"Polly! Polly! are you there?"
"Yes, I'm here," answered Polly, moving across the room to open the door, with a secret hope that her mother would see that she had been crying, and ask the reason of her tears.
But Mrs. Adams was too intent on the matter in hand to give more than a passing glance at her daughter.
"Polly, Aunt Jane wants you to run down to Mrs. Hapgood's and ask her if she can't take in some ministers next week, over the convention. She would like her to take four, if she can."
"Oh dear!" grumbled Polly. "I do wish Aunt Jane would go on her own old errands, and not keep me running all over town for her."
"Polly dear," Mrs. Adams's tone was very gentle; "Polly, aren't you forgetting yourself a little?"
"No, I'm not," returned Polly rebelliously. "I hate Aunt Jane."
"Polly!"
This time there was no mistaking her mother's meaning. After an instant, she added,—
"I wish you to go at once, my daughter, and to go pleasantly. Aunt Jane is a good, kind aunt to you." Polly raised her eyebrows, but dared not speak; "and I am sorry you are so ungrateful as not to be willing to do this little errand for her."