Forbidden Fruit

“I’m perfectly aching for some fun,” said Polly to herself, as she opened her window one morning, and the sunshine and frosty air set her blood dancing, and her eyes sparkling with youth, health, and overflowing spirits. “I really must break out somewhere, and have a good time; it’s quite impossible to keep steady any longer. Now what will I do?” Polly sprinkled crumbs to the doves, who came daily to be fed; and while she watched the gleaming necks and rosy feet, she racked her brain to devise some unusually delightful way of enjoying herself, for she really had bottled up her spirits so long, they were in a state of uncontrollable effervescence.

“I’ll go to the opera,” she suddenly announced to the doves. “It’s expensive, I know, but it’s remarkably good, and music is such a treat to me. Yes, I’ll get two tickets as cheap as I can, send a note to Will,—poor lad, he needs fun as much as I do,—and we’ll go and have a time in some corner, as Charles Lamb and his sister used to.”

With that, Polly slammed down the window, to the dismay of her gentle little pensioners, and began to fly about with great energy, singing and talking to herself as if it was impossible to keep quiet. She started early to her first lesson, that she might have time to buy the tickets, hoping, as she put a five- dollar bill into her purse, that they wouldn’t be very high, for she felt that she was not in a mood to resist temptation. But she was spared any struggle, for when she reached the place, the ticket-office was blocked up by eager purchasers, and the disappointed faces that turned away told Polly there was no hope for her.

“Well, I don’t care; I’ll go somewhere, for I will have my fun,” she said, with great determination, for disappointment only seemed to whet her appetite. But the play-bills showed her nothing inviting, and she was forced to go away to her work with the money burning her pocket, and all manner of wild schemes floating in her head. At noon, instead of going home to dinner, she went and took an ice, trying to feel very gay and festive all by herself. It was rather a failure, however; and after a tour of the picture-shops, she went to give Maud a lesson, feeling that it was very hard to quench her longings, and subside into a prim little music teacher.

Fortunately she did not have to do violence to her feelings very long, for the first thing Fanny said to her was,—

“Can you go?”


“Didn’t you get my note?”

“I didn’t go home to dinner.”

“Tom wants us to go to the opera to-night, and—” Fan got no further, for Polly uttered a cry of rapture, and clasped her hands.

“Go? Of course I will; I’ve been dying to go all day; tried to get tickets this morning, and couldn’t; been fuming about it ever since; and now—oh, how splendid!” and Polly could not restrain an ecstatic skip, for this burst of joy rather upset her.

“Well, you come to tea, and we’ll dress together, and go all comfortable with Tom, who is in a heavenly frame of mind to-day.”

“I must run home and get my things,” said Polly, resolving on the spot to buy the nicest pair of gloves the city afforded.

“You shall have my white cloak, and any other little rigging you want. Tommy likes to have his ladies a credit to him, you know,” said Fanny, departing to take a beauty sleep.

  By PanEris using Melati.

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