"Well, you've taken one," cried Polly, saying the blissful over and
over. "How perfectly elegant!"

Van drummed on the carriage window discontentedly. "I could have taken
one if I'd had the mind to."

"Hoh-oh!" shouted Percy over in his corner. "Well, you didn't have the
mind; that's what was wanting."

"You keep still," cried Van, flaming up, and whirling away from his
window. "You didn't take any, either. Polly, his head was under water
all the time, unless some of the boys tugged him along every day. We
hardly got him home at all."

"No such thing," contradicted Percy flatly, his face growing red.
"Polly, he tells perfectly awful yarns. You mustn't believe him, Polly,
You won't, will you?" He leaned over appealingly toward her.

"Oh! don't, don't," cried Polly, quite dismayed, "talk so to each
other."

"Well, he's so hateful," cried Van, "and the airs he gives himself! I
can't stand them, Polly, you know"--

"And he's just as mean," cried Percy vindictively. "Oh! you can't think,
Polly. Here we are," as Thomas gave a grand flourish through the stone
gateway, and up to the steps.

"I'll help you out," and he sprang out first.