"Still, you will be glad to get back to your own little room, I expect?"
"No; because then you will be gone, and I shan't like that."
There was a ring of sincerity in the little girl's voice which brought an exceedingly tender expression into her companion's eyes.
"I was speaking to your parents about my departure this morning," Cousin Becky said after a brief silence, "and they asked me to extend my visit."
"Oh, I do hope you will!" Polly cried, her countenance brightening.
"Then you have not found your old cousin much in the way, my dear?"
"In the way? No, indeed! We have simply loved to have you with us, and we shall miss you dreadfully when you go; I heard mother say so to father yesterday."
"Perhaps I may not go just yet. I am very fond of you all, Polly; and I like your home, and I have accounted it a privilege to be here. You know, I have no home of my own, and I thought of making one at Beaworthy; but I am doubtful still what my plans for the future will be. I am naturally a sociable person, and I dread the thought of living alone. Your mother and father have asked me to remain here, at any rate for the present, and I have gladly consented to do so. I am going to pay a small sum weekly for my board, so that I shall not be a burden on my kind relations; but, on the other hand, the sum will not be sufficiently large for them to get any profit by me. So you see, child, you are not going to get rid of me so soon as you thought."
"I am very glad," Polly asserted heartily. "Do you mean you are going to live with us altogether, Cousin Becky?"
"I mean that your dear parents have told me that I may always look upon their house as my home—as one spot in the world where I shall be welcome."