The birds were twittering their last sleepy good
nights, and two or three little stars were faintly showing in the
blue sky above the dark mountain, while scores of tiny fireflies
were dotting the air below.
"There, Jerusalem!" Polly was saying triumphantly, as she perched
herself on the broad arm of her mother's piazza chair; "now
everybody is out of the way, and I can have you all to myself."
"What is it to-night?" inquired Mrs. Adams, laughing, as she
pulled her light shawl over her shoulders to keep out the evening
air.
"Lots of things, mamma," answered Polly, with a sudden
thoughtfulness; "there's been a good deal to-day."
"About Molly's cousins, for instance?" asked Mrs. Adams.
"Yes," replied Polly; "I don't think we want them, mamma. I know
they won't fit in a bit. And Alan says he doesn't want them."
"That's not quite fair of Alan," said her mother: "he oughtn't to
say so without knowing anything more about them. But, Polly, you
may find them pleasant friends, and like them better than you do
Molly."
Polly shook her head with decision.
"I'm sure I shan't. But I'm afraid Molly will like them better
than she does us."
"Jealous, Polly?" And there was a tone of regret in her mother's
voice as she went on: "I am a little disappointed in my daughter.
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