With that, Polly sprang out of bed, and rushed at her toilet, and after breakfast she quietly captured Mr. King on the edge of some other extravagant plan, and led him into the library.

“Everything is going on finely, Polly,” he cried in elation.  “Ring for Thomas, child; stay, I’ll do it myself.  I shall go in an hour to give my orders for the wedding supper.”

“Grandpapa,” cried Polly, turning quite pale, and laying a quick, detaining hand on his arm, “oh! do wait, dear Grandpapa, I have something to say.”

“Well, child,” but he still retained his hand on the cord.

“Oh, Grandpapa!” how could she say it!  But she must.  “Mamsie will be ever so much happier if the wedding might be a quiet one.  She really would, Grandpapa.”

“No doubt Mrs. Pepper finds it a little hard to adjust her ideas to the large affair,” said the old gentleman, considerably disturbed, and by no means relinquishing the bell-cord, “but it is due to you children to have a bright time, and I must see that you all have it.  That is my affair,” and this time the cord was pulled, and the bell rang a loud, insistent message.

Polly stood still in despair.  “Grandpapa,” she said distinctly, finding it hard to proceed, with his face before her, “we children do not want the large party; that is I do not.”

It was all out at last.

“Stuff and nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. King sharply, for his surprise was too great to allow of composure, “who has been putting this idea into your head?  Your mother couldn’t have done it, for she promised it should all be as you young people wanted.”

“Mamsie never said a word,” cried Polly, recovering herself as she saw a chance to make things right for Mother Pepper; “it all came to me, Grandpapa, all alone by myself.  Oh!  I hate the big display!” she declared with sudden vehemence, astonishing herself with the repulsion that now seized her.

“Hoity toity!” exclaimed Mr. King, “it’s not quite the thing, Polly, my child, to express yourself so decidedly, considering your years.”

“Grandpapa,” cried Polly, with a sudden rush of tears, “forgive me, do; I did not mean to be so naughty.  I did not, dear Grandpapa.”  She looked like Phronsie now, and the old gentleman’s heart melted.  “But I am quite sure that none of us children would be a bit happy not to have it as Mamsie would like.”

“Well, but I am not sure that the others wouldn’t like it,” said Mr. King persistently.

“Ben wouldn’t,” said Polly triumphantly, “I know, for he all along shrank from the big party.”

“Oh! well, Ben, I suppose, would object somewhat,” conceded the old gentleman slowly.

“And Davie,” cried Polly eagerly; “Oh, Grandpapa!  David would much prefer the morning wedding and the plain things.”

“But how about Joel and Phronsie?” interrupted Mr. King, utterly ignoring Davie’s claims to be heard.  “Ah!  Polly, my dear, until you tell me that they will prefer to give up the fine party, you mustn’t expect me to pay any attention to what you say.  It’s due to Phronsie that your mother’s wedding is a thing worthy to remember as a fine affair.”