Polly ached to say, “Don’t go to Miss Fitzwilliam’s,” as Phronsie set a kiss on her cheek; but remembering Jasper’s words, she smothered the longing with a sigh. “Well, good-by, child,” as Phronsie ran down the path to the dog-cart that was to carry them to the train.
When Phronsie left Jasper as he turned off into the business section, and she waited for the electric car bound for the old residential part of the town, he gave her a bright smile. “Success to you, Phronsie dear! What train are you coming out on?”
“I don’t know,” said Phronsie; “don’t wait for me. I wish you wouldn’t, Jasper.”
“All right. It shall be as you wish, Phronsie. Good-by, dear.” He flashed her another smile, and was off, to plunge into the work of the day.
“I do think Jasper is the dearest brother that ever lived,” said Phronsie to herself as she hurried on her car. A little old woman, whose back was bent, and the ends of whose white hair had escaped from her rusty black bonnet, stood in her way, clutching one of the leather straps that hung from the bar that ran across the top of the car.
“Move up in front,” shouted the conductor, giving a push to the little old woman’s back; “this lady can’t get in.”
Phronsie led the little old white-haired woman to the vacated seat.
“Never mind,” said Phronsie; “I can stand here just as well.”
“Move up, I say,” repeated the conductor, with another shove.