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"You come away!" retorted Mr. Whitney unceremoniously, and Mr. King laughed, and Polly shook her white fan at them as the two moved off, and it was just as bad as ever! "Pickering, do you know?" at last demanded Alexia, as he leaned against the doorway surveying the bright crowd. "Yes, I know enough that is, I can guess don't ask me."
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.
It's the most beautiful thing that could possibly have happened, Alexia Rhys. It's" and just then the door opened and in walked Miss Mary Taylor and Mr. Hamilton Dyce, and the first glance that Alexia took of their faces, she guessed the whole thing. "Polly!" she gasped, seizing Polly's arm, "you don't mean that our Miss Mary is going to marry Mr. Dyce?"
"Well, it would do them good to be left out sometimes," declared Alexia: "they're so high and mighty, I'd just dearly love to take them down, and say, 'Boys, you can't come into this." She tossed her fluffy hair till the long, light braids flew out triumphantly. "Why can't we have a cooking club?" suggested Polly, after a minute of hard thinking. "Ugh!" Alexia twisted up her face.
"Yes, child; I know what is best for you. Take that doll, and do exactly as I bid you." A dreadful pause fell upon the room. Polly clasped her hands, while Alexia and the other girls huddled into a corner saying softly, "Oh! how perfectly dreadful!"
"How many dolls are there to refurbish before to-morrow?" asked Alexia suddenly. "Four no, five," said Polly, rapidly counting; "for the one that Grandpapa gave her Christmas before last, Celestine, you know, does need a new waist. I forgot her. But that doesn't count the new sashes, and the hair ribbons and the lace ruffles around the necks; I guess there are almost fifty of them.
"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."
"Alexia, now you must help us think up something to celebrate her coming downstairs." "Not so fast, Polly." The little doctor beamed at her in a way surprising to see after the morning's affair. "Phronsie won't be ready for any celebration before next week. Then I think you may venture." Alexia pouted and played with her spoon.
Van and Percy stood dismally by, knocking their heels against the arbor side, and feeling quite sure they should burst out crying in another minute, if Joel didn't stop. Polly patted his poor head and cuddled it in her neck. "Oh, Joey, we'll find it," she said, swallowing a big lump in her throat; "don't cry, dear," while Alexia sniffed and wrung her hands, fiercely turning her back on them all.
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."
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