“The big one?”
“You know—De one what brung you.”
“You don't mean—?” Polly's question was answered by Jim himself who had followed Hasty quickly through the gate. Their arms were instantly about each other. Jim forgot Hasty and every one in the world except Polly, and neither of them noticed the horrified Miss Perkins and the Widow Willoughby, who had been crossing the yard on their way from the Sunday-school-room with Julia.
“You're just as big as ever,” said Polly, when she could let go of Jim long enough to look at him. “You haven't changed a bit.”
“You've changed enough for both of us.” He looked at the unfamiliar long skirts and the new way of doing her hair. “You're bigger, Poll; more grown up like.”
“Oh, Jim!” She glanced admiringly at the new brown suit, the rather startling tie, and the neat little posy in Jim's buttonhole.
“The fellows said I'd have to slick up a bit if I was a-comin' to see you, so as not to make you ashamed of me. Do you like 'em?” he asked, looking down approvingly at his new brown clothes.
“Very much.” For the first time Jim noticed the unfamiliar manner of her speech. He began to feel self-conscious. A year ago she would have said, “You bet!” He looked at her awkwardly. She hurried on: “Hasty told me you were showing in Wakefield. I knew you'd come to see me. How's Barker and all the boys?” She stopped with a catch in her throat, and added more slowly: “I suppose everything's different, now that Toby is gone.”
“He'd a-liked to a-seen you afore he cashed in,” Jim answered; “but maybe it was just as well he didn't. You'd hardly a-knowed him toward the last, he got so thin an' peeked like. He wasn't the same after we lost you, nobody was, not even Bingo.”
“Have you still got Bingo?” she asked, through her tears.