Grandpapa sent a keen glance over into Alexia's face. “I think you better go, Polly,” he said. “You and I will have our talk later.”
“Oh goody!” cried Alexia, hopping up and down. And “Oh Grandpapa!” reproachfully from Polly.
“Yes, Polly, it's best for you to go with the girls now,” said old Mr. King, gently relinquishing her hands, “so run along with you, child.” And he went into the library.
“Come right along,” cried Alexia gustily, and pulling Polly down the hall.
“There now, you see, you've dragged me away from Grandpapa,” cried Polly in a vexed way.
“Well, he said you were to go,” cried Alexia, perfectly delighted at the result. “Oh, we're to have such fun! You can't think, Polly Pepper.”
“Of course he did, when you said the girls wanted me,” said Polly, half determined, even then, to run back. “I'd much rather have staid with him, Alexia.”
“Well, you can't, because he said you were to come; and besides, here are the girls.” And there they were on the back porch, six or eight of them in a group.
“Oh Polly, Polly!” they cried, “are you coming—can you really go?” swarming around her. “And do get your hat on,” said Clem Forsythe “and hurry up.”
“Where are you going?” asked Polly.