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Five Little Peppers Grown Up

by Margaret Sidney · English · Gutenberg #7498 · 463,874 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Five Little Peppers Grown Up

Author: Margaret Sidney


        
Release date: February 1, 2005 [eBook #7498]
                Most recently updated: April 28, 2013

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7498

Credits: Produced by Naomi Parkhurst, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS GROWN UP ***




Produced by Naomi Parkhurst, Juliet Sutherland, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team










[Illustration: "WELL, AMY, CHILD, HOW CAN I HELP YOU?"]



FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS GROWN UP

BY

MARGARET SIDNEY



  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I. POLLY GIVES MUSIC LESSONS
  CHAPTER II. GETTING READY FOB CHRISTMAS
  CHAPTER III. CHRISTMAS AT DUNRAVEN
  CHAPTER IV. THE FESTIVITIES
  CHAPTER V. BAD NEWS
  CHAPTER VI. OF MANY THINGS
  CHAPTER VII. PHRONSIE
  CHAPTER VIII. POLLY LOOKS OUT FOR CHARLOTTE
  CHAPTER IX. POLLY'S RECITAL
  CHAPTER X. PHRONSIE HAS A PLAN
  CHAPTER XI. THINGS ARE GETTING MIXED
  CHAPTER XII. POLLY TRIES TO DO WHAT IS RIGHT
  CHAPTER XIII. THE ACCIDENT
  CHAPTER XIV. JOEL
  CHAPTER XV. THE FARMHOUSE HOSPITAL
  CHAPTER XVI. ON THE BORDERLAND
  CHAPTER XVII. JASPER
  CHAPTER XVIII. MR. KING ATTENDS TO MATTERS
  CHAPTER XIX. MOTHER FISHER AND CHARLOTTE
  CHAPTER XX. STRAIGHTENING OUT AFFAIRS
  CHAPTER XXI. POLLY TRIES TO HELP JASPER
  CHAPTER XXII. MR. KING AND POLLY
  CHAPTER XXIII. THAT SETTLES MANY THINGS
  CHAPTER XXIV. HOME!




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"Well, Amy child, how can I help you?"

"Why, Polly Pepper, what do you mean?"

"Baby ought to have a Christmas tree," said Phronsie slowly

"Oh!" said Jack Loughead. Then he tapped his boot with his walking stick

"Joel's gone," panted Phronsie, flying back

Joel swinging a big box, rushed into Dunraven Hall

"And did we," cried Phronsie, "find it out, Polly, and spoil it all?"

"Will you?" asked Phronsie, looking down into their faces

"We don't know how to tell it, Grandpapa"

"Now do set us to work, Joel"

"Oh, you don't know how I miss those boys!"

"And please make dear papa give her the right things"

Charlotte, standing composedly in one corner of the hall

Alexia coolly read on, one arm around Polly

"My dear Alexia," cried Miss Salisbury, quite softened, "don't feel so"

"I'll not sing a note!"

"For shame, Polly, if the Little Brown House teachings are forgotten
like this"

Polly turned and waved her music-roll at them

"I'm not going to lecture you"

"Don't stop me," cried Pickering crossly

"I'm going home," declared Charlotte

"What do you say?" cried Polly

"Oh, Polly, are you hurt?"

Old Mr. King drew up his chair to oversee it all

"You come along yourself, Dobbs," said Joel pleasantly

"I'll help you; I'm strong," said Charlotte.

"It's so nice, everybody is getting on so well," said Polly

Then Phronsie glanced back again, and softly jogged the cradle

"Why do you put your apron up there?" asked Phronsie in gentle reproach

"An old gentleman in my room," repeated Jasper, turning on the stairs

"Good-morning," said Mr. Marlowe; "business all right?"

"How you can sit there and laugh when Joe is in danger, I don't see,"
exclaimed Percy irritably.

"Well, now I have two babies," said Mother Fisher

"I've always found," said Dr. Fisher, "that all you had to do to start a
thing, was to begin"

"Phronsie, get a glass of water; be quick, child!"

"I think it was a mean shame!" began Dick wrathfully

"Oh, why did I speak?" cried Polly over and over

"Are you sick, Polly?" cried Phronsie anxiously

"Polly hasn't had all the milk," said Phronsie

Amy

"Nothing can be too good for Polly Pepper!" cried Alexia, starting
forward

He walked off, leaving Polly alone in the lane

"My! what a sight of fish!" exclaimed Mrs. Higby, dropping to her knees
beside the basket

"Now, Jasper, you begin," cried Polly, "and we'll tell Mamsie all about
it, as we always do when we get home"

"Polly, do come with us!"

"And you will be my own brother, Jasper," said Phronsie




CHAPTER I.

POLLY GIVES MUSIC LESSONS.


"Miss Pepper--Miss Pepper!"

Polly turned quickly, it was such an anxious little cry.

"What? Oh, Amy Loughead."

Amy threw herself up against Polly's gown. "Oh, if I may," she began,
flushing painfully. "You see my brother is coming to-morrow--I've a
letter--so if you will let me."

"Let you what?" cried Polly, with a little laugh; "go on, Amy, don't be
afraid."

"You see it is just this way," Amy twisted her fingers together, drew
her breath hard, and rushed on nervously; "Jack--he's my brother, you
know--promised me--I never told you--if I would only learn to play on
the piano, he'd take me to Europe with him next time, and now he's
coming to-morrow, and--and, oh! what shall I do?"

Amy was far gone now, and she ended with a little howl of distress, that
brought two or three of the "Salisbury girls" flying in with
astonishment.

"Go back," said Polly to them all, and they ran off as suddenly as they
had popped in, to leave Amy and the music teacher alone.

"Now, Amy," said Polly kindly, getting down on her knees beside the girl
where she had thrown herself on the broad lounge, "you must just
understand, dear, that I cannot help you unless you will have
self-control and be a little woman yourself."

"You told me I would be sorry if I didn't practice," mourned Amy,
dragging her wet little handkerchief between her fingers, "but I didn't
suppose Jack was coming for six months, and I'd have time to catch up,
and now--oh dear me!" and she burrowed deeper into Miss Salisbury's big
sofa-pillow.

"Take care!" warned Polly, with a ready hand to rescue the elaborate
combination of silk and floss, "it would be a very dreadful thing if
this should get spoiled."

Amy Loughead brought her wet cheek off suddenly. "There isn't a single
tear on it, Miss Pepper," she gasped.

"That's very fortunate," said Polly, with a relieved breath. "Well, Amy
child, how can I help you?" She sat down now, and drew the girl's hot
little hand within her own.

"I can almost play that horrible 'Chopin,'" said Amy irrelevantly; "that
is, I could, if--oh Miss Pepper," she broke off suddenly and brought her
flushed face very near to the one above her, "could you help me play
it--just hear me, you know, and tell me things you did, over again,
about it, if I practice all the afternoon? Could you?"

"This evening, do you mean?" asked Polly, a trifle sharply.

"Yes," said Amy faintly, and twisting her handkerchief. "Oh dear me, I
know you're so tired. What shall I do?"

"But you don't understand," cried Polly, vexed with herself that she
couldn't help her annoyance from being seen. "I shall put some one else
out if I give up my evening. I have an engagement, Amy. No, I don't see
how I can do it, child; I'm sorry." And then before she knew how, she
put both arms around the little figure. "Don't cry, dear, I suppose I
must. I'll get out of the other thing. Yes, fly at Chopin, and keep your
courage up, and I'll be over at seven. Then to-morrow Brother Jack will
say 'How fine!' and off you'll go over the seas!"

Outside, Polly, after enlisting Miss Salisbury's favor for the evening's
plan, was hurrying along the pavement, calling herself an hundred
foolish names for helping an idle girl out of a scrape. "And to think of
losing the only chance to hear D'Albert," she mourned. "Well, it's done
now, and can't be helped. Even Jasper when he hears of it, will think me
a silly, I suppose. Now to make my peace with Pickering."

She turned down the avenue running out from the street that had the
honor to contain "Miss Salisbury's Boarding and Day School for Young
Ladies," and met face to face, suddenly, a young man, about whose joy at
meeting her, there could be no doubt.

"Oh, Polly!" he cried, "here, let me take that detestable thing!" trying
to get the music-roll out of her hand.

"Take care how you talk against this," cried Polly, hugging it closer.
"Indeed you shall not touch it, till you are glad that I am a music
teacher. Oh, I must tell you--I was on my way to your house because I
was afraid you wouldn't understand a note. I can't go to-night."

"Can't go to-night?" repeated Pickering, in his astonishment forgetting
all his manners. "Why, Polly Pepper, what do you mean?"

"Why, I must give it up," cried Polly nervously; "don't ask me--or
perhaps I ought to tell you, Pickering, then you'll see I can't help
myself." And Polly rapidly unfolded her plan for the evening, omitting
all details as to Amy's careless waste of her lessons despite all
efforts to make her practice. At the end of the recital, Pickering Dodge
came to a full pause on the sidewalk, regardless of all passers-by, and
turned a glowering face on Polly, who was forced to stand still also,
and look at him.

"What idiocy!" he exclaimed, "to give up D'Albert for that ignoramus!
Polly, are you losing your senses?"

"I don't know," said poor Polly, who had lost the first flush of
enthusiasm over her plan, and to whom nothing now seemed so delightful
as the sight and sound of D'Albert and his wonderful melody. "Well, it's
done, so don't tempt me to feel badly, Pickering."

"Indeed, and it's not done," said Pickering angrily; "you made the
engagement, Polly. I never knew you to break one before," he added
stingingly.

The tears flew into Polly's brown eyes, and every bit of color deserted
her round cheek. "Don't call it that, Pickering," she implored, putting
out her hand.

"I shall call it just what it is," declared Pickering, in his stiffest
fashion. "It's a broken engagement, Polly Pepper, nothing more nor
less."

"Then," said Polly, all her tears dried, "I must go with you, if you
hold me to it." She raised her head, and looked him full in the eyes. "I
will be ready," and she moved off with her most superb air, without
deigning a good-by.

[Illustration: "WHY, POLLY PEPPER, WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"]

"Oh, Polly," cried Pickering, starting forward to overtake her, "see
here, if you very much wish it, why, of course, Polly--Polly, do look
around!"

"What do you wish to say?" asked Polly, not looking around as he gained
her side.

"Why, of course," cried Pickering, his words stumbling over each other,
"if you can't go, I'll--I'll give it up, and stay at home."

"And why should you stay at home?" cried Polly, suddenly giving him a
glimpse of her face; "you've lovely seats; do ask Alexia."

"Alexia!" exclaimed Pickering angrily. "Indeed I will not. I don't want
any one if I can't have you, Polly." He was really miserable now, and
needed comfort, so she turned around and administered it as only Polly
could.

By the time the talk was over, she hurried off with a radiant face, and
Pickering with an expression only one remove from that of absolute
gloom, retraced his steps to lay one of "the lovely seats" for the
D'Albert concert, before Miss Rhys, for her acceptance.

Phronsie came slowly down the hall to meet Polly as usual; this day with
one of her company white gowns on. Polly always knew when these were
donned that something unusual was to be expected from the daily routine
of the household.

"Are you really and truly home, Polly?" asked Phronsie, taking the
music-roll to tuck it under her own arm.

"Yes, Pet;" Polly set a kiss on the red lips. "And I am as hungry as a
beaver, Phronsie."

"So you must be," said Phronsie, with a little sigh, "for you were so
long in coming home. Well, do hurry now, Polly." This last as Polly was
skipping over the stairs to her own room to freshen up a bit. Then
Phronsie turned into the dining-room to be quite sure that the butler
had made the belated luncheon as fine as Polly could desire it.

"She didn't ask why I had on this gown," mused Phronsie, softly
disposing again the flowers at Polly's plate, "and it's funny, I think,
for Polly always sees everything;" and she began to look troubled at
once.

[Illustration: PHRONSIE CAME SLOWLY DOWN THE HALL.]

"This is just as splendid as it can be," cried Polly, coming in, and
picking up one of the roses at her plate. "Phronsie, you are just a dear
to have everything so nice," and she fastened it at her belt. "Why, dear
me! You've a fine gown on! What is going to happen?"

"And you didn't see it," said Phronsie, a bit reproachfully, as she
gently smoothed the front breadth of mull.

"Forgive me, dear," begged Polly. "Well, what is it, Pet? Do tell me;
for I'm dying of curiosity, as the Salisbury girls say."

Phronsie stood up on tiptoe, and achieved Polly's ear.

"Who do you think is coming to-night?" she whispered impressively.

"To-night? Oh, dear me! I can't possibly guess," said Polly, beginning
to think that this one evening of all the year held supreme moments for
her. "Who is it, Phronsie? do tell me quickly."

"Well," said Phronsie, drawing off to see the surprised delight sure to
come on Polly's face, "it's Jasper himself."

"Not Jasper?" exclaimed Polly, quite gone with joy. "Oh, Phronsie
Pepper, you can't mean that?"

"But I do," said Phronsie, forgetting her age, to hop up and down on the
rug, "we've a letter while you were at the school, and I wasn't to tell
you suddenly, so I put on one of my nice gowns, so you would know."

"But how could I possibly suppose that Jasper would come now," cried
Polly, seizing Phronsie's hands to execute one of the old-time dances.
"Now I almost know he is going to stay over Christmas."

"He is--he is!" cried Phronsie in a little scream; "you've guessed it,
Polly. And Mamsie said--she's gone down town with Grandpapa; he's going
to get tickets for the concert to-night, so that you can all go
together, even if you can't sit together, and she said that"--

"Oh, Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly in dismay and she stood quite still.

"Aren't you glad?" asked Phronsie, her joy suddenly hushed.

"And I've done it myself--spoiled all this loveliness," cried Polly
passionately, little white lines coming around her mouth, "and Jasper
here!"

"Oh, Polly, Polly!" Phronsie clasped her gown imploringly, "don't,
Polly."

"I just won't go to the school," declared Polly at white heat; "I don't
care for the concert, but I'll send a note over to say that I am
detained at home."

"What is it, Polly?" begged Phronsie, all sorts of dreadful surmises
seizing her, "do tell me, Polly, won't you?"

"It's--nothing; you wouldn't understand, child," said Polly quickly.
"There, don't ask."

Phronsie crept away in a grieved fashion, to be presently folded into
Polly's warm arms. "I'm bad to-day, Phronsie dear. There, Pet, now you
are all right, aren't you?" as she hugged her close.

"I am, if you are, Polly," said Phronsie doubtfully.

"Well, I'm all right now," said Polly, her brow clearing; "the bad has
gone at last, I hope, to stay away, Phronsie. Now I must hurry and eat
this nice luncheon you've fixed for me;" and she sprang toward the
table.

"Don't you want to write a note first?" asked Phronsie, wondering at
Polly's strange mood, and following her to the table-edge, "you said
so."

"No; I've given it up," said Polly, sitting down and beginning on her
chop and toast. "Bless you, dear, you've given me an orchid," glancing
down between her mouthfuls to the bouquet at her plate; "you should have
saved them all for Jasper."

"Turner said I might have it," said Phronsie triumphantly, "and I knew
you'd give it to Jasper, so it's all right."

"It surely shall do double duty," said Polly merrily, with a tender
glance for the orchid. "Well, how's Baby?"

"He is very nice," said Phronsie, with a grown-up air, "and didn't cry a
bit for Mamsie. And now if you are really all right, Polly, I'll go up
to the nursery and look at him."

"So I would," said Polly approvingly. "Yes, I'm all right; see, I'm on
my chop No. 2."

Phronsie smiled with great satisfaction at this, and went off. At a
quarter of seven, Polly, in a storm of remonstrance from all but one,
hurried off to help poor Amy Loughead through her Slough of Despond.

Jasper alone, just arrived for dinner, was the only one who remained
silent when the storm of disapproval broke forth over Polly and her
doings. After the first astonished exclamation, he had absolutely
refused to say anything save "Polly knows best."

"I don't know how to thank you," said Polly out in the wide hall, where
he hurried to meet her, as she ran downstairs with her plainest walking
things on, "for I don't believe they would have let me go. I never saw
Mamsie feel so, Jasper." And now Polly could not keep the tears back.

"She'll see it all right to-morrow," said Jasper soothingly.

He put his hand out and grasped hers, as in the old days in the little
brown house, and Polly answered through her tears, "I know, Jasper."

And then the maid appearing, who was to accompany her to Miss
Salisbury's, Polly came out from her tears, and said, "I'm ready,
Barbara."

"You are not needed, Barbara," said Jasper, reaching up for his top-coat
from the oaken rack.

"What are you going to do?" gasped Polly, her hand on the door-knob, and
glancing back.

"Walk over with you to that center of culture and wisdom," said Jasper
coolly, close beside her now, his hat in his hand.

"O, Jasper!" exclaimed Polly in dismay, her face growing quite pale,
"don't; you'll be late for the concert. Barbara, Barbara!" Polly looked
past him to summon the departing maid.

"Barbara is a good girl, and understands the duty of obedience," said
Jasper laughingly. "There's no help for it, Polly; you must accept my
escort," and he opened the door.

"But Grandpapa! he will be terribly disappointed not to have you go to
the concert with him," cried Polly, getting down the steps with a
dreadful weight at her heart.

"I made it all right with father," said Jasper, "as soon as I heard of
your plan; and Mr. Alstyne is on his way over to take my place; at least
he ought to be in response to my note. Don't worry, Polly; come."

"Oh! what perfectly elegant seats," exclaimed Alexia Rhys, waving her
big ostrich fan contentedly, and sweeping the audience with a long gaze.
"Everybody is here to-night, Pickering."

"That's not so," said Pickering savagely, and bestowing a thump on his
unoffending opera hat, already reduced to the smallest possible bulk.

"Don't spoil it," advised Alexia coolly, with a sidelong gaze at his
face. "Well, of course I mean everybody except Polly; and I'm sure,
Pickering, it isn't my fault that she didn't come; Polly always was
queer about some things."

Pickering did not answer, but bestowed his glance on the programme in
his hand.

"And now she is queerer than ever," said Alexia, glad to think that the
dainty blue affair on her head, she called a bonnet, was already doing
its work, as she heard a lady in the seat back of them, question if it
were not one of the newest of Madame Marchaud's creations. So she sat
more erect, and played nonchalantly with her fan. "Yes, and it's all
because of those dreadfully horrid music lessons."

Pickering coughed, and rattled his programme ominously, which Alexia
pretended not to hear.

"Why Mr. King lets her do it, I can't see," she went on.

"Do stop," said Pickering shortly, and casting a nervous glance back of
her shoulder.

"Never mind if they do hear," said Alexia sweetly, "all the better; then
they'll know we don't approve of her doing so, at any rate."

"I do approve," said Pickering, his face flaming, "if she wants to; and
we've got to, any way, because we can't help ourselves. I do wish,
Alexia, you wouldn't discuss our friends in this public way."

"And I don't think it is a very sweet thing to invite a girl to a
concert, and then get up a fight," said Alexia, back at him.

"Goodness--who's fighting?" exclaimed Pickering under his breath.

"You are--I wish you could see your face; it's as black as a thunder
cloud," said Alexia, with the consciousness that her own was as calm as
a June morning. "And I'm sure if you don't want to attract people to our
conversation, you might at least look a little pleasanter."

Pickering threw two or three nervous glances on either side, to prove
her words, and was by no means reassured to see the countenance of Billy
Harlow, one of his young business friends, across the aisle, suffused
with an attempt to appear as if he hadn't been a witness to the little
by-play.

"Well, I'm morally certain I won't trouble you with another invitation
to a concert," he said, too furious to quite know his own words.

"You needn't," said Alexia, swinging her fan with an even hand, and
still smiling sweetly, this time including in it Billy, who had no girl
with him. "I really could endure life at home better than this bliss."
And then D'Albert came on the stage, and it was the proper thing to keep
quiet, so the hostilities died down.

Going out of the Opera House, Billy Harlow ran up to the two. "Lovely
time you've had," he said on Alexia's side, and with a little grimace.

"Haven't I?" said Alexia back again, with the air of a martyr. Pickering
stalking along by her side, had the air of a man who didn't care what
was being said about him.

"Just look at him now," said Alexia softly, "isn't he sweet? And fancy
my bearing it for two hours. I don't think any other girl in our set,
could."

"Why didn't Miss Pepper come this evening?" asked Mr. Harlow curiously;
"Pickering said he'd asked her."

"Oh! she gave it up to help some girl," said Alexia carelessly. "She's
the music teacher at Miss Salisbury's school, you know."

"Oh! is she?" asked Mr. Harlow innocently, forgetting to mention the
daily interviews he sustained with his sisters Kitty and Grace who were
"Salisbury girls," on Miss Pepper's movements.

"And at the last minute he asked me to take her place," said Alexia with
perfect frankness, "and I was goose enough to do it."

"Isn't Miss Pepper going to give a Recital pretty soon?" asked Mr.
Harlow, incidentally, as they worked their way along to the entrance.

"Yes, she is," said Alexia sharply, "at the Exeter--we can't stop her;
she says she's proud to do it, and it shows the girls' wonderful
ability; and all that sort of thing--and--and--oh dear me! after she's
once done that, she'll always be 'Miss Pepper the music teacher.' Isn't
it horrid!"

"I believe that is our carriage," said Pickering stiffly, and without so
much as a half-glance at Billy. "Come, Alexia."




CHAPTER II

GETTING READY FOR CHRISTMAS.


"Baby ought to have a Christmas Tree," said Phronsie slowly.

"Ah--King-Fisher, how is that? Do you want a Christmas Tree?" Jasper
dropped to all-fours by the side of the white bundle in the center of
the library rug, as he propounded the momentous question.

The Baby plunged forward and buried both fat hands in the crop of brown
hair so suddenly brought to his notice.

"Is that the way to show your acknowledgment, sir?" cried Jasper,
springing to his feet, Baby and all. "Well, there you go--there, and
there, and there!" tossing the white bundle high in the air.

"Goodness! what a breeze you two contrive to raise," exclaimed Joel;
"Mamsie," as Mother Fisher put her head in the doorway, "the little chap
is getting the worst of it, I tell you."

"Joel's jealous," said Jasper, with a laugh. "Take care, King-Fisher,
that really is my hair, sir."

Mrs. Fisher nodded and chuckled to the baby, and hurried off.

"He didn't really mean to pull your hair, Jasper," said Phronsie in a
worried way; and getting up from the floor where she had been deserted
by the baby, she hurried over to the two flying around in the center of
the room.

"But he does pull dreadfully, though," said Polly, laughing, "don't you,
you little King!" pinching Baby's toes as Jasper spun him past her.

"My goodness!" exclaimed Mr. King, coming in the opposite doorway, "I
should think it was a menagerie here! What's the matter, Phronsie?"

"Baby is pulling Jasper's hair," said Phronsie slowly, and revolving
around the two dancers, "but he really doesn't mean to, Grandpapa."

"Oh! I hope he does," said old Mr. King cheerfully, coming in and
sitting down in his favorite chair. "I'm sure it speaks well for the
young man's powers of self-defense, if he gives Jasper a good tweak."

"Father!" cried Jasper in pretended astonishment. "Well, King-Fisher, as
popular opinion is against me, I'll set you down again, and nurse my
poor scalp," and down went the white bundle again to the floor, Phronsie
going back to her post as nurse.

"There's been a terrible scheme worked up since you were out, sir,"
announced Joel to the old gentleman.

"Hey--what's that?" demanded Mr. King, staring at Polly.

"Oh! it isn't Polly this time," said Joel with a laugh. "Generally it is
Polly that sets all dreadful things going; but this time, it is some
other ringleader."

"Then I am sure I sha'n't approve if Polly isn't in it," declared the
old gentleman flatly.

"But I am in it, Grandpapa," Polly made haste to say. "I think it is
very, very nice."

"That alters the case," said Mr. King. "So what is it, Joe? Out with
it."

"It's nothing more nor less than to upset this house from top to
bottom," said Joel, "and get up a dreadful howling, tearing Christmas
Tree."

[Illustration: "BABY OUGHT TO HAVE A CHRISTMAS TREE," SAID PHRONSIE
SLOWLY.]

"Oh, Joe Pepper!" ejaculated Polly reproachfully, "and you've always had
such fun over our Christmas Trees. How can you!"

"It's for Baby," cried Phronsie, with a pink flush on her cheek. "He's
never seen one, you know, Grandpapa."

"No, I should think not," said the old gentleman, looking down at the
white bundle. "Well, and so you want a Christmas Tree for him, Phronsie
child?"

"I think we ought to have one," said Phronsie, "because you know, he's
never, never seen one. And we all have had so many beautiful Trees,
Grandpapa."

"To be sure, to be sure," said Mr. King. "Well now, Phronsie child, come
here and tell me all about it," and he held out his hand.

Phronsie cast an anxious glance at the bundle. "Can I leave him,
Grandpapa?" she asked.

"Leave him? Mercy, yes; it does babies good to be left alone. He'll suck
his thumbs or his toes."

"I'll stay with him," said Polly, running out of her corner to get on
her knees before the baby. "There now, sir, do you know what a blessed
old care you are?" smothering him with kisses.

"Yes, I really think we ought to have a Christmas Tree," Phronsie was
saying, "Grandpapa dear," huddling up against his waistcoat as usual.

"Then we surely will have one," declared old Mr. King, "so that is
settled. Do you hear, young people," raising his voice, "or does that
little scamp of a baby take all your ears?"

"We hear, Grandpapa," said Polly from the floor, "and I'm very glad. It
will be good fun to get up a Christmas Tree."

"Seeing you never have had that pleasing employment," said Jasper
_sotto voce_, on the rug before the fire.

"Never mind; it'll be just as good fun again," said Polly.

"And not a bit of work--oh, no!"

"Don't throw cold water on it," begged Polly under her breath, while the
baby scrambled all over her, "don't, Jasper; Phronsie has set her heart
on it."

"All right; but I thought you wanted every bit of time to get ready for
your Recital, and the other things; and then, besides, there's
Phronsie's performance down at Dunraven."

"Well, so I did," confessed Polly, with a sigh, "but I can get the time
some way."

"Out of 'the other things,'" said Jasper grimly. "Polly, you'll have no
fun from the holidays. It isn't too late to stop this now." He darted
over toward his father.

"Jasper!" cried Polly imploringly.

"What is it, my boy?" asked Mr. King, quite deep in the plans for the
Tree, Joel having added himself to their company.

"Oh, nothing; Polly wants it, and we must make it a good one," said
Jasper, rather incoherently, and beginning to retreat.

"Of course it will be a good one," said his father, a trifle testily,
"if we have it at all. When did we ever get up a poor Tree, pray tell?"

Polly drew a relieved breath, and gathering the baby up in her arms, she
hurried over to the old gentleman's chair with a "Now when do you want
to have the Tree, Phronsie?"

"Must we have it Christmas Day?" asked Phronsie, looking at her
anxiously.

"Christmas Day? Dear me, no! Why, what would the Dunraven children do,
Phronsie, if you took that day away from them?" cried old Mr. King in
astonishment.

Phronsie turned slowly back to him. "I thought perhaps we ought to let
Baby have the Tree Christmas Day," she said.

"No, indeed," again said Mr. King. "Come here, you little scamp,"
catching the baby out of Polly's hand, to set him on his other knee;
"there now, speak up like a man, and tell your sister that you are not
particular about the time you have your Tree."

"Ar--goo!" said the Fisher baby.

"That's it," said the old gentleman with approval, while the others
shouted. "So now, as long as your brother says so, Phronsie, why, I
should have your Tree the day before Christmas."

"Oh, Polly wants to go"--began Jasper.

"Ugh!" cried Polly warningly to him. "Yes, Phronsie; you much better
have it the day before, as Grandpapa says."

"And you don't suppose Baby will feel badly afterwards when he gets
bigger, and cry because we didn't give him Christmas Day," said
Phronsie, "do you, Grandpapa?"

"Indeed, I don't," declared the old gentleman, pinching the set of pink
toes nearest to his hand; "if he does, why, we'll all let him know what
we think of such conduct."

"Then," said Phronsie, clasping her hands, "I should very much rather
not take Christmas Day from the Dunraven children, because you know,
Grandpapa, they expect it."

"Of course they do," said old Mr. King. "Bless me! why, we shouldn't
know it was Christmas at all, if we didn't go down to Bedford and carry
it; and as for those children"--

The picture that this brought up, of Dunraven without a Christmas, threw
such a shadow over Phronsie's face, that Polly hastened to say
reassuringly:

"Oh, Grandpapa! we wouldn't ever think of not carrying a Christmas to
Dunraven, would we, Pet?" and she threw her arms around Phronsie.

"Of course not," chimed in Jasper and Joel, in a way to bring back the
smiles to the little downcast face.

And the baby crowed, and seized Phronsie's floating yellow hair with
both hands, and they all got in one another's way to rescue it; and Mrs.
Pepper hurried in again, this time for Baby; and he was kissed all
around, Phronsie giving him two for fear he might think she was hurt;
and one of the maids popped in with "There is a gentleman in the
reception room to see Miss Mary."

Jasper turned off with an impatient gesture.

"I do suppose it is Mr. Loughead," said Polly, "for he wanted to come
some time and talk about Amy. O, dear! I hope I shall say the right
thing."

"Doesn't the fellow know better than to come when we are home for the
Christmas holidays?" grumbled Joel. Jasper looked as if he could say as
much, but instead, walked to the window, and looked out silently.

"He's very anxious about Amy," said Polly, running off to the door,
where she paused and looked back for sympathy toward her little
protege.

"I should think he would be," grunted Joel; "she's a goose, and beside
that, she doesn't know anything."

"O, Joe! she hasn't any father nor mother," cried Polly in distress.

Joel gave an inaudible reply, and Polly ran off, carrying a face on
which the sunshine struggled to get back to its accustomed place.

"Beg pardon for troubling you," said a tall young man, getting off from
the divan to meet her, as she hurried into the reception room, "but you
were good enough to say that I might talk with you about my sister, and
really I am very much at sea to know what to do with her, Miss Pepper."

It was a long speech, and at the end of it, Polly and the caller were
seated, she in a big chair, and he back on the divan opposite to her.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Loughead," said Polly brightly, "and I hope I
can help you, for I am very fond of Amy."

"It's good of you to say so," said Jack Loughead, "for she's a trying
little minx enough, I suspect; and Miss Salisbury tells me you've had no
end of trouble with her."

"Miss Salisbury shouldn't say that," cried Polly involuntarily. Then she
stopped with a blush. "I mean, I don't think she quite understands it.
Amy does really try hard to study."

"Oh!" said Jack Loughead. Then he tapped his boot with his
walking-stick.

"So you really think my sister will amount to something, Miss Pepper?"
He looked at her keenly.

Polly started. "Oh, yes, indeed! Why, she must, Mr. Loughead."

He laughed, and bit his moustache.

"And really, I don't think that Amy is quite understood," said Polly
warmly, and forgetting herself; "if people believe in her, it makes her
want to do things to please them."

"She says herself she has bothered you dreadfully," said Jack, with a
vicious thrust of the walking-stick at his boot.

"She has a little," confessed Polly, "but not dreadfully. And I do
think, Mr. Loughead, now that you have come, and that she sees how much
you want her to study and practice, she will really do better. I do,
indeed," said Polly earnestly.

Outside she could hear the "two boys," as she still called them, and
Grandpapa's voice in animated consultation over the ways and means, she
knew as well as if she were there, of spending the holidays, and it
seemed as if she could never sit in the reception room another moment
longer, but that she must fly out to them.

[Illustration: "OH!" SAID JACK LOUGHEAD. THEN HE TAPPED HIS BOOT WITH
HIS WALKING STICK.]

"Amy has no mother," said Jack Loughead after a moment, and he turned
away his head, and pretended to look out of the window.

"I know it." Polly's heart leaped guiltily. Oh! how could she think of
holidays and good times, while this poor little girl, but fifteen, had
only a dreary sense of boarding-school life to mean home to her. "And
oh! I do think," Polly hastened to say, and she clasped her hands as
Phronsie would have done, "it has made all the difference in the world
to her. And she does just lovely--so much better, I mean, than other
girls would in her place. I do really, Mr. Loughead," repeated Polly.

"And no sister," added Jack, as if to himself. "How is a fellow like
me--why, I am twenty-five, Miss Pepper, and I've been knocking about the
world ever since I was her age; my uncle took me then to Australia, into
his business--how am I ever to 'understand,' as you call it, that girl?"

It was impossible not to see his distress, and Polly, with a deaf ear to
the chatter out in the library, now bent all her energies to helping
him.

"Mr. Loughead," she said, and the color deserted her round cheek, and
she leaned forward from the depths of the big chair, "I am afraid you
won't like what I am going to say."

"Go on, please," said Jack, his eyes on her face.

"I think if you want to understand Amy," said Polly, holding her hands
very tightly together, to keep her courage up, "you must love her
first."

"Hey? I don't understand," said Jack, quite bewildered.

"You must love her, and believe she's going to do nice things, and be
proud of her," went on Polly steadily.

"How can I? She's such a little beggar," exclaimed Jack, "won't study,
and all that."

"And you must make her the very best friend you have in all this world,
and let her see that you are glad that she is your sister, and tell her
things, and never, never scold." Then Polly stopped, and the color flew
up to the waves of brown hair on her brow.

"I wish you'd go on," said Jack Loughead, as she paused.

"Oh! I've said enough," said Polly, with a gasp, and beginning to wish
she could be anywhere out of the range of those great black eyes. "Do
forgive me," she begged; "I didn't mean to say anything to hurt you."

Jack Loughead got up and straightened himself. "I'm much obliged to you,
Miss Pepper," he said. "I think I'm more to blame than Amy, poor child."

"No, no," cried Polly, getting out of her chair, "I didn't mean so,
indeed I didn't, Mr. Loughead. Oh! what have I said? I think you have
done beautifully. How could you help things when you were not here? Oh!
Mr. Loughead, I do hope you will forgive me. I have only made matters
worse, I'm afraid," and poor Polly's face drooped.

Jack Loughead turned with a sudden gesture. "Perhaps you'll believe me
when I say I've never had anything do me so much good in all my life, as
what you said."

"What are those two talking about all this unconscionable time," Joel
was now exclaiming in the library, as he glanced up at the clock. "I
could finish that Amy Loughead in the sixteenth of a minute."

Old Mr. King turned uneasily in his chair. "Who is this young Loughead?"
he asked of Jasper.

Jasper, seeing that an answer was expected of him, drew himself up, and
said quickly, "Oh! he's the brother of that girl at the Salisbury
School, father. You know Polly goes over there to help her practice."

"Ah!" said his father, "well, what is he doing here this morning, pray
tell?"

"That's what I should like to know," chimed in Joel.

"Well, last evening," said Jasper, with an effort to make things right
for Polly, "he was there when they were playing, and he seemed quite put
out at his sister."

"Don't wonder," said Joel; "everybody says she's a silly."

"And Polly tried to help Amy, and make the best of her. And the brother
asked if he might have a talk some time about his sister. Polly couldn't
help telling him 'yes,'" said Jasper, but with a pang at the handsome
stranger's delight as she said it.

"A bad business," said the old gentleman irritably. "We do not want your
Lougheads coming here and taking up our time."

"Of course not," declared Joel.

"And I suppose he is an idle creature. Polly said something about his
traveling a good deal. It's a very bad business," repeated Mr. King.

"Oh! he's all right in a business way," said Jasper, feeling angry
enough at himself that he was sorry at Jack Loughead's success. "He has
to travel; he's a member of the Bradbury and Graeme Company."

"The Sydney, Australia, house?" asked Mr. King in a surprised tone. "So
you've looked him up, have you, Jasper?"

"Oh! I happened to run across Hibbard Crane yesterday," said Jasper
carelessly, "and he gave me a few facts. That's about all I know,
father."

And in came Polly, looking like a rose; and following her a tall young
man, with large, black eyes, whom she immediately led up to Mr. King's
chair. "Grandpapa," she said, "this is Mr. Loughead, Amy's brother, you
know"--

And Jasper went forward and put out his hand, as an old acquaintance of
the evening before, and Joel was introduced, and mumbled something about
"Glad to know you," immediately retreating into the corner, and then
there was a pause, which Polly broke by crying: "O, Grandpapa! I am
going to ask Amy to play at Dunraven for Phronsie's poor children. Why,
where is Phronsie?" looking around the room.

"Oh! she went out a little while after Baby's exit," said Jasper, trying
to speak lightly.

"Mr. Loughead thinks she'd do it, if I asked her," Polly went on in her
brightest way. "Now, that will be lovely, and the children will enjoy it
so much."

"Isn't there anything I could do?" asked Jack Loughead, after the
Dunraven entertainment had been a bit discussed.

Mr. King bowed his courtly old head. "I don't believe there is anything.
You are very kind, I'm sure."

"Don't speak of kindness, sir," he said. "My time hangs heavy on my
hands just now."

"He would like to be with his sister," said Jasper, after a glance at
Polly's face, and guilty of an aside to his father.

"Oh!--yes," said Mr. King, "to be sure. Well, Mr. Loughead, and what
would you like to do for these poor children of Phronsie's Christmas
Day? We shall be very glad of your assistance."

"I could bring out a stereopticon," said Jack; "no very new idea, but
I've a few pictures of places I've seen, and maybe the children would
like it for a half-hour or so."

"Capital, capital," pronounced the old gentleman quite as if he had
proposed it. And before any one knew how it had come about, there was
Jack Loughead talking over the run down to Bedford with them all on
Christmas morning, as a matter of course, and as if it had been the
annual affair to him, that it was to all the others.

"Quite a fine young man," said Mr. King, when Jack had at last run off
with a bright smile and word for all, "and Phronsie will be so pleased
to think of his doing all this for her poor children. Bless her! Well,
David, my man, are you back so soon?"

"So soon, Grandpapa?" cried David, hurrying in from a morning down town
with another "Harvard Fresh," also home for the holidays. "Why, it is
luncheon time."

"Impossible!" exclaimed old Mr. King, pulling out his watch. "Er--bless
me! the boy is right. Now, Polly, my child, you and I must put off our
engagement till afternoon. Then we'll have our Christmasing!"




CHAPTER III.

CHRISTMAS AT DUNRAVEN.


"Grandpapa," cried Phronsie, flying down the platform, "the box of dolls
isn't here!"

"Goodness me!" exclaimed old Mr. King, whirling around, "'tisn't
possible, child, that we've come off without that. It must be with the
other luggage."

"O, no, Grandpapa dear!" declared Phronsie in great distress, and
clasping her hands to keep the tears back, "it really, surely hasn't
come; Polly says so."

"Well, then, if Polly says so, it must have been left at home," said the
old gentleman, "and there's no use in my going to look over the
luggage," he groaned.

"What's the matter?" cried Joel, rushing up, his jolly face aglow.

"The worst thing that could possibly happen," said Mr. King irritably;
"Phronsie's box of dolls is left behind." Then he began to fume up and
down the platform, wholly lost to everything but his indignation.

"Whew!" ejaculated Joel, "that is a miss!" and he looked down at
Phronsie, but her broad hat had drooped, the brown eyes seeking the
platform floor. "See here, Phronsie."

Phronsie didn't speak for a breathing-space. "What is it, Joey?" then
she said, not looking up.

"I'll go back after it; don't you worry, child."

"Oh, but you can't," cried Phronsie, throwing her head back quickly,
"the train will come, and then you won't be here."

"I'll take the next train; of course I can't get back for this," said
Joel, swallowing hard. "I'll bring the box all right," and he dashed
off.

"Joel--oh, Joel!" cried Phronsie, running after him, "don't go!" she
implored.

"Here! here! what's the matter?" cried old Mr. King, forgetting his
indignation to hurry after her. "Phronsie, wait; what is it, dear?"

"Joel's gone," panted Phronsie, flying back, her broad hat falling off
to her shoulders, "oh, do stop him, Grandpapa dear! I'd rather not take
the dolls than to have Joel left."

"Stop him? I can't. Bless me, here--somebody!" turning off to the little
knots of his party scattered over the platform, "where are you all?"

Polly came running up at this, with a pale face. "Oh, Grandpapa!" she
began at sight of him.

"Joel's gone home," announced Phronsie, clasping her hands in distress,
"after the box of dolls, and"--

"Joel's gone home!" echoed Polly, standing quite still.

"Yes," said Phronsie, "oh, Polly, do stop him and bring him back."

"She can't," cried the old gentleman; "that boy's legs have carried him
half over the town by this time. Nobody could stop him, child."

And then, most of the little knots heard the commotion, and came
hurrying up with "What is it?" and "Oh dear, what's the matter?" in time
to hear Polly groan, "And Joe thought so much of going down to Dunraven
with us!"

[Illustration: "JOEL'S GONE," PANTED PHRONSIE, FLYING BACK.]

"Well, where is he?" cried Jasper, whirling around to look in all
directions; while Ben took a few long strides to peer around the
station, and David and the other "Harvard Fresh." who had been invited
to keep him company, ran, one up, and the other down, the long platform.

"See here now," shouted old Mr. King so sharply that all the flying feet
were arrested at once, "every one of you come back! Goodness me, the
idea of the Bedford party being scattered to the four winds in this
fashion!"

"I'd help if I could," said Mr. Hamilton Dyce, "but I really don't know
what it's all about yet."

"Oh dear--dear!" Polly was yet wailing. Then she remembered, and threw
her arms around Phronsie who was standing quite still by her side.
"Phronsie, precious pet," and she picked up her pretty stuff gown to
kneel on the platform-floor to look into the little face, "don't feel
badly, dear. Joel will come on the next train."

"But he won't be with us," said Phronsie slowly, and turning her brown
eyes piteously to Polly.

"I know it," Polly smothered a sigh, "but we can't help it now.
Grandpapa is feeling dreadfully; oh, Phronsie, you wouldn't make him
sick, dear, for all the world!"

Phronsie unclasped her hands, and went unsteadily over to the old
gentleman. "Joel will come on the next train, Grandpapa," she said.

"Bless me, yes, of course," said Mr. King, seizing her hand; "I don't
see what we are making such a fuss for. He'll come on the next train."

"What's the riot?" asked Livingston Bayley, sauntering up, and whirling
his walking-stick, "eh?"

"Joel's absconded," said Mr. Dyce briefly.

"Eh?"

"Gone back after Phronsie's box of dolls," explained somebody else.

"Oh dear me," cried Alexia Rhys, trying to get near Polly, "just like
that boy." She still called him that, in spite of his being a Harvard
man, "He's always making some sort of a fuss."

"Perhaps the train will be late," suggested Mrs. Dyce, who, as Mary
Taylor, never could bear to see Phronsie unhappy. "Hamilton, if you
don't do something to help that child, I shall be sorry I married you,"
she whispered in her husband's ear.

"Late? it's late already," said Ben, pulling out his watch, "it's five
minutes past time."

"Well, it may be our luck to have it late enough," said Jasper, with a
glance at Polly, "as it's Christmas day and a big train; so he may
possibly get here--he'll find a cabby that can make good time," he
added, with a forlorn attempt at comfort.

Jack Loughead sauntered up and down, on the edge of the group, longing
to be of service, but feeling himself too new a friend to offer his
sympathy.

"Who the Dickens is that cad?" asked Mr. Bayley in smothered wrath, to
Mrs. Dyce.

"Why, don't you know? He's another friend of Polly's," said Mary Taylor
Dyce, smiling up sweetly into his face, "and he's going down to help
entertain Phronsie's poor children. Isn't he nice?"

"Nice?" repeated Livingston Bayley with a black look at the tall figure
stalking on. "How do I know? Who is the fellow, any way?"

But there was no time to reply.

"Here comes the train!" cried Alexia. The warning bell struck, and the
rush of travelers from the waiting-room, began. "Oh dear me!" Then she
forgot all about her late unpleasantness with Pickering Dodge, and
running up to him, she seized his arm, "Oh, Pickering, do make the
conductor wait for that horrid boy."

"I can't," said Pickering, "the train's late, any way. There, get on,
Alexia," putting out his hand to help her up the steps.

"Oh, I forgot," she cried, drawing back, "that we'd had a fight. Tisn't
proper for you to help me, Pickering, and you oughtn't to ask it, till
you've begged my pardon."

"Then it will be a long day before you receive my assistance," said
Pickering, lifting his cap, and turning on his heel at the same time.

Jasper tried to get up to Polly's side, as she was hurrying Phronsie to
the car, old Mr. King holding fast to Phronsie's other hand, but
Livingston Bayley got there first.

"Allow me, Miss Phronsie," he was saying, with extended hand. "'Pon me
word, it's a beastly crowd going to-day, sir."

"She will do very well with my assistance," said the old gentleman,
still holding Phronsie's little glove. "And I suppose Christmas Day
belongs to everybody, eh, Bayley?" hurrying in.

Polly, her foot on the lower step, turned and sent a despairing glance
down the platform, and Jasper who saw it through the crowd, fell back a
little to give a last look for Joel.

"All aboard!" sang out the conductor, waving his hand.

"Come--oh, come!" called Polly with a frantic gesture, from the doorway
of the car, as the train moved off. "Oh, Jasper!" as he swung himself up
beside her.

"The next train runs down in an hour; don't feel badly, Polly," Jasper
had time to beg before they were drawn into the confusion of the car.

But no one could pretend, with any sort of success, that Joel wasn't
missed; and Polly had all that she could do to chase away the sorrowful
expression of Phronsie's little face. And everybody tried his and her
best to make it as festive a time as possible; and the other passengers
nudged one another, and sent many an envious glance at the merry party.

"It's Mr. King's family going down to Bedford," said the conductor to
one inquiring mind. "I take 'em every year," proudly. "He's powerful
rich; but this ain't his affair. It all b'longs to that little girl with
the big hat." Then he dashed off, and called a station; and after the
stopping and moving of the train again, he came back and sat on the arm
of the seat to finish his account.

"You see, there was an old lady, a cousin of the old gentleman's, and
she made a will in favor of this child with the big hat." The conductor
pointed his thumb at Phronsie, leaning over Mr. King's shoulder, the
better to hear a wonderful story he was concocting for her benefit.
"Why, she's got some two or three millions."

"What--that child?" cried the listeners, in amaze.

[Illustration: JOEL SWINGING A BIG BOX RUSHED INTO DUNRAVEN HALL.]

"Yes--the old lady was tough, but"--he dashed off again, called a
station, slammed the door, and was back in position in less time than it
takes to tell it--"she was took sudden, while Mr. King's folks was in
Europe, and now that child has turned a handsome old place down
yonder"--he pointed with his thumb in the direction of Bedford--
"Dunraven Lodge, the old lady always called it, into a sort of a Home,
and she's chucked it full of children, mostly those whose fathers and
mothers are dead; and every Christmas Day Mr. King takes down a big
crowd, and"--

Here somebody called him off, not to be seen again till he put his head
in the doorway, and shouted "Bedford!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Joel, swinging a big box as only Joel could, rushed into the spacious
hall at Dunraven Lodge. "How are you all!"

Phronsie disentangled herself from a group around the big fire-place
where the long hickory logs snapped and blazed.

"Oh, Josey!" she cried, precipitating herself into his long arms.

"Here is the toggery," cried Joel, setting down the doll-box, while he
gathered Phronsie up in his arms.

"And you, Josey," cried Phronsie, with a happy little hum, "you are all
here yourself," as the group left the fire, and surrounded them.

"Well--well--well!" cried old Mr. King, lifting his head in its velvet
lounging cap from the sofa where he had been napping. "Are you really
here, Joe!"

"Just like you," greeted Alexia, running down the broad oaken stairs.
"Here, he's come!" to Polly, appearing at the head. "We were finishing
the tree, and we heard the noise. Dear me, Joe, I should think it was a
cyclone," as she joined the group, Polly close behind.

Joel tossed her a saucy answer, while Polly got on her tiptoes and
caught his crop of short black hair in her two hands. "Oh, Joe," she
said, dropping a kiss on it, "it was lovely in you to go back."

Joel felt well repaid for losing the jolly run down, and the grand
_entree_ into Dunraven, his soul loved, but he covered up what he
thought, by pulling Phronsie into the middle of the hall. "Come on,
Phron," he said, "for a spin like old times."

"See here," cried Alexia, "we ought to get back to that Tree, Polly
Pepper, or it won't be ready. Dear me, I dropped a box of frost all over
the stairs; Joel made such a noise."

At the mere mention of such a possibility as the Tree not being ready,
everybody started; the last one in the procession, picking up the
doll-box, their movements somewhat quickened, as loud calls were now set
up above stairs, for "Polly--Polly!"

"Come on," sang out Joel, who had paid his respects in a flying fashion
to Grandpapa's sofa, and leaping the stairs. "Goodness me, Alexia, I
should think you did spill this frost. Why didn't you go over more
ground?"

"I don't believe we can save one bit," mourned Alexia, peering up the
stair-length, each step sparkling with myriad little frosty gems, as if
Jack Frost himself had sprinkled it with a Christmas hand. "Oh, dear,
why did you come in with such a noise, Joe Pepper?"

"Just like a girl," said Joel; "jumps at everything and drops whatever
she has in her hand. You all go up the other stairs; I'll sweep this in
a minute, and save what I can."

"Oh, Joe, don't stop; we want you for the Tree," begged Polly. "Phronsie
has been waiting downstairs all this time for you to come. Let one of
the maids do it;" Joe already had his head in a closet he knew of old,
opening into the big hall.

"Give me the broom," said a voice close beside him.

"Eh--what?" cried Joel, pulling out what he wanted--a soft floor brush.
"Oh, is that you, Loughead?" turning around.

"I believe so," said Jack, laughing. "Here, give me the broom. I'm no
help about a Tree; I'll have the stuff up there soon," and before Joel
knew it, he was racing over the back stairs, wondering how it was he had
let that disagreeable Jack Loughead get hold of that broom.

"It makes me think of our first Tree, in some way," said Polly softly,
with glistening eyes, looking up at the beautiful branching spruce, its
countless arms shaking out brilliant pendants, and gay with streamers
and candles, wherever a decoration could be placed, the whole tipped
with a shining star. "Oh, Bensie, can you ever forget that?"

Ben looked down from the top of the step-ladder where he was adjusting
some last bit of ornament.

"Never, Polly," he said, his eyes meeting hers.

"That was so beautiful," cried Polly. "And we had it in our 'Provision
Room,' and Mrs. Henderson brought my bird over, and the other things the
last minute, and"--

"I had to," broke in Mrs. Henderson with a laugh, and shaking the snips
of green from her white apron, "for you and Ben would have discovered
the whole surprise. You were dreadful that day."

"I'm glad somebody else was dreadful in those times, besides me,"
observed Joel from among the branches, where he was tying on the several
presents Alexia handed to him.

"Well, you see," said Polly, with rosy cheeks, "it was our first Tree,
and we were so afraid the children would find it out, and spoil all the
surprise."

"And did we?" cried Phronsie, in intense excitement, emerging from the
depths of the Tree, the better to look at Polly, "did we, Polly, and
spoil it all?"

"No, Pet," cried Polly, "you were just as good as could be."

"I remember," said Joel, "you told us stories, Polly, in the kitchen,
and"--

"We tooted on our tin horns," finished David; "oh, Joe, do you remember
those horns?"

"And that molasses candy," said Joel, smacking his lips, "I remember I
ate mine up before breakfast."

"And did I have any?" asked Phronsie, turning from one to the other.

"Yes, indeed, you did," answered Joel.

"Why, did you think we'd forget you, Phronsie?" asked Polly, a bit
reproachfully.

"And don't you remember it?" said David.

"No," said Phronsie. "I don't; but I remember Seraphina's bonnet."

"It was trimmed with some of Grandma Bascom's chicken's feathers," said
Joel.

"And Mamsie made it out of an old bonnet string," said Polly. "Oh dear,
if only Mamsie were here to-day!" And a cloud came over her face.

"But we've Baby Fisher now," said Ben cheerfully, looking down at her.
"He's worth staying at home for, Polly."

"Of course he is," said Polly, her gayety returning. "And dear Papa
Fisher was master of ceremonies then; but he wouldn't enjoy it to-day
without Mamsie. So we oughtn't to wish him here."

[Illustration: "And did we," cried Phronsie "find it out,
Polly, and spoil it all?"]

"I wish you wouldn't begin about that Little Brown House, and what
elegant times you had in it," exclaimed Alexia, twitching at a present
Joel had just tied on, to be sure it was secure; "I shall think this
Tree is perfectly horrid, if you do, Polly Pepper."

"Go on--do go on," begged several voices. Meanwhile, Jack Loughead had
come silently up into the long hall, and deposited a neat boxful of the
gleaming frost on the table, without any comments.

"Dear me, there is so much to tell," cried Polly, with a little laugh,
"if we begin about Jappy's Tree."

"Who's Tree?" cried Livingston Bayley, who had been wrinkling his brows
in great perplexity all through the recital.

"Why, Jasper's," said Polly and Ben together; Joel and David coming in
as echoes.

"You see," said Phronsie distinctly, "that Jasper and dear Grandpapa
sent the beautiful things to us."

"Mrs. Pepper and Polly and Ben had gotten the Tree ready before," said
Jasper hastily. "Oh! didn't I want to be there!" he added.

"Yes; Polly almost cried because you couldn't be," said Joel in among
the branches.

"But she couldn't quite cry," said Davie, "because you see we children
would have found it out. Polly always sang in those days."

"Do you remember how we used to run behind the wood-pile when we wanted
to plan the Tree, Polly," asked Ben, "to get away from Joel and Dave?"

"You spent most all your time in the Little Brown House in sneaking off
from us," said Joel vindictively.

"Well, we had to, if we ever did anything," said Ben coolly.

"I should think so," remarked Livingston Bayley, delighted to give a
thrust at somebody.

"And weren't the gilt balls pretty?" cried Polly, quite gone now in the
reminiscences, though her fingers kept on at their task; "you did cover
those nuts beautifully, Bensie. I don't see how you could, with such
snips of paper."

"How did he make the balls?" asked Alexia, forgetting herself in her
interest, and coming up to Polly.

"Why, we had some bits of bright paper, little bits, you know, and Ben
covered hickory nuts with them, and pasted them all as smoothly; you
can't think!"

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Alexia.

"And Polly strung all the pop-corn, and fixed the candle-ends somebody
gave Mamsie, and"--

"Candle-ends? Why didn't you have whole ones?" cried Alexia.

"Why, we couldn't," said Polly, "and we were glad enough to get these.
Oh! the Tree looked just beautifully with them, I tell you."

"You see," said Phronsie, drawing near to look into Alexia's face, "we
were very, very poor, Alexia. So Polly and Bensie made the Tree. Don't
you understand?"

"It was really Bensie's Tree," said Polly honestly, "for I didn't
believe at first we could do it."

"Oh, yes, you did, Polly," corrected Ben hastily; "at any rate, you saw
it in a minute."

"And it's the first time you didn't believe a thing could be done, I
imagine," declared Jasper, with a bright nod at Polly.

"Well, Bensie thought of this Tree, and made me see that we could do
it," persisted Polly, giving a little quirk to a rebellious pendant.

Mrs. Henderson put the corner of her white apron to her eyes. "I always
have to," she said to Mrs. Dyce, "when the Little Brown House days bring
those blessed children back to me."

Jack Loughead drew nearer yet; so near that he lost never a word.

"You ought to have seen what a Santa Claus Ben made!" Polly was saying.

"I cut your performance yesterday at Baby's Tree, all out, old fellow,"
declared Ben, descending from the step-ladder and bestowing an
affectionate clap on Jasper's shoulder.

"I don't doubt it," Jasper gave back.

"We made the wig out of Mamsie's cushion hair," laughed Polly. "And we
had such a piece of work putting it all back the next morning."

"And Polly shook flour all over me, for the snow," said Ben, laughing.

"Come back, Alexia, and hand me some more gimcracks, do," cried Joel,
poking his head out of the branches to look at his late assistant.

"Well, do go on about your Tree in the Brown House," begged Alexia,
tearing herself away to answer Joel's demands, "seeing you have begun.
What did you do next, Polly?"

"Well, we all marched into the 'Provision Room,'" went on Polly, her
cheeks aglow, "expecting to see our Tree just as we had left it; all but
Ben, he was going to jump into the window at the right time, when the
first thing"--

"Polly sat right down on the floor, saying, 'Oh!'" cried Joel, taking
the words out of her mouth.

"I couldn't help it, I was so surprised," said Polly, with shining eyes.
"There was a most beautiful Tree, full of just everything; and there was
Mamsie, almost crying, she was so happy; and there was Cherry singing
away in his cage, and the corner of the room was all a-bloom with
flowers, and"--

"And Grandma Bascom was there--wasn't she funny? She used to give us
hard old raisins sometimes," said Joel, afraid to show what he was
feeling.

"And Phronsie screamed right out," went on Polly, "and Davie said it was
Fairyland."

By this time, Alexia had dropped the present she was holding, and had
run back to Polly's side again, and somehow most of the other workers
followed her example, the circle of listeners closing around the little
bunch of Peppers. "And Jasper sent a Christmas greeting, beside the
Tree," Polly ended, "and it was perfectly lovely."

"And Santa Claus and Polly took hold of hands and danced around the
Tree," said Joel; "I'll never forget that."

"Well, you would better take hold of hands and dance down to the
recitation room," said Parson Henderson's deep voice, as he suddenly
appeared in their midst, "the children are all ready to give their
carols. Come."




CHAPTER IV.

THE FESTIVITIES.


Phronsie looked down into the sea of eager faces "Oh, Grandpapa," she
exclaimed softly, and plucking his sleeve, "don't you think we might
hurry and begin?"

"Dear me, Phronsie," cried the old gentleman, whirling around in his big
chair to look at her, "why, they aren't all in, child," glancing down
the aisle where Jasper as chief usher with Ben and the others were
busily settling the children. "Bless me, what is Joel doing?"

Phronsie looked too, to see Joel hurrying up to the platform with a
little colored child perched on his shoulder. She was crying all over
his new coat, and at every step uttered a sharp scream.

"Toss the little beggar out," advised Livingston Bayley, as Joel shot by
with his burden.

"Here, Joe, I'll give her a seat" cried David from a little knot of
children, all turning excitedly around at the commotion, "there's just
one here."

"Much obliged," said Joel, stalking on, "but she says she wants to see
Phronsie about something."

Polly, who caught the last words, looked down reproachfully at him from
the platform where Phronsie always insisted that she should sit close to
her. "Can't help it," Joel telegraphed back, "I can't stop her crying."

Phronsie heard now, and getting out of her chair, she stepped to the
platform edge. "Let me take her," she begged.

"Phronsie, you can't have her up here!" Polly exclaimed, while old Mr.
King put forth an uneasy hand to stop all such proceedings, and two or
three of the others hurried up to remonstrate with Joel.

"She wants to see me," said Phronsie, putting her cool cheek against the
dark little one; "it's the new child that came yesterday," and she took
her off from Joel's shoulder, and staggered back to her seat by Polly's
side.

"Phronsie, do put her down," whispered Polly, "it's almost time to
begin," glancing off at the clock under its wealth of evergreen at the
farther end of the hall. "Here, do let me take her."

But Phronsie was whispering so fast that she didn't hear.

"What is it? Please tell me quickly, for it is almost time to have the
Tree."

At mention of the Tree, the little creature sat straight in Phronsie's
white lap. "May I have some of it, if I am black?" she begged, her beady
eyes running with tears.

"Yes," said Phronsie, "I've tied a big doll on it for you my very own
self." Then she put her lips on the dark little cheek. "Now you must get
down, for I have to talk to the children, and tell them all about
things, and why they have a Christmas."

But the little thing huddled up against Phronsie's waist-ribbons. "I'm
the only one that's black," she said. "I want to stay here."

"Now you see, Joel," began old Mr. King harshly. Phronsie laid a soft
hand on his arm. "Please, Grandpapa dear, may she have a little cricket
up here? She feels lonely down with the other children, for she's only
just come."

"Oh, dear--dear!" groaned Polly, looking down at the little black object
in Phronsie's lap. "Now what shall we do?" This last to Jasper as he
hurried up.

"I suppose we shall have to let her stay," he began.

"When Phronsie looks like that, she won't ever let her go," declared
Ben, with a wise nod over at the two.

"She's just as determined as she was that day when she would send Mr.
King her gingerbread boy," cried Polly, clasping her hands.

Jasper gave her a bright smile. "I wouldn't worry, Polly," he said.
"See, Joel has just put a cricket--it's all right," looking into Polly's
troubled eyes.

Phronsie, having seated her burden on the cricket at her feet, got out
of her own chair, and took one step toward the platform edge, beginning,
"Dear children." But the small creature left behind clutched the
floating hem of the white gown, and screamed harder than ever.

"Bless me!" ejaculated Mr. King in great distress. "Here, will somebody
take this child down where she belongs?" While Polly with flushed
cheeks, leaned over, and tried to unclasp the little black fingers.

"Go up there, Joe, and stop the row," said Livingston Bayley from the
visitor's seat at the end of the hall; "you started it."

Jack Loughead took a step or two in the direction of the platform, then
thought better of it, and got back into his place again, hoping no one
had noticed him in the confusion.

Phronsie leaned over as well as she could for the little hands pulling
her back. "Jasper," she begged, "do move the cricket so that she may sit
by me."

And before anybody quite knew how it was done, there was the new child
sitting on her cricket, and huddled up against the soft folds of
Phronsie's white gown, while Phronsie, standing close to the platform
edge, began again, "Dear children, you know this is Christmas Day--your
very own Christmas Day. And every Christmas Day since you came to the
Home, I have told you the story of the dear beautiful Lady; and every
single Christmas I am going to tell it to you again, so that you will
never, never forget her."

Here Phronsie turned, and pointed up to a large, full-length portrait of
Mrs. Chatterton hanging on the wall over the platform. It was painted in
her youth by a celebrated French artist, and represented a beautiful
young woman in a yellow satin gown, whose rich folds of lace fell away
from perfectly molded neck and arms.

All the children stared at the portrait as usual in this stage of the
proceedings. "Now you must say after me, 'I thank my beautiful Lady for
this Home,'" said Phronsie slowly.

"I thank my beautiful Lady for this Home," said every child distinctly.

"Because without her I could not have had it," said Phronsie. "You must
always remember that, children. Now say it." She stood very patiently,
her hands folded together, and waited to hear them repeat it.

"Because without her I could not have had it," said the children, one or
two coming in shrilly as a belated echo.

[Illustration: "Will you?" asked Phronsie, looking down into their
faces.]

"And I thank her for the beautiful Tree," said Phronsie. "Now say it,
please."

"I thank her for the beautiful Tree," shouted the children, craning
their necks away from the portrait to get a glimpse of the
curtain-veiled Tree in the other room. "Please can't we have it now?"
begged several voices.

"No; not until you all hear the story. Well, now, God took the beautiful
Lady away to Heaven; but she is always going to be here too," again
Phronsie pointed to the portrait, "just as long as there is any Home.
And she is going to smile at you, because you are all going to be good
children and try to study and learn all that dear Mr. Henderson teaches
you; and you are going to obey every single thing that dear Mrs.
Henderson tells you, just as soon as she speaks," said Phronsie slowly,
and turning her head to look at the different rows.

"I hope we'll be forgiven for sitting here and listening to old lady
Chatterton's praises," whispered Mrs. Hamilton Dyce to her husband. "It
makes me feel dreadfully wicked to swallow it all without a protest."

"Oh, we've swallowed that annually for three years now," said Mr. Dyce
with a little laugh, "and grown callous. Your face is just as bad as it
was the first time Phronsie eulogized her."

"I can't help it," declared his wife, "when I think of that dreadful
old"--

"Oh, come," remonstrated her husband, "let's bury the past; Phronsie
has."

"Phronsie!" ejaculated Mrs. Dyce. "Oh, that blessed child! Just hear her
now."

"So on this Christmas Day," Phronsie was saying in clear tones, "you are
to remember that you wouldn't have had this Tree but for the beautiful
Lady; and on every single other day, you must remember that you wouldn't
ever have had this Home; not a bit of any of it"--here she turned and
looked around the picture-hung walls, and out of the long windows to the
dark pines and firs of the broad lawn, tossing their snow-laden
branches, "but for the beautiful lady. And you must every one of you
help to make this Home just the very best Home that ever was. Will you?"
And then she smiled down into their faces while she waited for her
answer.

"Oh, yes, yes," screamed the children, every one. The little black
creature got off from her cricket at Phronsie's feet to look into her
face. "And I will too," she cried.

"And now you all want to thank Miss Phronsie for her kind words, we
know," Jasper cried at this point, hurrying into the middle of the
aisle, "and so, children, you may all stand up and say 'Thank you,' and
wave your handkerchiefs."

Up flew all the rows of children to their feet, and a cloud of tiny
white squares of cambric fluttered in the air, and the children kept
piping out, "Thank you--Thank you." And old Mr. King began a cheer for
Phronsie, and another for the children; and then somebody down at the
end of the long hall set up another for Mr. King, and somebody else
started one for Mr. Henderson, and another for Mrs. Henderson, and there
was plenty of noise, and high above it all rang the peals of happy,
childish laughter. And when it was all done, everybody pausing to take
breath, then Amy Loughead sent out the finest march ever heard, from the
grand piano, and Polly and Jasper and all the rest marshaled the
children into a procession, and Phronsie clinging to old Mr. King's hand
on the one side, and holding fast to the small black palm on the other,
away they all went, the visitors falling into line, around and around
the big hall, till at last--oh! at last, they turned into the Enchanted
Land that held the wonderful Christmas Tree. And when they were all
before it, and Phronsie in the center, she lifted her hand, and the room
became so still one could hear a pin drop. And then the little children
who had sung the carols in the morning stepped forward and began, "It
came upon the midnight clear, that glorious song of old"--

And Phronsie drew a long breath, and folded her hands, not stirring till
the very last word died on the air.

And then Jasper and the others slowly drew aside the white curtain; and
oh! the dazzling, beautiful apparition that greeted every one's eyes! No
one could stop the children's noisy delight, and the best of it was,
that no one wanted to. So for the next few moments it was exactly like
the merry time over the Tree in the "Provision Room" of the Little Brown
House years ago, just as Polly had said; only there was ever so much
more of it, because there were ever so many more children to make it!

And Polly and Ben were like children again themselves; and David and
Joel were everywhere helping on the fun; in which excitement the other
Harvard man and even Livingston Bayley were not ashamed to take a most
active part, as Jasper, who had borrowed Santa Claus' attire for this
occasion, now made his appearance with a most astonishing bow. And then
the presents began to fly from the Tree, and Jack Loughead seemed to be
all arms, for he was so tall he could reach down the hanging gifts from
the higher branches, so that he was in great demand; and Pickering
Dodge, one eye on all of Polly's movements, worked furiously, and Alexia
Rhys and Cathie Harrison didn't give themselves hardly time to breathe;
and there was quite enough for Mr. Alstyne and the Cabots and Hamilton
Dyce to do, and everybody else, for that matter, to pass around the
presents. And in the midst of it all, a big doll, resplendent in a red
satin gown, and an astonishing hat, was untied from the tree.

"O, I want to give it to her myself!" cried Phronsie.

"So you shall," declared Jasper, handing it to her.

"Susan, this is your very own child," said Phronsie, turning to the
little colored girl at her side. "Now you won't feel lonely ever, will
you?" and she laid the doll carefully into the outstretched arms.

And at last the green branches had shaken off their wealth of gifts, and
the shining candles began to go out, one by one.

"Grandpapa," cried Polly, coming up to old Mr. King and Phronsie, with a
basket of mottoes and bonbons enough to satisfy the demands of the most
exacting Children's Home, "we ought to get our paper caps on."

"Bless me!" ejaculated old Mr. King, pulling out his watch, "it can't be
time to march. Ah, it's a quarter of four this minute. Here, child," to
Phronsie, "pick out your bonbon so that I can snap it with you."

Phronsie gravely regarded the pretty bonbons in Polly's basket. "I must
pick out yours first, Grandpapa," she said slowly, lifting a silver
paper-and-lace arrangement with a bunch of forget-me-nots in the center.
"I think this is pretty."

"So it is; most beautiful, dear," said the old gentleman, in great
satisfaction. "Now we must crack it, I suppose." So he took hold of one
end, and Phronsie held fast to the other of the bonbon, and a sharp
little report gave the signal for all the bonbons to be opened.
Thereupon, everybody, old and young, hurried to secure one, and great
was the snapping and cracking that now followed.

"Oh, Grandpapa, isn't your cap pretty?" exclaimed Phronsie in pleased
surprise, drawing forth a pink and yellow crinkled tissue bit. "See,"
smoothing it out with a gentle hand, "it's a crown, Grandpapa!"

"Now that's perfectly lovely!" cried Polly, setting down her basket.
"Here, let me help you, child--there, that's straight. Now, Grandpapa,
please bend over so that Phronsie can put it on."

Instead, the old gentleman dropped to one knee. "Now, dear," he said
gallantly. So Phronsie set the pink and yellow crown on his white hair,
stepping back gravely to view the effect.

"It is so very nice, dear Grandpapa," she said, coming back to his side.
So old Mr. King stood up, with quite a regal air, and Phronsie had a
little blue and white paper bonnet tied under her chin by Grandpapa's
own hand. And caps were flying on to all the heads, and each right hand
held a tinkling little bell that had swung right merrily on a green
branch-tip. And away to Amy Loughead's second march--on and on, jangling
their bells, the procession went, through the long hall, till old Mr.
King and Phronsie who led, turned down the broad staircase, and into the
dining-room; and here the guests stood on either side of the doorway
while the little Home children passed up through their midst.

And there were two long tables, one for the Home children, with a place
for Phronsie at its head, and another for old Mr. King at the foot. And
the other table was for the older people; both gay with Christmas holly,
and sweet with flowers. And when all were seated, and a hush fell upon
the big room, Phronsie lifted her hand.

  _We Thank Thee, oh Lord,
  For this Christmas Day,
  And may we love Thee
  And serve Thee alway.
  For Jesus Christ
  The Holy Child's sake.
      Amen._

It rang out clear and sweet in childish treble, floating off into the
halls and big rooms.

"Now, Candace," Phronsie lifted a plate of biscuits, and a comfortable
figure of a colored woman, resplendent in the gayest of turbans and a
smart stuff gown, made its appearance by Phronsie's chair.

"I'm here, honey," and Candace's broad palm received the first plate to
be passed, which opened the ceremony of the Christmas feast.

Oh, this Christmas feast at Dunraven! It surpassed all the other
Dunraven Christmases on record; everybody said so. And at last, when no
one could possibly eat more, all the merry roomful, young and old, must
have a holly sprig fastened to the coat, or gown, or apron, and the
procession was formed to march back to the hall; and Mr. Jack Loughead's
stereopticon flashed out the most beautiful pictures, that his bright
descriptions explained to the delighted children; and then games and
romps, and more bonbons, and favors and flowers; and at last the sleighs
and barges for Mr. King's party were drawn up in the moonlight, at the
door of Dunraven, and the Christmas at the Home was only a beautiful
memory.

"Miss Mary"--Mr. Livingston Bayley put out his brown driving
glove--"this way," trying to lead her off from the gay group on the
snow-covered veranda.

"Why, I don't understand," began Polly, in the midst of trying to make
Phronsie see that it was not necessary to go back and comfort Susan with
another good-by, and turning a bewildered face up at him.

"Why, I certainly supposed you accepted my offer to drive you to the
station," said Mr. Bayley hurriedly, and still extending his hand.
"Come, Miss Pepper."

"Come, Polly, I've a seat for you," cried Alexia, just flying into the
biggest barge. "Do hurry, Polly."

"Polly," called Jasper. She could see that he stood by one of the
sleighs, beckoning to her.

Meantime, Phronsie had been borne off by old Mr. King, and Polly could
hear her say, "Somebody get Polly a seat, please."

"I considered it a promise," Livingston Bayley was saying under cover of
the gay confusion. "And accordingly I prepared myself. But of course if
you do not wish to fulfill it, Miss Pepper, why, I"--

"Oh, no, no," cried Polly hastily, "if you really thought I promised
you, Mr. Bayley, I will go, thank you," and without a backward glance at
the others, she moved off to the gay little cutter where the horse stood
shaking his bells impatiently.

"Where's Polly?" somebody called out. And somebody else peered down the
row of vehicles, and answered, "Mr. Bayley's driving her."

And they were all off.

Polly kept saying to herself, "Oh, dear, dear, what could I have said to
make him think I would go with him?" And Livingston Bayley smiled
happily to himself under the collar of his driving coat; and the
sparkling snow cut into little crystals by the horse's flying feet,
dashed into their faces, and the scraps of laughter and merry nonsense
from the other sleighs, made Polly want nothing so much as to cower down
into the corner of the big fur robes, for a good cry.

And before she knew it, Mr. Bayley had turned off, leaving the gay
procession on the main road.

"Oh!" cried Polly then, and starting forward, "Mr. Bayley, why, we're
off the road!"

"I know a short cut to the depot," he answered hastily, "it's a better
way."

"But we may miss the train--oh, do turn back, and overtake them," begged
Polly, in a tremor.

"This is a vastly better road," said Mr. Bayley, and instead of turning
back, he flicked the horse lightly with his whip. "You'll say, Miss
Mary, that it's much better this way." He tried to laugh. "Isn't the
sleighing superb?"

"Oh, yes--oh dear me!" cried poor Polly, straining her eyes to catch a
sight of the last vehicle with its merry load. "Indeed, Mr. Bayley, I'm
afraid we sha'n't get to the depot in time. There may be drifts on this
road, or something to delay us."

"Oh, no, indeed!" cried Livingston Bayley confidently, now smiling again
at his forethought in driving over this very identical piece of roadway,
when the preparations for the Christmas festivity were keeping all the
other people busy at Dunraven, and leaving him free to provide himself
with sleighing facilities for the evening. "Don't be troubled, I know
all about it; I assure you, Miss Mary, we shall reach the depot as soon
as the rest of the party do, for it's really a shorter cut."

Polly beat her foot impatiently on the warm foot-muff he had wrung with
difficulty from the livery keeper, and counted the moments, unable to
say a word.

"Miss Mary"--suddenly Mr. Livingston Bayley turned--"everything is
forgiven under such circumstances, I believe," and he laughed.

Polly didn't speak, only half hearing the words, her heart on the rest
of the party, every instant being carried further from her.

"And you must have seen--'pon me word it is impossible that you didn't
see that--that"--

"Oh, dear," burst out Polly suddenly, and peering anxiously down the
white winding highway. "If there should be a drift on the road!"

Livingston Bayley bit his lip angrily. "'Pon me word, Miss Mary," he
began, "you are the first girl I ever cared to speak to, and now you
can't think of anything but the roads."

Still Polly peered into the unbroken whiteness of the thoroughfare,
lined by the snow-laden pines and spruces, all inextricably mixed as the
sleigh spun by. It was too late to turn back now, she knew; the best
that could be done, was to hurry on--and she began to count the
hoof-beats and to speculate how long it would be before they would see
the lights of the little station, and find the lost party again.

"I might have spoken to a great many other girls," Livingston Bayley was
saying, "and I really don't know why I didn't choose one of them.
Another man in my place would, and you must do me the justice to
acknowledge it; 'pon me word, you must, Miss Mary."

Polly tore off her gaze from the snowy fields where the branches of the
trees were making little zigzag paths in the moonlight, to fasten it on
as much of his face as was visible between his cap and his high collar.

"And I really shouldn't think you would play with me," declared Mr.
Bayley, nervously fingering the whip-handle, "I shouldn't, don't you
know, because you are not the sort of girl to do that thing. 'Pon me
word, you're not, Miss Mary."

"I? what do you mean?" cried poor Polly, growing more and more
bewildered.

"Why I--I--of course you must know; 'pon me word, you must, Miss Mary,
for it began five years ago, before you went abroad, don't you know?"

Polly sank back among her fur robes while he went on.

"And I've done what no other fellow would, I'm sure," he said
incoherently, "in my place, kept constant, don't you know, to one idea.
Been with other girls, of course, but only really made up my mind to
marry you. 'Pon me word, I didn't, Miss Mary."

"And you've brought me out, away from the rest of the party, to tell me
this," exclaimed Polly, springing forward to sit erect with flashing
eyes. "How good of you, Mr. Bayley, to announce your intention to marry
me."

"You can't blame me," cried Mr. Bayley in an injured way. "That cad of a
Loughead means to speak soon--'pon me word, the fellow does. And I've
never changed my mind about it since I made it up, even when you began
to give music lessons."

"Oh, how extremely kind," cried Polly.

"Don't put it that way," he began deprecatingly. "I couldn't help it,
don't you know, for I liked you awfully from the first, and always
intended to marry you. You shall have everything in the world that you
want, and go everywhere. And my family, you know, has an _entree_
to any society that's worth anything."

"I wouldn't marry you," cried Polly stormily, "if you could give me all
the gold in the world; and as for family," here she sat quite erect with
shining eyes, "the Peppers have always been the loveliest people that
ever lived--the very loveliest--oh"--she broke off suddenly, starting
forward--"there's something on the road; see, Mr. Bayley!"

And spinning along, the horse now making up his mind to get to the depot
in time, they both saw a big wagon out of which protruded two or three
bags evidently containing apples and potatoes; one of the wheels
determining to perform no more service for its master, was resting
independently on the snowy thoroughfare, for horse and driver were gone.

"I beg your pardon," exclaimed Mr. Livingston Bayley suddenly, at sight
of this, "for bringing you around here. But how was I to know of that
beastly wreck?"

"We must get out," said Polly, springing off from her side of the
sleigh, "and lead the horse around."

But this was not so easy a matter; for the farmer's wagon had stopped in
the narrowest part of the road, either side shelving off, under its
treacherous covering of snow. At last, after all sorts of ineffectual
attempts on Mr. Bayley's part to induce the horse to stir a step, Polly
desperately laid her hand on the bridle. "Let me try," she said. "There,
you good creature," patting the horse's nose; "come, that's a dear old
fellow," and they never knew quite how, but in the course of time, they
were all on the other side of the wreck, and Mr. Livingston Bayley was
helping her into the sleigh, and showering her with profuse apologies
for the whole thing.

"Never mind," said Polly, as she saw his distress, "only never say such
perfectly dreadful things to me again. And now, hurry just as fast as
you can, please!"

And presently a swift turn brought the twinkling lights of the little
station to view, and there was the entire party calling to them as they
now spied their approach, to "Hurry up!" and there also was the train,
holding its breath in curbed impatience to be off.




CHAPTER V.

BAD NEWS.


"Oh, Mamsie," cried Polly in dismay, "must Papa Fisher know?"

"Certainly," said Mrs. Fisher firmly, "your father must be told every
thing."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Polly, turning off in dismay, "it seems so--so
unfair to Mr. Bayley. Mightn't it be just as if he hadn't spoken,
Mamsie?" She came back now to her mother's side, and looked anxiously
into the black eyes.

"But he has spoken," said Mother Fisher, "and your father must be told.
Why, Polly, that isn't like you, child, to want to keep anything from
him," she added reproachfully.

"Oh! I don't--I couldn't ever in all this world keep anything from
Father Fisher," declared Polly vehemently, "only," and the color flew in
rosy waves over her face, "this doesn't seem like my secret, Mamsie. And
Mr. Bayley would feel so badly to have it known," and her head drooped.

"Still it must be known by your father," said her mother firmly, "and I
must tell Mr. King. Then it need go no further."

"Oh, Mamsie!" exclaimed Polly, in a sharp tone of distress, "you
wouldn't ever in all this world tell Grandpapa!"

"I most certainly shall," declared Mrs. Fisher. "He ought to know
everything that concerns you, Polly, and each one of you children. It is
his right."

Polly sat down in the nearest chair and clasped her hands. "Grandpapa
will show Mr. Bayley that he doesn't like it," she mourned, "and it will
hurt his feelings."

Mrs. Fisher's lip curled. "No more do I like it," she said curtly. "In
the first place to speak to you at all; and then to take such a way to
do it; it wasn't a nice thing at all, child, for Mr. Bayley to do," here
Mrs. Fisher walked to the window, her irritation getting the better of
her, so that Polly might not see her face.

"But he didn't mean to speak then--that is"--began Polly.

"He should have spoken to your father or to Mr. King," said Mrs. Fisher,
coming back to face Polly, "but I presume the young man didn't know any
better, or at least, he didn't think, and that's enough to say about
that. But as for not telling Mr. King about it, why, it isn't to be
thought of for a minute. So I best have it over with at once." And with
a reassuring smile at Polly she went out, and closed the door.

"Oh, dear me," cried poor Polly, left alone; and springing out of her
chair, she began to pace the floor. "Now it will be perfectly dreadful
for Mr. Bayley. Grandpapa will be very angry; he never liked him; and
now he can't help showing what he feels. Oh! why did Mr. Bayley speak."

"Polly," called Jasper's voice, out in the hall.

For the first time in her life, she felt like running away from his
call. "Oh! I can't go out; he'll guess something is the matter," she
cried to herself.

"Polly?" and there was a rap at the door.

"Yes," said Polly from within.

"Can I see you a minute?"

Polly slowly opened the door, and tried to lift her brown eyes to his
face.

"Oh, Polly," he pretended not to notice any thing amiss with her, "I
came to tell you first; and you can help me to break it to father."

"Oh, what is it?" cried Polly, looking up quickly. "Oh, Jasper," as she
saw that his face was drawn with the effort not to let her see the
distress he was in.

He tried to cover up his anxiety, but she saw a yellow paper in his
hand. "Oh, Jasper, you've a telegram," she cried breathlessly.

"Polly," said Jasper. He took her hand and held it firmly, "you will
help father and me to bear it, I know."

"Oh, Jasper, I will," promised Polly, clinging to his hand. "Don't be
afraid to tell me, Jasper."

"Listen; Marian has been thrown from her sleigh this morning; the horses
ran," said Jasper hurriedly. "The telegram says 'Come.' She may be
living, Polly; don't look so."

For the room grew suddenly so dark to her that she wavered and would
have fallen had he not caught her. "I won't faint," she cried, "Jasper,
don't be afraid. There, I'm all right. Now, oh, what can I do?"

"Could you go with me when I tell father?" asked Jasper. "I am so afraid
I shall break it to him too sharply; and you know it won't do for him to
be startled. If you could, Polly."

For the second time, everything seemed to turn black before her eyes,
but Polly said bravely, "Yes, I'll go, Jasper." And presently, they
hardly knew how, the two found themselves at old Mr. King's door.

There was a sound of voices within. "Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Polly, "I
forgot Mamsie was here."

Jasper looked his surprise, but said nothing, and as they stood there
irresolutely, Mrs. Fisher opened the door and came out.

"Why, Polly!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, Mrs. Fisher," cried Jasper, "we can't explain now, we must see
father. But Polly will go and tell you," and in another minute they were
both standing before Mr. King.

The old gentleman was walking up and down his apartment, fuming at every
step. "The presumption of the fellow! How did he dare without speaking
to me! Oh, eh, Polly"--and then he caught sight of Jasper, back of her.

"Father," began Jasper, "I've had a telegram from brother Mason."

"Oh, now what has he been doing?" cried Mr. King irritably. "I do wish
Mason wouldn't be so abrupt in his movements. I suppose he is going
abroad again. Well, let's hear."

Jasper tried to speak, but instead, looked at Polly.

"Dear Grandpapa," cried Polly, going unsteadily to the old gentleman's
side, and taking his hand in both of hers. "Oh, we must tell you
something very bad, and we don't know how to tell it, Grandpapa." She
looked up piteously into his face.

Old Mr. King put forth his other hand, and seized the back of a chair to
steady himself. "Tell me at once, Polly," he said hoarsely. "It
isn't--Marian?" It was all he could do to utter the name.

"She is hurt," said Polly, going to the heart of the matter without
delay, "but oh, Grandpapa, it may not be very badly, and they want
Jasper to go on to New York."

[Illustration: "WE DON'T KNOW HOW TO TELL IT, GRANDPAPA."]

Mr. King turned to Jasper. "Give me the telegram, my boy," he said
through white lips; when it was all read, "Now tell Philip to pack me a
portmanteau."

"Father," said Jasper, "you are not going?"

"No questions are to be asked, Jasper," said his father. "Be so good as
to see that Philip packs quickly, and that you are ready. And now,
Polly," the old gentleman turned to her, "I want to take you along,
child, if your mother is willing. Will you go?"

"Oh, Grandpapa," cried Polly, "if I only may; oh, do take me."

"I don't want to go without you," said Mr. King. "There, run, child, and
ask your mother if you may go. Send Phronsie to me; I must explain
matters to her and bid her good-by."

Alexia and some of the other girls were hurrying in the east doorway of
the King mansion, an hour later. "Oh, where's Polly, Mrs. Fisher?" cried
Cathie Harrison.

"Polly has gone," said Mrs. Fisher, coming down the stairs. She looked
as if she wanted to cry, but her hands held the basket of sewing as
firmly as if no bad news had fallen upon the home.

"Gone?" cried all the girls. "Oh, Mrs. Fisher, where? Do tell us where
Polly is?"

For answer Mrs. Fisher made them all go into the little reception room
in an angle of the hall, where she told them the whole story.

"If that isn't perfectly dreadful," cried Alexia Rhys, throwing her muff
into a chair, and herself on an ottoman. "Why, we were going to make up
a theater party for to-morrow night. Mrs. Fisher, and now Polly is
gone."

Her look of dismay was copied by every girl so exactly, that Mrs. Fisher
had no relief in turning to any of the other four.

"And there is her Recital--what will she do about that?" cried Alexia,
rushing on in her complaint. "Perhaps she'll give it up, after all," she
added, brightening. "Now I most know she will, Mrs. Fisher," and she
started up and began to pirouette around the room.

"Of course she has had to postpone it," said Mrs. Fisher, looking after
her, "and she told Joel to write the notes to the pupils explaining
matters. But never you fear, Alexia, that Polly will give up that
Recital for good and all," she added, with a wise nod at her.

"Well, she must give it up for now anyway," said Alexia, coming to a
pause to take breath, "that's some comfort. To think of Joe writing
Polly's notes to the girls, oh, dear me!"

"Let us go and help him," proposed Cathie Harrison suddenly. "He must
hate to do such poky work."

"Oh, dear me," began Alexia, taking up her little bag to look at the
tiny watch in one corner. "We haven't the time. Yes--come on," she burst
out incoherently; "where is he, Mrs. Fisher?"

"In the library, hard at work," said Mrs. Fisher, with a bright smile at
them all.

"Come on, girls," said Alexia, rushing on. "Now that's what I admire
Mrs. Fisher for," she said, when they were well in the hall, "she shows
when she's not pleased, and when she likes what a body does, as well."

"I think she's just elegant," declared Cathie Harrison, who had
privately done a good deal of worshiping at Mrs. Fisher's shrine.

"She's a dear," voted Alexia. "Well, do come on. Oh, Joe!" as they
reached the library door.

Joel sat back of the writing table, a mass of Polly's note paper and
envelopes sprawled before him, his head on his hands and his elbows on
the table. Back of him paced Pickering Dodge with a worried expression
of countenance.

"You do look so funny," burst out Alexia with a laugh; "doesn't he,
girls?" to the bright bevy following her.

"I guess you would if you were in my place," growled Joel, scarcely
giving them a glance. "Go away, Alexia; you can't get me into a scrape
this morning--I've to dig at this."

"I don't want to get you into a scrape," cried Alexia, with a cold
shoulder to Pickering, who had been claimed by the other girls, "we're
going to help you."

"Is that so?" cried Joel radiantly; "then I say you're just jolly,
Alexia," and he beamed at her.

"Yes, we want to help," echoed Cathie, drawing up a chair to the other
side of the table. "Now do set us to work, Joel."

"Indeed and I will," he cried, spreading a clear place with a reckless
hand.

"Take care," warned Alexia, "take care; you are spoiling all Polly's
note paper. I wouldn't let you at my things, I can tell you, Joel
Pepper!"

"As if I'd ever do this sort of thing for you, Alexia," threw back Joel.

"Well, do let us begin," begged Cathie, impatiently drumming on the
table, as the other two girls and Pickering Dodge drew near.

"Yes, do," cried the girls, "and we'll toss those notes off in no time."

"I'll help you clear the table," cried Pickering; "do let me. I can't
write those notes, but I can get the place ready;" and he began to pile
the books on a chair. As he went around to Alexia's place she looked up
and fixed her gaze past him, not noticing his attempt to speak.

"All right; if she wants to act like that, I'm willing," said Pickering
to himself savagely and coolly going on with his work.

"Oh, dear me," groaned Cathie Harrison, "isn't it perfectly dreadful to
have that dear sweet Mrs. Whitney hurt?"

"Ow!" exclaimed Joel.

"Do stop," cried Alexia with a nudge. "Haven't you any more sense,
Cathie Harrison, than to speak of it?"

[Illustration: "NOW DO SET US TO WORK, JOEL"]

Cathie smothered a retort, and bit her lips to keep it back.

"Well, dear me, we are not working much," cried Alexia, pulling off her
gloves; "how many notes have you to write, Joe?"

"Oh, a dozen, I believe," said Joel; "that is, counting this one."

"To whom is that?" asked Alexia, peering over his shoulder. "Oh, to Amy
Loughead."

"Yes, I promised Polly this should go first. That Loughead girl was
expecting her over this morning. Oh, she's a precious nuisance,"
grumbled Joel, dipping his pen in the ink.

"Well, then, I will write to Desiree Frye," said Alexia. "She was going
to play a solo, Polly said, at the Recital. Oh, dear me, what shall I
say?"

"Polly said tell them all what had happened, and that she should stay
away as long as Aunty needed her, but she hoped to be home soon, and she
would write them from New York."

"Oh, Joe, what a lot," exclaimed Alexia, leaving her pen poised in mid
air.

"Cut it short, then," said Joel. "I don't care, only that's the sense of
it."

"Oh, dear," began one of the girls, "I can't bear to write of the
accident, and in the holidays, too."

Alexia made an uneasy gesture, scrawled two or three words, then threw
down her pen and got out of her chair. "It's no use," she cried, running
up to Pickering, who, his hands in his pockets, had his back to them
all, and was looking out of the window. "I can't let myself do anything
till I've said I'm sorry I was so cross," and she put out her hand.

"Eh?" exclaimed Pickering, whirling around in astonishment. "Oh, dear
me!" and he pulled his right hand out of his pocket, and extended it to
her.

"Mrs. Whitney has got hurt, and she was always sweet, and never said
cross things, and oh, dear me!" cried Alexia incoherently, as he shook
her hand violently.

"And I'm glad enough to have it made up," declared Pickering decidedly.
"It's bad enough to have so much trouble in the world, without getting
into fights with people you've known ever since you can remember."

"Trouble?" repeated Alexia wonderingly. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Whitney's
accident, you mean; I know it's awful for all of us."

Pickering Dodge turned on his heel and walked off abruptly, and she ran
back to her work with a final stare at him.

"I know now," she said to herself wisely, "and I've been mean enough to
hurt him when he was bearing it. Oh, dear me, things are getting so
mixed up!"

"Polly, you won't leave me, will you, till I get able to sit up?" cried
Mrs. Whitney one day, a week after.

"No, Aunty, indeed I won't," declared Polly, leaning over to drop a kiss
on the soft hair against the pillows.

Mrs. Whitney put up her hands to draw down the young face.

"Oh, Aunty!" exclaimed Polly in dismay, "be careful; you know doctor
said you mustn't raise your arms."

"Well, just let me kiss you, dear, then," said Mrs. Whitney with a wan
little smile. "Oh, Polly," when the kiss and two or three others had
been dropped on the rosy cheek, "you are sure you can stay with me?"

"I'm sure I can, and I will," said Polly firmly. "Oh, Aunty, I shall be
so glad to be with you; you can't think how glad."

She softly patted the pillows into the position Mrs. Whitney best liked,
and then stood off a bit and beamed at her.

"It's dreadfully selfish in me to keep you," said Mrs. Whitney, "when
you love your work so; and what will the music scholars do, Polly?"

"Oh, they are all right," said Polly gaily, "they're working like
beavers. Indeed, Aunty, I believe they'll practice a great deal more
than if I were home to be talking to them all the while."

"You are a dear blessed comfort, Polly," said Mrs. Whitney, turning on
her pillow with a sigh of relief. "Now I do believe I shall get up very
soon. But Jasper must go back; it won't do for him to stay away any
longer from his business. Promise me, Polly, that you will make him see
that he ought to go."

"I'll try, Aunty," said Polly, "and now that you are so much better,
why, I do believe that Jasper will be willing to go."

"Oh, do make him," begged Mrs. Whitney, and then she tucked her hand
under her cheek, and the first thing Polly knew she heard the slow,
regular breathing that told she was asleep.

"Now that's just lovely," cried Polly softly, "and I will run and speak
to Jasper this very minute, for he really ought to go back to his
business."

But instead of doing this, she met a young girl, as she was running
through the hall, who stopped her and asked, "Can I see Mr. King?"

"What!" cried Polly, astonished that the domestics had admitted any one,
as it was against the orders.

"Oh, I am a relation," said the girl coolly, "and I told the man at the
door that I should come in; and he said then I must wait, for I could
not see Mr. King now, and he put me up in that little reception room,
but I just walked out to meet the first person coming in the hall. Will
you be so kind as to arrange it?"

She looked as if she fully expected to have her wish fulfilled, and her
gaze wandered confidently around the picture-hung wall, until such time
as Polly could answer.

"I'll see," said Polly, who couldn't help smiling, "what I can do for
you; but you mustn't be disappointed if Grandpapa doesn't feel able to
see you. He is very much occupied, you know, with his daughter's ill"--

"Oh, I understand," said the other girl, guilty of interrupting, "but he
will see me, I know," and her light blue eyes were as calm as ever.

"Who shall I tell him wants to see him?" asked Polly, her own eyes wide
at the stranger and her ways.

"Oh, you needn't tell him any name," said the girl carelessly.

"Then I certainly shall not tell him you wish to see him, unless I carry
your name to him," Polly said quite firmly, and she looked steadily into
the fair face before her.

"Oh, dear me," said the girl; "well, you may say I am Mr. Alexander
Chatterton's daughter Charlotte."

Polly kept herself from starting as the name met her ear. "Very well,"
she said, "I will do what I can," moving off. "O, Grandpapa!"

For down the hall came Mr. King in velvet morning jacket and cap.

"Hoity-toity, I thought no one was to be admitted," he exclaimed, as he
neared the door.

"Grandpapa," Polly endeavored to draw him off, but the young girl ran
past her.

"Mr. King," she said quickly, "I am Charlotte Chatterton."

"The dickens you are!" exclaimed the old gentleman, looking her full in
the face.

"Yes, sir; and my father is very ill." For a moment her voice trembled,
but she quickly recovered herself. "It isn't money I want, Mr. King,"
and she threw her head back proudly, "but oh, will you come and see
father?"

Mr. King looked at her again, then over at Polly. "Bring her in here,"
he said, pointing to the same little reception room that Charlotte had
deserted, "I want you to stay, too, Polly," and the door closed upon
them.




CHAPTER VI.

OF MANY THINGS.


"And father has asked her to go home when you and he go!" cried Jasper in
irritation.

"Yes," said Polly; "oh, Jasper, never mind; I daresay it will be for the
best; and I'm so sorry for Charlotte."

"She'll be no end of bother to you, I know," said Jasper. "And you must
take her everywhere, Polly, and look out for her. What was father
thinking of?" He could not conceal his annoyance, and Polly put aside
her own dismayed feelings at the new programme, to help him into his
usual serene mood.

"But think, Jasper, how she has never had any fun all her life, and now
her father is sick."

"She'd much better stay and take care of him," declared Jasper.

"But he's sick because he has worried so, I do believe," Polly went on,
"for you ought to have seen his face when we took Charlotte home, and
Grandpapa talked with him, and asked him to let Charlotte pass the rest
of the winter with us. Oh, I am glad, Jasper, for I do like Charlotte."

"The girl may be well enough," said Jasper shortly, "but she will bother
you, nevertheless, Polly, I am afraid."

"Never mind," said Polly brightly, with a little pang at her heart for
the nice times with the girls that now must be shared with another.
"Grandpapa thought he ought to do it, I suppose, and that's enough."

"It does seem as if the Chattertons would never be done annoying us,"
said Jasper gloomily. "Now when we once get this girl fastened on us,
there'll be an end to the hope of shaking her off."

"Perhaps we sha'n't want to," said Polly merrily, "for Charlotte may
turn out perfectly lovely; I do believe she's going to." And then she
remembered her promise to Mrs. Whitney, and she began: "Aunty is
worrying about your staying away so long from your business, Jasper, and
she wants you to go back."

A shade passed over his face. "I suppose I ought to go, Polly," he said,
and he pulled a letter from his pocket and held it out to her, "I was
going to show this to you, only the other matter came up."

Polly seized it with dread.

"We need your services very much" [the letter ran] "and cannot wait
longer for your return. We are very sorry to be so imperative, but the
rush of work at this time of the year, makes it necessary for all our
force to be in place.

"Very sincerely

"DAVID MARLOWE."

"You see they are getting all the books planned out, and put in shape
for the next year; and business just rushes," cried Jasper, with shining
eyes, showing his eagerness to be in the midst of the bustle of
manufacture.

"What, so early!" cried Polly, letting the letter drop. "Why, I thought
you didn't do anything until spring, Jasper--about making the books, I
mean."

He laughed. "The travelers go out on the road then," he said, "with
almost all the books ready to sell."

"Out on the road?" repeated Polly in amaze. "Oh, what do you mean,
Jasper?"

"Well, you see the business of selling is a good part of it done by
salesmen, who travel with samples and take advance orders," said Jasper,
finding it quite jolly to explain business intricacies to such an eager
listener.

"Oh!" said Polly.

"And when I get back I shall be plunged at once into all the thick of
the manufacturing work," he went on, straightening himself up; "Mr.
Marlowe is as good as he can be, and he has waited now longer than he
ought to."

"Oh, you must go, Jasper," cried Polly quickly; "at once, this very
day," and her face glowed.

"If you think sister Marian is really well enough to spare me," he said,
trying to restrain his impatience to be off.

"Yes--yes, I do," declared Polly. "Doctor Palfrey said this morning that
all danger was over now from inflammation, and really it worries her
dreadfully to think of your being here any longer. It really does hurt
her, Jasper," repeated Polly emphatically.

"In that case I'm off, then, this afternoon," said Jasper, with a glad
ring in his voice. "Polly, my work is the very grandest in all the
world."

"Isn't it?" cried Polly, with kindling eyes; "just think--to make good
books, Jasper, that will never stop, perhaps, being read. Oh, I wish I
was a man and could help you."

"Polly?" he stopped a minute, looked down into her face, then turned off
abruptly. "You are sure you won't bother yourself too much with
Charlotte?" he said awkwardly coming back.

"Yes; don't worry, Jasper," said Polly, wondering at his unusual manner.

"All right; then as soon as I've seen father I'll throw my traps
together and be off," declared Jasper, quite like the business man
again.

But old Mr. King was not to hear about it just then, for when Jasper
rapped at his door, it was to find that his father was fast asleep.

"See here, Jasper," said Mr. Whitney, happening along at this minute,
"here's a nice piece of work. Percy declares that he shall be made
miserable to go back to college to-morrow. His mother is able now for
him to be settled at his studies; won't you run up and persuade
him--that's a good fellow."

"I'm going back to my work to-night," cried Jasper, pulling out his
watch, "that is, if father wakes up in time for me to take the train."

"Is that so? Good," cried Mr. Whitney. "Well, run along and tell Percy
that, for the boy is so worried over his mother that he can't listen to
reason."

So Jasper scaled the stairs to Percy's den.

"Well, old fellow, I thought I'd come up and let you know that I'm off
to my work," announced Jasper, putting his head in the doorway.

"Eh!" cried Percy, "what's that?"

"Why, I'm off, I say; back to dig at the publishing business. Your
mother doesn't want us fellows hanging around here any longer. It
worries her to feel that we are idling."

"Is that so?" cried Percy. "How do you know?"

"Polly says so; she let me into the secret; says sister Marian requested
me to go back."

"Did Polly really say so?" demanded Percy in astonishment.

"Yes, in good plain English. So I'm off."

"Well, if Polly really said that mamma wanted you to go, why, I'll get
back to college as soon as I can," said Percy. "But if she should be
worse?" He stopped short.

"They can send for you instantly; trust Polly for that," said Jasper.
"But she won't be worse; not unless we worry her by not doing as she
wishes. Well, good-by, I'm off."

"So am I," declared Percy, springing up to throw his clothes into
traveling order. "All right, I'll take the train with you, Jappy."

"Now you see how much better I'm off," observed Van, coming in to perch
on the edge of the bed while Percy was hurrying all sorts of garments
into the trunk with a quick hand. "I tell you, Percy, I struck good luck
when I chose father's business. Now I don't have to run like a dog at
the beck of a lot of professors."

"Every one to his taste," said Percy, "and I can't bear father's
business, for one."

"No, you'd rather sit up with your glasses stuck on your nose, and learn
how to dole out the law; that's you, Percy. I say, I wouldn't try to
keep the things on," with a laugh as he saw his brother's ineffectual
efforts to pack, and yet give the attention to his eyeglasses that they
seemed to demand.

"See here now, Van," cried Percy warmly, "if you cannot help, you can
take yourself off. Goodness! I have left out my box of collars!"

"Here it is," cried Van, throwing it to him from the bed, where it had
rolled off under a pile of underclothing. "Well, you don't know how the
things make you look. And Polly doesn't like them a bit."

"How do you know?" demanded Percy, growing quite red, and desisting from
his employment a minute.

"Oh, that's telling; I know she doesn't," replied Van provokingly.

For answer Van felt his arms seized, and before he knew it Percy was
over him and holding him down so that he couldn't stir.

"Now how do you know that Polly doesn't like my eyeglasses?" he
demanded.

"Ow--let me up!" cried Van.

"Tell on, then. How do you know she doesn't like them?"

"Because--Let me up, and I'll tell."

"No, tell now," said Percy, having hard work to keep Van from slipping
out from under his hands.

"Boys," called Polly's voice.

"Oh dear me--she's coming!" exclaimed Percy, jumping to his feet, and
releasing Van, who, red and shining, skipped to the door. "Come in,
Polly."

"I thought I'd find you up here," said Polly in great satisfaction.
"Percy, can't I do something for you? Jasper says you are going back to
college right away."

"Yes, you can," said Percy, "take Van off; that would help me more than
anything else you could do."

Polly looked at Van and shook her brown head so disapprovingly that he
came out of his laugh.

"Oh, I'll be good, Polly," he promised.

"See that you are, then," she said. Then she went over to the trunk and
looked in.

"Percy, may I take those things out and fold them over again?" she
asked.

"Yes, if you want to," said Percy shamefacedly. "I suppose I have made a
mess of them; but it's too hard work for you, Polly."

"I should like nothing better than to attack that trunk," declared Polly
merrily. "Now, Van, you come and help me, that's a dear boy."

And in five minutes Polly and Van were busily working together; he
putting in the things, while she neatly made them into piles, and Percy
sorted and gave orders like a general.

"He does strut around so," said Van under his breath, "just see him
now."

"Hush--oh, Van, how can you? and he's going back to college, and you
won't see him for ever so many weeks."

Van swallowed something in his throat, and bent all his energies to
settling the different articles in the trunk.

"Percy," said Polly presently in a lull, "I do just envy you for one
thing."

"What for, pray?" asked Percy, settling his beloved eyeglasses for a
better view of her.

"Why, you'll be with Joel and Davie," said Polly. "Oh, you don't know
how I miss those boys!" She rested both hands on the trunk edge as she
knelt before it.

[Illustration: "OH, YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I MISS THOSE BOYS!" ]

"I wish you'd been our sister," said Van enviously, "then we'd have had
good times always."

"Oh, I don't see much of Joel," said Percy. "Dave once in a while I run
across, but Joel--dear me!"

"You don't see much of Joel," repeated Polly, her hands dropping
suddenly in astonishment. "Why, Percy Whitney, why not, pray tell?"

"Why, Joel's awful good--got a streak of going into the prayer-meetings
and that sort of thing," explained Percy, "and we call him Deacon Pepper
in the class."

"He goes to prayer-meetings, and you call him Deacon Pepper," repeated
Polly in amazement, while Van burst out into a fit of amusement.

"Yes," said Percy, "and he has a lot of old fogies always turning up
that want help, and all such stuff, and I expect that he is going to be
a minister."

He brought this out as something too dreadful to be spoken, and then
fell back to see the effect of his words.

"Can you suppose it?" cried Polly under her breath, still kneeling on
the floor, "oh, boys, can you?" looking from one to the other.

"Yes; I'm afraid it's true," said Percy, feeling that he ought to be
thrashed for having told her, while Van laughed again.

"Oh--oh! it's too lovely. Dear, beautiful, old Joel!" cried Polly,
springing suddenly to her feet; "just think how good he is, boys! Oh,
it's too lovely to be true!"

Percy retreated a few steps hastily.

"And oh, how much better we ought to be," cried Polly in a rush of
feeling. "Just think, with Joel doing such beautiful things, oh, how
glad Mamsie will be! And he never told--Joel never told."

"And he'll just about kill me if you tell him I've let it out," said
Percy abruptly. "Oh, dear me, how he'll pitch into me!" exclaimed Percy
in alarm.

"I never shall speak of it," declared Polly in a rapture, "because Joel
always hated to be praised for being good. But oh, how lovely it is!"

And then Grandpapa called, and she ran off on happy feet.

"Whew!" exclaimed Percy, with a look over at Van.

"I tell you what, if you want to get into Polly's good graces, you've
just got to brush up on your catechism, and such things," remarked Van;
"eyeglasses don't count."

Percy turned off uneasily.

"Nor suppers, and a bit of card-playing, eh, Percy?"

"Hold your tongue, will you?" cried his brother irritably.

"Nor swell clothes and a touch-me-if-you-dare manner," said Van
mockingly, sticking his fingers in his vest pockets.

Percy made a lunge at him, then thought better of it.

"Leave me alone, can't you?" he said crossly.

Van opened his mouth to toss back a teasing reply, when Percy opened up
on him. "I'd as soon take my chances with her, on the suppers and other
things, as to have yours. What would Polly say to see you going for me
like this, I'd like to know?"

It was now Van's turn to look uncomfortable, and he cast a glance at the
door.

"Oh, she may come in," said Percy, bursting into a laugh, "then you'd be
in a fine fix; and I wouldn't give a rush for the good opinion she'd
have of you."

Van hung his head, took two or three steps to the door, then came back
hurriedly.

"I cry 'Quits,' Percy," he said, and held out his hand.

"All right," said Percy, smoothing down his ruffled feelings, and
putting out his hand too.

Van seized it, wrung it in good brotherly fashion, then raced over the
stairs at a breakneck pace.

"Polly", he said, meeting her in the hall where she had just come from
Mr. King's room, "I've been blackguarding Percy, and you ought to know
it."

"Oh, Van!" cried Polly, stopping short in a sorry little way; "why,
you've been so good ever since you both promised years ago that you
wouldn't say bad things to each other."

"Oh, that was different," said Van recklessly; "but since he went to
college, Percy has been a perfect snob Polly."

Polly said nothing, only looked at him in a way that cut him to the
heart, as she moved off slowly.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" asked Van at last.

"I've nothing to say," replied Polly, and she disappeared into Mrs.
Whitney's room and closed the door.

That evening Jasper and Percy, who went together for a good part of the
way, had just driven to the station, when the bell rang and a housemaid
presently laid before Polly a card, at sight of which all the color
deserted her cheek. "Oh, I can't see him," she declared involuntarily.

"Who is it?" asked old Mr. King, laying down the evening paper.

"O, Grandpapa!" cried Polly, all in a tremor at the thought of his
displeasure, "it does not matter. I can send word that I do not see any
one now that Aunty is ill, and"--

"Polly, child," said the old gentleman, seriously displeased, "come and
tell me at once who has called upon you."

So Polly, hardly knowing how, got out of her chair and silently laid the
unwelcome card in his hand.

"Mr. Livingston Bayley," read the old gentleman.

"Humph! well, upon my word, this speaks well for the young man's
perseverance. I'm very tired, but I see nothing for it but that I must
respond to this;" and he threw aside the paper and got up to his feet.

"Grandpapa," begged Polly tremblingly at his elbow, "please don't let
him feel badly."

"It isn't possible, Polly," cried Mr. King, looking down at her, "that
you like this fellow--enough, I mean, to marry him?"

"O, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Polly in a tone of horror.

"Well, then, child, you must leave me to settle with him," said the old
gentleman with dignity. "Don't worry; I sha'n't forget myself, nor what
is due to a Bayley," with a short laugh. And then she heard him go into
the drawing-room and close the door.

When he came back, which he did in the space of half an hour, his face
was wreathed in smiles, and he chuckled now and then, as he sat down in
his big chair and drew out his eyeglasses.

"Well, Polly, child, I don't believe he will trouble you in this way
again, my dear," he said in a satisfied way, looking at her over the
table. "He wanted to leave the question open; thought it impossible that
you could refuse him utterly, and was willing to wait; and asked
permission to send flowers, and all that sort of thing. But I made the
young man see exactly how the matter stood, and that's all that need be
said about it. It's done with now and forever." And then he took up his
paper and began to read.

"Mamsie," said Phronsie, that very evening as she was getting ready for
bed, and pausing in the doorway of her little room that led out of
Mother Fisher's, "do you suppose we can bear it another day without
Polly?"

"Why, yes, Phronsie," said Mother Fisher, giving another gentle rock to
Baby's cradle, "of course we can, because we must. That isn't like you,
dear, to want Polly back till Aunty has got through needing her."

Phronsie gave a sigh and thoughtfully drew her slippered foot over the
pattern of the carpet. "It would be so very nice," she said, "if Aunty
didn't need her."

"So it would," said her mother, "but it won't make Polly come any
quicker to spend the time wishing for her. There, run to bed, child; you
are half an hour late to-night."

Phronsie turned obediently into her own little room, then came back
softly. "I want to give Baby, Polly's good-night kiss," she said.

"Very well, you may, dear," said Mrs. Fisher. So Phronsie bent over and
set on Baby's dear little cheek, the kiss that could not go to Polly.

"If dear Grandpapa would only come home," and she sighed again.

"But just think how beautiful it is that Aunty was not hurt so much as
the doctors feared," said her mother. "Oh, Phronsie, we can't ever be
thankful enough for that."

"And now maybe God will let Grandpapa and Polly come back pretty soon,"
said Phronsie slowly, going off toward her own little room. And
presently Mrs. Fisher heard her say, "Good-night, Mamsie dear, I'm in
bed."

A rap at the door, and Jane put in her head, in response to Mrs.
Fisher's "What is it?"

"Oh, is Dr. Fisher here?" asked Jane in a frightened way.

[Illustration: "AND PLEASE MAKE DEAR PAPA GIVE HER THE RIGHT THINGS."]

"No; he is downstairs in the library," said Mother Fisher. "What is the
matter, Jane? Who wants him?"

"Oh, something dreadful is the matter with Helen Fargo, I'm afraid,
ma'am," said Jane. "Griggs has just run over to say that the doctor must
come quick."

"Hush!" said Mrs. Fisher, pointing to Phronsie's wide-open door; but she
was standing beside them in her little nightdress, and heard the next
words plainly enough.

"Run down stairs, Jane," commanded Mother Fisher, "and tell the doctor
what Griggs said; just as fast as you can, Jane."

And in another minute in rushed the little doctor, seized his medicine
case, saying as he did so, "I sha'n't come back here, wife, if it is
diphtheria, but go to my office and change my clothes. There's
considerable of the disease around. Good-night, child." He stopped to
kiss Phronsie, who lifted a pale, troubled face to his. "Don't worry; I
guess Helen will be all right," and he dashed off again.

"Now, Phronsie, child," said Mrs. Fisher, "come to mother and let us
talk it over a bit."

So Phronsie cuddled up in Mamsie's lap, and laid her sad little cheek
where she had been so often comforted.

"Mamsie," she said at last, lifting her head, "I don't believe God will
let Helen die, because you see she's the only child that Mrs. Fargo has.
He couldn't, Mamsie."

"Phronsie, darling, God knows best," said Mrs. Fisher, holding her
close.

"But he wouldn't ever do it, I know," said Phronsie confidently; "I'm
going to ask Him not to, and tell Him over again about Helen's being the
very only one that Mrs. Fargo has in all the world." So she slipped to
the floor, and went into her own room again and closed the door. "Dear
Jesus," she said, kneeling by her little white bed, "please don't take
Helen away, because her mother has only just Helen. And please make dear
papa give her the right things, so that she will live at home, and not
go to Heaven yet. Amen."

Then she clambered into bed, and lay looking out across the moonlight,
where the light from Helen Fargo's room twinkled through the fir-trees
on the lawn.




CHAPTER VII.

PHRONSIE.


"I can't tell her," groaned Mrs. Pepper, the next morning, at sight of
Phronsie's peaceful little face. "I never can say the word 'diphtheria'
in all this world."

Phronsie laughed and played with Baby quite merrily, all such time as
Miss Carruth, the governess, allowed her from the schoolroom that
morning.

"Everything is beautiful, King dear," she would say on such little
flying visits to the nursery. "Grandpapa and Polly, I do think, will be
home pretty soon; and Helen is going to get well, because you know I
asked God to let her, and he wouldn't ever, in all this world, take her
away from her mother. He wouldn't, King," she added confidentially in
Baby's small ear.

All day long the turreted Fargo mansion gleamed brightly in the glancing
sunlight, giving no hint of the battle for a life going on within. Mrs.
Fisher knew when her husband sent for the most celebrated doctor for
throat diseases; knew when he came; and knew also when each hour those
who were fighting the foe, were driven back baffled. And several times
she attempted to tell Phronsie something of the shadow hanging over the
little playmate's home. But Phronsie invariably put aside all her
attempts with a gentle persistence, always saying, "He wouldn't, you
know, Mamsie."

And at nightfall Helen had gone; and two white little hands were folded
quietly across a young girl's breast.

No one told Phronsie that night; no one could. And she clambered into
her little white bed, after saying her old prayer; then she lay in the
moonlight again, watching Helen's house.

"The light is out, Mamsie," she called, "in Helen's room. But I suppose
she is asleep." And presently Mrs. Fisher, stealing in, with unshed
tears in her eyes, found her own child safe--folded in restful slumber,
her hand tucked under her cheek.

But the next morning, when she must hear it!

"Phronsie," said Mrs. Fisher, "come here, dear." It was after breakfast,
and Phronsie was running up into the school-room.

"Do you mean I am not to go to Miss Carruth?" asked Phronsie
wonderingly, and fingering her books.

"Yes, dear. Oh, Phronsie"--Mrs. Fisher abruptly dropped her customary
self-control, and held out her arms. "Come here, mother's baby; I've
something bad to tell you, and you must help me, dear."

Phronsie came at once, with wide-open, astonished brown eyes, and
climbed up into the good lap obediently.

"Phronsie," said Mrs. Fisher, swallowing the lump in her throat, and
looking at the child fixedly, "you know Helen has been very sick."

"Yes, mamma," said Phronsie, still in a wonder.

"Well--and she suffered, dear, oh, so much!"

A look of pain stole over Phronsie's face, and Mrs. Fisher hastened to
say, "But oh. Phronsie, she can't ever suffer any more, for--for--God
has taken her home, Phronsie."

"Has Helen died?" asked Phronsie, in a sharp little voice, so unlike her
own that Mrs. Pepper shivered and held her close.

"Oh, darling--how can I tell you? Yes, dear, God has taken her home to
Heaven."

"And left Mrs. Fargo without any little girl?" asked Phronsie, in the
same tone.

"My dear--yes--He knows what is best," said poor Mrs. Fisher.

The startled look on Phronsie's little face gave way to a grieved
expression, that slowly settled on each feature.

"Let me get down, Mamsie," she said, quietly, and gently struggling to
free herself.

"Oh, Phronsie, what are you going to do?" cried Mrs. Fisher. "Do sit
with mother."

"I must think it out, Mamsie," said Phronsie, with grave decision,
getting on her feet, and she went slowly up the stairs, and into her own
room; then closed the door.

And all that day she said nothing; even when Mother Fisher begged her to
come and talk it over with her, Phronsie would say, "I can't, Mamsie
dear, it won't talk itself." But she was gentle and sweet with Baby, and
never relaxed any effort for his amusement. And at last, when they were
folding Helen away lovingly in flowers, from all who had loved her, Mrs.
Fisher wrote in despair to Polly, telling her all about it, and adding,
"You must come home, if only for a few days, or Phronsie will be sick."

"I shall go, too," declared old Mr. King, "for Marian can spare me now.
Oh, that blessed child! And I can come back here with you, Polly, if
necessary."

And Polly had nothing for it but to help him off, and Charlotte's father
being ever so much better, she joined them; and as soon as it was a
possible thing, there they were at home, and Thomas was driving them up
at his best speed, to the carriage porch.

"Polly!" Phronsie gasped the word, and threw hungry little arms around
Polly's neck.

"There, there, Pet," cried Polly cheerily, "you see we're all home.
Here's Grandpapa!"

"Where's my girl?" cried old Mr. King hastily. "Here, Phronsie," and she
was in his arms, while the tears rained down her cheeks.

"Bless me!" exclaimed the old gentleman, putting up his hand at the
shower. "Well, that is a welcome home, Phronsie."

"Oh, Grandpapa, I didn't mean to!" said Phronsie, drawing back in
dismay. "I do hope it hasn't hurt your coat."

"Never mind the coat, Phronsie," said Mr. King. "So you are glad to get
us home, eh?"

Phronsie snuggled close to his side, while she clung to his hand without
a word.

"Well, we mustn't forget Charlotte," cried Polly, darting back to a tall
girl with light hair and very pale blue eyes, standing composedly in one
corner of the hall, and watching the whole thing closely. "Mamsie, dear,
here she is," taking her hand to draw her to Mrs. Fisher.

"Don't mind me," said Charlotte, perfectly at her ease. "You take care
of the little girl," as Polly dragged her on.

Mrs. Fisher took a good long look at Charlotte Chatterton. Then she
smiled, "I am glad to see you, Charlotte."

[Illustration: CHARLOTTE, STANDING COMPOSEDLY IN ONE CORNER OF THE
HALL.]

Charlotte took the firm fingers extended to her, and said, "Thank you,"
then turned off to look at Phronsie again.

And it wasn't till after dinner that Phronsie's trouble was touched
upon. Then Polly drew her off to a quiet corner.

"Now, then, Phronsie," she said, gathering her up close in her arms,
"tell me all about it, Pet. Just think," and Polly set warm kisses on
the pale little cheek, "how long it is since you and I have had a good
talk."

"I know it," said Phronsie wearily, and she drew a long sigh.

"Isn't it good that dear Aunty is so much better?" cried Polly cheerily,
quite at a loss how to begin.

"Yes, Polly," said Phronsie, but she sighed again, and did not lift her
eyes to Polly's face.

"If anything troubles you," at last broke out Polly desperately, "you'd
feel better, Phronsie, to tell sister about it. I may not know how to
say the right things, but I can maybe help a little."

Phronsie sat quite still, and folded and unfolded her hands in her lap.
"Why did God take away Helen?" she asked suddenly, lifting her head.
"Oh, Polly, it wasn't nice of him," she added, a strange look coming
into her brown eyes.

[Illustration: PHRONSIE WENT OVER TO THE WINDOW.]

"Oh, Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, quite shocked, "don't, dear; that isn't
like you, Pet. Why, God made us all, and he can do just as he likes,
darling."

"But it isn't nice," repeated Phronsie deliberately, and quite firmly,
"to take Helen now. Why doesn't He make another little girl then for
Mrs. Fargo?" and she held Polly with her troubled eyes.

"Phronsie"--cried Polly; then she stopped abruptly. "Oh, what can I say?
I don't know, dearie; it's just this way; we don't know why God does
things. But we love him, and we feel it's right. Oh, Phronsie, don't
look so. There, there," and she drew her close to her, in a loving,
hungry clasp. "I told you I didn't think I could say the right things to
you," she went on hurriedly, "but, Phronsie, I know God did just right
in taking Helen to heaven. Just think how beautiful it must be there,
and so many little children are there. And Helen is so happy. Oh,
Phronsie, when I think of that, I am glad she is gone."

"Helen was happy here," said Phronsie decidedly. "And she never--never
would want to leave her mother alone, to go off to a nicer place. Never,
Polly."

Polly drew a long breath, and shut her lips. "But, Phronsie, don't you
see," she cried presently, "it may be that Mrs. Fargo wouldn't ever want
to go to Heaven unless Helen was there to meet her? It may be, Phronsie;
and that would be very dreadful, you know. And God loved Mrs. Fargo so
that he took Helen, and he is going to keep her happy every single
minute while she is waiting and getting ready for her mother."

Phronsie suddenly slipped down from Polly's lap. "Is that true?" she
demanded.

"Yes, dear," said Polly, "I think it is, Phronsie," and her cheeks
glowed. "Oh, can't you see how much nicer it is in God to make Mrs.
Fargo happy for always with Helen, instead of just a little bit of a
while down here?"

Phronsie went over to the window and looked up at the winter sky. "It is
a long way off," she said, but the bitter tone had gone, and it was a
grieved little voice that added, "and Mrs. Fargo can't see Helen."

"Phronsie," said Polly, hurrying over to her side, "perhaps God wants
you to do some things for Mrs. Fargo--things, I mean, that Helen would
have done."

"Why, I can't go over there," said Phronsie wonderingly. "Papa Fisher
says I am not to go over there for ever and ever so long, Polly."

"Well, you can write her little notes and you can help her to see that
God did just right in taking Helen away," said Polly; "and that would be
the very best thing you could do, Phronsie, for Mrs. Fargo; the very
loveliest thing in all this world."

"Would it?" asked Phronsie.

"Yes, dear."

"Then I'll do it; and perhaps God wants me to like Heaven better; does
he, Polly, do you think?"

"I really and truly do, Phronsie," said Polly softly. Then she leaned
over and threw both arms around Phronsie's neck. "Oh, Phronsie, can't
you see--I never thought of it till now--but He has given you somebody
else instead of Helen, to love and to do things for?"

Phronsie looked up wonderingly. "I don't know what you mean, Polly," she
said.

"There's Charlotte," cried Polly, going on rapidly as she released
Phronsie. "Oh, Phronsie, you can't think; it's been dreadfully hard and
dull always for her at home, with those two stiff great-aunts pecking at
her."

"Tell me about it," begged Phronsie, turning away from the window, and
putting her hand in Polly's.

"Well, come over to our corner then." So the two ran back, Phronsie
climbing into Polly's lap, while a look of contentment began to spread
over her face.

"You see," began Polly, "Charlotte's mother has always been too ill to
have nice times; she couldn't go out, you know, very much, nor keep the
house, and so the two great-aunts came to live with them. Well, pretty
soon they began to feel as if they owned the house, and Charlotte, and
everybody in it."

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Phronsie, in distress.

"And Charlotte's father, Mr. Alexander Chatterton, couldn't stop it; and
beside, he was away on business most of the time, and Charlotte didn't
complain--oh, she behaved very nice about it; Phronsie, her father told
Grandpapa all about it; and by and by her mother died, and then things
got worse and worse; but Mr. Chatterton never knew half how bad it was.
But when he was sick it all came out, and it worried him so that he got
very bad indeed, and then he sent for Grandpapa--Charlotte couldn't stop
him; he made her go. You see he was afraid he was going to die, and he
couldn't bear to have things so very dreadful for Charlotte."

"And is he going to die?" broke in Phronsie excitedly.

"Oh no, indeed! he was almost well when we came away; it was only his
worrying over Charlotte that made him so bad. Oh, you ought to have seen
him, Phronsie, when Grandpapa offered to take Charlotte home with us for
the winter. He was so happy he almost cried."

"I am so glad he was happy," cried Phronsie in great satisfaction, her
cheeks flushing.

"And so now I think God gave Charlotte to you for a little while because
you haven't Helen. I do, Phronsie, and you can make Charlotte glad while
she is here, and help her to have a good time."

"Can I?" cried Phronsie, her cheeks growing a deep pink. "Oh, Polly,
how? Charlotte is a big girl; how can I help her?"

"That's your secret to find out," said Polly merrily. "Well, come now,"
kissing her, "we must hurry back to Grandpapa, or he'll feel badly to
have you gone so long."

"Polly," cried Phronsie, as they hurried over the stairs, "put your ear
down, do."

"I can't till we get downstairs," laughed Polly, "or I'll tumble on my
nose, I'm afraid. Well, here we are. Now then, what is it?" and she bent
over to catch the soft words.

"I'm sorry," said Phronsie, her lips quite close to Polly's rosy cheek,
"that I said God wasn't nice to take Helen away. Oh, I love him, Polly,
I truly do."

"So you do," said Polly, with, a warm clasp. "Well, here's Grandpapa,"
as the library door opened, and Mr. King came out to meet them.

Polly, running over the stairs the next day to greet Alexia and some of
the girls who were determined to make the most of her little visit at
home, was met first by one of the maids with a letter.

[Illustration: ALEXIA COOLLY READ ON, ONE ARM AROUND POLLY.]

"Oh, now," cried Alexia, catching sight of it, "I almost know that's to
hurry you back, Polly. She sha'n't read it, girls." With that she made a
feint of seizing the large white envelope.

"Hands off from my property," cried Polly merrily, waving her off, and
sitting down on the stair she tore the letter open.

Alexia worked her way along till she was able to sit down beside her,
when she was guilty of looking over her shoulder.

"Oh, Alexia Rhys, how perfectly, dreadfully mean!" cried one of the
other girls, wishing she could be in the same place.

Alexia turned a deaf ear, and coolly read on, one arm around Polly.

"Oh, girls--girls!" she suddenly screamed, and jumping up, nearly
oversetting Polly, she raced over the remaining stairs to the bottom,
where she danced up and down the wide hall, "Polly isn't going back--she
isn't--she isn't," she kept declaring.

"What!" cried all the girls. "Oh, do stop, Alexia. What is it?"

Meantime Cathie Harrison ran up and quickly possessed herself of the
vacated seat.

"Why, Mr. Whitney writes to say that Polly needn't go back--oh, how
perfectly lovely in him!" cried Alexia, bringing up flushed and panting.
"Oh, dear me, I can't breathe!"

"Oh! oh!" cried all the girls, clapping their hands.

"But that doesn't mean that I shall not go back," said Polly, looking up
from her letter to peer through the stair-railing at them. "I
think--yes, I really do think that I ought to go back."

"How nonsensical!" exclaimed Alexia impatiently. "If Mr. Whitney says
you are not needed, isn't that enough? Beside he wrote it for Mrs.
Whitney; I read it all."

"No, I don't think it is enough," answered Polly slowly, and turning the
letter with perplexed fingers, "for I know dear Aunty only told him to
write because she thought I ought to be at home."

"And so you ought," declared Alexia, very decidedly. "She's quite right
about it, and now you're here, why, you've just got to stay. So there,
Polly Pepper. Hasn't she, girls?"

"Yes, indeed," cried the girls.

Polly shook her brown head, as she still sat on her stair busily
thinking.

"Here comes Mr. King," cried Cathie Harrison, suddenly craning her neck
at the sound of the opening of a door above them. "Now I'm just going to
ask him," and she sprang to her feet.

"Cathie--Cathie," begged Polly, springing up too.

"I just will," declared Cathie, obstinately scampering up over the
stairs. "Oh, Mr. King, mayn't Polly stay home? Oh, do say yes, please!"

"Yes, do say yes, please," called all the other girls in the hall below.

"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed the old gentleman, well pleased at the
onslaught. "Now then, what's the matter, pray tell?"

"I just won't have Cathie Harrison tell him," said Alexia, trying to run
up over the stairs. "Let me by, Polly, do," she begged.

"No, indeed," cried Polly, spreading her arms. "It's bad enough to have
one of you up there besieging Grandpapa."

"Then I'll run up the back stairs," cried Alexia, turning in a flash.

"Oh, yes, the back stairs!" exclaimed the other girls, following her.
"Oh, do hurry! Polly's coming after us."

But speed as she might, Polly could not overtake the bevy, who, laughing
and panting, stood before Mr. King a second ahead of her.

"A pretty good race," said the old gentleman, laughing heartily, "but
against you from the first, Polly, my girl."

"Don't listen to them, Grandpapa dear," panted Polly.

"Mayn't she stay at home--mayn't she?"

"Hush, girls," begged Polly. "Oh, Grandpapa dear, don't listen to them.
Aunty told Uncle Mason to write the letter, and you know"--

"Well, yes, I know all you would say, Polly. But I've also had a letter
from Mason, and I was just going to show it to you." He pulled out of
his vest pocket another envelope corresponding to the one in Polly's
hand, which he waved at her.

"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Polly, quite aghast at his so easily going
over to the enemy. With that, all the girls deserted the old gentleman,
and swarmed around Polly.

"See here, now," commanded Mr. King, "every single one of you young
things come back here this minute. Goodness me, Polly, I should think
they'd be the death of you."

Polly didn't hear a word, for she was reading busily: "Marian says
'don't let Polly come back on any account. It worries me dreadfully to
think of all that she is giving up; and I will be brave, and do without
her. She must not come back.'"

Polly looked up to meet old Mr. King's eyes fixed keenly upon her.

"You see, Polly," he began, "I really don't dare after that to let you
go back."

"Oh--oh--oh!" screamed all the girls.

"There, I told you so," exclaimed Alexia.




CHAPTER VIII.

POLLY LOOKS OUT FOR CHARLOTTE.


"Second floor--Room No. 3," said Buttons, then stood like an automaton
to watch the tall young man scale the stair.

"He did 'em beautifully," he confided afterward to another bell-boy.
"Mr. King himself can't get over them stairs better."

"Come in!" cried Jasper, in response to the rap.

"Halloo, old fellow!" cried Pickering Dodge, rushing in tumultuously.
"Well, well, so this is your den," looking around the small room in
surprise.

"Yes. Now this is good to see you!" exclaimed Jasper, joyfully leaping
from his chair to seize Pickering's hand. "Well, what brought you?
There's nothing wrong?" he asked, anxiously scanning Pickering's face.

"No--that is, everything's right; all except Polly."

"There isn't anything the matter with Polly?" Jasper turned quite white,
scarcely speaking the words.

"No, she's all right, only"--Pickering turned impatiently off from the
chair Jasper pulled forward with a hasty hand, and stalked to the other
side of the little room. "She's--she's--well, she's so hard to come at
nowadays. Everybody has a chance for a word with her but old friends.
And now the Recital is in full blast."

Jasper drew a long breath, and began to get his color again. "Oh,
yes--well, it's all going on well, the Recital, I mean, isn't it?" he
asked.

"I believe so," said Pickering in a gloomy way. "The girls are wild over
it; you can't hear anything else talked about at home. But," he broke
off abruptly, "got a cigar, Jasper?" and he began to hunt the mantel
among the few home-things spread around to enliven the hotel apartment.

"Haven't such an article," said Jasper.

"I forgot you don't smoke," said Pickering with a sigh. "Dear me! how
will you bear trouble when it comes, old chap?" He came back to the
table, and thrust his hands in his pockets, looking dismally at Jasper.

"I'm afraid a cigar wouldn't help me much," said Jasper, with a laugh;
"but if you must have one, I can get it, eh?"

"Yes, I must," said Pickering in despair, "for I've something on my
mind. Came over on purpose to get your help, and I can't do it without a
weed."

"Very well," said Jasper, shoving the chair again toward Pickering. "Sit
down, and I'll have one sent up," and he went over and touched the
electric button on the wall.

"Yes, sir?" Buttons ran his head in the doorway, and stared at them
without winking.

"A cigar for this gentleman," said Jasper, filliping a coin into the
boy's hand.

"Is that the way you order cigars?" demanded Pickering, whirling around
in his chair.

"Yes, when I order them at all," said Jasper, laughing; "a weed is a
weed, I suppose."

"Indeed, and it is not, then," retorted Pickering. "I'll have none of
your ordering. You needn't bring it up, boy; I'll go down to the office
and pick some out for myself."

"All right, sir," said Buttons, putting down the coin on the table with
a lingering finger.

"Keep it," said Jasper, with a smile.

"He's a gentleman," observed Buttons, on the way downstairs, Pickering
treading his heels. "He ain't like the rest of 'em that boards here.
They orders me around with a 'Here, you!' or a 'Hoi, there, boy!'
They're gents; he's the whole word--a first-class gentleman, Mr. King
is," he repeated.

"Now, then, for it," said Jasper, when at last the gleam of Pickering's
cigar was steady and bright, "open your budget of news, old fellow," he
added, with difficulty restraining his impatience.

"It ought not to be any news," declared Pickering, with extreme
abruptness, "for I've never tried to conceal it. I love Polly."

Jasper started so suddenly his arm knocked from the table a slender
crystal vase, that broke into a dozen pieces.

"Never mind," he said, at Pickering's dismayed exclamation, "go on."

Whew--puff! floated the rings of cigar smoke over Pickering's head. "And
I can't stand it, and I won't, waiting any longer to tell her so. Why,
man," he turned savagely now on Jasper, "I've loved her for years, and
must I be bullied and badgered out of my rights by men who have only
just been introduced to her--say?"

"Whom do you mean?" asked Jasper huskily, his fingers working over the
table-cloth, under the pretense of pulling the creases straight.

"Why, that Loughead chap," said Pickering, bringing his hand down
heavily on the table; "he has more sweet words from Polly Pepper in a
week than I get in a month--and I such an old friend!"

"Polly is so anxious to help his sister," Jasper made out to say.

"Well, that's no reason why the fellow should hang around forever,"
declared Pickering angrily.

"Why, he's gone abroad!" exclaimed Jasper, "long ago."

"Ah, but he's coming back," said Pickering, with a sage nod, and
knocking off the ashes from his cigar end.

"Is that so?" cried Jasper, in astonishment.

"Yes, 'tis," declared Pickering, nodding again, "and I don't like it.
You know as well as I do," squaring around on Jasper, "that he don't
care a rap about his sister's getting on; he's only thinking of Polly,
and _I_ love her."

Seeing that something was expected of him, Jasper made out to say, "You
do?"

"Of course I do; and you know it, and every one knows it, or ought to; I
haven't ever tried to conceal it," said Pickering proudly.

"How do you know that Loughead is coming back?" asked Jasper abruptly.

"How do I know? The best way in the world." Pickering moved uneasily in
his chair. "Hibbard Crane had a letter yesterday; that's the reason I
threw my traps together and started for you."

"For me?" cried Jasper, in surprise.

"Yes. You've got to help me. I can't stand it, waiting around any
longer. It has almost killed me as it is." Pickering threw his head on
the chair-back and took savage pulls at the cigar between his teeth.

"I help you?" cried Jasper, too astonished to do much more than to
repeat the words. "How in all this world can I do anything in the
matter?" he demanded, as soon as he could find his voice.

"Why, you can tell Polly how it is; you're her brother, or as good as
one; and she'll see it from you. And you must hurry about it, too, for I
expect that Loughead will turn up soon. He means mischief, he does."

"See here, Pick," cried Jasper, getting out of his chair hastily to face
Pickering, "you don't know what you are asking. Why, I couldn't do it.
The very idea; I never heard of such a thing! You--you must speak to
Polly yourself."

"I can't," said Pickering, in a burst, and bringing up his head
suddenly. "She won't give me the ghost of a chance. There's always those
girls around her; and she's been away an age at Mrs. Whitney's. And
everlastingly somebody is sick or getting hurt, and they won't have
anybody but Polly. You know how it is yourself, Jasper," and he turned
on him an injured countenance.

"Well, don't come to me," cried Jasper, beginning to pace the floor
irritably. "I couldn't ever speak on such a subject to Polly. Beside it
would be the very way to set her against you. It would any girl; can't
you see it, Pick?" he added, brightening up.

"Girls are queer," observed Pickering shrewdly, "and the very thing you
think they won't like, they take to amazingly. Oh, you go along, Jasper,
and let her see how matters stand; how I feel, I mean."

"You will do your own speaking," said Jasper, in his most crusty
fashion, and without turning his head.

"I did; that is, I tried to last night after I met Crane," began
Pickering, in a shamefaced way, "but I couldn't get even a chance to see
Polly."

"How's that?" asked Jasper, still marching up and down the floor;
"wasn't she home?"

"Why, she sent Charlotte Chatterton down to see me," said Pickering,
very much aggrieved, "and I hate that Chatterton girl."

"Why couldn't Polly see you?" went on Jasper, determined, since his
assistance was asked, to go to the root of the matter.

"Oh, somebody in the establishment, I don't know who, had a finger-ache,
I suppose," said Pickering, carelessly throwing away his cigar end and
lighting a fresh one, "and wanted Polly. Never mind why; she couldn't
come down, she sent word. So I gave up in despair. See here now, Jasper,
you must help me out."

"I tell you I won't," declared Jasper, with rising irritation, "not in
that way."

"You won't?"

"No, I won't. I can't, my dear fellow."

"Well, there's a great end of our friendship," exclaimed Pickering, red
with anger, and he jumped to his feet. "Do you mean to say, Jasper King,
that you won't do such a simple thing for me as to say a word to your
sister Polly, when I tell you it's all up with me if you don't speak
that word--say?"

"You oughtn't to ask such a thing; it's despicable in you," cried
Jasper, aghast to find his anger rising at each word. "And if you insist
in making such a request when I tell you that I cannot speak to Polly
for you, why, I shall be forced to repeat what I said at first, that I
won't have anything to do with it."

"Do you mean it," Pickering put himself in front of Jasper's advancing
strides, "that you will not speak to Polly for me?"

"I do."

"I tell you," declared Pickering, now quite beside himself, "it's
absolutely necessary for me to have your word with her, Jasper King."

"And I tell you I can't give that word," said Jasper. Then he stopped
short, and looked into Pickering's face. "I'm sorry, old chap," and he
put out his hand.

Pickering knocked it aside in a towering passion. "You needn't 'old
chap' me," he cried. "And there's an end to our friendship, King." He
seized his hat and dashed out of the room.

"Miss Salisbury!" Alexia Rhys, in real distress, threw herself against
her old teacher, who was hurrying through the long school-room.

"Well, what is it?" asked Miss Salisbury, settling her glasses for a
look at her former pupil. "You mustn't hinder me; I'm on my way to the
recitation room," and her hand made a movement toward her watch.

"Oh, don't think of time, Miss Salisbury!" begged Alexia, just as
familiarly as in the old days, "when Polly Pepper needs to be looked out
for."

"If Polly Pepper needs me in any way, why, I must stop," said the
principal of the "Young Ladies' Select Boarding and Day School," "but I
don't see how she can need me, Alexia," she added in perplexity, "Polly
is fully capable of taking care of herself."

"Oh, no, she isn't," cried Alexia abruptly. "Beg your pardon, but Polly
is a dear, sweet, dreadful idiot. Oh dear me! what do you suppose, Miss
Salisbury, she has gone and done?"

"I am quite at a loss to guess," said Miss Salisbury calmly, "and I must
say, Alexia, I am very much pained by your failure to profit by my
instructions. To think that one of my young ladies, especially one on
whom I have spent so much care and attention as yourself, should be so
careless in speech and manner, as you are constantly. 'Gone and
done'--oh, Alexia!" she exclaimed in a grieved way.

"Oh, I know," cried Alexia imperturbably, "you did your best, dear Miss
Salisbury, and it isn't your fault that I'm not fine. But oh, don't
waste the time, please, over me, when I want to tell you about Polly."

"What is it about Polly?" demanded Miss Salisbury, fingering her
watch-chain nervously. "Really, Alexia, I think Polly would do very well
if you didn't try so hard to take possession of her. I quite pity her,"
she added frankly.

Alexia burst into a laugh. "It's the only way to catch a glimpse of her.
Miss Salisbury," she cried, "for everybody is trying to take possession
of Polly Pepper. And now--oh, it's getting perfectly dreadful!"

Miss Salisbury took an impatient step forward.

"Oh, Miss Salisbury," cried Alexia in alarm, "wait just a minute, do,
dear Miss Salisbury," she cried, throwing her arms around her, thereby
endangering the glasses set upon the fine Roman nose, "there can't any
one help in this but just you."

"It is very wrong," said Miss Salisbury, yet yielding to the embrace,
"for me to stay and listen to you in this way, but--but I've always been
fond of you, Alexia, and"--

"I know it," cried Alexia penitently, "you've just been a dear, always,
Miss Salisbury, to me. If you hadn't, why, I don't know what I should
have done, for I had nobody but aunt," with a little pathetic sniff, "to
look after me."

"My dear Alexia," cried Miss Salisbury, quite softened, "don't feel so.
You are very dear to me. You always were," patting her hand. "And so
what is it that you want to tell me now? Pray be quick, dear."

"Well, then, will you promise to make Polly Pepper do what she ought to,
Miss Salisbury?" cried Alexia, quite enchanted with her success thus
far.

Miss Salisbury turned a puzzled face at her. "Will I make Polly Pepper
do as she ought to?" she repeated. "My dear Alexia, what a strange
request. Polly Pepper is always doing as she ought."

"Well, Polly is just hateful to herself," declared Alexia, "and if it
wasn't for us girls, she'd--oh, dear me! I don't know what would happen.
What do you suppose, Miss Salisbury, she's gone and--oh dear, I didn't
mean to--but what do you suppose Polly has just done?"

[Illustration: "MY DEAR ALEXIA," CRIED MISS SALISBURY, QUITE SOFTENED,
"DON'T FEEL SO."]

Before Miss Salisbury could reply, Alexia rushed on frantically. "If
you'll believe me, Polly has gone and asked that Charlotte Chatterton to
sing at her Recital; just think of that!" exclaimed Alexia, quite gone
at the enormity of such a blunder.

"Why, doesn't Charlotte Chatterton sing well?" asked Miss Salisbury, in
surprise.

"Oh, frightfully well," said Alexia, "that's just the trouble. And now
Polly's Recital will all be part of that Chatterton girl's glory. And it
was to be so swell!" And Alexia sank into a chair, and waved back and
forth in grief.

"Swell! Oh, Alexia," exclaimed Miss Salisbury in consternation.

"Oh, do excuse me," mumbled Alexia, "but Polly really has spoiled that
elegant Recital. It won't be all Polly's, now. Oh, dear me!"

Miss Salisbury drew a long breath. "I'm very glad Polly has asked Miss
Chatterton to sing," she said at last. "It was the right thing to do."

"Very glad that Polly has asked that Chatterton girl to sing?" almost
shrieked Alexia, starting out of her chair.

"Yes," said Miss Salisbury decidedly. "Very glad indeed, Alexia."

"And now you won't make Polly see that Charlotte Chatterton ought not to
be stuck into that Recital?" cried Alexia wildly. "Oh, dear me! and you
are the only one that can bring Polly to her senses--oh, dear me!"

"Certainly not," said Miss Salisbury, with a little dignified laugh.
"The Recital is Polly's, and she knows best how to manage it."

"Well, we won't applaud, we girls won't," declared Alexia, stiffening
up, "when that Charlotte Chatterton sings; but we'll all just look the
other way--every single one of us."

"Alexia Rhys!" slowly ejaculated Miss Salisbury in real sorrow.

"Well, we can't; it wouldn't be right," gasped Alexia. "Don't look so,
Miss Salisbury. Oh, dear me, why will Polly act so! Oh, dear me! I wish
Charlotte Chatterton was in the Red Sea."

Miss Salisbury gathered herself up in quiet disapproval; and with a
parting look prepared to leave the room.

"Oh, Miss Salisbury," cried Alexia, flying after her, to pluck her gown,
"do turn around. Oh, dear me!" and she began to cry as hard as she
could.

"When you have come to your better self, Alexia, I will talk with you,"
said Miss Salisbury distinctly, and she went out, and closed the door.

"Did she say she would--did she--did she?" cried a group of the "old
girls," as Miss Salisbury's present scholars called Polly and her set,
as they came tiptoeing in. "Why, where are you, Alexia?"

"Here," said a dismal voice from the depths of a corner easy chair. They
all rushed at her.

"I've had an awful time with her," sobbed Alexia, her face buried in her
handkerchief, "and I suppose it really will kill me, girls."

"Nonsense!" cried one or two. "Well, what did she say about making Polly
listen to reason?"

"Oh, dreadful--dreadful!" groaned Alexia gustily. "You can't think!"

"You don't mean to say that she approves, after all that Polly Pepper
has worked over that old Recital, to"--

--"Have some one else come in and grab the glory?" finished another
voice.

"Oh, dear--dear!" groaned Alexia in between. "And Miss Salisbury would
kill you, Clem, if she heard you say 'grab.'"

"Well, do tell us, what did Miss Salisbury say?" demanded another girl
impatiently.

"She said it was right for Polly to ask Charlotte Chatterton to sing,
and she was glad she was going to do it."

"Oh, horrors!" exclaimed the group in dismal chorus.

"The idea! as much as she loves Polly Pepper!" cried Sally Moore.

"And I hate the word 'right,'" exploded Alexia, whirling her
handkerchief around her fingers. "Now! It's poked at one everlastingly.
I think it's just sweet to be wicked."

"Oh, Alexia Rhys!"

"Well, just a little bit wicked," said Alexia.

Cathie Harrison shook back the waves of light hair on her brow. "Girls,"
she began hesitatingly. But no one would listen; the laments were going
on so fast over Polly and her doings.

"It _is_ right!" cried Cathie at last, after many ineffectual
attempt to be heard. "Do stop, girls, making such a noise," she added
impatiently.

"That's a great way to preach," said Clem, laughing, "lose your temper
to begin with, Cathie."

"I didn't--that is, I'm sorry," said Cathie. "But, anyway, I want to say
I ought to have been ashamed to act so about that Chatterton girl. Where
should I have been if Polly Pepper hadn't taken me up?"

She looked down the long aisle to a seat in the corner. "There's where I
sat," pointing to it, "and you all know it, for a whole week, and I
thought I should die; I did," tragically, "without any one speaking to
me. And one day Polly Pepper came up and asked wouldn't I come to her
house to the Bee you were all going to get up to fit out that horrible
old poor white family down South. And I wanted to get up and scream, I
was so glad."

"Cathie Harrison," exclaimed Alexia, springing to her feet defiantly,
"what do you want to bring back those dreadful old times for! You are
the most uncomfortable person I ever saw."

"You needn't mind it now, Alexia," cried Cathie, rushing at her, "for
you've been too lovely for anything ever since--you dear!"

"I lovely? oh, girls, did you hear?" cried Alexia, sinking into her
chair again, quite overcome. "She said I was lovely--oh, dear me!"

"And so you are," repeated Cathie stoutly; "just as nice and sweet and
lovely to me as you can be. So!" throwing her long arms around Alexia.

"I didn't want to be; Polly made me," said Alexia.

"I know it; but I don't care. You are nice now, any way."

"And I suppose we must be nice to that Chatterton girl now, if she does
break up our fun," said Alexia with a sigh, getting out of her chair.
"Come on, girls; let us go and tell Polly it's just heavenly that
Charlotte is to sing."




CHAPTER IX.

POLLY'S RECITAL.


Charlotte Chatterton stood back of the portiere pulling a refractory
button of her glove into place, as a gay group precipitated themselves
into the dressing-room of The Exeter.

"Now remember, girls," cried Alexia, rushing at the toilet table to
bestow frantic twitches at the fluffy waves of hair over her forehead,
"that we must applaud the very minute that she gets through singing. Oh
dear me, just look at my bangs; they are perfect frights. Hateful
things!" with another pull at the offending locks.

"It's a swell house," exclaimed one of the girls delightedly.

"Just let Miss Salisbury catch you saying 'swell,'" warned Alexia. "Take
care now, Sally Moore, this is a very proper and select occasion."

"Well, do let some of us have that glass a minute," retorted Sally, "and
mend your manners before you take occasion to correct my speech."

"My bangs are worse than yours, Sally," cried another girl, crowding up;
"do let me get one corner of that glass," trying to achieve a view of
her head over Alexia's shoulder.

Alexia calmly picked at the fluffy bunch of hair on her brow, giving it
a little quirk before she said, "Don't fight, girls; it quite spoils
one's looks; I never do when I'm dressed up."

"Of course not," said Sally Moore, "for you get everything you want
without fighting."

"The idea!" exclaimed Alexia, with an injured expression, "when I never
have my own way. Why, I give up and give up the whole time to somebody.
Well, never mind; let's talk about the Recital. Oh, it's going to be
quite elegant for Polly Pepper. There's a regular society cram in the
Hall."

"Well, I don't think 'society cram' is a bit better than a 'swell
affair,'" said Clem Forsythe, slipping out of her opera cloak.

"Nor I either," cried three or four voices.

"Oh, I don't object to 'swell affair' myself," said Alexia; "I have used
the words on more than one occasion, unless my memory is treacherous. I
only wanted to spare Miss Salisbury's nerves."

"Pity you didn't give more attention to Miss Salisbury's nerves five or
six years ago," said Sally. "Do get away from that glass."

"It's no time to talk about me now," observed Alexia. "All our minds
should be on Polly, and her Recital. Girls, _did_ you see Jack
Loughead down at the door?"

"Didn't we?" cried the girls.

"He's as handsome as a picture, isn't he?" cried Alexia, with another
little pull at her rebellious hair.

"Isn't he?" hummed the girls.

"Well, he won't look at you, for all your fussing over those bangs,"
said Sally vindictively.

"Did you suppose I thought he would?" cried Alexia coolly. "Why, it's
Polly Pepper, everybody knows, that brings him here."

"What's become of Mr. Bayley?" asked one of the girls suddenly.

"Hush--sh! you mustn't ask," cried Alexia mysteriously, and turning away
from the mirror, with a lingering movement; "there, it looks shockingly,
but it is as good as I can fix it."

"Your hair always does look perfectly horrid," declared Sally Moore,
deftly slipping into the vacated place.

"Well, do tell all you know about Mr. Bayley and Polly," begged the girl
who had raised the question, "I'm just dying to know."

"Alexia Rhys doesn't know a thing more than we do, Frances," said Clem,
"only she pretends she's in the secret."

"I was down at Dunraven at the Christmas splurge," said Alexia, "and you
were not, Clem. That's all I shall say," and she leisurely disposed
herself in a big chair, and began to draw on her gloves, with the air of
one who could reveal volumes were she so disposed.

"Polly wouldn't ever send him off," said one of the girls, "I don't
believe. Why, he's horribly rich; and just think of marrying into the
Bayley family--oh my!"

"I should think the shock of being asked to enter that family, would
kill any girl, to begin with," said Clem. "Why, he goes back to William
the Conqueror, doesn't he? And there's an earl in the family, and I
don't know what else. And then beside, there's his mother; the idea of
sitting opposite to her at the table every single day--oh dear me! I
know I should drop my knife and fork and things, from pure fright."

"I'm sure I don't see why anybody is proud to have his family go back
all the time," said Alexia Rhys; "for my part I should want to start
things forward a little myself."

"Well, who does know anything about it, why Mr. Bayley has gone off
suddenly?" demanded Frances.

"No one knows," said Clem.

Alexia hummed a tune provokingly.

"We all guess, and it's easy enough to guess the truth; but Polly won't
ever let it out, so that's all there is about it."

"Well, now, girls," said Alexia suddenly, "we must remember what we
promised each other."

"What do you mean?" asked Frances; "I didn't promise anything to
anybody."

"You weren't with us when we promised, my dear," answered Alexia, "and
I'll rise and explain. You see we don't any of us like that Charlotte
Chatterton; not a single one of us. She's a perfect stick, I think."

"So do I," said another girl; "this is the way she walks." Thereupon
followed a representation given to the life, of Charlotte Chatterton's
method of getting her long figure over the ground, which brought subdued
peals of laughter from the girls looking on.

"And she has no more feeling than an oyster," pursued Alexia, when she
had recovered her breath, "or she might see that Polly was just giving
up all her fun and ours too, by dragging her into everything that is
going on."

"I know it," said the girls.

"And I'm so sick of her taking in everything so as a matter of course,"
observed Alexia; "oh! she's quite an old sponge."

"It's bad enough to be called an oyster, without having old sponge
fastened to one," said Sally Moore, coming away from the mirror, thereby
occasioning another rush for that useful dressing-room appointment.

"Well, she is both of those very things," declared Alexia, "nevertheless
we must applaud her dreadfully when she's finished singing. That's what
we promised each other, Frances. It will please Polly, you know."

"You better hurry, or you will lose your seats," announced a friendly
voice in the doorway, which had the effect to send the whole bevy out as
precipitately as they had hurried in.

When she was quite sure that no one remained, Charlotte Chatterton shook
herself free from the friendly portiere-folds, and stepped to the center
of the deserted room.

"I'll not sing one note!" she declared, standing tall, "not one single
note!" Just then, in ran Amy Loughead.

"Oh dear, and oh dear!"

"What is the matter?" asked Charlotte, not moving.

"Oh, I'm so frightened," gasped Amy, shivering from head to foot, "there
are so many people in there, oh--oh! I can't play!" beating her hands
together in terror.

"You must," said Charlotte unsympathizingly.

"I can't--I can't. Oh, I shall die! The hall is full, and they keep
coming in. Oh--Miss Pepper!"

For Polly, in her soft white gown, was coming quickly into the
dressing-room.

"Your hands are just as cold as ice," said Polly, gathering up Amy's
shaking little palms into her own. "There now, we'll see if we can't
coax them into playing order," rubbing them between her own warm ones.

"Oh, I can feel all those people's eyes staring through me," cried Amy,
huddling up against Polly.

"You mustn't think of their eyes, child," laughed Polly. But there was a
little white line around her mouth. Just then a messenger came in with a
note.

"Any answer?" asked Polly. "Oh, stay; I would better read it before you
go." And she tore it open.

"I am so sorry that I cannot keep my engagement to play the duet with
Miss Porter, but the doctor has just been here, and he says I must not
go out. I should have written this morning that I had a sore throat, but
I thought I could manage to go. I'm so sorry--oh, Miss Pepper, I'm so
sorry!

"JULIA ANDERSON."

[Illustration: "I'LL NOT SING A NOTE!"]

The note fell to Polly's lap, and for a minute she could not speak.
"There is no answer," at last she said to the messenger.

"Oh, Miss Pepper, what is it?" cried Amy Loughead, brought out of her
own fright, by the dread of a new trouble.

"Julia Anderson is sick and cannot be here," said Polly.

"Oh, dear! and she was going to play with Miss Porter. What will you
do?" cried Amy in consternation.

"Why, I shall have to take her place," said Polly, forcing herself to
speak.

"Oh, dear--dear!" exclaimed Amy, trying not to burst into tears.
"Everything is just as bad and horrid as it can be. Oh, dear, dear, and
I can't play; I should disgrace you!"

"Oh, no, no, Amy," said Polly, trying to smile, "that you'll never do."
She threw the note on the floor now, and began to rub the cold little
hands again.

"But--but, I'm so frightened," gasped Amy.

Charlotte Chatterton walked to the window.

"I may be a stick, and an oyster, and an old sponge, and everybody wish
me out of the way, but I'm not such a villain as to bother her now by
telling her I won't sing. If they only won't applaud!" She shut her
teeth tightly, and turned back again.

"I wouldn't, Miss Loughead," she began. But her voice sounded cold and
unsympathetic, and Amy clung to Polly tighter than ever.

Ben now looked in. "Come, Polly," he said. "You really ought to be out
here, and it's almost three o'clock."

Amy gave a gasp. "What shall I do?"

"You may stay in here, if you really wish," said Polly in a low voice,
Charlotte Chatterton looking on with all her eyes, "and I will excuse
you."

"And will--will you be disappointed in me?" Amy brought out the question
shamefacedly.

"Very much," said Polly.

"And will you never try me again--and never give me music lessons?"
asked Amy fearfully.

"I do not seem to teach you successfully," said Polly very slowly, "so
it would be no use to continue the lessons." And she put aside the
clinging hands. "You may stay here, Amy; I am coming, Ben," looking over
at him.

"I'll play," cried Amy Loughead desperately. "I'd rather, oh, dear me,
if they were bears and gorillas looking on--and I just know I shall
die--but I'd rather, Miss Pepper, than to have you give me up."

Charlotte Chatterton drew a long breath.

"What's the matter?" asked Ben in dismay.

"Miss Loughead was a little scared, I believe," said Charlotte, with a
touch of scorn in her manner.

Ben gave an uneasy exclamation. "Everything seems to be all right now,"
he said, in a relieved way, looking off at Polly and Amy.

"Oh, yes; a scare don't amount to much if one has a mind to put it
down," said Charlotte.

"I should think you'd be scared," said Ben, looking at her admiringly,
"to stand up and sing before all those people. But I suppose you never
are; you don't seem to mind things like the rest of us."

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing.

"We are all ready," said Polly cheerfully coming up with Amy. "Oh,
Charlotte, you are such a comfort," she found time to whisper.

Charlotte clasped her hands tightly together so that an ominous rent
appeared in one of her pretty gloves. "I'll sing," she kept saying to
herself all the way out to the platform, "oh, I'll sing--I'll sing." And
later on, while looking down into the eyes of the girls waiting to
applaud, "I'll sing--I'll sing," she had to declare to herself till her
name was announced.

As the last note died away, "Who is that girl?" went around the hall.
Charlotte Chatterton had made a sensation.

Alexia Rhys, angry at the effect of the song, still clapped steadily
together her soft-gloved hands, looking at Polly with the air of a
martyr all the while.

"Charlotte--oh, I'm glad!" whispered Polly radiantly, "they want you to
sing again," trying to pull her forward, as the storm of applause went
on.

"I'll not sing!" cried Charlotte passionately. "Never! Don't ask it,
Polly."

"Why, Charlotte!" implored Polly, astonished at the passion in the girl
usually so cold and indifferent. Still the applause continued, Polly's
set keeping at it like veterans.

Ben ran up the platform steps with shining eyes. "Grandpapa requests
Charlotte to sing again," he whispered to Polly.

"There, you hear, Charlotte." said Polly. "Grandpapa wishes it."

"Very well," said Charlotte, resuming her ordinary manner, and looking
as if it really made no difference to her whether she sang or was quiet,
she walked to her place.

Polly slipped back of the piano, and began the accompaniment, and again
Charlotte's singing carried all by storm.

Polly, looking down into Jasper's face, saw him smile over to his
father, and nod in a pleased surprise; and she was aghast to feel a
faint little wish begin to grow in her heart, that Charlotte Chatterton
had not been asked to sing.

"Of course Jasper is surprised, as he has never heard her sing," said
Polly to herself, "and her voice is so beautiful in this big hall, oh,
it's so very beautiful!" as Charlotte came back, apparently not hearing
the expressions of delight that rang over the concert-room.

"That Chatterton girl will be all the rage now," whispered Alexia
savagely to Clem who sat next to her. "Look at Mrs. Cabot. She has her
'I'll-take-you-up-and-patronize-you air' on, and I know she's making up
her mind to give Charlotte a musicale."

Other people also, scattered here and there in the hall, were making up
their minds to introduce Miss Chatterton to their friends; as a girl
with such a wonderful voice, it would be quite worth one's while to
bring out.

Polly, by this time, explaining to the audience, the failure of Miss
Anderson to take her part in the duet, caught little ends of the
whispers going on beneath her, such as "Perfectly exquisite." "Most
wonderful range." "Shall certainly ask her to sing." And again she saw
Jasper's beaming face, while Ben took no pains to conceal his delight.
And she sat down to the piano mechanically, and began in a dazed way to
help Miss Porter through with the duet that was to have been one of the
finest things on the carefully prepared programme.

[Illustration: "FOR SHAME, POLLY, IF THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE TEACHINGS
ARE FORGOTTEN LIKE THIS"]

Suddenly, in the midst of a slow movement, Polly glanced down and caught
her mother's eye.

"Polly," it said, just as plainly as if Mrs. Fisher had spoken, "is this
my girl? For shame, if the Little Brown House teachings are forgotten
like this."

Polly straightened up, sent Mamsie down a bright smile that made Mrs.
Fisher nod, and flash back one in return, then bent all her energies to
making that duet speak its message through the concert-room. People who
had rather languished in their chairs, now gathered themselves up with
fresh interest, and clapped their hands at the brilliant passages, and
exclaimed over the ability of the music teacher who could change an
apparent failure to such a glorious success. Everybody said it was
wonderful; and when the duet was over, the house rang with the charming
noise by which the gratified friends tried to express their delight. But
Polly saw only Mamsie's eyes, filled with joy.

Meantime, Charlotte Chatterton had hurried out to the dressing-room,
tossing on her walking things with a quick hand; and held fast for a
minute as she crept out into the broad passage, by the duet now in full
progress, she went softly down the stairs.

When it was all over, everybody crowded around Polly.

"Oh, Miss Pepper, your Recital is lovely! oh, how beautifully Miss
Chatterton sang!" and,

"Oh, Miss Pepper, I am delighted with your pupils' progress; and what an
exquisite voice Miss Chatterton has!"

And then it was, "Oh, it must have been so hard, Miss Pepper, for you to
excuse Miss Anderson at the last minute; and we can't thank you enough
for letting us hear Miss Chatterton sing."

"Oh, I shall fly crazy to hear them go on," cried Alexia to a little
bunch of girls back of the crowd; "will nothing stop them?" wringing her
hands angrily together. "It's all Chatterton, Chatterton now; and after
Polly's magnificent playing too. Oh dear me, I knew it would be so!"

Polly turned, with a happy face, to pull Charlotte forward to hear the
kind things. "Why, where"--

"Oh, she's gone home," answered Alexia, stepping forward
hastily--"Hasn't she, girls?" appealing to them. "She must have; she
went out like a shot. Don't, Polly, how can you?" she begged, turning
back to twitch Polly's arm, "you've done enough, I should think."

"What did she run off for?" cried Jasper, scaling the platform steps.
Polly glanced quickly up into his beaming face.

"Oh, Jasper, she has gone home--I couldn't help it," and her face fell.

He looked annoyed. "Never mind, Polly," he said, his brow clearing,
"father wanted to introduce her to some friends, that's all. Well, and
wasn't it a grand success, though!" and he beamed at her.

"Yes," said Polly, settling Amy's music with an unsteady hand.

"And Charlotte really surprised us all," he went on gaily. "Why, Polly,
who would think that we have--or you rather, for you have done it
all--the honor to bring out a nightingale! Here, let me do that for
you." He was fairly bubbling over with delight, and as he essayed to
take the music out of Polly's hand, he laughed again. "Dear me, how
stupid I am," as a piece fluttered to the floor.

"And didn't Amy do nicely?" asked Polly beginning to feel a bit tired
now.

"Yes, indeed," assented Jasper enthusiastically, as he recovered the
piece. "Just splendidly! I didn't know she had so much music in her. Oh,
here comes a horde of congratulations, Polly." He threw her the
brightest of smiles as he moved to make way for a group of friends
hurrying up to shower Polly with compliments, and every one had
something delightful to add of Charlotte Chatterton's singing.

"Jasper couldn't help but be happy over Charlotte's singing," said Polly
to herself, and looking after him, "it's so beautiful," as they came up.

"Where are you going, Polly?" called Alexia at last, when it was all
over, and the janitor was closing the big outer door, as Polly ran ahead
of the girls and down the long steps of The Exeter.

[Illustration: POLLY TURNED AND WAVED HER MUSIC-ROLL AT THEM]

Polly turned and waved her music-roll at them for a reply.

"Now somebody is going to carry her off," grumbled Alexia; "hurry up,
girls, let's see who it is." So they ran as lightly as Polly herself,
after her, down the steps, only in time to see old Mr. King help her
into the carriage with Mrs. Fisher and Phronsie, and drive rapidly off.

"Whatever in the world is the matter?" cried Alexia, running up to
Jasper who was watching them speed away.

"Why, Polly thinks Charlotte is sick," explained Jasper, "because she
went home before the Recital was out."

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Alexia angrily. "What is the matter with
Polly, Jasper? She grows worse and worse. Why can't she let Charlotte
Chatterton alone, pray tell. I, for one, should think mischief enough
had been done by that girl."

"You should think mischief enough had been done by Charlotte?" repeated
Jasper in astonishment. "I must say, Alexia, that I fail to understand
you."

"To hear people praise to the very skies that Chatterton girl," cried
Alexia in a passion--she was actually stamping her foot now--"oh, oh!
why don't some of you say something?" she cried, appealing suddenly to
the girls. "You all feel as I do about Polly's pushing forward that
girl; and there you stand and make me do all the talking."

Jasper looked grave at once. "There is no occasion for any one to exert
herself to talk over this," he said. "It is Polly's affair, and hers
alone." He raised his hat to her, and to the rest of the group, and
walked off.




CHAPTER X.

PHRONSIE HAS A PLAN.


Phronsie was the first to reach Charlotte's door.

"Charlotte?" she called softly through the keyhole. There was no answer,
and after one or two ineffectual attempts, Phronsie turned fearfully
away.

"I do believe something is in the room with Charlotte," she said, as
Polly came running up the stairs. Then she sat down on the top step and
clasped her hands. "I heard it raging up and down."

"Oh, no, Phronsie," said Polly reassuringly, "there couldn't be anything
in there with Charlotte. I'll try," and she laid a quick hand on the
knob. "Oh, Charlotte, do open the door; you are worrying us all so,"
called Polly imploringly.

Charlotte flung wide the door. Two red spots burned on her cheeks, and
her pale blue eyes snapped. But when she saw Polly, she said, "I'm sorry
I frightened you, but I'm best alone."

"Isn't there really anything in here with you, Charlotte?" asked
Phronsie, getting off from her stair, to peer past Polly. "Oh, I'm sure
I heard it raging up and down."

"That was I," said Charlotte; "I was the wild beast, Phronsie."

"Oh, dear," breathed Phronsie.

"And oh!" exclaimed Polly.

"Charlotte," said Phronsie, coming in to slip her hand into Charlotte's,
"it was just beautiful when you sang; I thought it was birds when you
went clear up into the air. I did really, Charlotte."

"Oh, don't!" begged Charlotte, looking over at Polly.

"Come down to dinner, Charlotte," said Polly quickly. "Really you must,
else I am afraid Grandpapa will be up here after you."

"I don't want any dinner," said Charlotte, drawing back.

"Indeed, but you must come down," said Polly firmly, holding out her
hand. "Come, Charlotte."

"Let me smooth your hair," begged Phronsie, standing on tiptoe; "do bend
down just a very little, please. There, that's it," patting Charlotte's
head with both hands; "now you look very nice; you really do--doesn't
she, Polly."

"Yes, indeed," said Polly cheerily, "just as fine as can be. There, they
are coming after us," as quick footsteps sounded in the hall below.
"Hurry, Charlotte, do. We're coming, boys," she called.

They had just finished dinner, when a note was handed Polly. It ran
thus:

"Do, dear Polly, run over to-morrow morning early. I want to consult you
in regard to asking Miss Chatterton to sing at my next 'At Home.' I
should be charmed to have her favor us.

"FELICIA A. CABOT."

"The very thing!" exclaimed Jasper, with only a thought for Polly's
pleasure, when Polly had cried, "How nice of Mrs. Cabot!" "Don't you say
so, father?" he added.

"Assuredly," said old Mr. King with great satisfaction in Polly's
pleasure, and at her success in drawing Charlotte out. And then he
thought no more about it, and the bell ringing and Mr. Alstyne coming
in, he went off into the library for a quiet chat.

And after this, there were no more quiet days for Charlotte Chatterton.
Everybody who was musical, wanted to revel in her voice; and everybody
who wasn't, wanted the same thing because it was so talked about. So she
was asked to sing at musicales and receptions without end, until Alexia
exclaimed at last, "They are all raving, stark-mad over her, and it's
all Polly's own fault, the whole of it."

Phronsie laid down the note she was writing to Mrs. Fargo, a fortnight
later, and said to herself, "I would better do it now, I think," and
going out, she went deliberately to old Mr. King's room, and rapped at
the door.

"Come in!" called the old gentleman, "come in! Oh, bless me, it's you,
Phronsie!" in pleased surprise.

"Yes, Grandpapa," said Phronsie, coming in and shutting the door
carefully, "I came on purpose to see you all alone."

"So you did, dear," said Mr. King, highly gratified, and pushing away
his writing table, he held out his hand. "Now, then, Phronsie, you are
never going to be too big, you know, to sit on my knee, so hop up now."

"Oh, no, Grandpapa," cried Phronsie in a rapture, "I could never be too
big for that," so she perched up as of old on his knee, then she folded
her hands and looked gravely in his face.

"Well, my dear, what is it?" asked the old gentleman presently, "you've
come to tell me something, I suppose."

"Yes, Grandpapa, I have," said Phronsie decidedly, "and it is most
important too, Grandpapa, and oh, I do wish it so much," and she clasped
her hands tighter and sighed.

"Well, then, Phronsie, if you want it, I suppose it must be," said Mr.
King, quite as a matter of course. "But first, child, tell me what it
is," and he stroked her yellow hair.

"Grandpapa," asked Phronsie suddenly, "how much money did Mrs. Chatterton
say I was to have?"

"Oh, bless me!" exclaimed Mr. King, with a start. "Why, what makes you
ask such a question? Oh, she left you everything she had, Phronsie; a
couple of millions or so it is; why?"

"Grandpapa," asked Phronsie, looking intently at him, "isn't Charlotte
very, very poor?"

"Charlotte poor?" repeated the old gentleman. "Why, no, not exactly; her
father isn't rich, but Charlotte, I think, may do very well, especially
as I intend to keep her here for a while, and then I shall never let her
suffer, Phronsie; never, indeed."

"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, "wasn't Mrs. Chatterton aunt to Charlotte?"

"Yes; that is, to Charlotte's father," corrected Mr. King. "But what of
that, child, pray? What have you got into your head, Phronsie?"

"If Mrs. Chatterton was aunt to Charlotte," persisted Phronsie
slowly, "it seems as if Charlotte ought to have some of the money. It
really does, Grandpapa."

"But Cousin Eunice didn't think so, else she'd have left it to
Charlotte," said Mr. King abruptly, "and she did choose to leave it to
you. So there's an end of it, Phronsie. I didn't want you to have it,
but the thing was fixed, and I couldn't help myself. And neither can we
do anything now, but take matters as they are."

"I do think," said Phronsie, without taking her eyes from his face,
"that maybe Mrs. Chatterton is sorry now, and wishes that she had left
some money to Charlotte. Don't you suppose so, Grandpapa?" and one hand
stole up to his neck.

"Maybe," said the old gentleman, with a short laugh, "and I shouldn't
wonder if Cousin Eunice was sorry over a few other things too,
Phronsie."

"Wouldn't it make her very glad if I gave Charlotte some of the money?"
Phronsie's red lips were very close to his ear now, "oh, I do want to so
much; you can't think, Grandpapa, how much!"

For answer, Mr. King set her down hastily on the floor, and took two or
three turns up and down the room. Phronsie stood a moment quite still
where he left her, then she ran up to him and slipped her hand within
his.

"Oh, I do so wish I might," she said, "there's so much for a little girl
like me. It would be so nice to have Charlotte have some with me."

Still no answer. So Phronsie went up and down silently by his side for a
few more turns. Then she spoke again. "Does it make you sorry, Grandpapa
dear, to have me want Charlotte to have the money with me?" she asked
timidly.

"No, no, child," answered Mr. King hastily, "and yet I don't know what
to say. I don't feel that it would be right for you to give any of your
money to her."

"Right?" cried Phronsie, opening her brown eyes very wide. "Why, isn't
the money my very own, Grandpapa?"

"Yes, yes, of course; but you are too young to judge of such things,"
said the old gentleman decidedly, "as the giving away of property and
all that."

"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Phronsie, in gentle reproach, and standing
very tall. "Why, I am thirteen."

"And when you get to be ten years older, you might blame me," said Mr.
King, "and I can't say but what you'd have reason if I let you do such a
thing as to give away any money to Charlotte."

"Blame you? Why, Grandpapa, I couldn't." Phronsie drew a long breath,
then threw herself convulsively into his arms, her face working hard in
her efforts not to cry. But it was no use, and Mr. King caught her in
time to see the quick drops roll down Phronsie's cheek and to feel them
fall on his hand.

"Oh, dear me!" he cried in great distress, "there, there, child, you
shall give away the whole if you wish; I've enough for you without
it--only don't cry, Phronsie. You may do anything you like, dear.
There," mopping up her wet little face with his handkerchief, "now
that's a good child; Phronsie, you are not going to cry, of course not.
There, do smile a bit; that's my girl now," as a faint light stole into
Phronsie's eyes. "I didn't mean you'd really blame me, only"--

"I couldn't," still said Phronsie, and it looked as if the shower were
about to fall again.

"I know, child; you think your old Grandpapa does just about right,"
said Mr. King soothingly, and highly gratified.

"He's ever and always right," said Phronsie, still not moving.

"Bless you, child," cried the old gentleman, much moved, "I wish I could
say I believed what you say. But many things in my life might have been
bettered."

"Oh, no, Grandpapa," protested Phronsie in a tone of horror, "they
couldn't have been better. Don't, Grandpapa, don't!" she caught him
around the neck imploringly.

"Well, I won't, child," promised Mr. King, holding her close. "And now,
Phronsie, I'll tell you; I'll think of all this that you and I have
talked over, and I'll let you know by and by what you ought to do about
it, and you mustn't say anything about it to anybody, not to a single
soul, child. It shall be just a secret between you and me."

"I won't, Grandpapa," said Phronsie obediently, and patting his broad
back with her soft hand.

"And, meantime," said Mr. King, quite satisfied, "why, Charlotte is
having pretty good times, I think. Polly is looking out for that."

"Polly is making her have beautiful times," said Phronsie happily, "oh,
very beautiful times indeed, Grandpapa."

"I expect she's an awful nuisance," the old gentleman broke out
suddenly.

"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Phronsie, breaking away from him to look into
his face.

"Well, well, perhaps I shouldn't say quite that," said Mr. King,
correcting himself. "But, well, now, Phronsie, you run back to your
play, child, and I'll set to work at once to think out this matter."

"I was writing a note to Mrs. Fargo," said Phronsie, putting up her lips
for a kiss. "You are sure you won't make your head ache thinking about
it, Grandpapa?" she asked anxiously.

"Sure as I can be, Phronsie," said old Mr. King, smiling. "Good-by,
dear."

       *       *       *       *       *

"See here, Pickering," Mr. Cabot threw wide the door of his private
office with a nervous hand. "It is time I had a good talk with you. Come
in; I never get one nowadays."

"Can't stop, Uncle," said Pickering hastily. "Besides, what would be the
use, you never see anything encouraging about me or my career. And I
believe I am going to the dogs."

"Indeed you are not, Pickering," cried Mr. Cabot quickly, the color
rising to his cheek. "There, there, my sister's boy shall never say
that. But come in, come in." He laid hold of Pickering's arm and gently
forced him into the little room.

Not to be ungracious, the young man threw himself into a chair. "Well,
what is it, Uncle? Do out with it; I'm in no mood for a lecture, though,
this morning."

"I'm not going to lecture you, my boy," said Mr. Cabot, closing the
door, then going to the mantel to lean one elbow on it, a favorite
attitude of his, while he scanned his nephew. "But something worse than
common has come to you. Can I help in any way?"

"No, no, don't ask me," ejaculated Pickering, striking his knee with one
glove, and turning apprehensively in his chair. "Oh, hang it, Uncle, why
can't you let me alone?"

"I've seen this thing, whatever it is, coming upon you for sometime,"
said Mr. Cabot, too nervous to notice the entreaty in Pickering's voice
and manner, "and I cannot wait any longer to find out the trouble. It's
my right, Pickering; you have no father to see to you, and I've always
wanted to have the best success be yours." He turned away his head now,
a break coming in his voice.

[Illustration: "I'M NOT GOING TO LECTURE YOU."]

"You have, Uncle, you have," assented Pickering, brought out a trifle
from his distress, "but then I'm not equal to the strain my relatives
put upon me. Not worth it, either," he added, relapsing into his gloom.
Then he shoved his chair so that he could not look his uncle in the
face, and bent a steady glance out of the window.

Mr. Cabot gave a nervous start that carried him away from the mantel a
step or two. But when he was there, he felt so much worse, that he soon
got back into the old position.

"I don't see, Pickering," he resumed, "why you shouldn't get along.
You're through college."

"Which is a wonder," interpolated Pickering.

"Well, I can't say but that I was a good deal disturbed at one time,"
said Mr. Cabot frankly; "but never mind that now, you are through," and
he heaved a sigh of relief, "and nicely established with Van Metre and
Cartwright. It's the best law firm in the town, Pickering." Mr. Cabot
brought his elbow off from the mantel enough to smite his palms together
smartly in enthusiasm. "I got you in there."

"I know you did, Uncle," said Pickering; "you've done everything that's
good. Only I repeat I'm not worth it," and he drummed on the chair-arm.

"For Heaven's sake, Pickering!" cried his uncle, darting in front of the
chair and its restless occupant, "don't say that again. It's enough to
make a man go to the bad, to lose hope. What have you been doing lately?
Do you gamble?"

"What do you take me for?" demanded Pickering, starting to his feet with
flashing eyes, and throwing open his top-coat as if the weight oppressed
him. "I've been a lazy dog all my life, and a good-for-naught; but I
hope I've not sunk to that."

"Oh, nothing, nothing--I'm sure I didn't mean," cried Mr. Cabot,
starting back suddenly in astonishment. "Dear me, Pickering," taking off
his eyeglasses to blow his nose, "you needn't pick me up so violently.
I've been much worried about you," settling his glasses again for
another look at his nephew. "And I can't tolerate any thoughts I cannot
speak."

"I should think not," retorted Pickering shortly; "the trouble is in
having the thoughts."

"And I am very much relieved to find that my fears
are groundless--that you've been about nothing that my sister or I
should be ashamed of," and he picked up courage to step forward gingerly
and pat the young man on the shoulder. "You are in trouble, though, and
I insist on knowing what it is."

Pickering dropped suddenly beneath his uncle's hand, into the nearest
chair.




CHAPTER XI.

THINGS ARE GETTING MIXED.


"How can you ask me, Uncle?" cried Pickering passionately.

"Because I will know." Mr. Cabot was quite determined.

"Well, then, if you must have it, it's--it's Polly Pepper." Pickering
could get no further.

"It's Polly Pepper!" ejaculated Mr. Cabot. Then a light broke over his
face, and he laughed aloud, he was so pleased. "You mean, you are in
love with Polly Pepper?"

"As if everybody didn't know it?" cried Pickering hotly. "Don't pretend,
Uncle, that you are surprised;" he was really disrespectful now in
manner. "Oh, beg pardon, sir," recovering himself.

"Never mind," said Mr. Cabot indulgently, "you are over-wrought this
morning. My boy," and he came over and clapped his nephew on the back
approvingly, "that's the best thing you ever told me; you make me very
happy, and"--

"Hold, Uncle," cried Pickering, darting away from the hand, "don't go so
fast. You are taking too much for granted."

Mr. Cabot for answer, bestowed another rap, this time on Pickering's
arm, indulging all the while in the broadest of smiles.

Just then some one knocked at the door, and in response to Mr. Cabot's
unwilling "Come in," Ben's head appeared. "Beg pardon, Mr. Cabot, but
Mr. Van Metre wants you out here."

Pickering lunged past Ben. "Don't stop me," he cried crossly, in
response to Ben's "Well, old fellow."

Ben stared after him with puzzled eyes as he shot down the long store;
and all that afternoon he could not get Pickering and his strange ways
out of his mind, and on the edge of the twilight, jumping out of his car
at the corner nearest home, he buttoned up his coat and rushed on,
regardless that Billy Harlowe was making frantic endeavors to overtake
him.

"What's got into the old chap," said Ben to himself, pushing on doggedly
with the air of a man who has thoughts of his own to think out. "I
declare, if I should know Pickering Dodge lately; I can't tell where to
find him."

[Illustration: "DON'T STOP ME," CRIED PICKERING CROSSLY.]

And with no light on his puzzle, Ben turned into the stone gateway, and
strode up to the east porch to let himself in as usual, with his latch
key. As he was fitting it absently, all the while his mind more intent
on Pickering and his changed demeanor than on his own affairs, he heard
a little rustling noise that made him turn his head to see a tall figure
spring down the veranda floor in haste to gain the quickest angle.

"Charlotte, why, what are you doing out here?" exclaimed Ben, leaving
his key in the lock to look at her.

"Don't speak!" begged Charlotte hastily, and coming up to him. "Somebody
will hear you. I came out here to walk up and down--I shall die in that
house; and I am going home to-morrow." She nervously twisted her
handkerchief around her fingers, and Ben still looking at her closely,
saw that she had been crying.

"Charlotte, what are you talking about?" he cried, opening his honest
blue eyes wide at her. "Why, I thought you had ever so much sense, and
that you were way ahead of other girls, except Polly," he added, quite
as a matter of course.

"Don't!" cried Charlotte, wincing, and, "but I shall go home to-morrow."

"Look here," Ben took out his key and tucked it into his pocket, then
faced Charlotte, "take a turn up and down, Charlotte; you'll pull out of
your bad fit; you're homesick." Ben's honest face glowed with pity as he
looked at her.

"I'm--I'm everything," said Charlotte desperately. "O, Ben, you can't
think," she seized his arm, "Polly is just having a dreadful time
because I'm here."

"See here, now," said Ben, taking the hand on his arm in a strong grip,
as if it were Polly's, "don't you go to getting such an idea into your
head, Charlotte."

"I can't help it," said Charlotte; "it was put there," she added
bitterly.

Ben gave a start of surprise. "Well, you are not the sort of girl to
believe such stuff, any way," he said.

Charlotte pulled away her hand. "I'm going home," she declared flatly.

"Indeed you are not," said Ben, quite as decidedly.

"O, yes, I am."

"We'll see;" he nodded at her. "Take my advice, Charlotte, and don't
make a muff of yourself.

"It's very easy for you to talk," cried Charlotte, a little pink spot of
anger rising on either cheek, "you have everybody to love you, and to be
glad you are here; very easy, indeed!"

With that, she walked off, swinging her gown disdainfully after her.

"Whew!" ejaculated Ben, "well, I must say I'm surprised at you,
Charlotte. I didn't suppose you could be jealous."

"Jealous?" Charlotte flamed around at him. "O, Ben Pepper, what do you
mean?"

"You are just as jealous as you can be," said Ben honestly, "absolutely
green."

"I'd have you to know I never was jealous in my life," said Charlotte,
quite pale now, and standing very still.

"You don't know it, but you are," said Ben imperturbably; "when people
begin to talk about other folks being loved and happy and all that,
they're always jealous. Why in the world don't you think how everybody
is loving you and wanting to make you happy?" It was quite a long speech
for Ben, and he was overcome with astonishment at himself for having
made it.

[Illustration: "I'M GOING HOME." DECLARED CHARLOTTE.]

"Because they a

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