“Like her!” was the vindictive retort.
Benedicta said no more, and the two soon returned to the house.
For three days nothing was heard from Oscarlucy Ferne. Then Grocer Jack brought up to Polly a tiny note torn from a bit of brown paper. It read, “I am coming this afternoon at two o’clock.”
At the time named Polly was at the foot of the hill road, but the children were not in sight. After waiting a long ten minutes she drove ahead slowly, keeping a sharp lookout on all sides for a little girl and a cart and a littler girl. Yet her watching brought her no sight of them. At last, she was about to go back to the place she had started from, when she heard a clatter from behind, and in a moment a horse and wagon appeared, and she saw the familiar face of Grocer Jack and received the information that they thought they could never catch up. On the seat beside the man were Oscarlucy and a fairy-like little creature with big sky-blue eyes and a mop of fly-away, sunny hair.
“You see,” explained Oscarlucy, “Mr. Jack had to carry a barrel of flour ’way up to James Street, and that’s why we didn’t get there early enough. We were so afraid you’d keep right on, and we couldn’t get you. Mr. Jack said he knew it was you, because you’ve got such an easy number on your car. I’m glad you have,” she sighed, “or we never should have known it was you.”
Polly said that she was glad of the number, and she smiled to the little fairy and thanked Grocer Jack. Then the children were transferred from the grocery wagon to the automobile and Polly learned that the tall grocer could be as gentle in the handling of a frail child as he was nonchalant in the lifting of a heavy barrel. Her esteem for him increased accordingly.
“Isn’t Rosalind beautiful?” asked Oscarlucy, after they had talked of the flowers and ferns alongside the mountain road.
Polly was somewhat startled at this frank question, and she simply nodded and smiled over the head of the little one.
“’Most everybody thinks I’m beautiful,” said the object of her sister’s question; “but grandmother says it is only my hair and my eyes that are so pretty, and that it is a good thing to have something nice when I can’t walk at all.”
“Indeed, it is,” responded Polly, adding, “and I think that your hair and eyes are lovely.”