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Updated: May 26, 2025
And one after another they all had come back, disheartened, to the distracted mother. Polly alone, clung to hope! "Ben will bring her, mammy; I know God will let him," she whispered. But when Ben did bring her, Polly, for the second time in her life, tumbled over with a gasp, into old Mrs. Bascom's lap. Home and mother! Little Phronsie slept all that night straight through.
Bascom's little agate eyes glittered in the dim light. "Hello, Austen," he said, "since when have you took to comin' here?" "It's a longer trip from Putnam than from Ripton, Brush," said Austen, and passed on, leaving Mr. Bascom with a puzzled mind. Something very like a smile passed over Mr. Freeman's face as he led the way silently out of a side entrance and around the house.
"Try one, Polly; they're real good," said Joel, who had an undefined wish to comfort; "there, open your mouth." So Polly opened her mouth, and Joel put one in with satisfaction. "Isn't it good?" he asked, watching her crunch it. "Yes," said Polly, "real good; where'd you get 'em?" "Over to Grandma Bascom's," said Joel; "she gave me lots for all of us; have another, Polly?"
"You!" cried Seth again; not a brilliant nor original observation, but, under the circumstances, excusable, for the nonchalant person in the plaid suit was Emeline Bascom's brother-in-law, the genius, the "inventor," the one person whom he hated and feared more than anyone else in the world Bennie D. himself. There was a considerable interval during which neither of the pair spoke.
Crewe, whereupon he rushes back to the bridal suite to report to his chief. The cigars are giving out again, and the rush has slackened, and he detaches the People's Champion from the line and draws him to the inner room. "Brush Bascom's conducting a bourse on the second floor and is running the price up right along," cried the honest and indignant Mr. Tooting. "He's stringin' Adam Hunt all right.
"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!"
The day that President Garfield was shot by the assassin Guiteau, we were at a little watering place on Long Island Sound; and in the mail matter of that day came a letter with the Melbourne post-mark on it. It was for my wife, but I recognized Mr. Bascom's handwriting on the envelope, and opened it.
I was always sorry about it afterward. You must forgive me. I was Mr. Bascom's guest on his yacht, on his voyage around the world. He often spoke of you, and of the pleasant times you had had together in his home; and the notion took me, there in Melbourne, and I imitated his hand, and wrote the letter." So the mystery was cleared up, after so many, many years.
"To Grandma Bascom's," shouted two or three voices. "Joel's over there," sang out Polly. "We couldn't go without him, you know," chirped Phronsie, poking a distressed little face up from the straw heap. "'Twould serve him just right if we did," said Van. "He's a great chap to stay over there like this."
"Ugh!" they could hear Joel exclaim, as he jumped clear of the window sill to the grass beneath; but they didn't know that the old cracked pane of glass had given away under his hand, nor that a little stream of blood was trickling down his wrist, as he raced over through the lane, and rushed into Grandma Bascom's little cottage. "The land sakes!" exclaimed Grandma Bascom, seeing him first.
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