I say, Polly, you'll be over to-
night, won't you?"
Polly looked doubtfully at her mother.
"Isn't it rather soon, Alan?" Mrs. Adams asked.
"Not a bit of it," answered the boy. "Mother will be busy with
Uncle Henry, because he'll only be here one night, and we'll have
to see to the girls. Molly can't manage them both, and I'm no use
at all, so we need Polly to help us out. Mother said you'd better
come over about five, Poll, and stay to supper."
"I don't know whether I can get bleached in time," answered Polly,
laughing, as she followed him to the door; "but I'll come if I
can. And don't you dare tell Molly."
"Catch me telling tales!" returned Alan, with some dignity.
"That's not in my line, Poll; and not on you, anyway."
With an appearance of great carelessness, Polly strolled out to
the hammock soon after two o'clock that afternoon, and settled
herself, book in hand. But for the next hour, there was little
reading done, for Polly's gray eyes often wandered from the pages
before her, and fixed themselves on the distant corner around
which the Shepard family must come. It was a long hour of waiting,
and Polly had begun to think that the train must have been wrecked
by the way, when the distant, shrill whistle was heard.
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