he watched
the woman in the black dress, hoping for escape from those ferret
eyes; but the horse and carriage were conspicuous, and Aunt Jane's
glance fell first on Lone Star and then passed to the little girl
upon the seat.

"Polly May!" she exclaimed, and Polly smiled a somewhat
uncertain greeting.

"How in the world did you come here?" twanged the remembered
voice.

"Colonel Gresham is taking me to ride," was the explanation,
"and he's gone upstairs a minute."

"Colonel Gresham! Goodness gracious me! Well, you are coming up
in the world! Why hain't you been round to see me?"

"I'm--pretty busy," answered Polly, "I--"

"Busy! Huh, you must be! Well, so'm I busy, or I should 'a'
been up after you before this. Guess you've stayed at that
hospital 'bout long enough. You might 's well be helpin' me as
gallivantin' round with Tom, Dick, and Harry."

"I--thought I was going to stay all summer," faltered Polly.

"I did n't make no special agreement, and now there's cannin' and
picklin' and what-not to do, I could keep you out o' mischief
easy. Where'd you get that dress?"

"Miss Lucy bought it for me."

"She did, hey? Well, 't ain't hurt with trimmin', is it?"

The Colonel appearing at the moment, Aunt Jane made a rather
hurried departure, while she assured Polly that she would "be
round before long."

"Who is that woman?" inquired Colonel Gresham.

"My Aunt Jane," was the soft answer.

"What's her other name?"

"Mrs. Simpson. Uncle Gregory--that was her husband--was
killed when the building fell, and I was hurt."

"Oh, yes! I recollect. Well, is Aunt Jane good to you? Do you
love her very much?"

Polly waived the first question, and proceeded to the second.
"I'm afraid I don't love her at all," she replied honestly. "Of
course, I ought to; but I don't."

"It is mighty hard to love some folks," meditated the Colonel. "I
think I should rather do a season's ploughing than to attempt to
love that Aunt Jane."

Polly smiled, and then returned to the question she had left
behind. "I guess she's pretty good to me," she said. "She never
whipped me."

"Whipped you!" the Colonel exclaimed. "I should hope not!"

"Aunts do whip sometimes," Polly nodded soberly. "Bessie
Jackson's aunt whipped her--awful! I'd run away!"

"Yes," the Colonel agreed, "that would be the best thing in such
a case--though perhaps this Bessie deserved the whipping."

"No, she did n't!" Polly assured him.

"Well,