So Polly ran to the window in the next room that overlooked that part of the lawn where Mr. Whitney and Jasper were searching, and strained her gaze up and down, and in every direction.
"Have they? oh! have they?" cried Mrs. Whitney. "Oh, Polly! do tell me."
"I don't see any of them," said Polly, listening eagerly for another cry, "but I do believe they've found him."
"Do come back," implored Mrs. Whitney; "there, now, don't go again,
Polly," as Polly hurried to her side, "but just hold my hand."
"I will," said Polly, "just as tight as I can, Auntie."
"Oh—oh! Percy is so much worse off than Joel," wailed Mrs. Whitney.
"Oh! to do such a thing, Polly!" she groaned.
"They only meant it in fun," said Polly, swallowing hard the lump in her throat, "don't let us talk about it, Auntie."
"And Van," cried Mrs. Whitney, running on. "Oh! my poor, poor boys.
Will your mother ever forgive me, Polly?"
"Oh, Auntie! don't talk so," said Polly tenderly; "and we both ought to be out helping. There's Van, Auntie; just think how he feels."
"I can't go near him," cried Mrs. Whitney in distress, "as long as he is in Joel's room, for I can see your mother's eyes, Polly. It would kill me to have her look at me."