"What time is it?" asked Polly. "I'm afraid I stopped the clock," she said in an apologetic tone to her uncle, "but I don't think it's hurt; there wasn't room for the pendulum to swing when I was in the case."
"Oh, I don't suppose it's hurt," he responded. "I will set it going presently."
He took out his watch and looked at it.
"It's nearly seven," he said.
"Then it's time for us to go home," sighed Polly dolefully, "and—and I haven't had any tea."
"Dear me, no, of course not!" exclaimed her uncle, as, overcome with self-pity, the little girl's tears began to flow. "Edgar, call your mother and tell her Polly's found. How long were you shut up in the clock case, my dear?" he asked commiseratingly as his son went to do his bidding.
"I don't know," she answered, "ages and ages!"
"About three hours," said Roger after some moments' reflection as his uncle looked at him inquiringly.
"So long as that!" exclaimed Mr. Marsh. "Poor child, poor little girl! Never mind, Polly, you'll feel better after you've had tea. Cheer up, my dear."
A few minutes later Mrs. Marsh appeared upon the scene and took possession of her niece. She was very kind and led her upstairs to her own room, where Polly bathed the tear stains from her hot cheeks and brushed her hair, after which she accompanied her aunt downstairs and made an excellent tea. Then Mr. Marsh entered the room followed by the boys, and handed her a beautiful bunch of hot-house flowers to take home with her.