The others laughed.
“But you are not to come with us, Mollie, if you don’t like the idea, and perhaps you would be frightened. Once years ago, I spent a night alone near the desert and I have never forgotten the wonder of it. But you will let me have Polly with me for the summer at least, and perhaps the boys. The children have never been away from New England and it will be a part of their education to see this western country of ours.”
At a short distance from the family group Billy Webster had suddenly ceased reading. He was white and delicate looking for a country boy.
“Under no circumstances can the boys go with you, Polly,” Mr. Webster said positively.
And Polly Webster, although appreciating her own selfishness, gave a sigh of relief. This speech of her father’s gratified the desire of her own heart, since it meant that she was to be allowed to go.
But the older Polly seemed not to have heard.
“Yes, I do know in a way what it will cost,” she argued. “At least, Richard says I can perfectly afford it and he looks after the money we both earn. Besides, Mollie dear, as I have no children of my own, I don’t see why I can’t do for yours and a few others now and then.”
And Mollie, at the moment, said nothing more, for Polly’s one baby had died a few years before.
“I have written to Esther in Boston that I want her two daughters, and I am going to Washington to see Betty as soon as I am strong enough.”
Then she turned to Bettina. Since the beginning of their conversation Bettina had not spoken. Polly scarcely remembered her making a dozen speeches since her arrival, unless they were answers to questions. As she had been talking all her life whenever there was the least opportunity, Polly Burton feared that she was not going to be able to understand Bettina. Then Betty had written such odd letters about her only daughter, as if she herself did not altogether understand her.