Dicky sat in the dress-circle, wrapped in blankets, and laughed himself nearly into convulsions over Touchstone’s jokes, and the stage business of the Banished Duke; for it is unnecessary to state that Jack was not strictly Shakespearean in his treatment of the part. As for Polly, she enjoyed being Celia with all her might, and declared her intention of going immediately on the ‘regular’ stage; but Jack somewhat destroyed her hopes by affirming that her nose and hair wouldn’t be just the thing on the metropolitan boards, although they might pass muster in a backwoods theatre. * * * * * ‘Hello! What’s this?’ exclaimed Philip, one morning. ‘A visitor? Yes—no! Why, it’s Señor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega coming up the cañon! He’s got a loaded team, too! I wonder if Uncle Doc is expecting anything.’ The swarthy gentleman with the long name emerged from one cloud of dust and disappeared in another, until he neared the gate where Philip and Polly were standing. Philip opened the gate, and received a bow of thanks which would have made Manuel’s reputation at a Spanish court. ‘Going up to camp?’ ‘Si, señor.’ ‘Those things for us?’ ‘Si, señor.’ ‘What are they?’ ‘Si, señor.’ ‘Exactly! Well, are there any letters?’ ‘Si, señor.’ Whereupon he drew one from his gorgeously-decorated leather belt. Philip reached for it, and Polly leaned over his shoulder, devoured with curiosity. ‘It’s for Aunt Truth,’ she said; ‘and—yes, I am sure it is Mrs. Howard’s writing; and if it is—’ Hereupon, as Manuel spoke no English, and neither Philip nor Polly could make inquiries in Spanish, Polly darted to the cart in her usual meteoric style, put one foot on the hub of a wheel and climbed to the top like a squirrel, snatched off a corner of the canvas cover, and cried triumphantly, ‘I knew it! Elsie is coming! Here’s a tent, and some mattresses and pillows. Hurry! Help me down, quick! Oh, slow-coach! Keep out of the way and I’ll jump! Give me the letter. I can run faster than you can.’ And before the vestige of an idea had penetrated Philip’s head, nothing could be seen of Polly but a pair of twinkling heels and the gleam of a curly head that caught every ray of the sun and turned it into ruddier gold. It was a dusty, rocky path, and up-hill at that; but Polly, who was nothing if not ardent, never slackened her pace, but dashed along until she came in sight of the camp, where she expended her last breath in one shrill shriek for Aunt Truth. It was responded to promptly. Indeed, it was the sort of shriek that always commands instantaneous attention; and Aunt Truth came out of her tent prepared to receive tragic news. Bell followed; and the entire family would have done the same had they been in camp.