Polly of Pebbly Pit

"Polly! Poll-ee!" sounded musically from the direction of the kitchen doorway in a ranch-house, and reached Polly Brewster as she knelt beside her pet in the barn.

"Run outside and see what Maw wants, Poll," said Mr. Brewster, who was working faithfully over the object of Polly's solicitous devotion.

Obediently, Polly ran out and shaded her eyes as she gazed across the great depression of the volcanic crater which had made such a wonderful farm for the Brewsters. At the door of the long, squat homestead, stood Mrs. Brewster, waiting for an answer.

The moment she saw Polly, she called: "Din-ner-r's ready!"

"All right!" shouted the girl, waving her sun-bonnet to signify she had heard the message.

Mrs. Brewster returned to the kitchen and Polly went back to her father's side. He glanced up as she entered the barn, and Polly replied to his questioning look.

"Maw said dinner's ready."

"Well, Ah reckon Noddy's all right now, Poll," said the rancher, as he stood up to stretch his tired muscles.

"I felt sure she would be, Paw," returned Polly, positively.

"If only Jeb was about, now, Ah could leave him with Noddy, with directions about the medicine, till we-all get back from dinner," mused Mr. Brewster, standing in the doorway to look about for Jeb.

"Why, Daddy! Do you suppose I'd leave Noddy with Jeb for a single moment? And just as we saved her life, too! I reckon not! I'll stop here myself and watch her," declared Polly with finality, as she assumed the post vacated by her father, and held the little burro's fuzzy head upon her knees.

Sam Brewster smiled as he watched Polly bend over her pet and whisper affectionately in the long, sensitive ear.

"Poll, Jeb will shore say you used witchcraft on the burro; he said

Noddy was done for-being buried under that slide the way she was."

"Noddy would have been done for if Jeb had had her in charge; but she just couldn't refuse to live, with me right here calling her back, you know. She loves me so, she had to listen to my voice," explained Polly, with suspicious moisture in her big blue eyes.

"Ah reckon that's it, Poll! Love works wonders if we'd only let it. And you love everything in a way that everything loves you back again. It beats me, how the beavers, and foxes, and even the bears treat you as if you were one of them, instead of running to cover. As for the chicks and colts and lambs on the ranch-why, they'd follow you to Oak Creek, if they could!"

Polly smiled happily as she looked away over the distant mountain-sides where Nature's creatures roamed unrestrained. And then her eyes rested upon the pastures nearer home, where the farm pets grazed. Every one of them, wild or tame, were her friends.

"Reckon Ah'll go now, Poll. What shall Maw do about the dinner?"

"Tell her not to bother about me. I'll wash the dishes' when I get back, Daddy."

So Mr. Brewster started for the house and Polly settled herself in a more comfortable position while crooning to little Noddy. As she sat holding the little burro's head, her thoughts wandered back to the time when Noddy was but three days old. The mother had died and left the tiny bundle of brown wool to be brought up on a nursing bottle. To keep the baby burro warm it had been wrapped in an old blanket and placed back of the kitchen stove. Thus Noddy first learned to walk in the large kitchen of the log ranch-house, and later it felt quite like a member of the family.

Being such a sleepy little colt, the name of Noddy was considered very appropriate but, as the burro grew older, it showed such intelligence and energy that its name was a dreadful misnomer.

Noddy considered Polly her particular charge and followed her about the place like a dog. And when the burro was full-grown, she became the daily companion that Polly rode to school, over the mountain trails, or about the farm.

The wise western burros are not half appreciated by folks who do not understand their unusual intelligence and their devotion to their masters. They will seek for water or edible herbs when lost on the desert or mountain peaks and sacrifice life to save that of the rider's.

But Noddy's present condition was not due to sacrifice. Most of the horses and burros at Pebbly Pit showed such an aversion to the Rainbow Cliffs that they never grazed near there, although the luxuriant grass made fine pasturage. These cliffs were the local wonder and gave the farm its name. They were a section of jagged "pudding-stone" wall composed of large and small fragments of gorgeously hued stones massed together in loose formation, like shale. Great heaps of these jeweled fragments, which crumbled easily from the cliff, lay piled up along the base of the wall and sparkled brilliantly when the sun shone upon them, or directly after a rain.

Noddy had been pasturing out the night before her accident, and at sunrise found herself too near the tabooed cliffs. She lifted her ears suspiciously, wrinkled her nose fearfully, and wheeled to run away to a more desirable locality. But in that quick turn she loosened the shale at the base of a steep descent. The treacherous rock slid and threw her down. Before she could get up and away the great mass rumbled down and covered her, but she finally managed to work her head free for breath.

Jeb, out early to seek for stray cattle, saw the fresh slide and gazed wonderingly at it. Then he spied the nose and hoof of a burro protruding from the shale. He rushed to the barn where he had left Mr. Brewster, and in a short time master and man had the tools and "cradle" back at the spot, and Noddy was soon unearthed. She was unconscious, and Jeb declared it was useless to bother with a burro so evidently far gone. Even Mr. Brewster feared she was past help, but Polly insisted that Noddy must live.

All that morning Polly sat holding the limp brown head while whispering words of affection in the long ears, and who will say that Noddy's instinct did not respond to love, even though the physical sense of hearing was deaf to earthly sounds? She slowly revived and was resting comfortably when the house-call came for dinner.

Mr. Brewster returned after dinner, bringing a bowl of gruel for the burro, and Jeb followed his master to inquire about the patient.

"Jeb, you-all help me feed Noddy while Polly runs to the house for her dinner," said Mr. Brewster.

"I'd a heap rather wait here and help with Noddy, Paw!"

"Oh, Polly! Maw told me to say there was a letter for you. Jim Melvin stopped off with our mail he got at Oak Creek to-day."

"A letter! Who can it be from?" asked Polly wonderingly. "That's what you must find out. It looks like a girl's writing and it is post-marked Denver. Who do you know there?" replied her father.

"Denver? Why, nobody! I'll run and see who it's from!" cried she eagerly, and Mr. Brewster smiled at the success of the ruse to get his daughter away for a time.

Polly was a genuine child of Nature. Her life of little more than fourteen years had been spent in the mountains surrounding her ranch-home, Pebbly Pit. The farm was oddly located in the crater of an extinct volcano, known on the maps as "The Devil's Grave." Like many other peaks scattered about in this region of Colorado, the volcanic fires had been dead for centuries.

The outer rim of the crater formed a natural wall about the bowl, and protected the rich and fertile soil of the farm from the desert winds that covered other ranches with its fine alkali dust. The snows in winter, lodging in the crevices of the cliffs, slowly melted during the progress of summer, thus furnishing sufficient moisture for the vegetation growing in the "bowl"; and this provided splendid pasturage for the herds of cattle owned by the rancher.

When Sam Brewster staked his claim in this crater, his companions jeered at the choice and called the place "Pebbly Pit." But the young man had studied agriculture thoroughly and knew what he was doing; then the test made by the government convinced him of this.

Besides, his Denver bride preferred the beauty of the spot to the more sociable but draughty ranches in the valley of Bear Forks River; so they settled in the crater, and named the farm Rainbow Cliffs, but the original nick-name clung, and gradually the owners, from habit, also came to call their place "Pebbly Pit."

In the mountains where the government gives a settler all the timber he needs, transportation is so difficult and paid labor almost unknown, so that the size and quality of a rancher's house and out-buildings expresses his character. Sam Brewster's buildings and fences were as solid and comfortable as any in the State. He and his wife (a refined young woman) were ambitious and energetic, so it was not surprising that they succeeded in life.

When John, the first-born, had completed his studies at High School in Denver, he was sent to a well-known college in Chicago. And now that Polly, seven years John's junior, had finished her grammar course at the little Bear Forks log school-house, she, too, was determined to enter High School at Denver.

Sam Brewster had stubbornly refused to consent to the plan, taking for an excuse that no friends or relatives remained in Denver where Polly might board, and commutation was out of the question. But he knew, and so did his wife, that the truth of his refusal lay in the fact that he could not bear to part with his youngest child-even though she visited at home each week-end.

Mrs. Brewster sided with Polly's ambition, and planned to visit her old home in Denver to see if she could find any friends who would prove to be desirable for Polly to associate with. The matter stood thus this lovely June day when the unexpected letter arrived.

The very unusual occurrence created enough interest for Polly to take her mind from the burro, so she ran swiftly towards the house while every possible correspondent she could think of passed through her thoughts. But she was as much at sea as ever, when she danced up the log steps leading directly to the kitchen.

"Maw, Maw! Where are you-is there really a letter?"

"Yes-from Denver! But how is Noddy?" replied Mrs. Brewster, coming to the kitchen door, holding a square envelope in her hand.

"Dear little Noddy-she is all right now, Maw, but it looked mighty bad a bit of time back. I just had to pray and pray with all my might, Maw-you know how!" sighed Polly, taking the refined-looking letter from her mother without seeing it.

"I never knew how I loved that dear little bundle of fuzz and flesh till I thought she was dead! Oh, I am so glad she will live that I don't care if I ever eat again or not!"

Still holding the precious letter, Polly turned back to look at the barn where the object of her love was lapping up the gruel. Mrs. Brewster smiled indulgently at her intense young daughter, then reminded her of the unopened communication.

"Dear me! So much excitement in one day-I don't see how I can quiet down again. But who do you suppose would write to me?" queried Polly, holding the envelope at arm's length and studying the hand-writing.

"I'm not clairvoyant, Polly, so suppose you open it and see for yourself," laughed Mrs. Brewster.

"Well, I hate to spoil this nice stationery but-here it goes!" murmured Polly, severing an end of the envelope as if she was the executioner of an innocent victim.

"See who it's from, Polly, while I dish up your dinner. Of course you don't care whether you ever eat again, but I would suggest that at least you strive to ward off starvation," remarked her mother, teasingly, as she took a well-filled plate from the oven.

"Wh-h-y-of all things!" gasped Polly, as she read the letter quickly.

Mrs. Brewster stood waiting to hear more, and Polly gave another hurried glance at the signature before explaining.

"It's from Anne Stewart-the girl who used to teach at Bear Forks school that time the teacher got sick and had to leave for a few months. You know-the pretty one with the blonde hair that all the big scholars raved over?" announced Polly.

"Oh, yes! The one that you said was so happy to be in this wonderful country?"

"Yes, that's the girl! Well, guess what she writes me?" And Polly waved the written sheet above her head.

"Polly, have you been writing to her about High School?" hurriedly asked Mrs. Brewster.

"I never thought of that! Maybe we can plan it with her," returned Polly, her expression changing instantly to meet the new suggestion of her mother's.

"Well, time enough to settle that question. Now tell me what she wrote," declared Mrs. Brewster, sighing with relief.

"You'll be taken right off your feet, Maw, so you'd best sit down and listen," advised Polly, nibbling at a biscuit while she waited for her mother to be seated.

"Now, I don't want you to shake your head or say a word, until I'm all through reading, Maw. It's something terribly surprising and goodness only knows why she asked me. I was so young when she taught school that she never noticed me much."

"Yes, you were so much younger two years ago, and you are so very ancient now!" retorted Mrs. Brewster, trying to appear serious.

"You know what I mean-but this isn't reading you the letter and I know just how you'll gasp when you hear her brother-listen and I'll read it."