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Naturally this idea of adopting Bobbin had not dawned upon Polly until the instant of announcing it. But the more she thought of taking the girl to Sylvia's care the more the idea appealed to her. Besides, Bobbin perhaps might awaken Mr. Hunt's interest if he could see the child and hear her tragic story. The little girl might be made attractive with her queer eyes and sunburned hair, if she were cleaner and more civilized.

"You will come some day and help me decide what to do, won't you?" Polly urged. "One's chief difficulty is not alone that Bobbin won't be adopted, she won't even let herself be discovered. She is such a queer, wild little thing."

Then she watched her companion until he was entirely out of sight and afterwards got up and strolled slowly home.

CHAPTER XII
The Way Home

NOT a long time afterward Bobbin must have changed her mind for some reason or other, for voluntarily she came to call on Miss O'Neill. That is, she appeared in the garden and threw a queer scarlet flower up to the veranda. Then she waited without trying to escape when Polly came down to talk to her. And evidently she must have felt, somewhere back in the odd recesses of her mind, that she was to be considered a visitor, for she had washed her face and hands and even her hair. Indeed, though it hung perfectly straight, Polly thought that she had never seen more splendid hair in her life, it held such strange bright colors from being always exposed to the sun and air; besides, it was long and heavy.

Moreover, Bobbin wore an old red jacket, which some one recently had given her, over the same pitiful calico dress.

By and by, using all the tact she possessed, Polly persuaded her visitor out of the yard and up-stairs to her own rooms. Of course Marie, the maid, was shocked and displeased, but after all she was fairly accustomed to her mistress's eccentricities. Moreover, after a little while she too became interested in Bobbin. The first thing Polly undertook to do was to feed her visitor. She had an idea that Bobbin might be hungry, but she did not dream how hungry. The girl ate like a little wolf, ravenously, secretly if it had been possible. Only, fortunately, she had learned something of table manners from her occasional training in institutions, so that she at least understood the use of a knife and fork, and altogether her hostess was less horrified than she had expected to be.

Later on Bobbin and Polly undertook to have a conversation. This they managed by acquiring large sheets of paper and nicely sharpened pencils. But it was astonishing how easily Bobbin appeared to understand whatever her new friend said to her and how readily she seemed to be willing to accept her suggestions.

The truth is that the half savage little girl had conceived a sudden, unexplainable devotion to the strange lady whom she had discovered asleep on the sands. Perhaps Bobbin too may have dreamed dreams and imagined quaint fairy tales, so that Polly's appearance answered some fancy of her own. But whatever it was, she had offered her faithful allegiance to this possible fairy princess or just ordinary, human woman. Yet how Bobbin was to keep the faith it was well that neither she nor Polly knew at the present time.

However, by the end of her visit the girl had promised to go back to the home which the town had provided for her and to do her best to learn all she could. As a reward for this she was to be allowed to make other visits to Miss O'Neill. She was even to be allowed to eat from the same blue and white china and drink tea from the same blue cup.

Moreover, before Bobbin's final departure Marie persuaded her into the bathroom and half an hour later she came forth beautifully clean and dressed in a discarded costume of Polly's, which was too long for her, but otherwise served very well. It was merely a many times washed white silk shirt waist and blue serge walking skirt and coat. They made Bobbin appear rather absurd and old, so that Polly was not sure she had not liked her best in her rags. However, both Bobbin and Marie were too pleased for her to offer criticism; yet, notwithstanding, Polly made up her mind that she would try and purchase the girl more suitable clothes as soon as possible and that she would write and ask Betty Graham's and Sylvia's advice in regard to her.

For Richard Hunt had not come to see her since their accidental meeting and she could hope for no interest from him. Polly wished she had never laid eyes upon him, for their little talk had only served to start a chain of memories she wished forgotten. Besides, of course, she felt lonelier than ever, since there is nothing so depressing as waiting for a friend who does not come.

Soon after dinner that evening Polly undressed and put on a pretty kind of tea gown of dark red silk, the color she had always fancied ever since girlhood. She was idling about in her sitting room wondering what she could do to amuse herself when unexpectedly Mr. Hunt was announced.

"Why, Polly," he began on entering, his manner changed from the coldness of their first meeting, "do you know what that gown you are wearing brings back to me? Our talk in the funny little boarding house in Boston so many years ago, when you explained to me that you had run off and were in hiding in order to try and learn to be an actress. I wish I could tell you how proud I am of your success."

But Polly did not wish to talk of her success tonight. So she only shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I have always been doing foolish things for the sake of my acting and yet I don't seem to amount to much."

After this visit Richard Hunt returned half a dozen times. Polly did not understand whether he was acting in the West not far from Colorado Springs or whether he too was taking a holiday. She asked the question once, but as her old friend did not answer her explicitly she let the matter drop.

Nevertheless it was quite true that from the time his visits began she grew steadily better. Finally, about ten days before Christmas, Miss O'Neill's physician announced that she might return to the New Hampshire hills to complete her cure at her sister's home.

Then came the hour of final decision in regard to Bobbin.

Of course Polly could not adopt the girl in the conventional sense. It would have been impossible to have her travel about with her or to have kept her constantly with her. And even if it had been possible this was not what Bobbin needed. Fortunately for Polly, Richard Hunt's ideas on the subject were far more sensible than her own. Between them it was decided that Bobbin should travel east with Miss O'Neill and her maid and spend Christmas at the big Webster farm. Mollie had written she would be glad to have her. Then later Bobbin was to see Sylvia Wharton and be put into some school where she might learn to talk and perhaps acquire some useful occupation.

There was no difficulty in persuading the town authorities to permit the little girl to follow her new friend. Indeed, the child had always been a tremendous problem and they were more than glad to be rid of the burden. She seemed completely changed by Miss O'Neill's influence. She was far quieter and more tractable and had not run away in several weeks. Besides this she appeared to be learning all kinds of things in the most extraordinary fashion. However, her teacher explained this to Polly by saying that Bobbin had always been unusually clever, but that some wild streak in her nature had kept her from making any real effort until now.

Another peculiarity of the girl's which Polly remembered having seen an example of on the morning of their first meeting was that she had absolutely no sensation of physical fear. Either nothing hurt her very much or else she was indifferent to pain. For this reason it had always been impossible either to punish her or to make her aware of danger. The thought interested Polly, since she considered herself something of a coward. She wondered if some day she and Bobbin might not change places and the little girl be discovered taking care of her.

However, when the three women finally started east there was nothing unusual in the appearance of any one of them. For by this time Polly's protégé was dressed like any other girl of her age with her hair neatly braided. There only remained her peculiar fashion of staring.

Richard Hunt saw the little party off. He expected to be in New York later in the winter and promised to write and inquire what had become of Bobbin. However, he did not promise to come to Woodford to see Miss O'Neill, although Polly more than once invited him.

CHAPTER XIII
"A Little Rift Within the Lute"

"BUT, my dearest sister, what is the matter with Betty? You were perfectly right, she isn't one bit like herself and neither is Anthony. I don't even believe she was particularly glad to see me when I stopped over in Concord with her for a few days."

Polly O'Neill was in her sister Mollie's big, sunshiny living room in her splendid old farm-house near Sunrise Cabin. There was no specially handsome furniture in the room, perhaps nothing particularly beautiful in itself, yet Polly had just announced that it was the very homiest room in all the world and for that reason the nicest.

There were low book-shelves on two sides of the room, for though Mollie never read anything except at night when her husband read aloud to her, Billy Webster kept up with all the latest books, fiction, history, travel, besides subscribing to most of the magazines in the country. Indeed, although he and Polly often quarreled good-naturedly, Polly was openly proud of her brother-in-law, who had turned out to be a more intelligent and capable man than she had ever expected.

But besides Billy's books there were lots of old chairs, some of them rather worn, but all delightfully comfortable; a great big table, now littered with children's toys; the old-fashioned couch upon which Polly was reposing; some ornaments belonging to ancestral Websters and a tall grandfather's clock, besides half a dozen engravings and etchings on the walls.

Mollie was sitting in a low chair dressing a big china doll. The sunshine lingered on her dark hair, her plump pink cheeks and her happy expression. For she was in a delightful state of content with the world. Was not her beloved Polly at home for the Christmas festivities and were not Billy and the children and her mother in excellent health and spirits?

Yet she looked a little uneasy over her sister's question. For Betty was nearer to her heart than any one outside her own family.

"So you noticed it too, Polly?" she returned, stopping her work for a moment and gazing out the great glass window. Outside in the snow her three children were playing, her little girl, Polly, and Billy and Dan. Bobbin was standing a short distance away watching them intently. Indeed, ever since her arrival at the farm she seemed to have done almost nothing except look and look with all her might and main. The girl seemed scarcely to wish either to eat or sleep. And at first this had worried her new friends, until suddenly Polly had realized what a wonderful new experience Mollie's home and family were to this child who had never seen anything in the least like it in her whole life.

But Mollie was not watching the children. Polly got up and leaned on her elbow to discover what had attracted her sister's attention. For only a few moments before the children had been sent outdoors to keep them from tiring the aunt whom they adored.

No, Mollie's gaze was fastened on a big man who had just approached wearing a heavy overcoat and a fur cap and carrying a great bunch of mistletoe and holly in his hands, which he was showing with careful attention to the little girl visitor.

"Here comes Billy," she explained. "Perhaps he can tell us."

Of course Polly laughed. "Gracious, dear, isn't there anything in the world you won't let your husband decide? I should think that even Mr. William Webster could hardly tell us what is troubling our beloved Betty. And I don't know that it is even right to ask him. You see, old maids are shy about these things."

But in reply Mollie shook her head reproachfully. "I was only going to ask Billy about the difficulty Anthony is having with his position as Governor," she explained. "You see, I know there is some kind of talk. People are saying he is not being as honest as they expected. There is a bill which ex-Governor Peyton and Meg's husband, Jack Emmet, and her brother, John, are trying to get through the Legislature. Most people don't think the bill is honest and believe Anthony should come out and say he is opposed to it. But so far he has not said anything one way or the other. I thought maybe Betty was worrying because people were thinking such hateful things about Anthony. I simply couldn't stand it if it were Billy."

"Wise Mollie!" her sister answered thoughtfully. "You may be right, but somehow there seemed to me to be something else troubling Betty. If it were only this political trouble, why shouldn't she have confided in me?"

But at this instant William Webster came into the room with a dozen letters and almost as many newspapers in his hands. Six of the letters he bestowed on Polly, who opened five of them and stuck the sixth inside her dress.

Ten minutes later Billy Webster looked up from the paper he was reading. "See here," he said, "I don't like this. This paper comes pretty near having an insulting letter in it concerning Anthony Graham. Of course it does not say anything outright, but the insinuations are even worse. See, the article is headed: 'Is Our Reform Governor So Honest As We Supposed?' Then later on the writer suggests that Anthony may not be above taking graft himself. Everybody knows he is a poor man."

Afterwards there was an unusual silence in the big room until Billy turned inquiringly toward his wife and sister-in-law.

"Don't take my question in the wrong way, please," he began rather timidly. "But is Betty Graham a very extravagant woman? I know she was brought up to have a great deal of money, and although she was poor for a little while that may not have made any difference. You see, Anthony Graham is absolutely an honest man, but everybody knows that he adores his wife – "

Billy stopped because quite in her old girlhood fashion Polly had sprung up on her sofa and her eyes were fairly blazing at him.

"What utter nonsense, Billy Webster! You ought to be ashamed of yourself for suggesting such a thing. In the first place, Betty is not extravagant, but even if she were she would most certainly rather be dead than have Anthony do a dishonest thing on her account. Besides, if Anthony is your friend and you really believe in him, you ought not to doubt him under any possible circumstances." Then Polly bit her lips and calmed down somewhat, for Mollie was looking a little frightened as she always did when her sister and Billy disagreed. However, her sympathies this time were assuredly on her sister's side.

"If you had only belonged to a Camp Fire club as we did with Betty Ashton you would never have doubted her even for a second, Billy. I know you don't really," Mollie added, somewhat severely for her. "Oh, dear, I never shall cease to be grateful for our club! All the girls seem almost like sisters to me, and especially Betty."

Billy Webster folded up his paper and glanced first at his wife and then at his sister-in-law.

"I beg everybody's pardon," he said slowly, "and I stand rebuked! Certainly I did not mean really to doubt either Anthony or Betty for a moment. But you are right, Mollie dear, that Camp Fire Club certainly taught you girls loyalty toward one another. I don't believe people dare say nowadays that women are not loyal friends, and perhaps the Camp Fire clubs have had their influence. But some day soon I believe I will go up to Concord and see Anthony. Perhaps he might like to talk to an old friend."

"He and Betty and the children are coming to Woodford for Christmas," Mollie announced contentedly, whipping away at the lace on the doll's dress now that peace was again restored. "Betty says she can't miss the chance of spending a Christmas with Polly after all these years. Besides, she is curious about Bobbin. I hope Sylvia will come too. She won't promise to leave her old hospital, but I believe the desire to see Polly will bring her here. You know she writes, Polly, that you are positively not to come to her for the present."

Her sister nodded, but a few moments later got up and went up alone to her own room.

Their talk had somehow made her feel more uncomfortable about Betty than she had in the beginning. Somehow she had hoped that Mollie would not be so ready to agree with her own judgment. Yet most decidedly she had noticed a change in Betty during her short visit to her. Betty was no longer gay and sweet-tempered; she was nervous and cross, sometimes with her husband and children, now and then with the two girls who were spending the winter with her, Angelique Martins and Faith Barton. Moreover, she had gotten a good deal thinner, and though she was as pretty as ever, sometimes looked tired and discontented. Besides, she was living such a society existence, teas, balls, dinners, receptions almost every hour of the day and night. No wonder she was tired! Of course Anthony could not always go with her; he was far too busy and had never cared for society. For a moment Polly wondered when Betty and her husband managed to see each other when they were both so occupied with different interests. Yet when they had married she had believed them absolutely the most devoted and congenial of all her friends.

Well, Betty need not expect finally to escape confessing her difficulty. Even if there was no opportunity for an intimate talk during the Christmas gayeties they must see each other soon again. Either she would go to Concord or have Betty come again to Mollie's.

Then Polly cast off her worries and settling herself comfortably in a big leather chair by the fire took out the letter concealed inside her dress and began reading it.

CHAPTER XIV
Suspicion

"ANGEL, will you go into Anthony's private office; he told me he wanted to speak to you," Betty Graham said carelessly one afternoon in December. She was dressed for driving in a long fur coat and small black velvet hat which brought out the colors in her auburn hair in the most attractive fashion.

However, her expression changed as she saw the girl to whom she had just spoken turn white and clasp the railing of the banister as if to keep herself from falling.

"What on earth is the matter with you, Angel?" she demanded crossly. "You look like you were going to faint when I deliver a perfectly simple message. Surely you are not afraid of Anthony after living here with us all this time and working for him even longer. I suppose he just wants to speak to you about some business in connection with the office. He never talks of anything else." Then a little ashamed of her impatience, Betty put her arm on Angel's shoulder.

"There has been something on your mind recently, hasn't there, Angel, something you have not cared to confide to me?" She stopped, for her remark was half a statement and half a question.

However, Angel nodded agreement.

"Well, I am sorry, but I don't seem to be worthy of any one's confidence these days," Betty continued, trying to speak lightly. "However, if any one wishes to know where I have gone, dear, please say that Meg Emmet and I are driving together and that we are to have tea with old Professor Everett." And the next moment Betty Graham had disappeared down the steps.

Still Angel stood in the same place and in the same position.

Surely Betty was being kept in the dark if she did not dream of the trouble that had been hovering over the Governor's office for several weeks. Several important state papers had been misplaced, lost or stolen. No one knew what had become of them, yet on them a great deal depended. They were the proof that the Governor required for exposing certain men whom he believed dishonest. It was absolutely necessary that they should be found.

Summoning her courage, Angel knocked timidly at the Governor's study door. It was in front of this same door that she had watched the guests at the Inaugural Ball some weeks before. Of course it was absurd for her to be frightened at the Governor's having sent for her. She was too insignificant a person even to be questioned in regard to the lost papers, as she was only one of the unimportant stenographers at the Capitol and was only occasionally asked to do any of the Governor's private work.

Anthony was sitting with his desk littered with papers when Angel walked timidly in. She thought he looked rather old and tired and stern for so young a man. But he was always very polite and at once got up and offered her a chair.

"I am sorry to disturb you out of office hours like this, Angel," he began kindly. "I know it is Saturday afternoon and a half holiday, but I thought perhaps we could talk something over better here at home than at the office. One is so constantly interrupted there."

Angel made a queer little noise in her throat which she believed to have sounded like "Yes."

Of course the Governor was going to dismiss her from her position. She was not a particularly good stenographer, not half so fast as many of the girls, although she had tried to be thorough. But then she had no real talent for office work and of course there was no reason why she should continue to hold her position because she was a friend of the family. Positively Angel was beginning to feel sorry for the Governor's embarrassment and already had made up her mind to try and get some other kind of work. She would not stay on and be dependent.

Anthony was tapping his desk with his pencil.

"See here, Angel," he said, "I wonder if you by any chance have the faintest idea of what has become of some papers we have been a good deal worried about at the office. I know you don't often have anything to do with my private business, but I thought by accident you might have seen them lying around at some time. They were two or three letters bound around with a blue paper and a rubber band. Know anything about them?"

The girl started. For suddenly the Governor's manner had changed and he was looking at her sternly out of his rather cold, searching eyes. For a man does not win his way to greatness through all the trials that Anthony Graham had endured without having some streak of hardness in him.

Quietly Angel shook her head, but she was neither nervous nor offended by the Governor's questioning. She had heard the gossip, strictly within the office, of the loss of these letters and it was most natural that every member of the force should be investigated concerning them.

"I am sorry," she answered, her voice trembling the least little bit in spite of her efforts, "but I have never at any time seen anything of the letters you mention. Could it be possible that one of the servants at the Capitol realized their importance and stole them in order to get money for them?"

"No," the Governor answered promptly, "that is not possible, because the letters were taken from this study and in this house. Think again, Angel, have you seen nothing of them? There is no one else living in the house here, you know, who works at my office except you."

Angel jumped quickly to her feet. "You don't mean – you can't mean," she began chokingly. "Oh, I can't bear it! I shall tell Betty – she will never believe. Why, I thought you were my best friends, almost my only friends." For a moment she found it impossible to go on.

But the Governor was looking almost as wretched as she was herself. "My dear, I don't mean really to accuse you of anything, remember. I am only asking you questions. And I particularly beg of you not to mention this trouble of ours to Betty. She is not very well at present and I am afraid she thinks I am too hard on all her friends. Indeed, I am sure I should never have dreamed of you in connection with this matter, but that some one in whom I have great confidence told me that he had seen you coming out of my study on the night on which I believe my papers were mislaid. We won't talk about the matter any more for the present, however. Possibly the letters will yet turn up, and it has been only my own carelessness that is responsible for the loss. There, do go up to your own room and lie down for a while, Angel. I assure you this conversation has been as distasteful to me as it has to you. It was only because the discovery of these letters is so important that I decided to talk to you. But don't think I am accusing you."

Sympathetically and apologetically the Governor now smiled at his companion, the smile that had always changed his face so completely from a grave sternness to the utmost kindness and charm.

But Angel would not be appeased. She had always a passionate temper inherited from her Latin ancestors, though she usually kept it well under control.

"You mean your private secretary, Kenneth Helm, has suggested that you question me," she announced bitterly. "I knew he disliked me for some reason or other, but I did not know his dislike was as cruel as this. It was he who saw me sitting out here watching the people down-stairs the night of your Inaugural Ball, because I was too shy to go down alone." For an instant it occurred to Angel to say that she had seen Kenneth Helm enter the Governor's private study on this same evening. But what would have been the use? The Governor probably knew of it and certainly he had the utmost faith in his secretary. It would only look as if she were trying to be spiteful and turn the suspicion upon some one else. Besides, had she not promised Kenneth Helm not to tell? At least she would not condescend to break her word.

Stumbling half blindly, Angel made her way out of the study. In the hall she found Bettina waiting for her.

"You promised to come and play more secret with me. Will you come now, Angel? We can go up to the nursery and lock the door; there is no one to find us," Tina urged.

But Angel could only shake her head, not daring to let the little girl see into her face.

Nevertheless, outside her own bedroom door she had to meet an even greater strain upon her nerves. For there stood Faith Barton in a pretty house dress and with a box of candy in her hands.

"May I come in and talk to you for a little while, Angel?" she asked, hesitating the least little bit. "Kenneth has just sent me a note and a box of candy, saying that he cannot keep his engagement with me tonight. He is so dreadfully busy, poor fellow! I don't believe Governor Graham works one-half so hard. So I thought maybe you would let me stay with you, as I am rather lonely. Besides, Angel, there isn't any sense in your treating me so coldly as you have lately. If I am doing wrong in keeping my engagement a secret, I am doing wrong, that's all. But I don't think you ought to be unkind to me. If I have been hateful to you about anything, truly I am sorry. You know I have always been awfully fond of you, dear, and wanted to be your friend ever so much more than you ever wished to be mine."

But instead of answering Faith, the other girl had to push by her almost rudely, stammering:

"I can't talk to you now, Faith. I've got the headache. I'm not very well; I must lie down."

Then with Faith standing almost on her threshold, resolutely Angel closed the door in her face.

If there was one person above all others at this moment with whom she could not bear to talk it was Faith Barton.