Polly believed in destiny, or at least in her own destiny as we all
should, but now and then, fear taking possession, her faith was less
secure.
There had been a few of these hours in the past six weeks while she had
prayed, hoped and willed one thing, but almost always she had believed
in it with her whole heart. Waking at daylight on this morning of the
thirteenth of August and seeing a particularly wonderful sunrise, a
curious wave of conviction had swept over her. To-day she would see her
desire fulfilled!
Truly the day was a beautiful one, a day for all lovely dreams to come
true, and as Polly walked through the fields, heavy and golden with the
ripened grain, the Irish buoyancy of her temperament asserting itself,
made each object appear an omen of good luck--the sight of a bluebird
meant happiness of course, the flight of a carrier pigeon the arrival of
a longed-for message. Weary finally of thinking delightful things Polly
fell to reciting poetry aloud. As a small girl and in spite of her
mother's and sister's protests she had made up her mind to be an actress
and had devoted all her spare hours to the memorizing of poetry and
plays. Therefore there were many hours when she loved dearly to be
alone just in order to repeat some of the lines over and over, trying to
read into them their deeper meaning, without an audience to be either
bored or amused.
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