“We don't ever kiss strangers—mamsie's told us not to.”
“For shame, Joey!” cried Polly, feeling her face grow dreadfully red in the darkness, “the gentleman's been so kind to me!”
“You're right, my boy,” said the stranger, laughing and bending down to Joel's upturned, sturdy countenance, at the same instant that Mrs. Pepper flung open the big door, and a bright, warm light fell straight across his handsome face. And then—well, then Percy gave a violent bound, and upsetting Joel as he did so, wriggled his way down the steps—at the same time that Van, on Polly's other side, rushed up to the gentleman:
“Papa—oh, papa!”
Polly, half way up the steps, turned around, and then, at the rush of feeling that gathered at her heart, sat right down on the wet slippery step.
“Why, Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Joel, not minding his own upset. “You're right in all the slush—mother won't like it, I tell you!”
“Hush!” cried Polly, catching his arm, “he's come—oh, Joel—he's come!”
“Who?” cried Joel, staring around blindly, “who, Polly?” Polly had just opened her lips to explain, when Mr. King's portly, handsome figure appeared in the doorway. “Do come in, children—why—good gracious, Mason!”
“Yes,” cried the stranger, lightly, dropping his big bundle and umbrella as he passed in the door, with his little sons clinging to him. “Where is Marian?”
“Why didn't you write?” asked the old gentleman, testily. “These surprises aren't the right sort of things,” and he began to feel vigorously of his heart. “Here, Mrs. Pepper, be so good as to call Mrs. Whitney.”