Polly of Lady Gay Cottage Part 7

"Well! you've got here at last!" he cried.

"It's awfully good of you to wait for me," she crooned, skipping into step.

"Pretty queer if I hadn't waited! I'd have got you off sooner, only the maid said they had company, and I didn't want to b.u.t.t in. So I just ran home and to your house, to tell them how it was--while I was waiting for those folks to go. I guess that maid thought I was in a mighty hurry to see Miss Townsend, for I kept running round to the kitchen to know if the coast was clear."

"What a lot of trouble I've made you!" Polly lamented.

"Trouble nothing!" he scouted. "But whatever did you do it for? That girl!--with all the mean things she's said! And away she stalked after school, as disdainful as ever!"

"I know," Polly admitted mournfully. "But I was so sorry for her--it must have been dreadful!"

"Sorry!" David chuckled. "It was too funny!"

Polly laughed, too, reminded of the ridiculous sight. Then she sighed.

"I was awfully disappointed," she went on. "For a minute, when Miss Carpenter told me to stay, I thought I just couldn't stand it. I didn't dare look at Patricia, for fear I'd cry."

"Don't see what she had to do with it!" growled David.

"Why, I was going home with Patricia right after school. Mrs.

Illingworth had invited me to tea."

"M-m!" responded David

"I want you to know Patricia," Polly continued; "she's such a dear girl."

"Must be!" he retorted sarcastically. "So kind to go off and leave invited company as she did! She never waited a minute!"

"Well, but, David, what good would it have done? They board, you know, and couldn't wait tea for me."

"M-m," remarked David.

"I don't see why you feel so about Patricia," Polly began.

"I haven't any use for a girl broncho-buster!" he broke out.

"David Collins!"

"Well," he replied, in a half-ashamed tone, "she rides bronchos, doesn't she? I heard her telling you about being on a broncho that stood right up on his hind feet, and cut up like sixty!"

"Oh, yes, that was a horse she didn't know about till she got on him!

But he couldn't throw her! She kept her seat! Wasn't that splendid!"

"Splendid!" he scorned. "It's just as I said--she's a--"

"She is not!" Polly burst out indignantly. "It just happened that once. She's got a lovely little horse that she rides, and he's as gentle as can be. She isn't--that! I shouldn't think you'd say such things about my cousin." Polly's voice was tearful.

"I d'n' know's cousins are any better 'n other folks," he growled.

"Oh, David!" she protested. Then her face suddenly lighted. "You're not afraid I'll think more of her than I do of you, are you? David, is that it?" as he did not answer. "Why, David Collins," she went on, the words tumbling out tempestuously, "how foolish you are! I couldn't!

You ought to know! There we were at the hospital together for so long, till it seemed just like one family, and Colonel Gresham your uncle, and all! Why, David, I don't see what makes you feel so! You never did about Leonora."

"That's different," he mumbled. "You didn't run off with her, and leave me to tag!"

"Why, I don't! I want you to come, too! Patricia thinks you're so nice--she said so."

"She doesn't know me."

"Enough to like you. I thought we could be friends all together." The tone was plaintive.

"Well," he conceded.

"You know I like you, David, and always shall, no matter how many other friends I have. It was lovely of you to wait for me to-night and to go and tell Miss Cordelia about it--I never shall forget that!"

They had reached the home cottage, and were pa.s.sing up the walk.

"I guess I wanted to be a monopolist," confessed David.

"A what?" cried Polly. David's long words often puzzled her.

He laughed. "Oh, I wanted you all to myself!" he explained. "I'm a pig anyway!"

"No, you're not!" declared Polly.

He turned quickly. "Good-night! I'll be on hand to-morrow morning."

And Polly knew that David had been won over.

True to his promise, he called early for his old chum, and accompanied her and Patricia to school, showing only the merry, winsome side of his nature, and making Polly proud to own him for a friend.

In the hallway the boys laid hold of him, and carried him off upstairs, where a group of lads, with heads together, whispering and snickering, surrounded one of the desks.

"What are they up to?" queried Patricia, watching them furtively.

"Vance Alden is reading something from a piece of paper--hear them laugh!"

"Poetry, probably," guessed Polly. "He's the greatest boy for writing poetry. He wrote his composition, one week, all in rhyme."

At recess the secret was soon made known. A long row of boys, arm in arm, marched across the recitation room, singing this bit of doggerel:--

"Ilga Barron, The great fan_fa_ron, Went into the closet one day; But she was so stout She couldn't get out, And there she had to sta-ay!

And there she had to stay!"

Ilga and several other girls, who were drawing on the blackboard, had stopped when the boys formed in line, to see what they were going to do, and as the singing went on they stood as if dazed; but at the last, fairly realizing the indignity, Ilga sprang forward, crimson with anger.

"I didn't! I didn't!" she cried. "You mean, mean things!"

Instantly the line rounded into a circle, with the girl inside, and the boys, bowing low, began:--

"Behold your escort home this noon!