So Dick rehearsed once more as far as he knew the story, tossing off lightly his part of it.

“Your poor head, does it ache?” cried Polly, feeling of the big bump on the crown.

“No, not a bit,” declared Dick, shaking his brown poll.  “I’m glad I didn’t crack the glass.”

“That heavy plate?” cried Polly, looking over at the cheval-glass with a shiver.

Phronsie deserted the fascinating bird, and began to smooth Dick’s head with both hands.

“Do let me bathe it,” she begged.  “I’ll get the Pond’s Extract.”

“No, I won’t,” said Dick.  “It smells awfully, and I’ve had so much of it for my leg.  I’m all right, Phronsie.  See his wings now—­he’s stretching.”

But Phronsie was not to be diverted from her purpose.

“I’ll get bay rum,” she said.  “May I?”

Dick made a wry face.  “Worse and worse.”

“Cologne, then.”

“No, I hate it.”

“He doesn’t want it bathed, Phronsie dear,” said Polly.  “Boys like to get hurt, you know.  ’Tisn’t manly to be fixed up.”

Phronsie gave a sigh, which so went to Dick’s heart, that he said, “All right, bring on some water if you want to.  But don’t get any brown paper; I had enough of that when I was a boy.”

And at the end of that exciting day, the secret came out, after all, in rather a tame fashion.  Dr. Fisher and Jasper met Polly in an angle of the hall, as she was running upstairs after dinner for her schoolbooks.

“Polly,” asked the little doctor, putting both hands on her shoulders, and looking into the brown eyes, “should you be willing to go abroad with your mother and Phronsie, Mr. King and Jasper?”

“Oh!” Polly gasped.  “But you?” came in a later breath, “we couldn’t leave you,” she cried loyally.

“Well, I suppose I should go along too,” said the little doctor, enjoying her face.

“Why, Jasper Elyot King!” cried Polly, slipping out from under the doctor’s palms, and seizing the two hands extended, she began to spin around as in the olden days, “did you ever, ever hear of anything so perfectly magnificent!  But Ben and Joel and Davie!” and she paused on the edge of another pirouette.

Dr. Fisher made haste to answer, “Polly, Mrs. Whitney will take care of them.”  And Jasper led her off into the dance again.

“How can we ever leave the boys!  Oh!  I don’t see,” cried Polly, a bit reproachfully, her hair blown over her rosy cheeks.  As they danced lightly down the long hall, Dr. Fisher leaned against a pillar, and watched them.

“Have to,” said Jasper, guiding his partner deftly in the intricacies of the chairs and statuary.  “That’s a good spin, Polly,” he said, as they brought up by the little doctor’s side.

“Lovely!” said Polly, pushing back her locks from the sparkling eyes.

“I’m almost tempted to dance myself,” said Dr. Fisher.  “If I wasn’t such an old fellow, I’d try; that is, if anybody asked me.”