"Why, don't you want to meet him?" Rose asked.
"Oh, yes," Polly answered, "but if he's—if he, oh, I don't quite know how I mean it. I just thought perhaps you'd like to know him a little, and then I'll come in, and _I'_LL know him, too."
Nora, just behind them, reached forward and touched Rose's shoulder.
"Run right in," she said, "the gentleman's waiting to see you."
For the moment she forgot Polly, and hastening across the great hall, lest Uncle John might guess that she did not wish to meet him, little Rose Atherton entered the long, cool parlor, and found herself face to face with a tall, handsome man, who rose to greet her. His waving hair was touched with gray, his brown eyes were merry.
"So this is little Rose," he said, "will you come and let me look at you? Why, who made the dainty wreath for you?"
He offered not one, but both his hands to her, and with a happy cry, she laid her little hands in his.
"Will you come for a few days and make me a visit?" he asked. "You will have a pleasant time, and we shall get acquainted. I think I can make you like me, little Rose."
"Oh, I do, I DO like you NOW!" she cried, and her little heart was filled with delight.
Here was a cheery, handsome young uncle, in place of the unattractive old uncle that she had supposed awaited her.