“What's the row?” asked Tom, plunging up to him in amazement.
“That person.” Joel pointed a finger at the carriage. “I must tell Polly,” and off he darted.
Tom, not feeling at all sure that he ought to wait to see “that person,” wheeled about and followed.
“Polly,” roared Joel, long before he got to her. “She's come!”
“Has she?” Polly called back, supposing he meant Alexia. “Well, tell her to come up here, Joe, in my room.”
Joel took the stairs two at a time, Tom waiting below, and dashed into the blue and white room without ceremony.
“Polly, you don't understand,” he blurted out; “she's come!”
Polly had her head bent over a drawer, picking out some ribbons. At the sound of Joel's voice she drew it out and looked at him.
“Why, how funny you look, Joe!” she said. “What is the matter?”
“I guess you'd look funny,” said Joel glumly, “if you'd seen Mrs. Chatterton.”