Well, our visit at the Parsonage was over and we were starting for home. Aunt Magda, Great-Aunt and Uncle and Mr. Witt, the old lawyer, went to the wharf with us, and they all stood there and waved and waved. Uncle waved his cane and Mr. Witt, who wore a linen dust-coat, waved his long coattails. Then what shouts from shore and boat!
“Good-bye!” “Good-bye!” “G-o-o-o-d-by-e!”
Jon was in the best of humors as he rowed us from the shore to the steamer. I didn’t know whether it was because he would now be rid of us for this year or the present of money I had given him, that made him so pleasant.
“Good luck to all three on your journey,” called Jon as he shoved his boat from the steamer.
For a while we could see the church tower and the roof of the Parsonage between the trees; then the steamer rounded an island and we saw them no more.
III
THE LOST KEY
Mrs. Polby is the sort of person who stands on her front steps, with arms akimbo, every minute when she isn’t working, and talks with every one who passes by. That is why she knows all that is going on; and she knows, too, every single hen in the town and every single dog and every single person.
One time she blamed me for something which I hadn’t done at all; and from that very time we became good friends!
Now you shall hear about it from beginning to end.
Mrs. Polby has a son named Karl Johan,—a pale, namby-pamby boy who is offended if you only look at him. In this, he is like his mother, who is easily offended, too, but otherwise they are very different. She is a regular roly-poly, with round eyes and round, rosy cheeks, works hard in her vegetable garden, and talks a great deal, as I have told you.