“Jolly,” said Lilith. “There’s a good picture on this week. I remember reading of it in the Gazette.”
In the proposed way the afternoon passed pleasantly, and the party was back at the Overlook station when the last train rolled in. Yet once more they were disappointed. Only six passengers alighted, three women, a small boy, and two middle-aged men. Sardis Merrifield was missing.
Polly inquired again at the telegraph office. There was no message; but the man of various positions promised to send her whatever should come.
The drive up the mountain was for the most part silent. Dolly was too full of grief to talk, and after a while she went to sleep on Lilith’s arm. It had been a hard day for the little girl.
CHAPTER XXI
“TEN LITTLE GIRLS” AND SARDIS MERRIFIELD
POLLY and Lilith did not go to Overlook the next morning. What was the use, Polly said. The expected guest might have been so delayed that he could not come for several days. He would doubtless telegraph. And Lilith agreed with her. Dolly Merrifield said nothing; she only smiled, and sighed a sorry little sigh that Polly did not hear, so very soft it was. Nevertheless, the “hospital force,” as Lilith called the grown-up members of the family, did not wander far from the house.
“We must hang around and watch for a telegram,” laughed Polly.
But no word came—and no Sardis, either. The waiting grew tedious.
“It is getting on that child’s nerves,” fretted the White Nurse. “She’ll make herself sick with worrying.”