"Oh, dear!" Jasper seized Polly's hands in a corner of the hall. "He's
calling us, and we've got to go, Polly, and how we look, you and I!
Whatever shall we do!"
"But we must go," breathed Polly. Then she looked up into Jasper's face.
"Let's ask him to go out and help us fix the flowers," she cried suddenly.
Jasper gave her a keen glance. "All right," he said. "Come on," and before
their resolution had time to cool itself, they rushed into the library.
"Oh, Grandpapa," they both cried together, "do come out and tell us how to
fix the flowers."
"Hey?" The old gentleman whirled around from the table, where he had begun
to throw the papers about. "Did you know Mrs. Chatterton had come back?" He
glared at them over his spectacles, which he had forgotten to remove when
he had been interrupted with the unwelcome news while peacefully reading
the morning paper.
"Yes--oh, yes," said Jasper.
"Oh, yes, we know it," cried Polly cheerfully, "but, Grandpapa, we want
you"--tugging at his hand.
"Hey? you knew it?" The old gentleman's tone softened, and he suffered
himself to be led toward the door. "And you want me, eh?"--feeling with
every step as if life, after all, might be worth living.
"Yes, we do indeed, Father," cried Jasper affectionately, possessing
himself of the other hand.
"And oh, the flowers you sent are just too lovely for anything!" cried
Polly, dancing away along by his side.
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