"Here she is," piped Phronsie, who had been regarding the door
anxiously.

"Yes, here she is," repeated old Mr. King, in great satisfaction,
holding Polly fast. "Well, now, Mrs. Fisher, that you have come, we'll
begin our festivities. Our Polly, here, is fifteen years old to-day--only
think of that!" Still he held her fast, and bent his courtly white head
to kiss her brown hair.

Polly clung to his other hand. "It can't be a house celebration, Polly,
my dear, with a party and all that, but we'll do the best we can. And
to add to our pleasure, and to be company for you" (not a suggestion of
the pleasure he was to give), "why, we've another little girl with us
who has chosen this very day for her birthday, too. Adela, come here."

Adela Gray, who had been standing silently, looking on with a sad heart
at finding herself with a birthday on her hands, and no one to
celebrate it with her, though for that matter all her birthdays had
been rather dismal affairs at the best, in the Paris school, now shrank
back at Mr. King's sudden summons, and hid behind her grandmother's
black gown.

"Come, Adela," commanded Mr. King, in a tone that brooked no further
delay. So she crept out, and stood in front of him.

"Oh, Adela!" exclaimed Polly, in a transport, drawing her up by her
other hand, for still Grandpapa held her fast. "Is it your birthday
too? How perfectly elegant! oh, oh!"