Quickly resolved, Polly cut slice on slice of thin
bread-and-butter, and with this she and Mrs. Hemmerde stuffed the willing
babe till, full to bursting, it warded them off with its tiny hands.
Mahony laughed heartily at the tale, and applauded his wife's prompt
measures. "Short of the forceps nothing could have been better!"
Yes, Polly had a dash of native shrewdness, which he prized. And a pair
of clever hands that were never idle. He had given her leave to make any
changes she chose in the house, and she was for ever stitching away at
white muslin, or tacking it over pink calico. These affairs made their
little home very spick and span, and kept Polly from feeling dull--if
one could imagine Polly dull! With the cooking alone had there been a
hitch in the beginning. Like a true expert Mrs. Beamish had not
tolerated understudies: none but the lowliest jobs, such as raisin-stoning
or potato-peeling, had fallen to the three girls' share: and in
face of her first fowl Polly stood helpless and dismayed. But not for
long. Sarah was applied to for the best cookery-book on sale in
Melbourne, and when this arrived, Polly gave herself up to the study of
it. She had many failures, both private and avowed. With the worst, she
either retired behind the woodstack, or Tom disposed of them for her, or
the dog ate them up. But she persevered: and soon Mahony could with
truth declare that no one raised a better loaf or had a lighter hand at
pastry than his wife.
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