Polly’s own home, “Glenwood,” was about half an hour’s walk from the Hall, down along the river bank. As they drew near, they caught sight of Polly herself, watching for them from the veranda railing, with old Tan, the Gordon setter, beside her.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” she exclaimed, running to meet them; “I was afraid something had happened, and you know we’re going to have a feast.”
“That’s the very first thing Polly thinks of—something good to eat,” laughed Ruth, dropping down into the nearest garden chair.
“So do all good generals,” retorted Polly, calmly. “It makes people friendly to eat and enjoy the same kind of food at the same time.”
“Bread and salt in the Arab’s tent, Polly?” queried Ted.
“Yes, only this time——um-m-m. I promised not to tell. The bread and salt gave out, so we have other supplies.” She laughed, and counted heads. “Where’s Crullers?”
“Unavoidably detained,” Sue replied. “Now, it’s no use asking why, Polly. None of us can even guess. Crullers never would miss a good chance at a feast, you know, unless there was a vital reason for her absence. And she wouldn’t tell. I hunted everywhere for her, and finally caught her just coming out of the upper recitation room with Miss Murray.”
“Bonnie Jean?” Polly’s forehead puckered doubtfully. “What has Crullers been doing?”
“I think she’s broken her parole,” Isabel said.
“What parole? We didn’t know she was on parole.”