Polly's brown head drooped, despite her efforts to look bravely up into his face. “Good night, Grandpapa,” she said sadly, and was turning away.
“Oh bless me!” exclaimed old Mr. King hastily, “Polly, see here, my child, well—well, in the morning perhaps—dear me!—we can tell then whether it's best for you to go to school or not. Come, kiss me good night, again.”
So Polly ran back and gave him two or three kisses, and then raced off, Jasper having time to whisper at the door: “I most know, Polly, father'll let you go; I really and truly believe he will.”
“I believe so too,” cried Polly happily.
And sure enough, he did. For the next morning Polly ran down to breakfast as merry as a bee, brown eyes dancing, as if accidents were never to be thought of; and Grandpapa pinched her rosy cheek, and said: “Well, Polly, you've won! Off with you to school.” And Polly tucked her books under her arm, and raced off with Jasper, who always went to school with her as far as their paths went, turning off at the corner where she hurried off to Miss Salisbury's select school, to go to his own.
“Oh, here comes Polly Pepper!” The girls, some of them waiting for her at the big iron gate, raced down to meet her. “Oh Polly—Polly.” At that a group of girls on the steps turned, and came flying up, too. “Oh, tell us all about the awful accident,” they screamed. “Tell, Polly, do.” They swarmed all over her.
“Give me the books,” and one girl seized them. “I'll carry them for you, Polly.”
“And, Polly, not one of the other girls that went out to Silvia Horne's is here this morning.”
“They may come yet,” said Polly; “it's not late.”
“Oh, I know; we came early to meet you; well, Silvia isn't here either.”