Part 38 (1/2)

”See here, now,” cried Tom, suddenly squaring up to her and looking at the face between the nodding cap-frills, ”we are ready to take a certain amount of abuse, my friend and I, but we won't stand more, I can tell you.”

”Oh, don't,” began Polly, clasping her hands. ”Oh, Tom, _please_ keep still. She doesn't know what she's saying, for she's lost her pin with her father on.”

”Hey?” cried Jasper. ”Say it again, Polly,” while Tom shouted and roared all through Polly's recital.

”Was it an old fright with a long nose in a blue coat and ruffles, and as big as a turnip?” he asked between the shouts. While Polly tried to say, ”Yes, I guess so,” and Miss Car'line's sister so far overcame her aversion to boys as to seize him by the arm, Tom shook her off like a feather. ”See here, old party,” he cried, ”that ancient pin of yours is reposing in the hotel office at this blessed moment. Jasper and I,”

indicating his friend, ”ran across it on the rocks up there more than an hour ago, and--”

”Oh, Pa's found!” exclaimed the old woman, in a shrill scream of delight, beginning to trot down to the hotel office.

”Yes, it would have been impossible for Pa to have got off this mountain without making a landslide,” said Tom, after her.

XXIII

IN THE SHADOW OF THE MATTERHORN

They had been days at dear Interlaken, walking up and down the _Hoheweg_, of which they never tired, or resting on the benches under the plane and walnut trees opposite their hotel, just sitting still to gaze their fill upon the _Jungfrau_. This was best of all--so Polly and Jasper thought; and Phronsie was content to pa.s.s hour after hour there, by Grandpapa's side, and imagine all sorts of pretty pictures and stories in and about the snow-clad heights of the majestic mountain.

And the throng of gaily dressed people sojourning in the big hotels, and the stream of tourists, pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed, with many a curious glance at the stately, white-haired old gentleman and the little yellow-haired girl by his side.

”A perfect beauty!” exclaimed more than one matron, with a sigh for her ugly girls by her side or left at home.

”She's stunning, and no mistake!” Many a connoisseur in feminine loveliness turned for a last look, or pa.s.sed again for the same purpose.

”Grandpapa,” Phronsie prattled on, ”that looks just like a little tent up there--a little white tent; doesn't it, Grandpapa dear?”

”Yes, Phronsie,” said Grandpapa, happily, just as he would have said ”Yes, Phronsie,” if she had pointed out any other object in the snowy outline.

”And there's a cunning little place where you and I could creep into the tent,” said Phronsie, bending her neck like a meditative bird. ”And I very much wish we could, Grandpapa dear.”

”We'd find it pretty cold in there,” said Grandpapa, ”and wish we were back here on this nice seat, Phronsie.”

”What makes it so cold up there, Grandpapa, when the sun s.h.i.+nes?” asked Phronsie, suddenly. ”Say, Grandpapa, what makes it?”

”Oh, it's so far up in the air,” answered old Mr. King. ”Don't you remember how cold it was up on the Rigi, and that was about nine thousand feet lower?”

”Oh, Grandpapa!” exclaimed Phronsie, in gentle surprise, unable to compa.s.s such figures.

Mr. King's party had made one or two pleasant little journeys to the Lauterbrunnen Valley, staying there and at Murren, and to Grindelwald as well; but they came back to sit on the benches by the walnut and the plane trees, in front of the matchless Jungfrau. ”And this is best of all,” said Polly.

And so the days slipped by, till one morning, at the breakfast table, Mrs. Selwyn said, ”Tomorrow we must say good-by--my boy and I.”

”Hey--what?” exclaimed Mr. King, setting his coffee-cup down, not very gently.

”Our vacation cannot be a very long one,” said Tom's mother, with a little smile; ”there are my father and my two daughters and my other boys in England.”

Tom's face was all awry as Mr. King said, ”And you mean to say, Mrs.

Selwyn, that you really must move on to-morrow?”