"And no sister," added Jack, as if to himself. "How is a fellow like me—why, I am twenty-five, Miss Pepper, and I've been knocking about the world ever since I was her age; my uncle took me then to Australia, into his business—how am I ever to 'understand,' as you call it, that girl?"
It was impossible not to see his distress, and Polly, with a deaf ear to the chatter out in the library, now bent all her energies to helping him.
"Mr. Loughead," she said, and the color deserted her round cheek, and she leaned forward from the depths of the big chair, "I am afraid you won't like what I am going to say."
"Go on, please," said Jack, his eyes on her face.
"I think if you want to understand Amy," said Polly, holding her hands very tightly together, to keep her courage up, "you must love her first."
"Hey? I don't understand," said Jack, quite bewildered.
"You must love her, and believe she's going to do nice things, and be proud of her," went on Polly steadily.
"How can I? She's such a little beggar," exclaimed Jack, "won't study, and all that."
"And you must make her the very best friend you have in all this world, and let her see that you are glad that she is your sister, and tell her things, and never, never scold." Then Polly stopped, and the color flew up to the waves of brown hair on her brow.
"I wish you'd go on," said Jack Loughead, as she paused.