an."

Polly had crouched back away from the window, her little figure all
huddled up, her cheeks with carnation spots on them, and her eyes,
brimful of the tears which she struggled not to shed, were partly hidden
by the folds of the heavy curtain which half-enveloped her.

"You were going to say something else dreadfully unpleasant," she
remarked. "Well, have it out. Nothing can hurt me very much just now."

"It's about the strangers," said Helen. "The strangers who were to come
in October. You surely can't have forgotten them, Polly."

Like magic the thunder-cloud departed from Polly's face. The tears dried
in her bright eyes, and the curtain no longer enveloped her slight,
young figure.

"Why, of course," she said. "The strangers, how could I have forgotten!
How curious we were about them. We didn't know their names. Nothing,
nothing at all--except that there were two, and that they were coming
from Australia. I always thought of them as Paul and Virginia. Dear,
dear, dear, I shall have more housekeeping than ever on my shoulders
with them about the place."

"They were coming in October," said Helen, quietly. "Everything was
arranged, although so little was known. They were coming in a sailing
vessel, and the voyage was to be a long one, and mother, herself, was
going to meet them. Mother often said that they would arrive about the
second week in October."

"In three weeks from now?" said Polly, "We are well on in September,
now. I can't imagine how we came to forget Paul and Virginia. Why, of
course, poor children, they must be quite anxious to get to us. I wonder
if I'd be a good person to go and meet them. You are so shy with
strangers, you know, Nell, and I'm not. Mother used to say I didn't know
what _mauvaise honte_ meant. I don't say that I _like_ meeting them,
poor things, but I'll do it, if it's necessary. Still, Helen, I cannot
make out what special plan there is in the strangers coming. Nor what it
has to do with father, with that horrid piece of news you told me a few
minutes ago."

"It has a good deal to say to it, if you will only listen," said Helen.
"I have discovered by mother's letters that the father of the strangers
is to pay to our father L400 a year as long as his children live here.
They were to be taught, and everything done for them, and the strangers'
father was to send over a check for L100 for them every quarter. Now,
Polly, listen. Our father is not poor, but neither is he rich,