“So do I,” agreed Polly, “only it may be that she’s nice sometimes.”

Rose came closer, and looking straight into Polly’s blue eyes, she said: 

“She brings her old poetry book every time!”

“Oh, dear, can’t she leave it at home?” said Polly.

“She won’t,” said Rose, “and she’s either writing in it, or reading it all the time, so there’s not a minute for play.”

“Doesn’t she care for ‘Tag’ or ‘Hide-and-Seek?’” questioned Polly.

“She doesn’t ever like anything but that poetry,” declared Rose.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Polly, for she felt that if Evangeline were to come often, she would spoil much of the visit that, without her, would be so pleasant.

“We’ll be out sometimes,” said Rose, “for Aunt Rose will take us about, and we’re to go to the studio some day when Aunt Lois goes.  I’ve been there, and the pictures are lovely, and some days we shall drive, and then if she comes she won’t find us.”

“If she’ll come on the days that we’re out, and stay away the days that we’re at home, it will be just fine!”

“Oh, Rose, I believed it’s naughty, but I would be glad if it happened, just happened that way,” Polly said.

CHAPTER IV

THE VILLAGE NUISANCE

At Sherwood Hall Polly was greatly missed, and her playmates felt less interest in their games now that she was not with them.

In all the village there was no one so lonely as Aunt Judith.  She missed the merry chatter of happy, cheery Rose.  Bright, and merry she had been, even although there were many things that she longed for, and could not have, most of all, some one to love her.

Now, as Aunt Judith busied herself about the cottage, or out in the tiny garden, she realized how much the child’s hands had helped.

“She used to dust for me,” she would say to herself, as she moved about the tiny sitting room, putting it in order.

“She always fed the chickens,” she murmured, one morning, on her way out to the coop.

She stooped to open the door, when a shrill voice shouted at her.

“Look out!  Look out!  The ol’ rooster’s mad!”

Aunt Judith was startled, and Gyp was delighted.

“Why were you meddling with the hens?” she asked, in quick wrath.

“Don’t hurt ’em to be watched, does it?” was the saucy answer.

Aunt Judith looked at the imp-like figure astride the fence.

“You’re a nuisance!” she cried, “I wish the town was rid of you!” “Ding-te-ding-te-dingle-te-ding!” sang Gyp, in an almost ear-splitting solo.

“Ding-te-ding—­I tell ye what, if ye put jest the tip of yer finger between them slats, that ‘ere ol’ rooster ’ll bite it almost off’n yer!” he remarked, “I know, ’cause I tried it.”

“You keep your fingers away from the coop, and yourself out of my yard,” cried Aunt Judith, “or I’ll have you arrested.”