"They may want me," he hesitated, fingering his cap.
"No, they won't! There are plenty to take care of Mrs. Gresham. I haven't seen you in an age."
David's face reddened. "I've—been pretty busy," he faltered in excuse.
Polly ignored his embarrassment. "I am sorry for Mrs. Gresham.
She's not very sick, is she?"
"I'm afraid she is. She was in terrible pain when I left home."
"I guess father'll fix her up all right," said Polly comfortably.
David smiled. Polly's faith in her father was a standing joke among her friends.
"Oh, you may laugh!" she cried. "It doesn't disturb me a mite. He pulled you out of a tight place once."
"Yes, he did," agreed the boy. "I presume I have about as much faith in him as you have."
They talked for a while in commonplaces. David seemed interested in nothing. He grew restless and once or twice said something about going home. Still he stayed. Finally he got up. Then suddenly he sat down and with a visible effort said huskily, "I suppose you think I'm a brute!"