"Get her a glass of milk, Phronsie," called Jasper, standing by the stair-railing; "that's a good child."
Polly flashed him a grateful look as she dashed down the stairs, drawing on her gloves, and not daring to look forward to meeting Grandpapa.
But when she came out to the back piazza, Phronsie following her with the glass, and begging her to drink up the rest left in it, old Mr. King, standing by the little old-fashioned chaise, received her exactly as if nothing had happened.
"Well, I declare, Polly," he said, turning to her with a smile, "I never saw anybody get ready so quickly as you can. There, hop in, child," and he put aside her dress from the wheel in his most courtly manner possible.
"Polly hasn't had all the milk," said Phronsie, by the chaise-step, holding up the glass anxiously.
"Well, I don't believe she wants it," said old Mr. King.
[Illustration: "POLLY HASN'T HAD ALL THE MILK," SAID PHRONSIE]
"No, I don't," said Polly, from the depths of the old chaise. "I couldn't drink it, dear."
Mr. King bent his white head to kiss Phronsie, and then they drove away, and left her standing in the lilac-shaded path, her glass in her hand, and looking after them.
All sorts of things Mr. King talked of in the cheeriest manner possible, just as if Polly and he were in the habit of taking a drive like this every morning; and he never seemed to notice her swollen eyelids, or whether she answered, but kept on bravely with the conversation. At last Polly, at something he said, laughed in her old merry fashion; then Mr. King drew a long breath, and relaxed his efforts.