"Now, Mrs. Fisher," said old Mr. King, "you'll ride with Mrs. Selwyn in the first carriage, and you must take two of the young folks in with you."
"Oh, let Polly and me go in there!" cried Adela, forgetting her wholesome fear of the stately old gentleman in her anxiety to get her own way.
"Polly is going with me and Phronsie," said Mr. King. "Hop in, Adela, child, and one of you boys."
Tom ducked off the veranda, while Adela, not daring to say another syllable, slowly withdrew her arm from Polly's and mounted the carriage step, with a miserable face.
"Come on, one of you boys," cried Mr. King, impatiently. "We should have started a quarter of an hour ago—I don't care which one, only hurry."
"I can't!" declared Tom, flatly, grinding his heel into the pebbles, and looking into Jasper's face.
"Very well,"—Jasper drew a long breath,—"I must, then." And without more ado, he got into the first carriage and they rattled off to wait outside the big gate till the procession was ready to start.
Old Mrs. Gray, the parson's wife and the parson, and little Dr. Fisher made the next load, and then Grandpapa, perfectly delighted that he had arranged it all so nicely, with Polly and Phronsie, climbed into the third and last carriage, while Tom swung himself up as a fourth.
"They say it is a difficult thing to arrange carriage parties with success," observed Mr. King. "I don't find it so in the least," he added, complacently, just on the point of telling the driver to give the horses their heads. "But that is because I've such a fine party on my hands, where each one is willing to oblige, and—"
"Ugh!" exclaimed Tom Selwyn, with a snort that made the old gentleman start. "I'm going to get out a minute—excuse me—can't explain." And he vaulted over the wheel.