“The next station, but one,” said the maid, “and I’ll begin to gather up the bag, and suit case.”

“The next but one!” cried Polly, and she sat up very straight, and looked from the window.  Was the town where Rose lived as pretty as this?

There were great trees that cast long shadows, and here, and there a glimpse of a river that reflected the blue sky, and the floating clouds.  There were fine houses with spacious lawns, and lovely gardens, and over all the sunlight playing, and Polly felt that she was riding into an enchanted country, over which Rose, and Great-Aunt Rose presided.

Polly did not notice what the brakeman said, but the maid did, and she spoke quickly.

“Come, Miss Polly, here we are, and we’ll do well to get off right now before folks crowd toward the door.  By the looks I think everyone means to stop here!”

It certainly looked as if the maid had spoken truly, for men reached for parcels that had been stowed in bundle racks, and women commenced to gather up hand bags, and wraps.

Polly wondered if anyone intended to remain in the car.

She slipped from the seat to the floor, and then, just as they stopped at the station, she turned and peeped from the window.

“Oh, there she is!  There she is!” she cried, “and she’s in a fine carriage with an old lady that looks like a portrait in our drawing room.  Look!  Look!”

“We can’t stop to look,” said the maid, “or we’ll be left on the train.”

“Oh, we can’t stay!” cried Polly, as she hurried toward the door.

She could not imagine anything more dreadful than to be detained on the train, and ride on, and on, while Rose would find no little friend to welcome.

She alarmed the maid by rushing down the steps, and across the platform, and she almost took Great-Aunt Rose’s breath away, when she flew at Rose, and the two little girls embraced laughing, and yes, crying just a little at the same time.

A slender figure, a huge picturesque hat, and a mass of curling, flaxen hair, were all that Aunt Rose had seen, but now hand in hand, they were coming toward the carriage.

“A lovely face, surely,” murmured Great-Aunt Rose, “a sweet, and lovely face.”

“This is Princess Polly,” said Rose, “and Polly, dear, this is my Great-Aunt Rose.”

Aunt Rose, as she preferred to be called, offered her hand to Polly, who now stood beside the carriage.  “I am so glad to see you, my dear,” said the gentle old voice, and so cordially was it said, that Polly blushed, and smiled with delight.

She afterward told Lena Lindsey that she felt as if Aunt Rose were her own aunt, and that she had always known her.

The ride to the house was along an avenue shaded with huge, old elm trees, and when they drew up at the house, Polly looked with round eyes at its grand, old portico, its great pillars, its terraces, and masses of lovely flowers.