Which came to be the general view when Dr. Marks' letter arrived, and one from the under-instructor followed, setting things in the right light. And although old Mr. King was for going off directly to interview the master, with several separate and distinct complaints and criticisms, he was at last persuaded to give up the trip and let matters work their course under the proper guidance at the school.
“So, Polly, my child,” he said on the following day, when the letters were all in, “I believe I'll trust Dr. Marks, after all, to settle the affair. He seems a very good sort of a man, on the whole, and I really suppose he knows what to do with a lot of boys; though goodness me! how he can, passes my comprehension. So I am not going.”
“Oh Grandpapa!” exclaimed Polly, the color flooding her cheek, and she seized his hand in a glad little way.
“Yes, I really see no necessity for going,” went on the old gentleman, much as if he were being urged out of his way to set forth; “so I shall stay at home. Joel can take care of himself. I'd trust him anywhere,” he brought up, using the same words that Mother Fisher had employed.
“Wouldn't you, Grandpapa!” cried Polly with sparkling eyes, and clinging to him.
“Yes, Polly, my child,” said Grandpapa emphatically, “because, no matter into what mischief Joe may get, he always owns up. Goodness me! Polly, that boy can't go very far wrong, with such a mother as you've got.”
Alexia Rhys, running through the wide hall, came upon the two. “Oh, beg pardon, and may we girls have Polly?” all in the same breath.
“Get away with you,” laughed old Mr. King, who had his own reasons for liking Alexia, “that's the way you always do, trying to get Polly Pepper away when we are having a good talk.”
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Alexia, doing her best to curb her impatience, and pinching her hands together, “we did so want—”
“I can't go now, Alexia,” said Polly, still clinging to Mr. King's hand.