"Thank you, Mrs. Vanderburgh." Mrs. Fisher smiled, but she didn't offer
to take the steamer chair. "I have come after Polly."

"Mamsie, what is it? I'll come," said Polly, tumbling out of her
steamer chair in a twinkling.

"O dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Vanderburgh, in regret, "don't take Polly
away, I do implore you, my dear Mrs. Fisher--I am _so_ fond of
her."

"I must," said Mother Fisher, smiling again, her hand now in Polly's,
and before any more remonstrances were made, they were off.

"Oh, Mamsie!" breathed Polly, hanging to the dear hand, "I am so glad
you came, and took me away."

"Polly," said Mother Fisher, suddenly, "Grandpapa asked me to find you;
he thinks you could cheer old Mr. Selwyn up a bit, perhaps, with
backgammon. I'm afraid Tom has been behaving badly again."

"Oh, Mamsie!" exclaimed Polly, in dismay. And then the story came out.

"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, pulling at his hand gently, as they walked
slowly up and down the deck, "does your head ache?" And she peered
anxiously up into his face.

"No, child--that is, not much," said old Mr. King, trying to smooth his
brows out. He was thinking--for it kept obtruding at all times and
seasons--of that dreadful scrap of paper that Cousin Eunice had imposed
upon him at the last minute before they sailed, announcing that she had