“My eye is as crooked as can be,” declared Alexia; “I’m in such a twitter. Well, isn’t it just too lovely that Susan is really to sing. Phronsie will be delighted. Dear me, don’t you remember how Susan roared that first day she came, and how she looked—little black image, I can see her now, sitting up there on a cricket on the platform. I was frightened to death, and expected she’d break the whole thing up; and now how good she is, and quite the pride of Phronsie’s heart.”
“Oh! it will be a perfect surprise, I think,” hummed Polly ecstatically. “Oh! and the village children are going to be at the station when the trains gets in, with baskets of flowers, and throw blossoms in Phronsie’s path.”
“Are they?” cried Alexia in delight; “oh, my!”
“Yes, they’ve begged to,” said Polly; “and we are going to let them do whatever they wish. Phronsie belongs to them too, Alexia, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Alexia.
“Polly!” called Jasper, over the stairs.
So Polly threw down the muslin cloud, and ran to meet him.
“Here’s Mr. Tisbett wants to say something,” said Jasper with a smile. “Now, then,” to the stage-driver, “say just what is on your mind, Mr. Tisbett.”
“I want to know,” began Mr. Tisbett, shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other, “’hem—if you’ll let me drive Miss Phronsie an’ her husband home here from the deepo?”
“I don’t understand,” began Polly.