“Yes,” said Mr. King grimly, “it is ‘stay’ indeed, Jasper.”

“Well, now then, you’ve a piece of work on your hands about the biggest you ever did yet, Polly Pepper!” cried Jasper, “to make things comfortable in this house.  I shall be just as cross as can be imagined, to begin with.”

“You cross!” cried Polly.

“Cross as a bear; Marian will fight against the prevailing ill wind, but it will finally blow her down to a state of depression where her best friend wouldn’t recognize her, and”—­

“You don’t mention me, my boy,” said Mr. King dryly.

Jasper looked into his father’s eyes, and they both laughed.

“And if you, Polly Pepper, don’t keep things bright, why, we shall all go to the dogs,” said the old gentleman, sobering down.  “So mind you do, and we’ll try to bear Cousin Algernon’s relict.”

“I will,” said Polly stoutly, though “relict” sounded very dreadful to begin with.

“Give us your hand, then,” said Jasper’s father, putting out his palm.  “There!” releasing it, “now I’m much more comfortable about matters.”

“And give me your hand, Polly,” cried Jasper, his own brown hand flying to meet hers.  “There! and now I’m comfortable too!  So it’s a compact, and a sure one!”

“And I want to give my hand,” cried Phronsie, very much aggrieved.  “Here, Jasper.”

“Bless my soul, so you must!” cried old Mr. King; “to think we didn’t ask you first.  There—­and there!”

“And, Phronsie darling,” cried Polly in a rapture, “you must promise with me, after you have with the others.  I couldn’t ever get along in all this world without that.”

So the ceremony of sealing the compact having been observed with great gravity, Phronsie drew a long breath, and now felt that the “poor lady” might come down at any time to find all things prepared for her.

“Now tell our plan,” cried Jasper to Polly, “and put this disagreeable business out of our heads.  It’s a fine one,” he added to his father.

“Of course it is,” cried the old gentleman.

“Well, you know Joel and Davie and Van and Percy are coming home from school next week for the Christmas holidays,” began Polly, trying to still the wild beating of her heart.

“Bless me! so they are,” said Mr. King.  “How time flies, to be sure!  Well, go on, Polly.”

“And we ought to do something to celebrate,” said Polly, “at least don’t you think so?” she asked anxiously, looking up in his face.

“To be sure I do,” cried the old gentleman heartily.  “Well, what would you do, Polly child, to show the youngsters we’re proud of them, and glad to get them back—­hey?”

“We want to get up a little play,” said Polly, “Jasper and I, and act it.”

“And have music,” cried Jasper.  “Polly shall play on the piano.  The boys will be so delighted to see how she has improved.”

“And Jasper will play too,” cried Polly eagerly.  “Oh, Jasper! will you play that concerto, the one you played when Mary Gibbs was here at tea last week?  Do, Jasper, do.”