"Dear me, how the summer is going!" mourned Polly, as they caught on the return journey the last glimpse of the roaring, tumbling Visp, and not all the craning of the necks could compass another view, as the cars drew them away from the rushing river.
"Never mind, Polly," said Jasper, "there's all next summer; and after our winter in Dresden, and all our hard work over music, won't it be fine, though, to jaunt round again?" and his eyes glistened.
"Dresden!" echoed Polly, sitting quite straight with very red cheeks;—"oh, Jasper!"
The magic word, "Dresden," had unlocked visions of months of future delight, bringing back every word of dear Herr Bauricke; all the instruction he had given her, on those happy days at Lucerne, that Polly felt quite sure were engraven deep on her heart to last forever and ever.
"And won't I study, though!" exclaimed Polly, to herself, "and make the professor that Herr Bauricke has engaged for me, glad that he teaches me, oh, won't I!"
"Well, I'm sorry the summer is going," said Adela, "because then I've got to leave you at Paris, and go into school."
"But you like your school," said Polly, brightly, "you've said so a dozen times, Adela."
"Yes, I do," said Adela, "and I've got some sketches to take back, andMademoiselle will be glad of that."
"And you'll go on drawing and painting until you get to be a great artist," ran on Polly, enthusiastically, "and then we'll see something you've done, in the Louvre, maybe."
"The Louvre!" cried Adela; "O dear me, Polly Pepper."
"I don't care," said Polly, recklessly, pushing back the little rings of brown hair from her brow, "they'll be good enough, the pictures you are going to do, to put into the Louvre, anyway, Adela Gray."
Tom Selwyn had been very sober during all this merry chatter; and now in his seat across the narrow aisle, he drummed his heels impatiently on the floor. His mother looked over at him, and slipping out of her seat, went over to him. "Any room here, Tom, for mother?" she said.
"Oh,—ah,—I should say so!" Tom slipped out, gave her the window seat, then flew back.
"Now, this is comfy," observed Mrs. Selwyn, as the train sped on. "Tom, see here!"
"What's up, little mother?" asked Tom, in surprise, at her unusual manner.
"It's just this, Tom. You know we are going to Chamonix and up theMer de Glacewith Mr. King's party."
Tom bobbed his head, not allowing himself to exclaim, "But that will be only a short journey, now, and we must soon say 'good-by.'"
"Well, I've been thinking that I should like to go on to Geneva, and to Paris," continued Mrs. Selwyn, "only you dislike Paris so much, Tom," she added.
"Oh, you're the bulliest—I mean—excuse me—you're no end a brick—oh, I mean—I can't say what I mean," brought up Tom, in despair. And he ran one long arm around her neck very much to the detriment of her neat collar.
"Then you can overcome your dislike to Paris enough to go there?" asked his mother, with a little twinkle in her eye.
"My dislike!" roared Tom, "O dear me!" as everybody looked around. "Why, I just love Paris!" he finished in an awful whisper, close to the plain, black bonnet.
When the news was circulated, as it was pretty soon, that the party was not to be broken into at all till Paris was a completed story, the jubilation was such as to satisfy even Tom. And as this particular party had the car entirely to themselves, it wasn't so very dreadful as it seems, and the elder members allowed indulgent smiles at it all.
That night in the market-place at Martigny, Jasper, who was ahead with his father, ran back to Polly, and the others lingering behind. "Oh, do hurry," he begged, "it's the prettiest sight!"
"Oh, what is it?" cried Polly, as they scampered off.
There, in the centre of the market-place, was a ring of little girls, hand-in-hand, singing a little French song, and going round and round in a circle. They were of all ages and sizes, the littlest one in a blue pinafore, being about three years of age, and so chubby she had to be helped along continually by a big girl, evidently her sister. This big sister stopped the ring game, every now and then, to kiss the round face by the side of her gown; an example that was followed by so many of the other girls, that the game seemed to be never quite finished. And once in a while, big sister would pick up the chubby, little, blue-pinafored maiden and carry her through a considerable portion of the game, then down she would put her on her two chubby feet, and away they all circled without any break in the proceedings at all.
"Oh! isn't it 'Oats, Peas, Beans, and Barley grow'?" cried Polly, as they watched them intently.
"Ever so much like it," said Tom. "See those boys; now they are going to make trouble."
"Oh, they sha'n't!" declared Polly. "O dear me!" as one boy drew near, on the side next to the travellers, and watching his chance, picked at a flying apron or two. But the ring of girls paid no more attention to him, than they had to any other outside matters, being wholly absorbed in the game. So Polly and the others breathed freely again.
But up came another boy. "O dear me!" cried Polly, aghast. When number three put in an appearance, she gave up all hope at once.
"They're jealous chaps," cried Tom, "and are vexed because they can't get into the game! Hear them jeer!" And his long arm went out and picked a jacket-end of an urchin, who, incautiously regarding such quiet travellers as not worth minding, had hovered too near, while trying to tease the girls.
"Here, you, sir," cried Tom, with a bit of a shake, and a torrent of remarkably good French not to be disregarded; then he burst into a laugh. And the urchin laughed too, thinking this much better fun to tussle with the tall lad, than to hang around a parcel of girls. And presently a woman came and took little blue pinafore off, and then the rest of the girls unclasped their hands, and the ring melted away, and the game was over.
"I'm glad the girls over here have fun," said Polly, as Grandpapa and his party moved off. "Isn't it nice to think they do?"
"It isn't much matter where you live, there's a good deal to be gotten out of life; if you only know how," said the parson, thinking busily of the little brown house.
Two or three days of rest at Martigny put everybody in good shape, and gave them all a bit of time to pick up on many little things that were behindhand. Tom looked over all his floral treasures, with their last additions made at the Riffelalp, and discarded such as hadn't pressed well. And Jasper and Polly rushed up to date with their journals, and wrote letters home; and Adela worked up her studies and sketches.
Tom looked on silently when Polly and Jasper were scraping their pens in a lively fashion in the little writing room of the hotel. "That's my third letter, Polly," announced Jasper, on the other side of the table. "Now, I am going to begin on Joel's."
"One, two," said Polly, counting, "why, I thought I'd written three; well, this one is most finished, Jasper."
"Yes," said Jasper, glancing over at her, "is that your last page,Polly?"
"Yes," said Polly, hurrying away. Then she thought of what Mamsie had said, and slackened her speed.
Tom cleared his throat, and tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come nicely, so he burst out, "I say, I wish you'd write to my granddaddy, both of you," and then he stood quite still, and very red in the face.
Polly looked up quickly, her pen dropping from her fingers, and Jasper deserted his fourth letter and stared.
"Why," said Polly, finding her tongue, "we wouldn't dare, Tom Selwyn."
"Dare!" said Tom, delighted to think that no terrible result had really ensued from his words, that after they were out, had scared him mightily. "Oh, if you knew granddaddy!" And he sank into a chair by the table, and played with the heap of picture postal cards that Polly was going to address next.
"We might," said Polly, slowly, "write a letter, all of us. A kind of aRound Robin thing, you know, and send that."
"So we could," cried Jasper; "how would that do, Tom?"
"The very thing!" exclaimed Tom, striking his hand so heavily on the table, that for a minute it looked as if the ink-bottle hopped.
"Take care, there's no reason you should knock things over because you are overjoyed," cried Jasper, gaily. "Well, let's leave our letters to-day, Polly, and set to on the Round Robin."
"All right," said Polly, glad to think there was anything she could really do to please the little old earl, "but would your mother like it, Tom?" She stopped slowly in putting her unfinished letter into the little writing-case, and looked at him.
"If you think there's a shadow of doubt on that score, I'd best run and ask her now." Tom got himself out of the chair, and himself from the room, and in an incredibly short space of time, back there he was. "My mother says, 'Thank Polly for thinking of it; it will do father more good than anything else could possibly do.'"
"I don't suppose you want any more answer," said Tom, quite radiant, and looking down at Polly.
"No, only I didn't think first of it," said Polly, in a distressed little tone.
"Why, Polly Pepper!" exclaimed Tom, "I certainly heard you say 'Round Robin,' when I'll venture to say not a soul of us had even thought of it; we certainly hadn't said so."
"Well, you spoke of the letter first," said Polly, unwilling to take the credit for all the comfort going to the little old earl, "and I shall tell your mother so, Tom."
"But I didn't say 'Round Robin,'" persisted Tom, "wasn't smart enough to think of it."
"And let's get to work," cried Jasper, huddling up his three letters."I'll post yours, too, Polly; give them here."
"O dear, my stamps are all gone," said Polly, peering into the little box in one corner of her writing-case.
"I've plenty," said Jasper, hurrying off; "I'll stick on two for you."
"Oh, no, Jasper," cried Polly, after him, "you know Mamsie would not allow me to borrow."
"It isn't borrowing," said Jasper, turning back slowly. "I'll give them to you, Polly."
"But Mamsie said when we started I should get my stamps when I needed them," said Polly. "You know she did, Jasper."
"Yes, she did," said Jasper, uncomfortably. Then his face brightened, and he said, "And she's right, Polly," while Polly fished a franc out of Joel's little money-bag that hung at her belt. "Do get the stamps, please, Jasper, and put them on," as he took up her two letters. And she gave the bag a little pat for Joel's sake, wishing it was his stubby black hair that her fingers could touch.
"Dear me, you are dreadfully particular about taking two postage stamps, seems to me," said Adela, who had taken that time, as she hadn't any letters to write, to work up one of her studies from memory of the Visp.
Tom's blue eyes flashed dangerously, then he cleared his throat, whistled, and walked to the window.
"I don't know where we are going to get nice white paper for our 'Round Robin,'" said Polly, leaning her elbows on the table, and her chin in her hands.
"I know!" ejaculated Tom, whirling on his heel, and dashing out. In he came, swinging three or four goodly sheets. "Filched 'em out of the old woman's room," he said.
"Oh, Tom!" began Polly.
"I mean, the housekeeper—matron—conciergerie—whatever you call the gentle lady who runs this house—was fortunately at our desk where she has the pleasure of making up our bills, and I worked on her feelings till she parted with 'em," explained Tom.
"Oh!" said Polly; "well, I'm glad she gave them."
"Never you fear but what they'll be in our bills, Polly," said Tom, who couldn't believe by this time that he hadn't always known Polly Pepper.
"It's dreadfully thin paper," said Adela, critically, getting off from the sofa to pick at one corner of the sheet Polly was beginning to divide.
"I'm glad we have any," hummed Polly, happily.
"Thank your stars you have," said Tom, as gaily. And Jasper running in, the table was soon surrounded by the makers of the Round Robin, Adela deserting her sketch-book and pulling up a chair.
"And Phronsie must come," said Polly, snipping away to get the paper the right width. "O dear me, I can't cut it straight. Do you please finish it, Jasper."
"That's all right," said Jasper, squinting at it critically, "only—just this edge wants a little bit of trimming, Polly." And he snipped off the offending points.
"I'll fetch Phronsie," cried Tom, springing off.
"And hurry," cried Polly and Jasper, together, after him.
"Polly," said Phronsie, as Tom came careering in with her on his shoulder. "I want to write, too, I do," she cried, very much excited.
"Of course, you shall, Pet. That's just what we want you for," criedPolly, clearing a place on the table; "there, do pull up a chair,Jasper."
"Now, Phronsie, I think you would better begin, for you are the littlest," and she flapped the long strip down in front of her.
"Oh, Polly, you begin," begged Tom.
"No, I think Phronsie ought to," said Polly, shaking her head.
"I want Polly to," said Phronsie, wriggling away from the pen thatPolly held out alluringly.
"But Polly wants you to," said Jasper. "I really would, Phronsie dear, to please her."
To please Polly, being what Phronsie longed for next to pleasingMamsie, she gave a small sigh and took the pen in unsteady fingers.
"Wait a minute, Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, in dismay, "I believe we've made a mistake, Jasper, and got the wrong sheet." And Polly turned off with him to examine the rest of the paper.
Phronsie, who hadn't heard what Polly said, her small head being full of the responsibility of beginning the important letter, and considering, since it was to be done, it was best to have it over with as soon as possible, fell to scribbling the letters as fast as she could, all of them running down hill.
"Well, I'm glad to see that we haven't made any mistake," cried Polly, turning back in relief. "Oh, Phronsie, you haven't begun!"
She spoke so sharply that Phronsie started, and a little drop of ink trembling on the point of her pen concluded to hop off. So it did and jumped down on the clean white paper to stare up at them all like a very bad black eye.
"Oh, see what she's written!" cried Polly, quite aghast, and tumbling into her chair, she pointed at the top.
"Deer Mister Erl," scrawled clear across the top.
"I didn't—mean—oh, you said do it, Polly." Phronsie threw herself out of her chair, and over into Polly's lap, burrowing and wailing piteously.
"O dear me, how could I say anything?" cried Polly, overcome with remorse and patting Phronsie's yellow hair; "but it is so very dreadful. O dear me! Phronsie, there, there, don't cry. O dear me!"
Tom's mouth trembled. "It's all right. Granddaddy'll like it," he said.
"Oh, Tom Selwyn," gasped Polly, looking up over Phronsie's head, "you don't suppose we'd let that letter go."
"I would," said Tom, coolly, running his hands in his pockets. "I tell you, you don't know my granddaddy. He's got lots of fun in him," he added.
"Phronsie," said Jasper, rushing around the table, "you are makingPolly sick. Just look at her face."
Phronsie lifted her head where she had burrowed it under Polly's arm. When she saw that Polly's round cheeks were really quite pale, she stopped crying at once. "Are you sick, Polly?" she asked, in great concern.
"I sha'n't be," said Polly, "if you won't cry any more, Phronsie."
"I won't cry any more," declared Phronsie, wiping off the last tear trailing down her nose. "Then you will be all well, Polly?"
"Then I shall be all as well as ever," said Polly, kissing the wet little face.
When they got ready to begin on the letter again, it was nowhere to be found, and Tom had disappeared as well.
"He took it out," said Adela, for the first time finding her tongue. "I saw him while you were all talking."
While they were wondering over this and were plunged further yet in dismay, Tom came dancing in, waving the unlucky sheet of the Round Robin over his head. "My mother says," he announced in triumph, "that father will get no end of fun over that if you let it go. It will cheer him up."
So that ended the matter, although Polly, who dearly loved to be elegant, had many a twinge whenever her eye fell on the letter at which Phronsie was now labouring afresh.
"We must put in little pictures," said Polly, trying to make herself cheery as the work went busily on.
"Polly, you always do think of the best things!" exclaimed Jasper, beaming at her, which made her try harder than ever to smile. "I wouldn't feel so badly, Polly," he managed to whisper, when Phronsie was absorbed with her work; "he'll like it probably just as father did the gingerbread boy."
"But that was different," groaned Polly.
"Pictures!" Tom Selwyn was saying, "oh, there's where I can come in fine with assistance. I'm no good in a letter." And again he rushed from the room.
"That's three times that boy has gone out," announced Adela, "and he joggles the table awfully when he starts. And he made me cut clear into that edge. See, Polly." She was trimming the third strip of paper, for the Round Robin was to be pasted together and rolled up when it was all done.
"He seems to accomplish something every time he goes," observed Jasper, drily. "Halloo, just look at him now!"
In came Tom with a rush, and turned a small box he held in his hand upside down on the table.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Adela, as her scissors slipped, "now you've joggled the table again!" Then she caught Polly's eye. "Aren't those pictures pretty?" she burst out awkwardly.
"Aren't they so!" cried Tom, in satisfaction, while Polly oh-ed and ah-ed, and Phronsie dropped her pen suddenly making a second blot; only as good fortune would have it, it was so near the edge that they all on anxious examination decided to trim the paper down, and thus get rid of it.
"I don't see how you got so many," said Jasper, in admiration, his fingers busy with the heap.
"Oh, I've picked 'em up here and there," said Tom. "I began because I thought the kids at home might like 'em. And then it struck me I'd make a book like yours."
"Well, do save them now," said Jasper, "and we'll give some of our pictures, though the prettiest ones are in our books," he added regretfully.
"Rather not—much obliged," Tom bobbed his thanks. "I want to donate something to granddaddy, and I tell you I'm something awful at a letter."
"All right, seeing you wish it so," said Jasper, with a keen look at him, "and these are beauties and no mistake; we couldn't begin to equal them."
When the letter was finally unrolled and read to Grandpapa, who strayed into the reading room to see what Phronsie was doing, it certainly was a beauty. Picture after picture, cut from railroad guide books, illustrated papers, and it seemed to Jasper gathered as if by magic, with cunning little photographs, broke up the letter, and wound in and out with funny and charming detail of some of their journey.
"I wrote that all myself," hummed Phronsie, smoothing her gown, in great satisfaction, pointing to the opening of the letter.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, softly, for she couldn't even yet get over that dreadful beginning.
"The rest of it is nice," whispered Jasper, "and I venture to say, he'll like that the best of all."
Mr. King thought so, too, and he beamed at Phronsie. "So you did," he cried; "now that's fine. I wish you'd write me a letter sometime."
"I'm going to write you one now," declared Phronsie. Since Grandpapa wanted anything, it was never too soon to begin work on it.
"Do," cried old Mr. King, in great satisfaction. So he put down the Round Robin, Adela crying out that she wanted her grandmother to see it; and Polly saying that Mamsie, and Papa-Doctor, and the Parson and Mrs. Henderson must see it; "and most important of all," said Jasper, breaking into the conversation, "Mrs. Selwyn must say if it is all right to go."
At that Polly began to have little "creeps" as she always called the shivers. "O dear me!" she exclaimed again, and turned quite pale.
"You don't know my mother," exclaimed Tom, "if you think she won't like that. She's got lots of fun in her, and she always sees the sense of a thing."
"But she's so nice," breathed Polly, who greatly admired Mrs. Selwyn, "and so elegant."
Tom bobbed his head and accepted this as a matter of course. "That's the very reason she understands things like a shot—and knows how to take 'em," he said; "and I tell you, Polly," he declared with a burst of confidence that utterly surprised him, "I'd rather have my mother than any other company I know of; she's awful good fun!"
"I know it," said Polly, brightly, with a little answering smile."Well, I hope she'll like it."
"Never you fear," cried Tom, seizing the Round Robin; and waving it over his head, it trailed off back of him like a very long and broad ribbon. "Come on, now, all fall into line!"
"Take care!" cried Jasper, as he ran after with Polly and Adela, "if you dare to tear that, sir!" while Phronsie at the big table laboured away on her letter, Grandpapa sitting by to watch the proceedings, with the greatest interest.
And one look at Mrs. Selwyn's face, as she read that Round Robin, was enough for Polly! And then to post it.
"Dear me," said Polly, when that important matter was concluded, "suppose anything should happen to it now, before it gets there!"
"Well, we can't all get into one carriage," said Polly, on the little brick-paved veranda of the hotel, "so what is the use of fussing, Adela?"
"I don't care," said Adela, "I'm going to ride in the same carriage with you, Polly Pepper, so there!" and she ran her arm in Polly's, and held it fast.
Jasper kicked his heel impatiently against one of the pillars where the sweetbrier ran; then he remembered, and stopped suddenly, hoping nobody had heard. "The best way to fix it is to go where we are put," he said at last, trying to speak pleasantly.
"No, I'm going with Polly," declared Adela, perversely, holding Polly tighter than ever.
"I'm going with you, Polly," cried Phronsie, running up gleefully,"Grandpapa says I may."
"Well, so am I," announced Adela, loudly.
Tom Selwyn gave a low whistle, and thrust his hands in his pockets, his great and only comfort on times like these.
"Anything but a greedy girl," he sniffed in lofty contempt.
Meanwhile the horses were being put in the carriages, the stable men were running hither and thither to look to buckle and strap, and a lot of bustle was going on that at any other time would have claimed the boys. Now it fell flat, as a matter of interest.
"Halloo—k-lup!" The drivers gave the queer call clear down in their throats, and hopped to their places on the three conveyances, and with a rattle and a flourish the horses now spun around the fountain in the little courtyard to come up with a swing to the veranda.
"Now, then," said Grandpapa, who had been overseeing every detail, "here we are," running his eyes over his party; "that's right," in great satisfaction. "I never saw such a family as I have for being prompt on all occasions. Well then, the first thing I have to do is to get you settled in these carriages the right way."
Adela, at that, snuggled up closer than ever to Polly, and gripped her fast.
"Now, Mrs. Fisher," said old Mr. King, "you'll ride with Mrs. Selwyn in the first carriage, and you must take two of the young folks in with you."
"Oh, let Polly and me go in there!" cried Adela, forgetting her wholesome fear of the stately old gentleman in her anxiety to get her own way.
"Polly is going with me and Phronsie," said Mr. King. "Hop in, Adela, child, and one of you boys."
Tom ducked off the veranda, while Adela, not daring to say another syllable, slowly withdrew her arm from Polly's and mounted the carriage step, with a miserable face.
"Come on, one of you boys," cried Mr. King, impatiently. "We should have started a quarter of an hour ago—I don't care which one, only hurry."
"I can't!" declared Tom, flatly, grinding his heel into the pebbles, and looking into Jasper's face.
"Very well,"—Jasper drew a long breath,—"I must, then." And without more ado, he got into the first carriage and they rattled off to wait outside the big gate till the procession was ready to start.
Old Mrs. Gray, the parson's wife and the parson, and little Dr. Fisher made the next load, and then Grandpapa, perfectly delighted that he had arranged it all so nicely, with Polly and Phronsie, climbed into the third and last carriage, while Tom swung himself up as a fourth.
"They say it is a difficult thing to arrange carriage parties with success," observed Mr. King. "I don't find it so in the least," he added, complacently, just on the point of telling the driver to give the horses their heads. "But that is because I've such a fine party on my hands, where each one is willing to oblige, and—"
"Ugh!" exclaimed Tom Selwyn, with a snort that made the old gentleman start. "I'm going to get out a minute—excuse me—can't explain." And he vaulted over the wheel.
"Bless me, what's come to the boy!" exclaimed Mr. King; "now he's forgotten something. I hope he won't be long."
But Tom didn't go into the hotel. Instead, he dashed up to carriage number one. "Get out," he was saying to Jasper, and presenting a very red face to view. "I'm going in here."
"Oh, no," said Jasper; "it's all fixed, and I'm going to stay here." And despite all Tom could say, this was the sole reply he got. So back he went, and climbed into old Mr. King's carriage again, with a very rueful face.
Old Mr. King viewed him with cold displeasure as the driver smacked his whip and off they went to join the rest of the party.
"You must go first," sang out the little doctor, as Grandpapa's carriage drove up; "you are the leader, and we'll all follow you."
"Yes, yes," shouted the parson, like a boy.
And the occupants of carriage number one saying the same thing, Grandpapa's conveyance bowled ahead; and he, well pleased to head the procession, felt some of his displeasure at the boy sitting opposite to him dropping off with each revolution of the wheels.
But Tom couldn't keep still. "I didn't want to come in this carriage, sir!" he burst out.
"Eh! what?" Old Mr. King brought his gaze again to bear upon Tom's face.
"Well, you are here now," he said, only half comprehending.
"Because Jasper won't take the place," cried Tom, setting his teeth together in distress. "That's what I got out for."
"Oh, I see," said Mr. King, a light beginning to break through.
Tom wilted miserably under the gaze that still seemed to go through and through him, and Polly looked off at her side of the carriage, wishing the drive over theTête Noirewas all ended. Old Mr. King turned to Phronsie at his side.
"Well, now," he said, taking her hand, "we are in a predicament, Phronsie, for it evidently isn't going to be such an overwhelming success as I thought."
"What is a predicament?" asked Phronsie, wrenching her gaze from the lovely vine-clad hills, which she had been viewing with great satisfaction, to look at once into his face.
"Oh, a mix-up; a mess generally," answered Grandpapa, not pausing to choose words. "Well, what's to be done, now,—that is the question?"
Tom groaned at sight of the face under the white hair, from which all prospect of pleasure had fled. "I was a beastly cad," he muttered to himself.
Phronsie leaned over Mr. King's knee. "Tell me," she begged, "what is it, Grandpapa?"
"Oh, nothing, child," said Grandpapa, with a glance at Polly's face, "that you can help, at least."
Polly drew a long breath. "Something must be done," she decided. "Oh, I know. Why, Grandpapa, we can change before we get to the halfway place," she cried suddenly, glad to think of something to say. "Can't we? And then we can all have different places."
"The very thing!" exclaimed Mr. King, his countenance lightening. "Come, Tom, my boy, cheer up. I'll put Jasper and every one else in the right place soon. Here you, stop a bit, will you?"—to the driver.
"K-lup!" cried the driver, thinking it a call to increase speed; so the horses bounded on smartly for several paces, and no one could speak to advantage.
"Make him hold up, Tom!" commanded Mr. King, sharply. And Tom knowing quite well how to accomplish this, Grandpapa soon stood up in the carriage and announced, "In half an hour, or thereabout, if we come to a good stopping-place, I shall change some of you twelve people about in the carriages. Pass the word along."
But Adela didn't ride with Polly. For rushing and pushing as the change about was effected, to get her way and be with Polly, she felt her arm taken in a very light but firm grasp.
"No, no, my dear,"—it was old Mr. King,—"not that way. Here is your place. When a little girl pushes, she doesn't get as much as if she waits to be asked."
"It had to be done," he said to himself, "for the poor child has had no mother to teach her, and it will do her good." But he felt sorry for himself to be the one to teach the lesson. And so they went over theTête Noireto catch the first sight of Mont Blanc.
* * * * *
"I'm going to have a donkey for my very own," confided Phronsie, excitedly, the next morning, to Jasper, whom she met in the little sun-parlour.
"No!" cried Jasper, pretending to be much amazed, "you don't say so,Phronsie!"
"Yes, I am," she cried, bobbing her yellow head. "Grandpapa said so; he really did, Jasper. And I'm going to ride up that long, big mountain on my donkey." She pointed up and off, but in the wrong direction.
"Oh, no, Phronsie, that isn't the way we are going. The Montanvert is over here, child," corrected Jasper.
"And I'm going to ride my donkey," repeated Phronsie, caring little which way she was going, since all roads must of course lead to fairy-land, "and we're going to see the water that's frozen, and Grandpapa says we are to walk over it; but I'd rather ride my donkey, Jasper," confided Phronsie, in a burst of confidence.
"I guess you'll be glad enough to get off from your donkey by the time you reach the top of Montanvert," observed Jasper, wisely.
"Well, now, Phronsie, we are not going for a day or two, you know, for father doesn't wish us to be tired."
"I'm not a bit tired, Jasper," said Phronsie, "and I do so very much wish we could go to-day."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Jasper, with a little laugh, "why, we've only just come, Phronsie! It won't be so very long before we'll be off. Goodness! the time flies so here, it seems to me we sha'n't hardly turn around before those donkeys will be coming into this yard after us to get on their backs."
But Phronsie thought the time had never dragged so in all her small life; and, although she went about hanging to Grandpapa's hand as sweet and patient as ever, all her mind was on the donkeys; and whenever she saw one,—and the street was full, especially at morning and in the late afternoon, of the little beasts of burden, clattering up the stony roads,—she would beg to just go and pat one of the noses, if by chance one of the beasts should stand still long enough to admit of such attention.
"Oh, no, Phronsie," expostulated old Mr. King, when this pleasing little performance had been indulged in for a half a dozen times. "You can't pat them all; goodness me, child, the woods are full of them," he brought up in dismay.
"Do they live in the woods?" asked Phronsie, in astonishment.
"I mean, the place—this whole valley of Chamonix is full of donkeys," said Grandpapa, "so you see, child, it's next to impossible to pat all their noses."
"I hope I'm going to have that dear, sweet little one," cried Phronsie, giving up all her mind, since the soft noses couldn't be patted, to happy thoughts of to-morrow's bliss. "See, Grandpapa," she pulled his hand gently, "to ride up the mountain on."
"Well, you'll have a good one, that is, as good as can be obtained," said the old gentleman; "but as for any particular one, why, they're all alike to me as two peas, Phronsie."
But Phronsie had her own ideas on the subject, and though on every other occasion agreeing with Grandpapa, she saw good and sufficient reason why every donkey should be entirely different from every other donkey. And when, on the next morning, their procession of donkeys filed solemnly into the hotel yard, she screamed out, "Oh, Grandpapa, here he is, the very one I wanted! Oh, may I have him? Put me up, do!"
"He's the worst one of the whole lot," groaned Grandpapa, his eye running over the file, "I know by the way he puts his vicious old feet down. Phronsie, here is a cunning little fellow," he added, artfully trying to lead her to one a few degrees better, he fondly hoped. But Phronsie already had her arms up by her particular donkey's neck, and her cheek laid against his nose, and she was telling him that he was her donkey, for she thought Grandpapa would say "Yes." So what else could he do, pray tell, but say "Yes"? And she mounted the steps, and was seated, her little brown gown pulled out straight, and the saddle girth tightened, and all the other delightful and important details attended to, and then the reins were put in her overjoyed hands.
She never knew how it was all done, seeing nothing, hearing nothing of the confusion and chatter, of the mounting of the others, her gaze fixed on the long ears before her, and only conscious that her very own donkey was really there, and that she was on his back. And it was not until they started and the guide who held her bridle loped off into an easy pace, by the animal's head, that she aroused from her dream of bliss as a sudden thought struck her. "What is my donkey's name?" she asked softly.
The man loped on, not hearing, and he wouldn't have understood had he heard.
"I don't believe he has any name," said old Mr. King just behind. "Phronsie, is your saddle all right? Do you like it, child?" all in one breath.
"I like it very much," answered Phronsie, trying to turn around.
"Don't do that, child," said Grandpapa, hastily. "Sit perfectly still, and on no account turn around or move in the saddle."
"I won't, Grandpapa," she promised, obediently, and presently she began again, "I want to know his name, Grandpapa, so that I can tell my pony when I get home."
"Oh, well, we'll find out," said Grandpapa. "Here you, can't you tell the name of that donkey?" he cried to the guide holding Phronsie's bridle. "Oh, I forgot, he doesn't understand English," and he tried it in French.
But this was not much better, for old Mr. King, preferring to use none but the best of French when he employed any, was only succeeding in mystifying the poor man so that he couldn't find his tongue at all, but stared like a clod till the old gentleman's patience was exhausted.
At last Jasper, hearing what the trouble was, shouted out something from his position in the rear, that carried the meaning along with it, and Phronsie the next minute was delighted to hear "Boolah," as the guide turned and smiled and showed all his teeth at her, his pleasure was so great at discovering that he could really understand.
"Why, that's the name of my donkey," said Polly, patting the beast's rough neck. "He told me so when he helped me to mount."
"So it is mine," announced Jasper, bursting into a laugh. "I guess they only have one name for the whole lot."
"Well, don't let us tell Phronsie so," said Polly, "and I shall call mine 'Greybeard' because he's got such a funny old stiff beard and it is grey."
"And I shall christen mine 'Boneyard,'" declared Jasper, "for he's got such a very big lot of bones, and they aren't funny, I can tell you."
And so with fun and nonsense and laughter, as soon as they wound around by the little English church and across the meadows, and struck into the pine wood, the whole party of twelve, Grandpapa and all, began to sing snatches from the newest operas down to college songs. For Grandpapa hadn't forgotten his college days when he had sung with the best, and he had the parson on this occasion to keep him company, and the young people, of course, knew all the songs by heart, as what young person doesn't, pray tell! So the bits and snatches rolled out with a gusto, and seemed to echo along the whole mountain side as the procession of sure-footed animals climbed the steep curves.
"Oh, Polly, your donkey is going over," exclaimed Adela, who rode the second in the rear after Polly; "he flirts his hind legs right over the precipice every time you go round a curve."
"Well, he brings them round all right," said Polly, composedly; and, with a little laugh, "Oh, isn't this too lovely for anything!" she cried, with sparkling eyes.
"Well, don't let him," cried Adela, huddling up on her donkey, and pulling at the rein to make him creep closer to the protecting earth wall.
"Na—na," one of the guides ran up to her, shaking his head. Adela, fresh from her Paris school had all her French, of the best kind too, at her tongue's end, but she seemed to get on no better than Mr. King.
"My French is just bad enough to be useful," laughed Jasper. So he untangled the trouble again, and made Adela see that she really must not pull at her bridle, but allow the donkey to go his own gait, for they were all trained to it.
"Your French is just beautiful," cried Polly. "Oh, Jasper, you knowMonsieur always says—"
"Don't, Polly," begged Jasper, in great distress.
"No, I won't," promised Polly, "and I didn't mean to. But I couldn't help it, Jasper, when you spoke against your beautiful French."
"We've all heard you talk French, Jasper, so you needn't feel so cut up if Polly should quote your Monsieur," cried Tom, who, strange to say, no matter how far he chanced to ride in the rear, always managed to hear everything.
"That's because we are everlastingly turning a corner," he explained, when they twitted him for it, "and as I'm near the end of the line I get the benefit of the doubling and twisting, for the front is always just above me. So don't say anything you don't want me to hear, old fellow," he sang out to Jasper on the bridle path "just above," as Tom had said.
"Now, don't you want to get off?" cried Jasper, deserting his donkey, and running up to Phronsie, as they reached the summit and drew up before the hotel.
"Oh, somebody take that child off," groaned old Mr. King, accepting the arm of the guide to help him dismount, "for I can't. Every separate and distinct bone in my body protests against donkeys from this time forth and forevermore. And yet I've got to go down on one," he added ruefully.
"No, I don't want to get down," declared Phronsie, still holding fast to the reins; "can't I sit on my donkey, Jasper, while you all walk over on the frozen water?"
"Oh, my goodness, no!" gasped Jasper. "Why, Phronsie, you'd be tired to death—the very idea, child!"
"No," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow hair obstinately, "I wouldn't be tired one single bit, Jasper. And I don't want to get down from my donkey."
"Well, if you didn't go over theMer de Glace, why, we couldn't any of us go," said Jasper, at his wits' end how to manage it without worrying his father, already extremely tired, he could see, "and that's what we've come up for—"
Phronsie dropped the reins. "Take me down, please, Jasper," she said, putting out her arms.
"How are you now, father?" cried Jasper, running over to him when he had set Phronsie on the ground.
"It's astonishing," said old Mr. King, stretching his shapely limbs, "but all that dreadful sensation I always have after riding on one of those atrocious animals is disappearing fast."
"That's good," cried Jasper, in delight. "Well, I suppose we are all going to wait a bit?" he asked, and longing to begin the tramp over theMer de Glace.
"Wait? Yes, indeed, every blessed one of us," declared his father. "Goodness me, Jasper, what are you thinking of to ask such a question, after this pull up here? Why, we sha'n't stir from this place for an hour."
"I supposed we'd have to wait," said Jasper, rushing off over the rocks, feeling how good it was to get down on one's feet again, and run and race. And getting Polly and Tom and Adela, they ran down where the donkeys were tethered and saw them fed, and did a lot of exploring; and it didn't seem any time before an Alpine horn sounded above their heads, and there was Grandpapa, tooting away and calling them to come up and buy their woollen socks; for they were going to start.
So they scrambled up, and picked out their socks, and, each seizing a pair in one hand and an alpenstock with a long, sharp spike on the end in the other, they ran off down the zigzag path to the glacier, two or three guides helping the others along. At the foot of the rocky path the four drew up.
"O dear, it's time to put on these horrible old stockings," grumbledAdela, shaking hers discontentedly.
"'Good old stockings,' you'd much better say," broke in Jasper.
"They're better than a broken neck," observed Tom, just meaning to ask Polly if he could put hers on for her. But he was too slow in getting at it, and Jasper was already kneeling on the rocks and doing that very thing.
"Now I'm all ready," announced Polly, stamping her feet, arrayed in marvellous red-and-white striped affairs. "Thank you, Jasper. Oh, how funny they feel!"
"Shall I help you?" asked Tom, awkwardly enough, of Adela.
"Oh, I don't want them on, and I don't mean to wear them," said Adela, with a sudden twist. "I'm going to throw them away."
"Then you'll just have to stay back," said Jasper, decidedly, "for no one is to be allowed on that glacier who doesn't put on a pair."
"I won't slip—the idea!" grumbled Adela. Yet she stuck out her foot, and Tom, getting down on his knees, suppressed a whistle as he securely tied them on. Then the boys flew into theirs instanter.
"Mine are blue," said Phronsie, as the others filed slowly down the winding path between the rocks, and she pointed to the pair dangling across her arm. "I am so very glad they are blue, Grandpapa."
"So am I, Pet," he cried, delighted to find that he was apparently as agile as the parson. No one could hope to equal little Dr. Fisher, who was here, there, and everywhere, skipping about among the rocks like a boy let loose from school.
"Well, well, the children are all ready," exclaimed old Mr. King, coming upon the four, impatient to begin their icy walk.
"Didn't you expect it?" cried little Dr. Fisher, skipping up.
"Well, to say the truth, I did," answered old Mr. King, with a laugh. "Now, Phronsie, sit down on that rock, and let the guide tie on your stockings." So Phronsie's little blue stockings were tied on, and after Grandpapa had gallantly seen that everybody else was served, he had his pulled on over his boots and fastened securely, and the line of march was taken up.
"You go ahead, father," begged Jasper, "and we'll all follow."
So old Mr. King, with Phronsie and a guide on her farther side, led the way, and the red stockings and the brown and the black, and some of indescribable hue, moved off upon theMer de Glace.
"It's dreadfully dirty," said Adela, turning up her nose. "I thought a glacier was white when you got up to it."
"Oh, I think it is lovely!" cried Polly; "and that green down in the crevasse—look, Adela!"
"It's a dirty green," persisted Adela, whose artistic sense wouldn't be satisfied. "O dear me!" as her foot slipped and she clutched Mrs. Henderson, who happened to be next.
"Now, how about the woollen stockings?" asked Tom, while Polly andJasper both sang out, "Take care," and "Go slowly."
Adela didn't answer, but stuck the sharp end of her alpenstock smartly into the ice.
"Something is the matter with my stocking," at last said the parson's wife, stopping and holding out her right foot.
The guide nearest her stopped, too, and kneeling down on the ice, he pulled it into place, for it had slipped half off.
"Now be very careful," warned Grandpapa, "and don't venture too near the edge," as he paused with Phronsie and the guide. The others, coming up, looked down into a round, green pool of water that seemed to stare up at them, as if to say, "I am of unknown depth, so beware of me."
"That gives me the 'creeps,' Polly, as you say," Mrs. Henderson observed. "Dear me, I shall never forget how that green water looks;" and she shivered and edged off farther yet. "Supposing any oneshouldfall in!"
"Well, he'd go down right straight through the globe, seems to me," said Tom, with a last look at the pool as they turned off, "It looks as if it had no end, till one would fetch up on the other side."
"I love to hop over these little crevasses," said Polly, and suiting the action to the word.
"Something is the matter with my stocking again," announced Mrs. Henderson to the guide, presently. "I am sorry to trouble you, but it needs to be fixed."
He didn't understand the words, but there was no mistaking the foot thrust out with the woollen sock, now wet and sodden, half off again. So he kneeled down and pulled it on once more.
Before they reached the other side, the parson's wife had had that stocking pulled on six times, until at last, the guide, finding no more pleasure in a repetition of the performance, took a string from his pocket, and bunching up in his fist a good portion of the stocking heel, he wound the string around it and tied it fast, cut off the string, and returned the rest to his pocket.
"Why do you tie up the heel?" queried Mrs. Henderson. "I should think it much better to secure it in front." But he didn't understand, and the rest were quite a good bit in advance, and hating to give trouble, she went on, the stocking heel sticking out a few inches. But she kept it on her foot, so that might be called a success.
The little Widow Gray was not going over theMauvais Pas, neither was Mrs. Selwyn, as she had traversed it twice before. So, on reaching the other side, they were just about bidding good-by to the others, when, without a bit of warning, the parson's wife, in turning around, fell flat, and disappeared to the view of some of them behind a boulder of ice.
All was confusion in an instant. The guides rushed—everybody rushed—pellmell to the rescue; Tom's long legs, as usual, getting him there first. There she was in a heap, in a depression of ice and snow and water.
"I'm all right, except"—and she couldn't help a grimace of pain—"my foot."
The little doctor swept them all to one side, as they seated her on one of the boulders of ice. "Humph! I should think likely," at sight of the tied-up stocking heel. "You stepped on that, and it flung you straight as a die and turned your foot completely over."
"Yes," said Mrs. Henderson. Then she saw the guide who had tied the stocking looking on with a face of great concern. "Oh, don't say anything, it makes him feel badly," she mumbled, wishing her foot wouldn't ache so.
Little Dr. Fisher was rapidly untying the unlucky stocking; and, whipping off the boot, he soon made sure that no ligaments were broken. Then he put on the boot and the woollen sock, being careful to tie it in front over the instep, and whipping out his big handkerchief he proceeded to bandage the ankle in a truly scientific way. "Now, then, Mrs. Henderson, you are all right to take the walk slowly back to the hotel."
Parson Henderson took his wife's hand. "Come, Sarah," he said, gently helping her up.
"Oh, you are going over theMauvais Pas," she cried in distress at the thought of his missing it.
"Come, Sarah," he said gently, keeping her hand in his.
"I'll go back with her too," said little Dr. Fisher.
"Oh, Adoniram!" exclaimed his wife, but it was under her breath, and no one heard the exclamation.
"I think Dr. Fisher ought to go with the other party; he will be needed there," Mrs. Selwyn was saying, in her quiet way. "And I will bathe Mrs. Henderson's foot just as he says it should be done, so good-by," and any one looking down with a field glass from the Montanvert hotel, could have seen at this point, two parties, one proceeding to theMauvais Pasand theChapeau, and the other of three ladies, the parson and a guide, wending their way slowly on the return across the crevasses.
Notwithstanding all the glory of the shops, and the tempting array of the jewellery and trinkets of every description therein displayed, after a few days of sailing on the exquisite lake, and some walks and drives, Polly, down deep in her heart, was quite ready to move on from Geneva. And, although she didn't say anything, old Mr. King guessed as much, and broke out suddenly, "Well, are you ready to start, Polly?"
"Yes, Grandpapa," she answered. "I have the presents for the girls. I'm all ready."
"Why, Polly, you haven't anything for yourself," Mother Fisher exclaimed, as Polly ran into her room and told the news—how Grandpapa said they were to pack up and leave in the morning. "You haven't bought a single thing."
"Oh, I don't want anything," said Polly. "I've so many things at home that Grandpapa has given me. Mamsie, isn't this pin for Alexia just too lovely for anything?"
She curled up on the end of the bed, and drew it out of its little box."I think she'll like it," with anxious eyes on Mother Fisher's face.
"Like it?" repeated her mother. "How can she help it, Polly?"
"I think so too," said Polly, happily, replacing it on the bed of cotton, and putting on the cover to look over another gift.
Mrs. Fisher regarded her keenly. "Well, now, Polly," she said, decidedly, "I shall go down and get that chain we were looking at. For you do need that, and your father and I are going to give it to you."
"Oh, Mamsie," protested Polly, "I don't need it; really, I don't."
"Well, we shall give it to you," said Mother Fisher. Then she went over to the bed and dropped a kiss on Polly's brown hair.
"Mamsie," exclaimed Polly, springing off the bed, and throwing her arms around her mother's neck, "I shall love that chain, and I shall wear it just all the time because you and Papa-Doctor gave it to me."
When they neared Paris, Adela drew herself up in her corner of the compartment. "I expect you'll stare some when you get to Paris, Polly Pepper."
"I've been staring all the time since we started on our journey, Adela, as hard as I could," said Polly, laughing.
"Well, you'll stare worse than ever now," said Adela, in an important way. "There isn't anything in all this world that isn't in Paris," she brought up, not very elegantly.
"I don't like Paris." Tom let the words out before he thought.
"That's just because you are a boy," sniffed Adela. "Oh, Polly, you ought to see the shops! When Mademoiselle has taken us into some, I declare I could stay all day in one. Such dreams of clothes and bonnets! You never saw such bonnets, Polly Pepper, in all your life!" She lifted her hands, unable to find words enough.
"And the parks and gardens, I suppose, are perfectly lovely," criedPolly, feeling as if she must get away from the bonnets and clothes.
"Yes, and the Bois de Boulogne to drive in, that's elegant. Only Mademoiselle won't take us there very often. I wish I was rich, and I'd have a span of long-tailed, grey horses, and drive up and down there every day."
Polly laughed. "Well, I should like the tram-ways and the stages," saidPolly.
"Oh, those don't go into the Bois de Boulogne," cried Adela, in a tone of horror. "Why, Polly Pepper, what are you thinking of?" she exclaimed.
This nettled Tom. "Of something besides clothes and bonnets," he broke out. Then he was sorry he had spoken.
"Well, there's the Louvre," said Polly, after an uncomfortable little pause.
"Yes," said Adela, "that's best of all, and it doesn't cost anything; so Mademoiselle takes us there very often."
"I should think it would be," cried Polly, beaming at her, and answering the first part of Adela's sentence. "Oh, Adela, I do so long to see it."
"And you can't go there too often, Polly," said Jasper.
"It's the only decent thing in Paris," said Tom, "that I like, I mean; that, and to sail up and down on the Seine."
"We'll go there the first day, Polly," said Jasper, "the Louvre, I mean. Well, here we are in Paris!" And then it was all confusion, for the guards were throwing open the doors to the compartments, and streams of people were meeting on the platform, in what seemed to be inextricable confusion amid a babel of sounds. And it wasn't until Polly was driving up in the big cab with her part of Mr. King's "family," as he called it, through the broad avenues and boulevards, interspersed with occasional squares and gardens, and the beautiful bridges here and there across the Seine, gleaming in the sunshine, that she could realise that they were actually in Paris.
And the next day they did go to the Louvre. And Adela, who was to stay a day or two at the hotel with them before going back into her school, was very important, indeed. And she piloted them about, the parson and Mrs. Henderson joining their group; the others, with the exception of the little Widow Gray, who stayed at home to look over Adela's clothes, and take any last stitches, going off by themselves.
"I do want to see the Venus de Milo," said Polly, quite gone with impatience. "Oh, Adela, these paintings will wait."
"Well, that old statue will wait, too," cried Adela, pulling her off into another gallery. "Now, Polly, Mademoiselle says, in point of art, the pictures in here are quite important."
"Are they?" said poor Polly, listlessly.
"Yes, they are," said Adela, twitching her sleeve, "and Mademoiselle brings us in this room every single time we come to the Louvre."
"It's the early French school, you know," she brought up glibly.
"Well, it's too early for us to take it in," said Tom. "Come, I'm for the Venus de Milo. It's this way;" and Adela was forced to follow, which she did in a discontented fashion.
"Oh!" cried Polly, catching her breath, and standing quite still as she caught sight of the wonderful marble, instinct with life, at the end of the long corridor below stairs. "Why, she's smiling at us," as the afternoon sunshine streamed across the lovely face, to lose itself in the folds of the crimson curtain in the background.
The parson folded his arms and drew in long breaths of delight. "It's worth fifty journeys over the ocean to once see that, Sarah," he said.
"Do come back and look at the pictures," begged Adela, pulling Polly's arm again after a minute or two.
"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Polly, under her breath. "Oh, she'ssobeautiful, Adela!"
"Well, it's much better to see the pictures," said Adela. "And then we can come here again to-morrow."
"Oh, I haven't seen this half enough," began Polly, "and I've wanted to for so long." Then she glanced at Adela's face. "Well, all right," she said, and turned off, to come directly into the path of Grandpapa, with Phronsie clinging to his hand, and the rest of his part of the "family" standing in silent admiration.
"We thought we'd come here first," said old Mr. King. "I don't mean to see anything else to-day. The Venus de Milo is quite enough for me. To-morrow, now, we'll drop in again, and look at some of the pictures."
"There is beauty enough in that statue," said a lady, who just passed them, to the gentleman with her, "to satisfy any one; but living beauty after all is most appealing. Just look at that child's face, Edward."
They were guilty of standing in a niche at a little remove, and studying Phronsie with keen, critical eyes.
"It's a wonderful type of beauty," said Edward; "yellow hair and brown eyes,—and such features."
"I don't care about the features," said the lady, "it's the expression; the child hasn't a thought of herself, and that's wonderful to begin with."
"That's about it," replied Edward, "and I suppose that's largely where the beauty lies, Evelyn."
"Let us walk slowly down the corridor again," said Evelyn, "and then come up; otherwise we shall attract attention to be standing here and gazing at them."
"And I'd like to see that little beauty again," remarked Edward, "I'll confess, Evelyn."
So Evelyn and Edward continued to gaze at intervals at the living beauty, and Mr. King and his party were absorbed in the marble beauty; and Adela was running over in her mind how she meant to have Polly Pepper all to herself at the visit to the Louvre the next afternoon, when she would show her the pictures she specially liked.
But they didn't any of them go to the Louvre that next day, as it happened. It was so beautifully bright and sunshiny, that Grandpapa said it would be wicked to pass the day indoors; so they had all the morning in a walk, and a sail on the Seine,—and that pleased Tom,—and all the afternoon, or nearly all, sitting up in state in carriages, driving up and down the Bois de Boulogne. Andthatpleased Adela.
And when they tired of driving, old Mr. King gave orders for the drivers to rest their horses. And then they all got out of the carriages, and walked about among the beautiful trees, and on the winding, sheltered paths.
"It's perfectly lovely off there," said Polly, "and almost like thecountry," with a longing glance off into the green, cool shade beyond.So they strolled off there, separating into little groups; Polly andJasper in front, and wishing for nothing so much as a race.
"I should think we might try it," said Jasper; "there is no one near to see. Come on, Polly, do."
"I suppose we ought not to," said Polly, with a sigh, as Adela overtook them.
"Ought not to what?" she asked eagerly.
"Jasper and I were wanting to run a race," said Polly.
"Why, Polly Pepper! You are in Paris!" exclaimed Adela, quite shocked.
"I know it," said Polly, "and I wish we weren't. O dear! this seems just like the country, and—"
Just then a child screamed. "That's Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, her cheek turning quite white. And she sped back over the path.
"Oh, no, Polly," Jasper tried to reassure her, as he ran after her. They were having their race, after all, but in a different way from what they had planned.
"Dear me! you are running!" said Adela, who hadn't got it into her head what for, as she didn't connect the scream with any of their party. And she walked just as fast as she could to catch up with them. As that was impossible, she gave a hasty glance around the shrubbery, and seeing no one to notice her, she broke out into a lively run.
"Yes, Phronsie," Grandpapa was saying, as the young people had left them, and the others had wandered off to enjoy the quiet, shady paths, "this place was the old Fôret de Rouvray. It wasn't a very pretty place to come to in those days, what with the robbers and other bad people who infested it. And now let us go and find a seat, child, and I'll show you one or two little pictures I picked up in the shop this morning; and you can send them in your next letter, to Joel and David, if you like."
Old Mr. King took out his pocket-book, and had just opened it, when a man darted out from the thick shrubbery behind him, cast a long, searching glance around, and quick as lightning, threw himself against the stately old gentleman, and seized the pocket-book.
It was then that Phronsie screamed long and loud.
"What ho!" exclaimed Mr. King, starting around to do battle; but the man was just disappearing around the clump of shrubbery.
"Which way?" Tom Selwyn dashed up. It didn't seem as if Phronsie's cry had died on her lips.
Old Mr. King pointed without a word. And Polly and Jasper were close at hand. Polly flew to Phronsie, who was clinging to Grandpapa's hand, and wailing bitterly. "What is it? Oh! what is it?" cried Polly.
"My pocket-book," said Grandpapa; "some fellow has seized it, and frightened this poor child almost to death." He seemed to care a great deal more about that than any loss of the money.
"Which way?" cried Jasper, in his turn, and was off like a shot on getting his answer.
Tom saw the fellow slink with the manner of one who knew the ins and outs of the place well,—now gliding, and ducking low in the sparser growth, now making a bold run around some exposed curve, now dashing into a dense part of the wood.
"I'll have you yet!" said Tom, through set teeth; "I haven't trained at school for nothing!"
A thud of fast-flying feet in his rear didn't divert him an instant from his game, although it might be a rescue party for the thief, in the shape of a partner,—who could tell? And realising, if he caught the man at all, he must do one of his sprints, he covered the ground by a series of flying leaps,—dashed in where he saw his prey rush; one more leap with all his might, and—"I have you!" cried Tom.
The man under him, thrown to the ground by the suddenness of Tom's leap on him, was wriggling and squirming with all the desperation of a trapped creature, when the individual with the flying footsteps hove in sight. It was Jasper. And they had just persuaded the robber that it would be useless to struggle longer against his fate, when the parson, running as he hadn't run for years, appeared to their view. And after him, at such a gait that would have been his fortune, in a professional way, was the little doctor. His hat was gone, and his toes scarcely seemed to touch the ground. He was last at the scene, simply because the news had only just reached him as he sauntered leisurely up to meet Mr. King in his promenade.