"Because Jasper won't take the place," cried Tom, setting his teeth together in distress. "That's what I got out for."
"Oh, I see," said Mr. King, a light beginning to break through.
Tom wilted miserably under the gaze that still seemed to go through and through him, and Polly looked off at her side of the carriage, wishing the drive over the Tête Noire was all ended. Old Mr. King turned to Phronsie at his side.
"Well, now," he said, taking her hand, "we are in a predicament, Phronsie, for it evidently isn't going to be such an overwhelming success as I thought."
"What is a predicament?" asked Phronsie, wrenching her gaze from the lovely vine-clad hills, which she had been viewing with great satisfaction, to look at once into his face.
"Oh, a mix-up; a mess generally," answered Grandpapa, not pausing to choose words. "Well, what's to be done, now,—that is the question?"
Tom groaned at sight of the face under the white hair, from which all prospect of pleasure had fled. "I was a beastly cad," he muttered to himself.
Phronsie leaned over Mr. King's knee. "Tell me," she begged, "what is it, Grandpapa?"
"Oh, nothing, child," said Grandpapa, with a glance at Polly's face, "that you can help, at least."
Polly drew a long breath. "Something must be done," she decided. "Oh, I know. Why, Grandpapa, we can change before we get to the halfway place," she cried suddenly, glad to think of something to say. "Can't we? And then we can all have different places."