"No, I will," declared Van, opening the door on the other side, jumping
out and running around the carriage. "Here, Polly, take my hand, do."

"No, I got here first," said Percy eagerly, his brown glove extended
quite beyond Van's hand.

"I don't want any one to help me, who speaks so to his brother," said
Polly in a low voice, and with her most superb air stepping down alone,
she ran up the steps to leave them staring in each other's faces.

Here everybody came hurrying out to the porch, and they were soon drawn
into the warm loving welcome awaiting them.

"Oh, Felicie! I don't want that dress," said Polly as she ran into her
room after dinner, to Mrs. Whitney's French maid, "I'm going to wear my
brown cashmere."

"Oh, Mademoiselle!" remonstrated Felicie, adjusting the ruffle in the
neck of the white nun's veiling over her arm.

"Oh, no, Polly! I wouldn't," began Mrs. Pepper, coming in, "the white
one is better for to-night."

"Mamsie!" cried Polly, breaking away from the mirror where she was
pulling into place the bright brown waves over her forehead, "how
lovely! you've put on your black silk; and your hair is just beautiful!"

"Madame has ze fine hair," said Felicie, "only I wish zee would gif it
to me to prepaire."