Polly
did her best to fall in with his mood, with an instinctive feeling
that, boy-fashion, Alan did not care to put into words all that he
thought; so by the time they reached the house, they were lightly
discussing all sorts of unimportant matters; the weather, the
sleighing, their play, and even Job, and Alan had thrown off his
momentary seriousness and become as gay as ever.
"Where did you put your war-paint and feathers?" asked Polly, as
they ran. up the steps, rosy and breathless from facing the strong
wind.
"My war-paint, ma'am! It's yours. I'm a civilized white man, named
Smith," returned Alan, as he pulled off his coat in the hall. "I
left them in a corner of the dining-room."
"I'll get them." And Polly vanished.
"You see," Alan went on, as she reappeared. "We know our parts
well enough, I suppose; but I wanted to get used to seeing you in
full rig, before the time came. I was afraid, if you suddenly
appeared to me, I should laugh and spoil our best scene."
"Don't you dare do that!" returned Polly sternly. "If you laugh,
I'll let Jean cut off your head, and not try to save you. But it's
a good idea to have a chance to go through it, while we are all
alone by ourselves.
Pages:
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220