“So he's comin' 'round,” sneered Strong.
“Yes, yes, and you won't blame him any more, will you?” she hurried on anxiously. “You'll let him stay, no matter what he does, if I promise to go away and never, never come back again?”
“I ain't holdin' no grudge agin him,” Strong grumbled. “He talks pretty rough sometimes, but he's been a good enough minister. I ain't forgettin' that.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Strong, thank you. I'll get my things; it won't take a minute.” She was running up the steps when a sudden thought stopped her. She returned quickly to Strong. “We'd better not let him know just yet. You can tell him afterward. Tell him that I ran away—Tell him that——”
She was interrupted by Douglas, who came from the house. “Hello, Strong, back again?” he asked, in some surprise. Polly remained with her eyes fixed upon the deacon, searching for some way of escape. The pastor approached; she burst into nervous laughter. “What's the joke?” Douglas asked.
“It's only a little surprise that the deacon and I are planning.” She tried to control the catch in her voice. “You'll know about it soon, won't he, deacon? Good afternoon, Mr. Strong!” She flew into the house, laughing hysterically.
Douglas followed her to the steps with a puzzled frown. It was unlike Polly to give way to her moods before others. “Have you gentlemen changed your minds about the little girl staying on?” he asked, uneasily.
“It's all right now,” said Strong, seating himself with a complacent air.
“All right? How so?” questioned Douglas, more and more puzzled by the deacon's evident satisfaction.
“Because,” said Strong, rising and facing the pastor, “because your circus-ridin' gal is goin' to leave you of her own accord.”