that boy." She still called him that, in spite of his being a Harvard
man, "He's always making some sort of a fuss."

"Perhaps the train will be late," suggested Mrs. Dyce, who, as Mary
Taylor, never could bear to see Phronsie unhappy. "Hamilton, if you
don't do something to help that child, I shall be sorry I married you,"
she whispered in her husband's ear.

"Late? it's late already," said Ben, pulling out his watch, "it's five
minutes past time."

"Well, it may be our luck to have it late enough," said Jasper, with a
glance at Polly, "as it's Christmas day and a big train; so he may
possibly get here--he'll find a cabby that can make good time," he
added, with a forlorn attempt at comfort.

Jack Loughead sauntered up and down, on the edge of the group, longing
to be of service, but feeling himself too new a friend to offer his
sympathy.

"Who the Dickens is that cad?" asked Mr. Bayley in smothered wrath, to
Mrs. Dyce.

"Why, don't you know? He's another friend of Polly's," said Mary Taylor
Dyce, smiling up sweetly into his face, "and he's going down to help
entertain Phronsie's poor children. Isn't he nice?"

"Nice?" repeated Livingston Bayley with a black look at the tall figure
stalking on. "How do I know? Who is the fellow, any way?"