"I'm not in the least troubled in regard to the luggage, Jasper," replied his father, testily; "it's something much more important than the luggage question about which I wish to speak to you."

Jasper stared, well knowing his father's views in regard to the luggage question. "The first thing that you must unpack—the very first," old Mr. King was saying, "is your music. Don't wait a minute, Jasper, but go and get it. And then call Polly, and—"

"Why, father," exclaimed Jasper, "there isn't a single place to play in. You don't know how people stare if we touch the piano. We can't here, father; there's such a crowd in this hotel."

"You do just as I say, Jasper," commanded his father. "And tell Polly to get her music; and then do you two go to the little room out of the big parlour, and play to your hearts' content." And he burst into a hearty laugh at Jasper's face, as he dangled a key at the end of a string, before him.

"Now I do believe, father, that you've got Polly a piano and a little room to play in," cried Jasper, joyfully, and pouncing on the key.

"You go along and do as I tell you," said Mr. King, mightily pleased at the success of his little plan. "And don't you tell Polly Pepper one word until she has taken her music down in the little room," as Jasper bounded off on the wings of the wind.

And in that very hotel was the big fat man with the dreadful black beard, resting after a long season of hard work.

But Polly and Jasper wouldn't have cared had they known it, as long as they had their own delightful little music room to themselves—as they played over and over all the dear old pieces, and Polly revelled in everything that she was so afraid she had forgotten.

"I really haven't lost it, Jasper!" she would exclaim radiantly, after finishing a concerto, and dropping her hands idly on the keys. "And I was so afraid I'd forgotten it entirely. Just think, I haven't played that for three months, Jasper King."

"Well, you haven't forgotten a bit of it," declared Jasper, just as glad as she was. "You didn't make any mistakes, hardly, Polly."

"Oh, yes, I made some," said Polly, honestly, whirling around on the piano stool to look at him.

"Oh, well, only little bits of ones," said Jasper; "those don't signify. I wish father could have heard that concerto. What a pity he went out just before you began it."

But somebody else, on the other side of the partition between the little music room and the big parlour, had heard, and he pulled his black beard thoughtfully with his long fingers, then pricked up his ears to hear more. And it was funny how, almost every day, whenever the first notes on the piano struck up in Mr. King's little music room, the big fat man, who was so tired with his season of hard work, never seemed to think that he could rest as well as in that particular corner up against that partition. And no matter what book or paper he had in his hand, he always dropped it and fell to pulling his black beard with his long fingers, before the music was finished.

And then, "Oh, Polly, come child, you have played long enough," from Mother Fisher on the other side of the partition; or old Mr. King would say, "No more practising to-day, Miss Polly;" or Phronsie would pipe out, "Polly, Grandpapa is going to take us out on the lake; do come, Polly." And then it was funnier yet to see how suddenly the big fat man with the dreadful black beard seemed to find that particular corner by that partition a very tiresome place. And as the piano clicked down its cover, he would yawn, and get up and say something in very rapid German to himself, and off he would go, forgetting all about his book or newspaper, which, very likely, would tumble to the floor, and flap away by itself till somebody came and picked it up and set it on the sofa.

One morning old Mr. King, hurrying along with his batch of English mail to enjoy opening it in the little music room where Jasper and Polly were playing a duet, ran up suddenly against a fat heavy body coming around an opposite angle.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir," exclaimed Mr. King in great distress, the more so as he saw that the stranger's glasses were knocked off his nose by the collision. "I do trust they are not broken," he added, in a concerned tone, endeavouring to pick them up.

But the big man was before him. "Not a beet, not a beet," he declared, adjusting them on his nose again. Then he suddenly grasped old Mr. King's hand. "And I be very glad, sir, very glad indeed, dat I haf roon into you."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. King, releasing his hand instantly, and all the concern dropping out of his face.

"Very glad indeed!" repeated the big man, heartily; then he pulled his black beard, and stood quite still a moment.

"If you have nothing more to remark, sir," said Mr. King, haughtily, "perhaps you will be kind enough to stand out of my way, and allow me to pass. And it would be as well for you to observe more care in the future, sir, both in regard to your feet, and your tongue, sir."

"Yes, I am very glad," began the big man again, who hadn't even heard Mr. King's tirade, "for now—" and he gave his black beard a final twitch, and his eyes suddenly lightened with a smile that ran all over his face, "I can speak to you of dis ting dat is in my mind. Your—"

"I want to hear nothing of what is on your mind," declared old Mr. King, now thoroughly angry. "Stand aside, fellow, and let me pass," he commanded, in a towering passion.

The big man stared in astonishment into the angry face, the smile dropping out of his own. "I beg to excuse myself," he said, with a deep bow, and a wave of his long fingers. "Will you pass?" and he moved up as tightly as possible to the wall.

Old Mr. King went into the little music room in a furious rage, and half an hour afterward Polly and Jasper, pausing to look around, saw him tossing and tumbling his letters and newspapers about on the table, fuming to himself all the while.

"Father has had bad news!" exclaimed Jasper, turning pale; "something about his agents, probably."

"O dear me! and here we have been playing," cried Polly in remorse, every vestige of colour flying from her cheek.

"Well, we didn't know," said Jasper, quickly. "But what can we do now, Polly?" he turned to her appealingly.

"I don't know," she was just going to say helplessly, but Jasper's face made her see that something must be done. "Let's go and tell him we are sorry," she said; "that's what Mamsie always liked best if she felt badly."

So the two crept up behind old Mr. King's chair: "Father, I'm so sorry," and "Dear Grandpapa, I'm so sorry," and Polly put both arms around his neck suddenly.

"Eh—what?" cried Mr. King, sitting bolt upright in astonishment. "Oh, bless me, children, I thought you were playing on the piano."

"We were," said Polly, hurrying around to the side of the table, her face quite rosy now, "but we didn't know—" and she stopped short, unable to find another word.

"—that you felt badly," finished Jasper. "Oh, father, we didn't know that you'd got bad news." He laid his hand as he spoke on the pile of tumbled-up letters.

"Bad news!" ejaculated old Mr. King, in perplexity, and looking from one to the other.

"No, we didn't," repeated Polly, clasping her hands. "Dear Grandpapa, we truly didn't, or we wouldn't have kept on playing all this time."

Mr. King put back his head and laughed long and loud, as he hadn't done for many a day, his ill humour dropping off in the midst of it. "The letters are all right," he said, wiping his eyes, "never had better news. It was an impertinent fellow I met out there, that's all."

"Father, who has dared—" began Jasper, with flashing eyes.

"Don't you worry, my boy; it's all right, the fellow got his quietus; besides, he wasn't worth minding," said Mr. King, carelessly. "Why, here is your mother," turning to Polly. "Now then, Mrs. Fisher, what is it; for I see by your eye some plan is on the carpet."

"Yes, there is," said Mrs. Fisher, coming in with a smile, "the doctor is going to take a day off."

"Is that really so?" cried Mr. King, with a little laugh. "What! not even going to visit one of his beloved hospitals?" while Polly exclaimed, radiantly, "Oh, how perfectly elegant! Now we'll have Papa-Doctor for a whole long day!"

Phronsie, who had been close to her mother's gown during the delivery of this important news, clasped her hands in a quiet rapture, while Polly exclaimed, "Now, Grandpapa, can it be the Rigi?" Jasper echoing the cry heartily.

"I suppose it is to be the Rigi," assented old Mr. King, leaning back in his chair to survey them all, "that is, if Mrs. Fisher approves. We'll let you pick out the jaunting place," turning to her, "seeing that it is the doctor's holiday."

"I know that Dr. Fisher wants very much to go up the Rigi," said his wife, in great satisfaction at the turn the plans were taking.

"And we'll stay over night, father," cried Jasper, "won't we?"

"Stay over night?" repeated his father, "I should say so. Why, what would be the good of our going up at all, pray tell, if we didn't devote that much time to it and have a try for a sunrise?"

"We're to go up the Rigi!" exclaimed Polly, giving a little whirl, and beginning to dance around the room, repeating, "We're to go up the Rigi," exactly as if nobody knew it, and she was telling perfectly fresh news.

"Here—that dance looks awfully good—wait for me," cried Jasper. And seizing her hands, they spun round and round, Phronsie scuttling after them, crying, "Take me, too. I want to dance, Polly."

"So you shall," cried Polly and Jasper together; so they made a little ring of three, and away they went, Polly this time crying, "Just think, we're going to have the most beautiful sunrise in all this world."

And on the other side of the partition, in his accustomed nook in the big parlour, the big fat man with the black beard sat. He pulled this same black beard thoughtfully a bit, when Mr. King was telling about the impertinent fellow. Then he smiled and jabbered away to himself very hard in German; and it wasn't till the King party hurried off to get ready for the Rigi trip, that he got up and sauntered off.

And almost the first person that old Mr. King saw on getting his party into a car on the funicular railway, was the "impertinent fellow," also bound for the top of the Rigi.

"Oh, Grandpapa!" Polly got out of her seat and hurried to him with cheeks aflame, when midway up.

"I know—isn't it wonderful!" cried Grandpapa, happy in her pleasure, and finding it all just as marvellous as if he hadn't made the ascent several times.

"Yes, yes!" cried Polly. "It is all perfectly splendid, Grandpapa; but oh, I mean, did you hear what that lady said?" and she dropped her voice, and put her mouth close to Grandpapa's ear.

"I'm sure I didn't," said old Mr. King, carelessly, "and I'm free to confess I'm honestly glad of it. For if there is one thing I detest more than another, Polly, my girl, it is to hear people, especially women, rave and gush over the scenery."

"Oh, she didn't rave and gush," cried Polly, in a whisper, afraid that the lady heard. "She said, Grandpapa, that Herr Bauricke is at Lucerne; just think, Grandpapa, the great Herr Bauricke!"

She took her mouth away from the old gentleman's ear in order to look in his face.

"Polly, Polly," called Jasper from his seat on the farther end, "you are losing all this," as the train rounded a curve. "Do come back."

"Now, I'm glad of that," exclaimed Grandpapa, in a tone of the greatest satisfaction, "for I can ask him about the music masters in Dresden and get his advice, and be all prepared before we go there for the winter to secure the very best."

"And I can see him, and perhaps hear him play," breathed Polly, in an awestruck tone, quite lost to scenery and everything else. Jasper leaned forward and stared at her in amazement. Then he slipped out of his seat, and made his way up to them to find out what it was all about.

"How did she know?" he asked, as Polly told all she knew; "I'm just going to ask her." But the lady, who had caught snatches of the conversation, though she hadn't heard Mr. King's part of it, very obligingly leaned forward in her seat and told all she knew.

And by the time this was done, they all knew that the information was in the American paper printed in Paris, and circulated all over the Continent, and that the lady had read it that very morning just before setting out.

"The only time I missed reading that paper," observed old Mr. King, regretfully.

"And he is staying at our very hotel," finished the lady, "for I have seen you, sir, with your party there."

"Another stroke of good luck," thought old Mr. King, "and quite easy to obtain the information I want as to a master for Polly and Jasper."

"Now then, children," he said to the two hanging on the conversation, "run back to your seats and enjoy the view. This news of ours will keep."

So Polly and Jasper ran back obediently, but every step of the toilsome ascent by which the car pushed its way to the wonderful heights above, Polly saw everything with the words, "Herr Bauricke is at our hotel," ringing through her ears; and she sat as in a maze. Jasper was nearly as bad.

And then everybody was pouring out of the cars and rushing for the hotel on the summit; all but Mr. King's party and a few others, who had their rooms engaged by telegraphing up. When they reached the big central hall there was a knot of Germans all talking together, and on the outside fringe of this knot, people were standing around and staring at the central figure. Suddenly some one darted away from this outer circle and dashed up to them. It was the lady from their hotel.

"I knew you'd want to know," she exclaimed breathlessly; "that's Herr Bauricke himself—he came up on our train—just think of it!—the big man in the middle with the black beard." She pointed an excited finger at the knot of Germans.

Old Mr. King followed the course of the finger, and saw his "impertinent fellow who wasn't worth minding."



XX

"I SHOULD MAKE HIM HAPPY," SAID PHRONSIE

Polly got Jasper away into a side corridor by a beseeching little pull on his sleeve. "Oh, just to think," she mourned, "I called that great man such unpleasant things—that he was big and fat, and—oh, oh!"

"Well, he is big and fat," declared Jasper. "We can't say he isn't, Polly."

"But I meant it all against him," said Polly, shaking her head. "You know I did, Jasper," she added remorsefully.

"Yes, we neither of us liked him," said Jasper, "and that's the honest truth, Polly."

"And to think it was that great Herr Bauricke!" exclaimed Polly. Then her feelings overcame her, and she sank down on the cushioned seat in the angle.

Jasper sat down beside her. "I suppose it won't do to say anything about people after this until we know them. Will it, Polly?"

"Jasper," declared Polly, clasping her hands, while the rosy colour flew over her cheek, "I'm never going to say a single—"

Just then the big form of Herr Bauricke loomed up before them, as he turned into the corridor.

Polly shrank up in her corner as small as she could, wishing she was as little as Phronsie, and could hop up and run away.

Herr Bauricke turned his sharp eyes on them for a moment, hesitated, then came directly up, and stopped in front of them. "I meant—I intended to speak to your grandfader first. Dat not seem best now." The great man was really talking to them, and Polly held her breath, not daring to look into his face, but keeping her gaze on his wonderful fingers. "My child," those wonderful fingers seized her own, and clasped them tightly, "you have great promise, mind you, you know only a leedle now, and you must work—work—work." He brought it out so sharply, that the last word was fairly shrill. "But I tink you will," he added kindly, dropping his tone. Then he laid her fingers gently in her lap.

"Oh, she does, sir," exclaimed Jasper, finding his tongue first, for Polly was beyond speaking. "Polly works all the time she can."

"Dat is right." Herr Bauricke bobbed his head in approval, so that his spectacles almost fell off. "I hear dat, in de music she play. No leedle girl play like dat, who doesn't work. I will hear you sometime at de hotel," he added abruptly, "and tell you some tings dat will help you. To-morrow, maybe, when we go down from dis place, eh?"

"Oh, sir," exclaimed Polly, springing off from her cushion before Jasper could stop her. "You are so good—but—but—I cannot," then her breath gave out, and she stood quite still.

"Eh?" exclaimed Herr Bauricke, and pushing up his spectacles to stare into her flushed and troubled face. "Perhaps I not make my meaning clear; I mean I geef you of my time and my best advice. Now you understand—eh?" He included Jasper in his puzzled glance.

"Yes, sir," Jasper made haste to say. "We do understand; and it is so very good of you, and Polly will accept it, sir." "For father will make it all right with him as to the payment," he reflected easily.

"Ah, now," exclaimed Herr Bauricke, joyfully, a light beaming all over his fat face, "dat is someting like—to-morrow, den, we—"

"But, oh, sir," Polly interrupted, "I cannot," and she twisted her hands in distress. "I—I—didn't like you, and I said so." Then she turned very pale, and her head drooped.

Jasper leaned over, and took her hand. "Neither did I, sir," he said. "I was just as bad as Polly."

"You not tink me nice looking—so?" said Herr Bauricke. "Well, I not tink so myself, eeder. And I scare you maybe, wid dis," and he twisted his black beard with his long fingers. "Ah, so; well, we will forget all dis, leedle girl," and he bent down and took Polly's other fingers that hung by her side. "And eef you not let me come to-morrow to your leedle music room, and tell you sometings to help you learn better, I shall know dat you no like me now—eh?"

"Oh, sir," Polly lifted her face, flooded with rosy colour up to her brown hair, "if you only will forgive me?"

"I no forgeef; I not remember at all," said Herr Bauricke, waving his long fingers in the air. "And I go to-morrow to help you, leedle girl," and he strode down the corridor.

Polly and Jasper rushed off, they scarcely knew how, to Grandpapa, to tell him the wonderful news,—to find him in a truly dreadful state of mind. When they had told their story, he was as much worse as could well be imagined.

"Impossible, impossible!" was all he could say, but he brought his hand down on the table before him with so much force that Jasper felt a strange sinking of heart. What could be the matter?

"Why, children, and you all" (for his whole party was before him), exclaimed Mr. King, "Herr Bauricke is that impertinent person who annoyed me this morning, and I called him 'fellow' to his face!"

It was so very much worse than Jasper had dreamed, that he collapsed into the first chair, all Polly's prospects melting off like dew before the sun.

"Hum!" Little Dr. Fisher was the first to speak. He took off his big spectacles and wiped them; then put them on his nose and adjusted them carefully, and glared around the group, his gaze resting on old Mr. King's face.

Polly, who had never seen Jasper give way like this, forgot her own distress, and rushed up to him. "Oh, don't, Jasper," she begged.

"You see I can't allow Herr Bauricke to give any lessons or advice to Polly after this," went on Mr. King, hastily. "Of course he would be paid; but, under the circumstances, it wouldn't do, not in the least. It is quite out of the question," he went on, as if some one had been contradicting him. But no one said a word.

"Why don't some of you speak?" he asked, breaking the pause. "Dr. Fisher, you don't generally keep us waiting for your opinion. Speak out now, man, and let us have it."

"It is an awkward affair, surely," began the little doctor, slowly.

"Awkward? I should say so," frowned Mr. King; "it's awkward to the last degree. Here's a man who bumps into me in a hotel passage,—though, for that matter, I suppose it's really my fault as much as his,—and I offer to pick up his spectacles that were dropped in the encounter. And he tells me that he is glad that we ran up against each other, for it gives him a chance to tell me what is on his mind. As if I cared what was on his mind, or on the mind of any one else, for that matter," he declared, in extreme irritation. "And I told him to his face that he was an impertinent fellow, and to get out of my way. Yes, I did!"

A light began to break on little Dr. Fisher's face, that presently shone through his big spectacles, fairly beaming on them all. Then he burst into a laugh, hearty and long.

"Why, Adoniram!" exclaimed Mother Fisher, in surprise. Polly turned a distressed face at him; and to say that old Mr. King stared would be stating the case very mildly indeed.

"Can't you see, oh, can't you see," exploded the little doctor, mopping up his face with his big handkerchief, "that your big German was trying to tell you of Polly's playing, and to say something, probably pretty much the same that he has said to her and to Jasper? O dear me, I should like to have been there to see you both," ended Dr. Fisher, faintly. Then he went off into another laugh.

"I don't see much cause for amusement," said old Mr. King, grimly, when this idea broke into his mind, "for it's a certain fact that I called him a fellow, and told him to get out of the way."

"Well, he doesn't bear you any malice, apparently," said the little doctor, who, having been requested to speak, saw no reason for withholding any opinion he might chance to have, "for, if he did, he wouldn't have made that handsome offer to Polly."

"That may be; the offer is handsome enough," answered Mr. King, "that is the trouble, it's too handsome. I cannot possibly accept it under the awkward circumstances. No, children," he turned to Polly and Jasper, as if they had been beseeching him all the while, "you needn't ask it, or expect it," and he got out of his chair, and stalked from the room.

Jasper buried his face in his hands, and a deep gloom settled over the whole party, on all but little Dr. Fisher. He pranced over to Polly and Jasper just as merrily as if nothing dreadful had happened. "Don't you be afraid, my boy," he said; "your father is a dreadfully sensible man, and there's no manner of doubt but that he will fix this thing up."

"Oh, you don't know father," groaned Jasper, his head in his hands, "when he thinks the right thing hasn't been done or said. And now Polly will miss it all!" And his head sank lower yet.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Dr. Fisher. Yet he had a dreadful feeling coming over him, and he turned to Polly imploringly.

"Oh, I do believe it, Jasper," cried Polly, "what Papa-Doctor says. And just look at Mamsie!" she cried, beneath her breath.

And truly Mother Fisher was having a hard time to control herself. That Jasper could see as he lifted his head. And the little doctor also saw, and skipped back across the room to her side. And Phronsie, feeling plunged into the deepest woe by all this dreadful state of affairs, that had come too bewilderingly for her to rally to Grandpapa's side, first began to cry. And then, thinking better of it, went softly out of the door, and no one noticed her when she went—with the tears running down her cheeks.

Down the long corridor she hurried, not knowing which way Grandpapa went, but turning into the little reading room, she spied him sitting by the table. The apartment was otherwise empty. He wasn't reading, not even looking at a paper, but sitting bolt upright, and lost in thought.

"Grandpapa," she said, laying a soft little hand on his arm. "Oh, I'm so glad I found you." And she nestled up to his side.

"Eh? Oh, Phronsie, child." Old Mr. King put his arm around her, and drew her closely to him. "So you came after your old Grand-daddy, did you?"

"Yes, I did," said Phronsie, with a glad little cry, snuggling up tighter to him, while the tears trailed off down his waistcoat, but not before he had seen them.

"Now, Phronsie, you are not to cry any more," he said, with a pang at the sight. "You won't, dear; promise me that."

So Phronsie promised; and he held her hands, and, clearing his throat, he began, "Well, now I suppose they felt pretty badly, back there in the room, your mother and all—eh, Phronsie?"

"Yes, Grandpapa," said Phronsie, her round face falling. Yet she had promised not to cry, and, although she had a hard time of it, every tear was kept back valiantly.

"And Polly, now—" asked old Mr. King, cautiously, "and Jasper—how were they feeling?"

"Grandpapa," Phronsie did not trust herself to reply, but, springing up, she laid her rosy little mouth close to his ear. "What does it all—the dreadful thing mean?" she whispered.

"It means," old Mr. King whispered back, but very distinctly, "that your old Granddaddy is an idiot, Phronsie, and that he has been rude, and let his temper run away with him."

"Oh, no, Grandpapa dear," contradicted Phronsie, falling back from him in horror. "You couldn't ever be that what you say." And she flung both arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"What? An idiot? Yes, I have been an idiot of the worst kind," declared Mr. King, "and all the rest just as I say; rude and—why, what is the matter, Phronsie?" for the little arms clutched him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

"Oh, Grandpapa," she wailed, and drawing away a bit to look at him, he saw her face convulsed with the effort not to cry. "Don't say such things. You are never naughty, Grandpapa dear; you can't be," she gasped.

"There, there, there," ejaculated old Mr. King, frightened at the effect of his words and patting her yellow hair, at his wits' end what to say. So he broke out, "Well, now, Phronsie, you must tell me what to do."

Thereupon Phronsie, seeing there was something she could really do to help Grandpapa, came out of her distress enough to sit up quite straight and attentive in his lap. "You see I spoke rudely to a man, and I called him a fellow, and he was a gentleman, Phronsie; you must remember that."

"Yes, I will, Grandpapa," she replied obediently, while her eyes never wandered from his face.

"And I told him to get out of the way and he did," said Mr. King, forcing himself to a repetition of the unpleasant truth. "O dear me, nothing could be worse," he groaned.

"And you are sorry, Grandpapa dear?" Phronsie leaned over and laid her cheek softly against his.

"Yes, I am, Phronsie, awfully sorry," confessed the old gentleman; "but what good will that do now? My temper has made a terrible mess of it all."

"But you can tell the gentleman you are sorry," said Phronsie. "Oh, Grandpapa dear, do go and tell him now, this very minute." She broke away from him again, and sat straight on his knee, while a glad little smile ran all over her face.

"I can't—you don't understand—O dear me!" Mr. King set her abruptly on the floor, and took a few turns up and down the room. Phronsie's eyes followed him with a grieved expression. When she saw the distress on his face, she ran up to him and seized his hand, but didn't speak.

"You see, child,"—he grasped her fingers and held them closely,—"it's just this way: the gentleman wants to do me a favour; that is, to help Polly with her music."

"Does he?" cried Phronsie, and she laughed in delight. "Oh, Grandpapa, how nice! And Polly will be so happy."

"But I cannot possibly accept it," groaned old Mr. King; "don't you see, child, after treating him so? Why, how could I? The idea is too monstrous!" He set off now at such a brisk pace down the room that Phronsie had hard work to keep up with him. But he clung to her hand.

"Won't that make the gentleman sorry?" panted Phronsie, trotting along by his side.

"Eh—oh, what?" exclaimed old Mr. King, coming to a dead stop suddenly. "What's that you say, Phronsie?"

"Won't the gentleman feel sorry?" repeated Phronsie, pushing back the waves of yellow hair that had fallen over her face, to look up at him. "And won't he feel badly then, Grandpapa?"

"Eh—oh, perhaps," assented Mr. King, slowly, and passing a troubled hand across his brow. "Well, now, Phronsie, you come and sit in my lap again, and we'll talk it over, and you tell me what I ought to do."

So the two got into the big chair again, and Phronsie folded her hands in her lap.

"Now begin," said old Mr. King.

"I should make the gentleman happy, Grandpapa," said Phronsie, decidedly.

"You would—no matter what you had to do to bring it about?" asked Grandpapa, with a keen pair of eyes on her face. "Eh? think now, Phronsie."

"I should make the gentleman happy," repeated Phronsie, and she bobbed her head decidedly. "I really should, Grandpapa."

"Then the best way is to have it over with as soon as possible," said old Mr. King; "so come on, child, and you can see that the business is done up in good shape." He gathered her little fingers up in his hand, and setting her once more on the floor, they passed out of the apartment.

The door of the private parlour belonging to Mr. King's rooms was flung wide open, and into the gloomy interior, for Mother Fisher and Jasper were still inconsolable, marched old Mr. King. He was arm in arm, so far as the two could at once compass the doorway, with Herr Bauricke; while Phronsie ducked and scuttled in as she could, for the big German, with ever so many honorary degrees to his name, held her hand fast.

Old Mr. King continued his march up to Mother Fisher. "Allow me to introduce Herr Bauricke, Professor and Doctor of Music, of world-wide distinction," he said, bowing his courtly old head.

And then Mother Fisher, self-controlled as she had always been, astonished him by turning to her husband to supply the answering word.

"Glad to see you!" exclaimed the little doctor, bubbling over with happiness, and wringing the long fingers extended. "My wife is overcome with delight," which the big German understood very well; and he smiled his knowledge of it, as he looked into her black eyes. "She is like to mein Frau," he thought, having no higher praise. And then he turned quickly to Polly and Jasper.



XXI

ON THE RIGI-KULM

For all that grand old Rigi's summit claimed them, it was some time before Mr. King's party left the little parlour. Herr Bauricke surely didn't want to until he had gotten it settled just what he did mean about Polly's music. That she showed great promise, that some faults in the way she had been taught were there, but it was by no means too late to mend them, that she had spirit and expression and love for the art.

"Ah, dat is eet, after all." Herr Bauricke clasped his long fingers and beamed at her, and then swept the entire party. "Lofe, ah, how one must lofe eet! Eef not, shame, shame!" His countenance darkened frightfully, and he fairly glared at them, as he unclasped his hands and swung one over his head, while his black beard vibrated with each word.

"Goodness me!" exclaimed Tom Selwyn, "it takes a musical man to sling around. I say, Jasper, I'd like to do a bit of boxing or cricketing with him." But Jasper didn't hear or see anything but Herr Bauricke and Polly; and, indeed, the whole room was given up to the "musical man" and his words.

At last Polly drew a long breath; Grandpapa was taking her hand. "Let us all go out and explore a bit," and off they went, the entire party. And the "musical man," as Tom still continued to call him in private, proved to be as expert in the use of his feet as his fingers, for he led them here, there, and everywhere that promised the least chance of a good view.

But Polly saw only the glorious future when, on the morrow, Herr Bauricke would really show her on the piano how best to study and to work! And the rosy glow of sunset wasn't one-half as bright as all her dreams.

"Polly," said Phronsie, pulling her hand gently, as she peered up into her face, "are you looking at it?"

"What, Pet? Oh, yes," said Polly, starting out of her revery with a little laugh, "you mean the sunset?"

"Yes," said Phronsie, "I do mean that. Are you looking at it, Polly? Because if you are not looking, I wish you would, Polly."

"Well, I suppose I am looking at it, Phronsie," said Polly, with another little laugh, "but perhaps not in just the right way, for you see, Phronsie, I can't seem to see anything but just the splendid thing that is coming to-morrow. Oh, Phronsie Pepper, just think of that."

"I know," said Phronsie, with a little gurgle of delight at Polly's happiness, "and I am so glad, Polly."

"Of course you are," declared Polly, warmly, "just as glad as can be, Phronsie," and she threw her arm around her. "And now I'm going to look at the sunset in the right way, I hope. Isn't it beautiful, child?"

"Polly," declared Phronsie, suddenly wriggling away from Polly's arm, to stand in front of her with a beaming face, "I think it's just as beautiful as it can be up top here. I can see right in between that red cloud and that little pink teenty one. And I wish I could just go in, Polly."

"Wouldn't it be nice?" echoed Polly, enthusiastically.

"What?" asked Adela, hurrying up from a point of rocks below, where she had been sketching.

"Oh, to go in between those clouds there and see it all," said Polly.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Adela, "I shouldn't like it. I'd much rather stay down here, and sketch it."

"We could go sailing off, oh, ever so far," said Polly, swinging her arms to suit the action to the words. "And you'd be stuck to your rock here, Adela; while, Phronsie, you and I would sit on the edge of a cloud, and let our feet hang over; and oh, Adela, you could sketch us then as we went sailing by."

"How that would look!" exclaimed Adela, with such a face that Polly burst out into a merry laugh, and Phronsie, joining with her little crow of delight and clapping her hands at the idea of such fun, brought pretty much the whole party around them.

"What's up?" cried Tom to Jasper, on the way to the girls with some fear, for he didn't dare even yet to talk much to Polly. As for Adela, he let her severely alone.

"Don't know," said Jasper, "but we'll soon find out," and they did, by Phronsie's flying away from Polly and skipping down over the rocks to meet them.

"Oh, Jasper, Polly's telling how we would sail on that beautiful cloud," announced Phronsie, her yellow hair flying from her face as she sped along, heedless of her steps.

"Take care or you'll fall," warned Jasper. "See, your mother is looking worried." And, truth to tell, Mrs. Fisher, on a point of rocks a little way off with the others, was getting a bit alarmed as she saw the progress of her baby.

"I'll take care," said Phronsie, sobering down at thought of Mamsie's being troubled, and beginning to pick her way carefully. And Jasper gathered up her fingers in his, thinking of the time when she toiled up and down the long stairway, when she first came to what was now her home, blessed thought! and Polly and he sat down at the foot to watch her.

"And so Polly and you are going to try sailing on that cloud there," said Jasper, squinting up at the brilliant sky.

"We aren't really going, Jasper," said Phronsie, shaking her head, soberly, "because you see we can't. But Polly's pretending it all; and we're to sit on the edge and swing our feet. And Adela is going to make a picture of us."

"Whew!" whistled Jasper. "And I say, Polly,"—for now they had scrambled up to the two girls,—"isn't there room for us on that cloud too?" While Tom kicked pebbles, and wished he knew how to talk to girls.

"Perhaps," said Polly, gaily. "Oh, I suppose that those who couldn't get on our cloud could take the next one."

"I'd rather have your cloud, Polly," said Jasper.

"And Grandpapa must come too," cried Phronsie, in alarm at the very thought of his being left out. "I want him on our cloud, Polly."

"Yes, and Mamsie and Papa-Doctor," finished Polly, ready for any nonsense, she was just bubbling over so with joy at thought of the morrow and what it would bring. "Well, it is good the cloud is big," squinting up at the radiant sky.

"And, Tom, you are coming on that cloud-boat."

Jasper pulled him forward with a merry laugh, giving him a clap on the back at the same time.

"Eh—oh, I can't—no, thank you," stammered Tom, thus suddenly brought into notice. "Excuse me," just as if the invitation had been a bona fide one.

Polly never smiled, but Adela giggled right out. Tom's face flushed, and he rushed off furiously, determined never to chance it again whereby he'd be mortified before girls—not he!

All the gay time was flown, and the red and pink and purple clouds looked down upon a sorry, uncomfortable little group. Jasper spoke first. "I must go after him," and he dashed down the rocks.

"O dear me, I couldn't help it," said Adela, twisting uncomfortably, "it was so silly in him to take it all in earnest."

"He didn't really think we meant it," said Polly, her brown eyes very grave. Would Jasper really persuade him to forget that laugh? "But he is shy, and he said the first thing that came into his head."

"Boys haven't any right to be shy," said Adela, fussing with her little sketching block and pencil, "they are so big and strong."

"Why did Tom run away so fast?" asked Phronsie, only half comprehending.

"Never mind, child," said Polly, with a reassuring pat on her head.

"And isn't Jasper coming back?" asked Phronsie, in great distress.

"Yes, oh, I guess so," said Polly. "Well, there, the pretty glow has all faded; see, Phronsie," pointing up to the leaden clouds that no one who had failed to see a few moments before could have imagined alive with colour. "Now we ought to run over to the others, for they'll be going back to the hotel."

"It's all gone," said Phronsie, sadly, looking up at the darkening sky. "Polly, where has the pretty red and pink gone to?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Polly, thinking only of Tom, and what a hard time Jasper must be having with him. "Take care, Phronsie, don't look up now—you'll fall! There, take my hand; now come on."

"O dear me, I didn't mean to laugh," Adela was saying to herself as she fell back in the zig-zag path down the rocks. "I wish I hadn't—I'll —I'll—" What she meant to do wasn't very clear in her mind; what she did do, was to run up to her grandmother's and her room, and toss her sketch-book on the table, and herself on the bed, for a good hearty cry.

Polly found her there, when they couldn't find her anywhere else, with much searching and running about. Little old Mrs. Gray was worrying dreadfully, so afraid she had been blown from the rocks; for the wind had now risen, and all the travellers were seeking the shelter and warmth of the hotel corridor and parlours.

"Oh, Adela, how could you?" Polly was going to say. And then she thought that would be the very worst thing in all the world, for Adela's shoulders were shaking, and it would only make her cry worse. And besides, Polly remembered how she had sometimes given way in just this fashion, and how much worse she would have been, had it not been for a wise, good mother. So she ran out in the hall. "I must tell her grandmother," she said to herself.

"Have you found her?" asked Jasper, looking up from the foot of the staircase.

"Yes," said Polly, "I have."

"All right." And Jasper vanished, and Polly went slowly back, wishing she could be downstairs with all the dear people, instead of trying to comfort this dismal girl. The next moment she was kneeling down by the side of the bed, and trying to get hold of one of Adela's hands. But Adela bounced over to the farther side, and she cried out angrily, "It's all very well for you to say so, because you didn't do it. And everybody likes you. O dear me—tee—hee—boo—hoo!"

"But I've often done things just as bad," confessed Polly, "and, Adela, I've cried like this, too. But Mamsie—oh, Adela! she made me see it was wrong; so I had to stop it, you know."

"How is it wrong?" asked Adela, rolling over, and taking the handkerchief away from one eye enough to see Polly Pepper's face. "I can cry, I guess, if I want to, without asking anybody."

"Oh, no, you can't," said Polly, decidedly. "I mean no one can."

"Why not, pray tell?" said Adela, sniffing very hard. "My eyes are my own, and I shall cry, too, whenever I want to."

"Well, I can't just tell you exactly why you can't cry when you want to," said Polly, afraid she wasn't going to say the right word, "but Mamsie could if she were here. I'll go and call her, Adela." And Polly sprang to her feet. "She'll come, I know."

"Oh, no—no," cried Adela, in mortal alarm. "I don't want her—I mean I'd rather have you. You're a girl; and a woman talking at me scares me."

"Then you mustn't cry if I stay," said Polly, stopping short, and seeing her advantage, "for I surely shall go, Adela," she added firmly, "unless you stop crying."

"O dear me." Adela squirmed all over the bed. "I can't stop—I've always cried as much as I wanted to. O dear me—boo-hoo-hoo! I mean—I'll stop, don't go—" sopping up her wet face with a nervous hand. "See, Pol-ly!" for Polly had slipped out of the room. Adela flew off from the bed. "Polly—Polly, Pol-ly!" she called, in a piteous little tone.

Polly, halfway down the stairs, looked back. "Oh, you are up," she said, with a smile. "Now that's fine; come." And she held out her hand.

"Mercy me, and O my!" cried Adela. "I can't go looking like this; why, I'm a perfect sight, I know, Polly Pepper! and my nose feels all bunged out of shape and as big!"

"Never mind," said Polly, as reassuringly, "just dash some water over it, and it'll be all right. I'll wait here for you."

So Polly stood on her stair while Adela, bemoaning all the way that she didn't look fit to be seen, and that she was a perfect sight, and she couldn't go down among them all, stumbled back into her room. And pretty soon Polly heard a big splash. "O dear me—oh, what shall I do?"

"What is the matter?" cried Polly, deserting her stair, to run in and up to the washstand.

"Just see what I've done," exclaimed Adela, holding out one arm. It was dripping wet, and the water was running off in a stream and down to meet a small puddle where the splash had struck on the floor.

"The pitcher slipped—O dear me—ugh—" cried Adela, wriggling all over.

"Stand still," said Polly, "do, Adela, till I wipe your sleeve dry." And she got the towel and began to sop and to pat Adela's arm.

"It never'll feel dry, it's perfectly awful—ugh—Polly Pepper," declared Adela, twisting away from Polly's fingers; "it's just like a wet snake—ugh—O dear me! and it gives me the creeps."

"You'll have to put on another waist, I do think," said Polly, hanging up the towel, aghast to find herself growing angry at all this delay, and with half a mind to run and leave Adela to herself.

"O dear me, and there's this water running all over the floor," cried Adela, stepping gingerly over the pool, and trying to pick off the wet sleeve from her arm at the same time.

"I'll fix it," said Polly, as cheerily as she could, "while you get your waist on." And she sopped the water up. "There, that's done," she announced with satisfaction; "now do hurry, Adela."

"I can't get out of this old, horrid, wet sleeve," said Adela, very red in the face, and pulling and twitching at it.

"Take care, you'll tear it," warned Polly.

"I don't care if I do," said Adela, peevishly. "O dear me, somebody's coming!" With that she flew into the closet and pulled to the door.

"Why, Polly!" exclaimed Mother Fisher, in surprise, "what is the matter? We are all waiting to go in to dinner."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," began Polly, feeling as if nothing would be so delightful as to have a good cry in Mamsie's arms and tell all the story.

"Well, you must come right away," said Mrs. Fisher. "Why, where is Adela?" looking around the room.

"I'm here," said Adela, from the closet.

"Come out here, Adela," said Mrs. Fisher. So Adela came out, the wet sleeve still on her arm; but she had gotten out of the rest of the waist.

"That's too bad," said Mrs. Fisher; and in a minute Adela's wet arm was free and nicely dried, and a clean waist being found, it was soon on, and then Mother Fisher took up the hairbrush. "We must have this all nice and smooth," she said. And Adela stood still, liking it all very much; and her hair was brushed, much as if she had been Phronsie, and then Mother Fisher released her with a smile. "There, now you are ready," she said.

"She didn't scold a bit," said Adela, going after her with Polly down the stairs, and forgetting her red eyes and swollen nose.

"Our mother never scolds," declared Polly, with her head very high, "never in all this world, Adela Gray."

And at dinner Tom Selwyn looked across the table, and when he caught sight of Adela's face, and saw that some one else could feel as badly as he could, and he guessed the reason, he made up his mind what he was going to do next. And as soon as the meal was over, without giving himself time to think, he marched up to Adela. "Say, I didn't much mind because you laughed, don't you know," and held out his hand.

"I've been crying ever since," said Adela, "and I didn't mean to laugh."

"I know it," said Tom to the first part of her sentence, and looking at her nose. "Well, never mind now, so it's quits, and shake hands."

"I don't know what quits is," said Adela, putting out her hand.

"Oh, it's when things are evened up somehow," said Tom; "not exactly that, but it will do well enough by way of explaining."

"And I'm never going to laugh again at anybody," said Adela, lifting her red eyes.

"Well, come on, don't you want a game of draughts?" said Tom, awkwardly.

"Draughts?" repeated Adela, very much puzzled. "I don't know it."

"Why, what a whopper!" Tom was going to say, but changed it to, "Why, I saw you playing it last night with Polly Pepper."

"Why, no, you didn't," said Adela, not very politely, "that was checkers."

"That's the same thing," said Tom, triumphantly, "only you Americans call it that funny name."

"Well, I think it's a great deal nicer name than draughts," said Adela; "that's silly."

"Well, checkers; that's senseless," retorted Tom, "and, besides, you Americans always say 'nice' at everything." Then he looked at her red eyes and poor little nose, and added kindly, "Well, never mind, call it checkers, then, I don't care; let's have a game," and he rushed for the board.

Mrs. Selwyn looked from her corner where she had taken a book, and smiled to see him playing a game with a girl. Then she nodded over to Jasper, and he smiled back.

And Adela never once thought how she looked. And she beat Tom twice, and that quite set her up. And then for the next three games he routed her men completely off the board. And, strange to say, she kept her temper, and even smiled at the disaster.

"That's a good game." Old Mr. King came up as the last one was going on. "Tom, my boy, you play a fine one."

"And she fights well," said Tom, generously. "She beat me twice."

"You don't say so," exclaimed Mr. King. "Well, that's doing pretty well, Adela, to get ahead of the English lad. But you don't stand much of a chance this time; Tom's got the game, sure." And so it proved in less time than it takes to write it.

And then everybody said "good night" to everybody else; for the Alpine horn would sound at the earliest dawn to waken the sleepers to see the sunrise.

"Mamsie," cried Polly, raising her head suddenly as she cuddled into bed, "supposing we shouldn't hear that horn—just supposing it! Oh, can't I stay awake? Do let me, Mamsie."

"Your Grandfather has made arrangements for us all to be called," said Mrs. Fisher, "so we won't have to depend on the horn, and now you must go to sleep just as fast as ever you can. Then you'll be as bright as a button in the morning, Polly."

"Mamsie," said Polly, "I don't think Grandpapa has kept from doing anything he could to make us happy, do you, Mamsie? not a single thing."

"No," said Mother Fisher, "I don't, Polly."



XXII

POLLY TRIES TO HELP

"Mamsie, what shall we do?" Polly clasped her hands in despair, and looked down on Phronsie, sleeping away as if she meant to take her own time to wake up, regardless of sunrise on the Rigi. "O dear me, and she went to bed so early last night on purpose."

"You go right along, Polly," said Mother Fisher. "Put on your golf cape over your jacket, child, it's dreadfully cold out there. I shall stay with Phronsie, for of course we wouldn't leave her alone with Matilda, and all go off for a nice time."

"No, of course not," cried Polly, in horror at the mere thought.

"And she's in such a nice sleep and so warm, that it's a pity to wake her up," finished Mrs. Fisher.

"O dear me," cried Polly, in distress, "I'd rather stay, Mamsie, and have you go."

"No," said Mrs. Fisher, firmly, "I shall stay, so that is all there is about it, Polly. Now run along, child, and tell Matilda to hurry out too, for she wants to see the sunrise."

Polly still lingered, until her mother looked up in surprise. "Why, Polly," she said, reprovingly.

"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, "I didn't mean to disobey, Mamsie, I really didn't; I'll go." And setting a kiss on Mother Fisher's black hair, she ran out on unsteady feet, and with all her comfort gone.

When she joined her group it would have been rather hard to distinguish any of them, as everybody was wrapped up in shawls and rugs, if Jasper hadn't been a sort of scout in waiting for her and Mrs. Fisher and Phronsie. And Tom could easily be picked out, for he hung around in Jasper's wake, and besides, he was so very big.

"Where are they?" asked Jasper, looking down the corridor back of her.

"Oh, Mamsie isn't coming, nor Phronsie either, for she's asleep. And Mamsie made me come," finished Polly, dismally.

"O dear me," said Jasper, quite gone in sympathy. Tom Selwyn poked his head forward to hear, but, as it was something quite beyond his powers to help, he thrust his hands into his pockets, and kicked aimlessly on the floor.

"Well, come on, Polly," said Jasper, wishing he could lift the gloom from Polly's face, and feeling quite dismal himself.

Little Dr. Fisher, muffled up in a big plaid shawl so that only his spectacles gleamed in between the folds and his cap, suddenly edged up back of Polly, and dropped the folds away from his ears so that he could hear what was going on. And when the group hurried out of the door, into the cold gray dawn, he was skipping down to his wife's room, in the liveliest way imaginable.

Old Mr. King had gone on ahead with the parson, as he couldn't scramble so fast. And now he met them with, "Well, are you all here—where's Phronsie?"

"Oh, Jasper, I can't tell him," gasped Polly, up on the tiptop bunch of rocks, and trying to be glad of the promise of the beautiful sunrise to come, for everybody agreed that it was apparently to be the best one that had gladdened the hearts of travellers for years. Then she whirled around and stared with all her might, "If there isn't Mamsie coming!"

"As true as you live it is!" cried Jasper, with a good look, and springing down the rocks to help her up. Tom Selwyn plunged after him, getting there first. So in the bustle, nobody answered Mr. King. And he, supposing from the merry chatter that Phronsie was in the midst of it, concluded it best not to interrupt their fun, even if he could make them hear.

"Your father made me come, Polly," said Mrs. Fisher, coming up between the two boys. "But I'd so much rather that he saw it." And her downcast face looked so very much like Polly, that Jasper thought matters hadn't bettered themselves any.

"But, Mamsie," said Polly, creeping up to her with all the comfort she could, "it makes him happy, just as it made you happy to have me go."

"I know it," said Mother Fisher, with a sigh, "but he has so few pleasures, Polly, and he works so hard." And her gaze wandered off to the distant clouds, slowly beginning to break away.

Polly held her breath as they waited and looked, although her heart was sad when the wee little streak of light began to come over in the east.

"Isn't that just beautiful!" exclaimed Jasper, trying to enjoy it as much as he had expected; "see, Polly, the stars seem going out—daylight's coming!"

"I know," said Polly, "so it is." Sure enough, a little strip of gold touched up the leaden sky, and spread slowly.

"See, it's turning pink." Mrs. Selwyn's plain, quiet face glowed. "See, Polly, look at that peak bathed in colour."

Just then a little voice said, "Oh, isn't that beautiful!" And whirling around on her rock, Polly saw little Dr. Fisher staggering along with a big bundle in his arms, out of which was peering Phronsie's face.

Mother Fisher had turned too. "Oh, Adoniram!" was all she said, as Polly sprang off to meet them.

"Give her to me," cried Tom Selwyn, of course reaching there first, before either Polly or Jasper; and before Dr. Fisher quite knew how, Phronsie was perched on the broad shoulder, and Tom was prancing up the rocky path as easily as if a bird had lighted on his arm.

"She woke up, luckily," said little Dr. Fisher, "and she's bundled up so there isn't a chance of her taking cold. Wife, this is grand!" He gained her side, and drew her hand under the big shawl.

"You've come just in time," cried Polly, skipping around on her rock to the imminent danger of falling on her nose, and varying the exercises by cuddling Phronsie's toes, done up in a big bundle.

"I declare if Papa Fisher hasn't tied them up in one of the blankets," she announced merrily.

"A blanket is just as good as anything when the sunrise is waiting for you," said the little doctor, coolly.

"Isn't it!" cried Polly, back at him, happily. "Oh—oh!"

Everybody echoed, "Oh-oh!" then stood hushed to silence. A rosy blush spread from peak to peak, and all the shadows fell away. Everything below, towns, villages, lakes, and forests, stood out in the clear cold dawn, and at last the sun burst forth in all his glory.

"I'm so glad that people don't chatter," said Polly, when at last they turned away, for the swift clouds had shut it all out. "Did you see Phronsie's face, Jasper, when that light burst out?"

"Yes, and father's," answered Jasper. "I expect he'd been looking for her; everybody is so bundled up you can hardly find your best friend. And then he saw her."

"Yes, and she saw him and called him," said Polly, "didn't you hear her?"

"Didn't I, though?" said Jasper; "who could help it? Wasn't father pleased when he got up to us, Tom, to think you had Phronsie in such good shape? Phronsie, you're in luck," pinching as much of her toes as the bundle of blanket would allow; "you've got the best place of any of us, up on that perch."

"I like it," said Phronsie, in grave delight, "very much, indeed," surveying them out of the depths of the shawl, "and I wish it needn't stop."

"Well, it must," said Polly, with a sigh. "Dear me, see those people run."

"Well, it's cold," said Jasper; "let's you and I race to the hotel, Polly."

"And the show is over," said Tom, "why shouldn't they run?" as Jasper and Polly set off, and he strode after, getting there nearly as soon.

An hour later, Polly, who couldn't get to sleep again, for a nap before breakfast, went out to the little balcony window just outside her door, where she might sit and write in her journal, and meantime catch any chance view that the grey scudding clouds might afford. In this way she strove to work off the impatience possessing her for the beautiful hour to come after breakfast. "I can hardly believe it now," she thought, and she gave herself a little pinch to see if she were really awake; "it seems too good to be true to think that the great Professor Bauricke is actually going to tell me how to learn to play well!"

"Say," a voice struck upon her ear, "oh, I'm in the most awful distress."

Polly clapped her book to, and looked up.

"O dear, dear!" It was a tall, spare woman with a face that had something about it like Grandma Bascom's. It must have been the cap-frills flapping around her cheeks.

"What can I do for you?" asked Polly, springing up. "Oh, do take my chair and sit down and tell me about it."

"Oh, will you help me? The land! I couldn't set when I'm in such trouble," declared the old woman. "My senses, I should fly off the handle!" Polly, feeling that she was in the presence of some dreadful calamity, stood quite still. "You see, me and my sister—she's in highstrikes now in there." The old woman tossed her head to indicate a room further down the hall, whereat the cap-frills flapped wilder than ever. "Bein' as it belonged to both of us, she feels as bad as I do, but as I was the one that lost it, why it stands to reason I've got to shake around and get it again. Say, will you help me? You've got a pair of bright eyes as ever I see in a head; and what's the good of 'em if you can't help in trouble like this?"

Polly, feeling that her eyes would never forgive her if she didn't let them help on such an occasion, promised.

"What is it you have lost?" she asked.

"Don't you know?" cried the old woman, impatiently. "Mercy me! how many times shall I tell you? My buzzom pin; it was took of Pa when he was a young man and awful handsome, and I didn't want to leave it in the room when we went out, cause somebody might get in, and they'd be sure to want it, so I pinned it on my nightcap strings and it's gone, and I a-gallivanting round on them rocks, a-looking at the sunrise, and I can see that to home all I want to. I must have been crazy."

"Oh, I see; and you want me to go out and help you look for it," said Polly, her brow clearing.

"Of course," assented the old woman, impatiently. "Land, your intellects ain't as bright as your eyes. My sakes!—how many times do you expect me to tell you? I've been a-looking and a-peeking everywhere, but my eyes are old, and I don't dare to tell any one to help me, for like enough they'd pick it up when I warn't seein', and slip Pa in their pocket, and I never'd see him again."

Polly, feeling, if Pa were slipped in a pocket and carried off, it would be a calamity indeed, said heartily, "I'll get my jacket and cap and come right out."

"She looks honest; I guess I hain't done no harm to tell her about our buzzom pin," said the old woman to herself as Polly disappeared. Mamsie being asleep, Polly could say nothing to her, but feeling that she would allow it if she knew, she threw on her things and ran out to meet the old woman, with a shawl tied over her nightcap and a big long cape on.

"I tell you she's in highstrikes," said the old woman, going down the hall. "That's our room, 37, an' I've seen you an' your folks goin' by, so I feel in some ways acquainted. An' if I don't find Pa, I'll be flabbergasted myself."

"Do let us hurry," said Polly, her mind now only on Pa. So they went down the stairs and out by the door and up the rocky path just where the old woman said she and sister Car'line took when they went out to see the sunrise.

"An' I wish we'd kept in bed," ejaculated Polly's companion. "I most lost my teeth out, they chattered so; and so did Car'line hers. But that wouldn't 'a' been nothin' to losin' Pa, cause we could 'a' got more teeth; but how could we 'a' got him took when he was nineteen and so handsome? There! here we stopped, just at this identical spot!"

"Well, I think we shall find it," said Polly, consolingly. "How did the pin look?" she asked, for the first time remembering to ask, and beginning to poke around in the crevices.

"My land sakes! I never see such a girl for wanting to be told over and over," exclaimed the old woman, irritably, picking up first one ample gaiter and then another to warm her cold toes in her hands. "Haven't I told you he was awful handsome? Well, he had on his blue coat and big brass buttons for one thing, an' his shirt front was ruffled. And—"

"Was it gold around it?" asked Polly, poking away busily.

"Gold? I guess it was; and there was dents in it, where Car'line an' I bit into it when we were babies, 'cause mother give it to us when our teeth was comin'—'twas better'n a chicken bone, she said."

"Oh," said Polly.

"Well, now you know," said Car'line's sister, "an' don't for mercy's sakes ask any more useless questions. I'm most sorry I brung you."

"I might go down and get the boys, Jasper and Tom—they'd love to help," said Polly, feeling that she was very much out of place, and there was no hope of finding Pa under the circumstances.

The old woman clutched her arm and held her fast. "Don't you say a single word about any boys," she commanded. "I hate boys," she exploded, "they're the worry of our lives, Car'line and mine,—they get into our garden, and steal all our fruit, and they hang on behind our chaise when we ride out, and keep me a-lookin' round an' slashin' the whip at 'em the whole livelong time; O my—boys!"

"What in the world is Polly Pepper doing up on those rocks?" cried Jasper, just spying her. "Come on, Tom, and let's see." And they seized their caps, and buttoned their jackets against the wind which had just sprung up, and dashed off to see for themselves.

"Ugh—you go right away!" screamed Car'line's sister, as their heads appeared over the point of rocks, and shaking both hands fiercely at them.

"Whew!" whistled Jasper, with his eyes in surprise on Polly.

"And what old party are you?" demanded Tom, finding it easy to talk to her, as she was by no means a girl. "And do you own this mountain, anyway?"

"Oh, don't," begged Polly. "And Jasper, if you would go away, please, and not ask any questions."

"All right," said Jasper, swallowing his disappointment not to know. "Come on, Tom, Polly doesn't want us here."

"An' I won't have you here," screamed the old woman, harder than ever. "So get away as soon as you can. Why, you are boys!"

"I know it." Tom bobbed his head at her. "We've always been, ma'am."

"An' boys are good for nothing, an' lazy, an' thieves—yes, I wouldn't trust 'em." So she kept on as they hurried back over the rocky path.

"That's a tiger for you!" ejaculated Tom. Then he stopped and looked back a little anxiously. "Aren't you afraid to leave Polly with her?"

"No," said Jasper; "it would trouble Polly to have us stay." Yet he stopped and looked anxious too. "We will wait here."

And after a while, down came the two searchers—the old woman quite beside herself now, and scolding every bit of the way,—"that she didn't see what bright eyes were for when they couldn't find anything—an' now that Pa'd gone sliding down that mountain, they might as well give up, she an' Car'line"—when a sudden turn in the path brought the boys into view waiting behind the rocks. Then all her fury burst upon them.

"See here, now," cried Tom, suddenly squaring up to her and looking at the face between the nodding cap-frills, "we are ready to take a certain amount of abuse, my friend and I, but we won't stand more, I can tell you."

"Oh, don't," began Polly, clasping her hands. "Oh, Tom, please keep still. She doesn't know what she's saying, for she's lost her pin with her father on."

"Hey?" cried Jasper. "Say it again, Polly," while Tom shouted and roared all through Polly's recital.

"Was it an old fright with a long nose in a blue coat and ruffles, and as big as a turnip?" he asked between the shouts. While Polly tried to say, "Yes, I guess so," and Miss Car'line's sister so far overcame her aversion to boys as to seize him by the arm, Tom shook her off like a feather. "See here, old party," he cried, "that ancient pin of yours is reposing in the hotel office at this blessed moment. Jasper and I," indicating his friend, "ran across it on the rocks up there more than an hour ago, and—"

"Oh, Pa's found!" exclaimed the old woman, in a shrill scream of delight, beginning to trot down to the hotel office.

"Yes, it would have been impossible for Pa to have got off this mountain without making a landslide," said Tom, after her.



XXIII

IN THE SHADOW OF THE MATTERHORN

They had been days at dear Interlaken, walking up and down the Hoheweg, of which they never tired, or resting on the benches under the plane and walnut trees opposite their hotel, just sitting still to gaze their fill upon the Jungfrau. This was best of all—so Polly and Jasper thought; and Phronsie was content to pass hour after hour there, by Grandpapa's side, and imagine all sorts of pretty pictures and stories in and about the snow-clad heights of the majestic mountain.

And the throng of gaily dressed people sojourning in the big hotels, and the stream of tourists, passed and repassed, with many a curious glance at the stately, white-haired old gentleman and the little yellow-haired girl by his side.

"A perfect beauty!" exclaimed more than one matron, with a sigh for her ugly girls by her side or left at home.

"She's stunning, and no mistake!" Many a connoisseur in feminine loveliness turned for a last look, or passed again for the same purpose.

"Grandpapa," Phronsie prattled on, "that looks just like a little tent up there—a little white tent; doesn't it, Grandpapa dear?"

"Yes, Phronsie," said Grandpapa, happily, just as he would have said "Yes, Phronsie," if she had pointed out any other object in the snowy outline.

"And there's a cunning little place where you and I could creep into the tent," said Phronsie, bending her neck like a meditative bird. "And I very much wish we could, Grandpapa dear."

"We'd find it pretty cold in there," said Grandpapa, "and wish we were back here on this nice seat, Phronsie."

"What makes it so cold up there, Grandpapa, when the sun shines?" asked Phronsie, suddenly. "Say, Grandpapa, what makes it?"

"Oh, it's so far up in the air," answered old Mr. King. "Don't you remember how cold it was up on the Rigi, and that was about nine thousand feet lower?"

"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Phronsie, in gentle surprise, unable to compass such figures.

Mr. King's party had made one or two pleasant little journeys to the Lauterbrunnen Valley, staying there and at Mrren, and to Grindelwald as well; but they came back to sit on the benches by the walnut and the plane trees, in front of the matchless Jungfrau. "And this is best of all," said Polly.

And so the days slipped by, till one morning, at the breakfast table, Mrs. Selwyn said, "Tomorrow we must say good-by—my boy and I."

"Hey—what?" exclaimed Mr. King, setting his coffee-cup down, not very gently.

"Our vacation cannot be a very long one," said Tom's mother, with a little smile; "there are my father and my two daughters and my other boys in England."

Tom's face was all awry as Mr. King said, "And you mean to say, Mrs. Selwyn, that you really must move on to-morrow?"

"Yes; we really must," she said decidedly. "But oh," and her plain, quiet face changed swiftly, "you cannot know how sorry we shall be to leave your party."

"In that case, Mrs. Fisher,"—old Mr. King looked down the table-length to Mamsie,—"we must go too; for I don't intend to lose sight of these nice travelling companions until I am obliged to." Tom's face was one big smile. "Oh, goody!" exclaimed Polly, as if she were no older than Phronsie.

Jasper clapped Tom's back, instead of wasting words.

"So we will all proceed to pack up without more ado after breakfast. After all, it is wiser to make the move now, for we are getting so that we want to take root in each place."

"You just wait till you get to Zermatt," whispered Polly to Phronsie, who, under cover of the talk buzzing around the table, had confided to her that she didn't want to leave her beautiful mountain. "Grandpapa is going to take us up to the Gorner Grat, and there you can see another mountain,—oh, so near! he says it seems almost as if you could touch it. And it's all covered with snow, Phronsie, too!"

"Is it as big as my mountain here?" asked Phronsie.

"Yes, bigger, a thousand feet or more," answered Polly, glad that she had looked it up.

"Is it?" said Phronsie. "Every mountain is bigger, isn't it, Polly?"

"It seems to be," said Polly, with a little laugh.

"And has it a little white tent on the side, just like my mountain here?" asked Phronsie, holding Polly's arm as she turned off to catch the chatter of the others.

"Oh, I suppose so," answered Polly, carelessly. Then she looked up and caught Mamsie's eye, and turned back quickly. "At any rate, Phronsie, it's all peaked on the top—oh, almost as sharp as a needle—and it seems to stick right into the blue sky, and there are lots and lots of other mountains—oh, awfully high,—and the sun shines up there a good deal, and it's too perfectly lovely for anything, Phronsie Pepper."

"Then I want to go," decided Phronsie. "I do so want to see that white needle, Polly."

"Well, eat your breakfast," said Polly, "because you know we all have ever so much to do to-day to get off."

"Yes, I will," declared Phronsie, attacking her cold chicken and roll with great vigour.

"It seems as if the whole world were at Zermatt," said the parson, looking out from the big piazza crowded with the hotel people, out to the road in front, with every imaginable tourist passing and repassing. Donkeys were being driven up, either loaded down to their utmost with heavy bags and trunks, or else waiting to receive on their patient backs the heavier people. Phronsie never could see the poor animals, without such distress coming in her face that every one in the party considered it his or her bounden duty to comfort and reassure her. So this time it was Tom's turn to do so.

"Oh, don't you worry," he said, looking down into her troubled little face where he sat on the piazza railing swinging his long legs, "they like it, those donkeys do!"

"Do they?" asked Phronsie, doubtfully.

"Yes, indeed," said Tom, with a gusto, as if he wished he were a donkey, and in just that very spot, "it gives them a chance to see things, and to hear things, too, don't you know?" went on Tom, at his wits' end to know how he was going to come out of his sentences.

"Oh," said Phronsie, yet she sighed as she saw the extremely fat person just being hauled up to a position on a very small donkey's back.

"You see, if they don't like it," said Tom, digging his knife savagely into the railing, "they have a chance to kick up their heels and unsettle that heavy party."

"O dear me!" exclaimed Phronsie, in great distress, "that would hurt the poor woman, Tom."

"Well, it shows that the donkey likes it," said Tom, with a laugh, "because he doesn't kick up his heels."

"And so," ran on Tom, "why, we mustn't worry, you and I, if the donkey doesn't. Just think,"—he made a fine diversion by pointing with his knife-blade up to the slender spire of the Matterhorn—"we're going up on a little jaunt to-morrow, to look into that fellow's face."

Phronsie got out of her chair to come and stand by his side. "I like that white needle," she said, with a gleeful smile. "Polly said it was nice, and I like it."

"I should say it was," declared Tom, with a bob of his head. "Phronsie, I'd give, I don't know what, if I could climb up there." He thrust his knife once more into the railing, where it stuck fast.

"Don't." begged Phronsie, her hand on his sleeve, "go up that big white needle, Tom."

"No, I won't; it's safe to promise that," he said grimly, with a little laugh. "Good reason why; because I can't. The little mother wouldn't sleep nights just to think of it, and I promised the granddaddy that I wouldn't so much as think of it, and here I am breaking my word; but I can't help it." He twitched his knife out suddenly, sprawled off from the railing, and took several hasty strides up and down the piazza.

"Well, that's all right, Phronsie," he said, coming back to get astride the railing again; this time he turned a cold shoulder on Phronsie's "white needle." "Now, to-morrow, we'll have no end of fun." And he launched forth on so many and so varied delights, that Phronsie's pleased little laugh rang out again and again, bringing rest to many a wearied traveller, tired with the sights, sounds, and scenes of a European journey.

"I wish we could stay at this nice place," said Phronsie, the next morning, poking her head out over the side of the car, as it climbed off from the Riffelalp station.

"Take care, child," said Grandpapa, with a restraining hand.

"You would want to stop at every place," said Polly, from the seat in front, with a gay little laugh. "And we never should get on at that rate. But then I am just as bad," she confessed.

"So am I," chimed in Jasper. "Dear me, how I wanted to get a chance to sketch some of those magnificent curves and rapids and falls in the Visp River coming up."

"Oh, that dear, delicious Visp River!" echoed Polly, while Adela began to bemoan that it was the best thing they had seen, and the car whizzed them by so fast, she couldn't do a thing—O dear!

"I got some snap-shots, but I don't believe they are good for anything," said Jasper, "just from the pure perversity of the thing."

"Take my advice," said Tom, lazily leaning forward, "and don't bother with a camera anyway."

"As if you expected any one to take up with such a piece of advice," ejaculated Jasper, in high disdain. "Say something better than that, Tom, if you want to be heard."

"Oh, I don't expect to be heard, or listened to in the slightest," he said calmly. "Anybody who will trot round with a kodak hanging to his neck by a villanous strap—can't be—"

"Who's got a villanous strap hanging to his neck?" cried Jasper, while the rest shouted as he picked at the fern-box thus hanging to Tom.

"Oh, that's quite a different thing," declared Tom, his face growing red.

"I know; one is a kodak, and the other is a fern-box," said Jasper, nodding. "I acknowledge they are different," and they all burst out laughing again.

"Well, at least," said Tom, joining in the laugh, "you must acknowledge, too, that I go off by myself and pick up my wild flowers and green things, and I'm not bothering round focussing every living thing and pointing my little machine at every freak in nature that I see."

"All right," said Jasper, good-naturedly, "but you have the strap round your neck all the same, Tom."

And Phronsie wanted to stay at the Riffelberg just as much; and old Mr. King was on the point of saying, "Well, we'll come up here for a few days, Phronsie," when he remembered Mrs. Selwyn and her boy, and how they must get on. Instead, he cleared his throat, and said, "We shall see it after dinner, child," and Phronsie smiled, well contented.

But when she reached the Corner Grat station, and took Grandpapa's hand, and began to ascend the bridle path to the hotel, she couldn't contain herself, and screamed right out, "Oh, Grandpapa, I'd rather stay here."

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" echoed old Mr. King, feeling twenty years younger since he started on his travels. "Well, well, child, I'm glad you like it," looking down into her beaming little face.

"You are very much to be envied, sir. I can't help speaking to you and telling you so," said a tall, sober-looking gentleman, evidently an English curate off on his vacation, as he caught up with him on the ascent, where they had paused at one of the look-offs, "for having that child as company, and those other young people."

"You say the truth," replied old Mr. King, cordially; "from the depths of my heart I pity any one who hasn't some children to take along when going abroad. But then they wouldn't be little Peppers," he added, under his breath, as he bowed and turned back to the view.

"There's dear Monte Rosa," cried Polly, enthusiastically. "Oh, I just love her."

"And there's Castor and Pollux," said Jasper.

"And there's the whole of them," said Tom, disposing of the entire range with a sweep of his hand. "Dear me, what a lot there are, to be sure. It quite tires one."

"Oh, anybody but a cold-blooded Englishman!" exclaimed Jasper, with a mischievous glance, "to travel with."

"Anything on earth but a gushing American!" retorted Tom, "to go round the world with."

"I wish I could sketch a glacier," bemoaned Adela, stopping every minute or two, as they wound around the bridle path, "but I can't; I've tried ever so many times."

"Wait till we get to the Mer de Glace," advised Tom. "You can sit down in the middle of it, and sketch away all you want to."

"Well, I'm going to," said Adela, with sudden determination. "I don't care; you can all laugh if you want to."

"You can sketch us all," suggested Jasper, "for we shall have horrible old stockings on."

"I sha'n't have horrible old stockings on," said Adela, in a dudgeon, sticking out her foot. "I wear just the same stockings that I do at home, at school in Paris, and they are quite nice."

"Oh, I mean you'll have to put on coarse woollen ones that the peasant women knit on purpose,—we all shall have to do the same, on over our shoes," explained Jasper.

"O dear me!" cried Adela, in dismay.

"And I think we shall slip and slide a great deal worse with those things tied on our feet, than to go without any," said Polly, wrinkling up her brows at the idea.

"'Twouldn't be safe to go without them," said Jasper, shaking his head, "unless we had nails driven in our shoes."

"I'd much rather have the nails," cried Polly, "oh, much rather, Jasper."

"Well, we'll see what father is going to let us do," said Jasper.

"Wasn't that fun snowballing—just think—in July," cried Polly, craning her neck to look back down the path toward the Riffelberg station.

"Did you pick up some of that snow?" asked Adela.

"Didn't we, though!" exclaimed Jasper. "I got quite a good bit in my fist."

"My ball was such a little bit of a one," mourned Polly; "I scraped up all I could, but it wasn't much."

"Well, it did good execution," said Tom; "I got it in my eye."

"Oh, did it hurt you?" cried Polly, in distress, running across the path to walk by his side.

"Not a bit," said Tom. "I tried to find some to pay you back, and then we had to fly for the cars."

The plain, quiet face under the English bonnet turned to Mrs. Fisher as they walked up the path together. "I cannot begin to tell you what gratitude I am under to you," said Tom's mother, "and to all of you. When I think of my father, I am full of thankfulness. When I look at my boy, the goodness of God just overcomes me in leading me to your party. May I tell you of ourselves some time, when a good opportunity offers for a quiet talk?"

"I'd like nothing better," said Mother Fisher, heartily. "If there is one person I like more than another, who isn't of our family, or any of our home friends, it's Mrs. Selwyn," she had confided to the little doctor just a few days before. "She hasn't any nonsense about her, if she is an earl's daughter."

"Earl's daughter," sniffed the little doctor, trying to slip a collar button into a refractory binding. "Dear me, now that's gone—no, 'tisn't—that's luck," as the button rolled off into a corner of the bureau-top where it was easily captured.

"Let me do that for you, Adoniram," said Mother Fisher, coming up to help him.

"I guess you'll have to, wife, if it's done at all," he answered, resigning himself willingly to her hands; "the thing slips and slides like all possessed. Well, now, I was going to say that I wouldn't hate a title so much, if there was a grain of common sense went along with it. And that Mrs. Selwyn just saves the whole lot of English nobility, and makes 'em worth speaking to, in my opinion."

And after they had their dinner, and were scattered in groups in the bright sunshine, sitting on the wooden benches by the long tables, or taking photographs, or watching through the big glass some mountain climbers on one of the snowy spurs of the Matterhorn, "the good opportunity for a quiet talk" came about.

"Now," said Mother Fisher, with a great satisfaction in her voice, "may we sit down here on this bench, Mrs. Selwyn, and have that talk?"

Tom's mother sat down well pleased, and folding her hands in her lap, this earl's daughter, mistress of a dozen languages, as well as mistress of herself on all occasions, began as simply and with as much directness as a child.

"Well, you know my father. Let me tell you, aside from the eccentricities, that are mere outside matters, and easily explained, if you understood the whole of his life, a kinder man never lived, nor a more reasonable one. But it was a misfortune that he had to be left so much alone, as since my mother's death a dozen years ago has happened. It pained me much." A shadow passed over her brow, but it was gone again, and she smiled, and her eyes regained their old placid look. "I live in Australia with my husband, where my duty is, putting the boys as fast as they were old enough, and the little girls as well, into English schools. But Tom has always been with my father at the vacations, for he is his favourite, as of course was natural, for he is the eldest. And though you might not believe it, Mrs. Fisher, my father was always passionately fond of the boy."

"I do believe it," said Mother Fisher, quietly, and she put her hand over the folded ones. Mrs. Selwyn unclasped hers, soft and white, to draw within them the toil-worn one.

"Now, that's comfortable," she said, with another little smile.

"And here is where his eccentricity became the most dangerous to the peace of mind of our family," continued Mrs. Selwyn. "My father seemed never able to discover that he was doing the lad harm by all sorts of indulgence and familiarity with him, a sort of hail-fellow-well-met way that surprised me more than I can express, when I discovered it on my last return visit to my old home. My father! who never tolerated anything but respect from all of us, who were accustomed to despotic government, I can assure you, was allowing Tom!—well, you were with him on the steamer," she broke off abruptly. The placid look was gone again in a flash.

"Yes," said Mother Fisher, her black eyes full of sympathy; "don't let that trouble you, dear Mrs. Selwyn; Tom was pure gold down underneath—we saw that—and the rest is past."

"Ah,"—the placid look came back as quickly—"that is my only comfort—that you did. For father told the whole, not sparing himself. Now he sees things in the right light; he says because your young people taught it to him. And he was cruelly disappointed because you couldn't come down to visit him in his home."

"We couldn't," said Mother Fisher, in a sorry voice, at seeing the other face.

"I understand—quite," said Tom's mother, with a gentle pressure of the hand she held. "And then the one pleasure he had was in picking out something for Polly."

"Oh, if the little red leather case had gone back to the poor old man!" ran through Mother Fisher's mind, possessing it at once.

"I don't think his judgment was good, Mrs. Fisher, in the selection," said Mrs. Selwyn, a small pink spot coming on either cheek; "but he loves Polly, and wanted to show it."

"And he was so good to think of it," cried Mother Fisher, her heart warming more and more toward the little old earl.

"And as he couldn't be turned from it, and his health is precarious if he is excited, why, there was nothing to be done about it. And then he insisted that Tom and I come off for a bit of a run on the Continent, the other children being with him. And as my big boy"—here a loving smile went all over the plain face, making it absolutely beautiful—"had worried down deep in his heart over the past, till I was more troubled than I can tell you, why, we came. And then God was good—for then we met you! Oh, Mrs. Fisher!"

She drew her hands by a sudden movement away, and put them on Mother Fisher's shoulders. And then that British matron, rarely demonstrative with her own children, even, leaned over and kissed Polly's mother.

"I can't see why it's so warm up here," said Polly, racing over to their bench, followed by the others. "Dear me, it's fairly hot." And she pulled off her jacket.

"Don't do that, Polly," said her mother.

"Oh, Mamsie, it's so very hot," said Polly; but she thrust her arms into the sleeves and pulled it on again.

"I know; but you've been running," said Mrs. Fisher, "and have gotten all heated up."

"Well, it's perfectly splendid to travel to places where we can run and race," said Polly, in satisfaction, throwing herself down on the rocks. The others all doing the same thing, Mr. King and the Parson and Mrs. Henderson found them, and pretty soon the group was a big one. "Well, well, we are all here together, no—where is Mrs. Gray?" asked Mr. King, presently.

"She is resting in the hotel," said Mother Fisher, "fast asleep I think by this time."

"Yes," said Adela, "she is. I just peeked in on her, and she hasn't moved where you tucked her up on the lounge."

"Grandpapa," asked Polly, suddenly, from the centre of the group, "what makes it so very warm up here, when we are all surrounded by snow?"

"You ask me a hard thing," said old Mr. King. "Well, for one thing, we are very near the Italian border; those peaks over there, you know, —follow my walking-stick as I point it,—are in sunny Italy."

"Well, it is just like sunny Italy up here," said Polly, "I think," blinking, and pulling her little cap over her eyes.

"It's all the Italy you will get in the summer season," said Grandpapa. "You must wait for cold weather before I take one of you there."



XXIV

THE ROUND ROBIN

"Dear me, how the summer is going!" mourned Polly, as they caught on the return journey the last glimpse of the roaring, tumbling Visp, and not all the craning of the necks could compass another view, as the cars drew them away from the rushing river.

"Never mind, Polly," said Jasper, "there's all next summer; and after our winter in Dresden, and all our hard work over music, won't it be fine, though, to jaunt round again?" and his eyes glistened.

"Dresden!" echoed Polly, sitting quite straight with very red cheeks; —"oh, Jasper!"

The magic word, "Dresden," had unlocked visions of months of future delight, bringing back every word of dear Herr Bauricke; all the instruction he had given her, on those happy days at Lucerne, that Polly felt quite sure were engraven deep on her heart to last forever and ever.

"And won't I study, though!" exclaimed Polly, to herself, "and make the professor that Herr Bauricke has engaged for me, glad that he teaches me, oh, won't I!"

"Well, I'm sorry the summer is going," said Adela, "because then I've got to leave you at Paris, and go into school."

"But you like your school," said Polly, brightly, "you've said so a dozen times, Adela."

"Yes, I do," said Adela, "and I've got some sketches to take back, and Mademoiselle will be glad of that."

"And you'll go on drawing and painting until you get to be a great artist," ran on Polly, enthusiastically, "and then we'll see something you've done, in the Louvre, maybe."

"The Louvre!" cried Adela; "O dear me, Polly Pepper."

"I don't care," said Polly, recklessly, pushing back the little rings of brown hair from her brow, "they'll be good enough, the pictures you are going to do, to put into the Louvre, anyway, Adela Gray."

Tom Selwyn had been very sober during all this merry chatter; and now in his seat across the narrow aisle, he drummed his heels impatiently on the floor. His mother looked over at him, and slipping out of her seat, went over to him. "Any room here, Tom, for mother?" she said.

"Oh,—ah,—I should say so!" Tom slipped out, gave her the window seat, then flew back.

"Now, this is comfy," observed Mrs. Selwyn, as the train sped on. "Tom, see here!"

"What's up, little mother?" asked Tom, in surprise, at her unusual manner.

"It's just this, Tom. You know we are going to Chamonix and up the Mer de Glace with Mr. King's party."

Tom bobbed his head, not allowing himself to exclaim, "But that will be only a short journey, now, and we must soon say 'good-by.'"

"Well, I've been thinking that I should like to go on to Geneva, and to Paris," continued Mrs. Selwyn, "only you dislike Paris so much, Tom," she added.

"Oh, you're the bulliest—I mean—excuse me—you're no end a brick—oh, I mean—I can't say what I mean," brought up Tom, in despair. And he ran one long arm around her neck very much to the detriment of her neat collar.

"Then you can overcome your dislike to Paris enough to go there?" asked his mother, with a little twinkle in her eye.

"My dislike!" roared Tom, "O dear me!" as everybody looked around. "Why, I just love Paris!" he finished in an awful whisper, close to the plain, black bonnet.

When the news was circulated, as it was pretty soon, that the party was not to be broken into at all till Paris was a completed story, the jubilation was such as to satisfy even Tom. And as this particular party had the car entirely to themselves, it wasn't so very dreadful as it seems, and the elder members allowed indulgent smiles at it all.

That night in the market-place at Martigny, Jasper, who was ahead with his father, ran back to Polly, and the others lingering behind. "Oh, do hurry," he begged, "it's the prettiest sight!"

"Oh, what is it?" cried Polly, as they scampered off.

There, in the centre of the market-place, was a ring of little girls, hand-in-hand, singing a little French song, and going round and round in a circle. They were of all ages and sizes, the littlest one in a blue pinafore, being about three years of age, and so chubby she had to be helped along continually by a big girl, evidently her sister. This big sister stopped the ring game, every now and then, to kiss the round face by the side of her gown; an example that was followed by so many of the other girls, that the game seemed to be never quite finished. And once in a while, big sister would pick up the chubby, little, blue-pinafored maiden and carry her through a considerable portion of the game, then down she would put her on her two chubby feet, and away they all circled without any break in the proceedings at all.

"Oh! isn't it 'Oats, Peas, Beans, and Barley grow'?" cried Polly, as they watched them intently.

"Ever so much like it," said Tom. "See those boys; now they are going to make trouble."

"Oh, they sha'n't!" declared Polly. "O dear me!" as one boy drew near, on the side next to the travellers, and watching his chance, picked at a flying apron or two. But the ring of girls paid no more attention to him, than they had to any other outside matters, being wholly absorbed in the game. So Polly and the others breathed freely again.

But up came another boy. "O dear me!" cried Polly, aghast. When number three put in an appearance, she gave up all hope at once.

"They're jealous chaps," cried Tom, "and are vexed because they can't get into the game! Hear them jeer!" And his long arm went out and picked a jacket-end of an urchin, who, incautiously regarding such quiet travellers as not worth minding, had hovered too near, while trying to tease the girls.

"Here, you, sir," cried Tom, with a bit of a shake, and a torrent of remarkably good French not to be disregarded; then he burst into a laugh. And the urchin laughed too, thinking this much better fun to tussle with the tall lad, than to hang around a parcel of girls. And presently a woman came and took little blue pinafore off, and then the rest of the girls unclasped their hands, and the ring melted away, and the game was over.

"I'm glad the girls over here have fun," said Polly, as Grandpapa and his party moved off. "Isn't it nice to think they do?"

"It isn't much matter where you live, there's a good deal to be gotten out of life; if you only know how," said the parson, thinking busily of the little brown house.

Two or three days of rest at Martigny put everybody in good shape, and gave them all a bit of time to pick up on many little things that were behindhand. Tom looked over all his floral treasures, with their last additions made at the Riffelalp, and discarded such as hadn't pressed well. And Jasper and Polly rushed up to date with their journals, and wrote letters home; and Adela worked up her studies and sketches.

Tom looked on silently when Polly and Jasper were scraping their pens in a lively fashion in the little writing room of the hotel. "That's my third letter, Polly," announced Jasper, on the other side of the table. "Now, I am going to begin on Joel's."

"One, two," said Polly, counting, "why, I thought I'd written three; well, this one is most finished, Jasper."

"Yes," said Jasper, glancing over at her, "is that your last page, Polly?"

"Yes," said Polly, hurrying away. Then she thought of what Mamsie had said, and slackened her speed.

Tom cleared his throat, and tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come nicely, so he burst out, "I say, I wish you'd write to my granddaddy, both of you," and then he stood quite still, and very red in the face.

Polly looked up quickly, her pen dropping from her fingers, and Jasper deserted his fourth letter and stared.

"Why," said Polly, finding her tongue, "we wouldn't dare, Tom Selwyn."

"Dare!" said Tom, delighted to think that no terrible result had really ensued from his words, that after they were out, had scared him mightily. "Oh, if you knew granddaddy!" And he sank into a chair by the table, and played with the heap of picture postal cards that Polly was going to address next.

"We might," said Polly, slowly, "write a letter, all of us. A kind of a Round Robin thing, you know, and send that."

"So we could," cried Jasper; "how would that do, Tom?"

"The very thing!" exclaimed Tom, striking his hand so heavily on the table, that for a minute it looked as if the ink-bottle hopped.

"Take care, there's no reason you should knock things over because you are overjoyed," cried Jasper, gaily. "Well, let's leave our letters to-day, Polly, and set to on the Round Robin."

"All right," said Polly, glad to think there was anything she could really do to please the little old earl, "but would your mother like it, Tom?" She stopped slowly in putting her unfinished letter into the little writing-case, and looked at him.

"If you think there's a shadow of doubt on that score, I'd best run and ask her now." Tom got himself out of the chair, and himself from the room, and in an incredibly short space of time, back there he was. "My mother says, 'Thank Polly for thinking of it; it will do father more good than anything else could possibly do.'"

"I don't suppose you want any more answer," said Tom, quite radiant, and looking down at Polly.

"No, only I didn't think first of it," said Polly, in a distressed little tone.

"Why, Polly Pepper!" exclaimed Tom, "I certainly heard you say 'Round Robin,' when I'll venture to say not a soul of us had even thought of it; we certainly hadn't said so."

"Well, you spoke of the letter first," said Polly, unwilling to take the credit for all the comfort going to the little old earl, "and I shall tell your mother so, Tom."

"But I didn't say 'Round Robin,'" persisted Tom, "wasn't smart enough to think of it."

"And let's get to work," cried Jasper, huddling up his three letters. "I'll post yours, too, Polly; give them here."

"O dear, my stamps are all gone," said Polly, peering into the little box in one corner of her writing-case.

"I've plenty," said Jasper, hurrying off; "I'll stick on two for you."

"Oh, no, Jasper," cried Polly, after him, "you know Mamsie would not allow me to borrow."

"It isn't borrowing," said Jasper, turning back slowly. "I'll give them to you, Polly."

"But Mamsie said when we started I should get my stamps when I needed them," said Polly. "You know she did, Jasper."

"Yes, she did," said Jasper, uncomfortably. Then his face brightened, and he said, "And she's right, Polly," while Polly fished a franc out of Joel's little money-bag that hung at her belt. "Do get the stamps, please, Jasper, and put them on," as he took up her two letters. And she gave the bag a little pat for Joel's sake, wishing it was his stubby black hair that her fingers could touch.

"Dear me, you are dreadfully particular about taking two postage stamps, seems to me," said Adela, who had taken that time, as she hadn't any letters to write, to work up one of her studies from memory of the Visp.