| "The bridge is broke." |
They might never have become really acquainted if, just as he was giving a final polish to the glasses, it had not begun to rain.
"What shall I do?" Frances exclaimed, rising hurriedly. "I haven't any umbrella."
The Spectacle Man walked to the window, the glasses in one hand, a piece of chamois in the other. "It may be only a shower," he said, peering out; "but it is time for the equinoctial." Then, seeing the little girl was worried, he asked how far she had to go.
"Only two blocks; we are staying at the Wentworth, but mother and father were out when I left and won't know where I am."
"Well, now, don't you worry; Dick will be in presently and I'll send him right over to the hotel to let them know where you are, and get a waterproof for you."
This made Frances feel more comfortable; and when, after putting the glasses in their case and giving her the change from Mrs. Gray's dollar, he lit the gas in the back parlor and invited her in, she almost forgot the storm.
The room was quite different from any she had ever been in, and she at once decided she liked it. Around the walls were low cases, some filled with books and papers, others with china and pottery; from the top of an ancient looking chest in one corner a large stuffed owl gazed solemnly at her; the mantel-shelf was full of books, and above it hung a portrait of Washington. There were some plaster casts and a few engravings, and beside the study table in the middle of the room was an arm-chair which, judging from its worn cover, was a favorite resting-place of the Spectacle Man.
"I have a little writing to do before Dick comes in; can't I give you a book while I am busy? I have a number of story-books," her host asked.
Frances thanked him, but thought she'd rather look about. "You seem to have so many interesting things," she said.