There, side by side on the sofa, sat Aunt Jane and Mr. Solomon
Baxter, looking up in surprise at the vision which had suddenly
burst in upon their quiet conversation.
The children stopped abruptly, just across the threshold, and
gazed in speechless horror, first at Aunt Jane and her caller,
then at each other. For a moment, no one made any attempt to
speak. Alan was the first to recover his senses.
"Good afternoon, Miss Roberts," he said, advancing, hat in hand,
with one of his peculiarly bright, attractive smiles. "I hope we
haven't disturbed you, but Polly said there wasn't anybody here."
Aunt Jane relaxed nothing of her rigidity, and Mr. Baxter answered
for her, in an excited, nervous tone, while he waved his cane on
which he had hung his stiff black hat, as if in grotesque
imitation of his own long, lean body,--
"What in the world are you children doing, anyway, making such a
noise? Polly--that's your name, isn't it?--you look as if you'd
just come out of the mad-house."
In her astonishment at finding the parlor occupied, Polly had
forgotten all about her remarkable gown, her ruddy countenance,
and her towering headgear. Now, at the sudden recollection of it,
she blushed until it was visible even under the chalk, and gave a
vigorous pull, in the hope of removing her coronet, while she said
penitently,--"I truly didn't know you were here, Aunt Jane.
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