Polly Ann sauntered down the trail slowly, as was her wont after such an occasion. And the man behind the house twice whispered with extreme caution, "How near is she?" before she came up the path.
“Have you been lonesome, Davy?” she said.
“No,” said I, “I've had a visitor.”
“It's not Chauncey Dike again?” she said. “He doesn't dare show his face here.”
“No, it wasn't Chauncey. This man would like to have seen you, Polly Ann. He—" here I braced myself,—"he knew Tom McChesney. He called him a good-for-nothing scamp.”
“He did—did he!” said Polly Ann, very low. “I reckon it was good for him I wasn't here.”
I grinned.
“What are you laughing at, you little monkey,” said Polly Ann, crossly. “'Pon my soul, sometimes I reckon you are a witch.”
“Polly Ann,” I said, “did I ever do anything but good to you?”
She made a dive at me, and before I could escape caught me in her strong young arms and hugged me.