Good night, girls."
In spite of their assurances that they were not at all timid, Alan
insisted on going with the girls; so they stopped to speak to Mrs.
Adams, then walked on together as far as Jean's gate, where they
lingered, talking, for a minute or two.
"Come in now, Alan," said Polly, as they reached her house again;
"it's early, really, and Jerusalem's out there on the piazza, all
alone. You know she always likes to see you."
Alan hesitated for a moment, but the last fading light of the warm
June day was too tempting, and he went in. Mrs. Adams rose from
her piazza chair to meet them, and stepped forward into the faint
light which shone out through the closely drawn shade of the
parlor window.
"Yes, it is pleasant out here," she answered Polly; "but if you
children are going to sit outside, you must have some wraps, for
it is quite cool. Polly dear, just run in to get a shawl to put
on, and bring the afghan to tuck around Alan. It's on the parlor
sofa."
Polly vanished through the open door. When she came back, she was
laughing.
"Why didn't you tell me they were in there, Jerusalem?" she asked,
as she tossed the afghan to Alan, and then settled herself on a
sweet-grass mat at her mother's feet.
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