"That? That's the poorhouse," replied Polly, after studying it for
a minute or two. "I came here once with papa, ever so long ago.
I'd like to know how we ever managed to get here; it's seven or
eight miles from town."
"Seven or eight miles from town! And we are dying of starvation,"
said Alan.
"Speak for yourself, please; Jessie and I have had lunch," said
Polly. "But," she went on, struck with a sudden thought, "let's go
and see Miss Bean, and maybe she'll invite us to dinner. She ought
to, for she's been fed at our house often enough."
Jessie fell in with the idea.
"Let's try it, anyway," she said. "I've always wanted to see what
they do in such a place, and I don't believe there would be any
harm in it."
"What harm could there be?" said Polly. "We needn't tell her we've
come to dinner; only, if she should happen to ask us, we could
stay, after she's teased a little."
Turning from the main road, they drove under the great gateway and
followed a winding drive up to the very door of the house. A few
old crones sat in a row by the door, chattering like so many
venerable crows; but when they caught sight of the children, their
voices sank to whispers, as they watched Alan spring to the
ground, hold up his arms to help Polly and Jessie, and then
deliberately tie Cob to the nearest post.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278