"Yes," she answered, "or, at any rate, we try to do so. Children, I think it is time for you to say good-night; it is long past your usual bed-time."
"I wonder who put those lovely snowdrops in the vase on the dressing-table in my room," said Cousin Becky, as the young people rose obediently to retire for the night.
"Roger did," replied Polly, "he bought them on purpose for you. Do you like them?"
"Indeed I do. Thank you, Roger, so much; it was a most kindly thought which prompted you to get them for me."
The little boy blushed with pleasure, for it was nice to know the flowers were appreciated, and he had been wondering if Cousin Becky had noticed them. After the children had said good-night and left the room, they stood a few minutes in the hall, discussing their visitor in whispers.
"She's awfully jolly," Roger said decidedly, "and she seemed very pleased that I was at the station to meet her with father."
"I like her," Polly answered. "It must be very bad to be alone in the world if you're poor," she continued thoughtfully. "Did you see the tears in her eyes when she talked of her brother and said she had no home now?"
"Yes," assented Roger; "but she didn't say anything about being poor."
"No, but we know she is, from what Aunt Janie said. If she had been rich she'd have been invited to stay at the Rookery." Polly was a sharp little girl, and often surprised her elders by the clearness of her mental sight. "I'm glad she's come here instead," she added heartily, "for we should not see much of her if she was Aunt Janie's visitor."
"I expect not," agreed Roger. "Edgar says he doesn't like Princess Street, and I suppose Aunt Janie doesn't either. I don't mind, do you?"