Van drummed on the carriage window discontentedly.  “I could have taken one if I’d had the mind to.”

“Hoh-oh!” shouted Percy over in his corner.  “Well, you didn’t have the mind; that’s what was wanting.”

“You keep still,” cried Van, flaming up, and whirling away from his window.  “You didn’t take any, either.  Polly, his head was under water all the time, unless some of the boys tugged him along every day.  We hardly got him home at all.”

“No such thing,” contradicted Percy flatly, his face growing red.  “Polly, he tells perfectly awful yarns.  You mustn’t believe him, Polly, You won’t, will you?” He leaned over appealingly toward her.

“Oh! don’t, don’t,” cried Polly, quite dismayed, “talk so to each other.”

“Well, he’s so hateful,” cried Van, “and the airs he gives himself!  I can’t stand them, Polly, you know”—­

“And he’s just as mean,” cried Percy vindictively.  “Oh! you can’t think, Polly.  Here we are,” as Thomas gave a grand flourish through the stone gateway, and up to the steps.

“I’ll help you out,” and he sprang out first.

“No, I will,” declared Van, opening the door on the other side, jumping out and running around the carriage.  “Here, Polly, take my hand, do.”

“No, I got here first,” said Percy eagerly, his brown glove extended quite beyond Van’s hand.

“I don’t want any one to help me, who speaks so to his brother,” said Polly in a low voice, and with her most superb air stepping down alone, she ran up the steps to leave them staring in each other’s faces.

Here everybody came hurrying out to the porch, and they were soon drawn into the warm loving welcome awaiting them.

“Oh, Felicie!  I don’t want that dress,” said Polly as she ran into her room after dinner, to Mrs. Whitney’s French maid, “I’m going to wear my brown cashmere.”

“Oh, Mademoiselle!” remonstrated Felicie, adjusting the ruffle in the neck of the white nun’s veiling over her arm.

“Oh, no, Polly!  I wouldn’t,” began Mrs. Pepper, coming in, “the white one is better for to-night.”

“Mamsie!” cried Polly, breaking away from the mirror where she was pulling into place the bright brown waves over her forehead, “how lovely! you’ve put on your black silk; and your hair is just beautiful!”

“Madame has ze fine hair,” said Felicie, “only I wish zee would gif it to me to prepaire.”

“Yes, I have good hair,” said Mrs. Pepper, “and I’m thankful for it.  No one looks dressed up, in my opinion, with a ragged head.  The finer the gown, the worse it makes careless hair look.  No, Polly, I wouldn’t wear the brown dress to-night.”

“Why, Mamsie!” exclaimed Polly in surprise, “I thought you’d say it was just the thing when only the girls and Jappy’s friends are coming to the play.  Besides, I don’t want to look too dressed up; the Princess ought to be the only one in a white gown.”