"Well, I don't care how many he took, nor what they were," cried Polly, "only that very identical one. O dear me! Well, I'll ask Jasper."
And rushing from the library, Phronsie following in a small panic over Polly's distress, she knocked at the door of Jasper's den, a little room in the wing, looking out on the east lawn.
"Oh! I am so glad you are here," she exclaimed as "Come in!" greeted her, and both Phronsie and she precipitated themselves with no show of ceremony, in front of his study table. "O Jasper! could you get me a copy of "Town Talk?" Jack Rutherford has gone off with ours."
"Town Talk!" repeated Jasper, raising his head from his hands to stare at her.
"Yes; Jack has taken ours off; Grandpapa gave it to him. Can you,
Jasper? Will it break up your study much?" she poured out anxiously.
"No—that is—never mind," said Jasper, pushing the book away and springing from his chair. "But whatever in the world do you want that trash for?" He turned, and looked at her curiously.
"Mrs. Chatterton will let me read it to her; she said so," cried Polly, clasping her hands nervously, "but if I don't get the paper soon, why, I'm afraid she'll change her mind."
Jasper gave a low whistle as he flung himself into his coat.
"Inestimable privilege!" he exclaimed at last, tossing on his cap.
"Oh, Jasper! you are so good," cried Polly in a small rapture. "I'm so sorry to have to ask you."
"I'll go for you, Jasper," declared Phronsie; "Mamsie will let me; I almost know she will."