberries. She told her stories of her dear father when he was a boy, and described his home so vividly that Pollie felt as if she had been to Exeter, and had sat in the farmhouse kitchen and shelled her grandmother's peas in the sunny window.

The half-hour slipped by all too fast, and Pollie had taken a low stool, and was holding her new friend's hand and looking in her face, when she said gently: "Little Pollie, is your father's Saviour your Saviour?"

The colour rushed to Pollie's cheeks. What would she have given to be able to have said "Yes" to that question?

The old lady saw the answer even before Pollie's lips framed the sorrowful little sentence, "I'm afraid not, ma'am."

"Poor little Pollie," she said softly, then added brightly, "There's no reason why He should not be this very day though. He says, 'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.'"

Pollie did not answer. It seemed so hard and difficult to her.

"Ask him to draw you, dear! Will you?"

Again Pollie hesitated. Did she dare to give such a promise as that?

The old lady did not press it. "Has your uncle taken you to the Town Hall, where they are having such beautiful meetings?"

Pollie shook her head.

"Not? Well, I am surprised. There's a young man there that is drawing quite a crowd every night, and numbers are finding a blessed Saviour, and through Him eternal life. Will you go and hear him, Pollie?"

"I will if I can," said Pollie, looking up earnestly.

Then they heard her uncle's trap draw up at the gate, and Pollie jumped up and flung her arms round her father's friend.

"Oh, I'm so glad I came!" she said. "May I come again if uncle will bring me?"

"By all means," said Miss Loveday. "Good-bye, dear!"

"Good-bye," said Pollie, hastening to the door. Then, ere she opened it, she ran back and imprinted one more kiss on the white cheek. "I didn't answer you," she whispered. "I will do what you said!"

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