Phronsie cast one look at Polly.  “Good-by,” she said slowly.  “Take me out now,” holding her arms towards Mr. Tisbett.

“Here you be!” exclaimed Mr. Tisbett merrily, reversing the process, and setting her carefully on the ground.  “Now, says I; up I goes,” his foot on the wheel to spring to the box.

“Stay!” a peremptory hand was laid on his shaggy coat sleeve, and he turned to face old Mr. King.

“When I meet a man who can do such a kind thing, it is worth my while to say that I trust no words of mine gave offense.  Bless you, man!” added the old gentleman, abruptly changing the tone of his address as well as its form, “it’s my way; that’s all.”

John Tisbett had no words to offer, but remained, his foot on the wheel, stupidly staring up at the handsome old face.

“We shall be late for the train,” called Jasper within the coach, “if you don’t start.”

“Get up, do!” cried Joel, who had seized the reins, “or I’ll drive off without you, Mr. Tisbett,” which had the effect to carry honest John briskly up to his place.  When there, he took off his fur cap without a word, and bowed to Mr. King, cracked his whip and they were off, leaving the four on the little foot-path gazing after them, till the coach was only a speck in the distance.

“Mamma dear,” said Dick, one afternoon three weeks later (the little brown house had been closed a fortnight, and all the rest of the party back in town), “when are we going home?”

“Next week,” said Mrs. Whitney brightly; “the doctor thinks if all goes well, you can be moved from here.”

Dick leaned back in the big chintz-covered chair.  “Mamma,” he said, “your cheeks aren’t so pink, and not quite so round, but I think you are a great deal nicer mamma than you were.”

“Do you, Dick?” she said, laughing.  “Well, we have had a happy time together, haven’t we?  The fortnight hasn’t been so long for you as I feared when the others all went away.”

“It hasn’t been long at all,” said Dick promptly, and burrowing deeper into the chair-back; “it’s just flown, mamma.  I like Polly and Phronsie; but I’d rather have you than any girl I know; I had really, mamma.”

“I’m very glad to hear it, Dick,” said Mrs. Whitney, with another laugh.

“And when I grow up, I’m just going to live with you forever and ever.  Do you suppose papa will be always going to Europe then?”

“I trust not,” said Mrs. Whitney fervently.  “Dicky, would you like to have a secret?” she asked suddenly.

The boy’s eyes sparkled.  “Wouldn’t I mamma?” he cried, springing forward in the chair; “ugh!”

“Take care, darling,” warned his mother.  “You must remember the poor leg.”

Dick made a grimace, but otherwise took the pain pluckily.  “Tell me, do, mamma,” he begged, “the secret.”

“Yes, I thought it would be a pleasant thing for you to have it to think of, darling, while you are getting well.  Dicky, papa is coming home soon.”