ly, handsome figure
appeared in the doorway. "Do come in, children--why--good gracious,
Mason!"

"Yes," cried the stranger, lightly, dropping his big bundle and umbrella
as he passed in the door, with his little sons clinging to him. "Where
is Marian?"

"Why didn't you write?" asked the old gentleman, testily. "These
surprises aren't the right sort of things," and he began to feel
vigorously of his heart. "Here, Mrs. Pepper, be so good as to call Mrs.
Whitney."

"Pepper! Pepper!" repeated Mr. Whitney, perplexedly.

"She's coming--I hear her up-stairs," cried Van Whitney. "Oh, let me
tell her!" He struggled to get down from his father's arms as he said
this.

"No, I shall--I heard her first!" cried Percy. "Oh, dear me! Grandpapa's
going to!"

Mr. King advanced to the foot of the staircase as his daughter, all
unconscious, ran down with a light step, and a smile on her face.

"Has Polly come?" she asked, seeing only her father. "Yes," replied the
old gentleman, shortly, "and she's brought a big bundle, Marian!"

"A big bundle?" she repeated wonderingly, and gazing at him.

"A very big bundle," he said, and taking hold of her shoulders he turned
her around on--her husband.

So Polly and Phronsie crept in unnoticed after all.

"I wish Ben was here," said little Davie, capering around the Whitney
group, "an' Jappy, I do!"

"Where are they!" asked Polly.

"Don't know," said Joel, tugging at his shoe-string. "See--aren't these
prime!" He held up a shining black shoe, fairly bristling with newness,
for Polly to admire.

"Splendid," she cried heartily; "but where are the boys?"

"They went after you," said Davie, "after we came home with our shoes."

"No, they didn't," contradicted Joel, flatly; and sitting down on the
floor he began to tie and untie his new possessions. "When we came home
Ben drew us pictures--lots of 'em--don't you know?"

"Oh, yes," said Davie, nodding his head, "so he did; that was when we
all cried 'cause you weren't home, Polly."

"He drawed me a be-yew-tiful one," cried Phronsie, holding up her mangy
bit; "see, Polly, see!"

"That's the little brown house," said Davie, looking over her shoulder
as Phronsie put it carefully into Polly's hand.

"It's all washed out," said Polly, smoothing it out, "when you staid out
in the rain."

Phronsie's face grew very grave at that.

"Bad, naughty old rain," she said, and then she began to cry as hard as
she could.

"Oh dear, don't!" cri