“No, indeed! Tom and John will be right here with us this summer. We-all need their help in working out the problems of the mine and Rainbow Cliffs,” responded Sam Brewster.
“I don’t suppose we’ll see a bit of John as long as Anne and her mother remain in Denver, visiting their old friends,” pouted Polly, jealously.
Her father glanced slyly at her, and smiled. He felt sorry for his little girl who had always felt that her brother John was her own personal property. Now that someone claimed first love and attention from him it was mighty hard for her, as well as for Mrs. Brewster.
“Ah should wonder at John if he failed in gallantry to his sweetheart,” was all Sam Brewster said aloud.
“Oh! Everyone makes me tired! Anyone’d think Anne Stewart was a saint. She’s only a girl the same as Nolla, or me. And no one is found going mad over either one of us!” cried Polly, pettishly.
Eleanor laughed. “Give us a few years and then see!”
Polly curled her lip impatiently. “A few years from now and I’ll be in Europe with dear old Fabian, studying art. I won’t want attention from anyone, then.”
“Seems to me,” ventured Mr. Brewster, gently, “my little girl is hankering for homage or a beau—which is it?”
Polly stared aghast. “Neither one! How dare you say so.”
“You-all were speaking of attention.”