"Then what do you want to read it for?" pursued Florence, determined to come to an understanding. "Oh, it sounds sort of good, you know," said Polly vaguely; "just as if we ought to like it. 'Most everybody does read it, and I didn't know but, if we kept at it long enough, it might teach us a little something." "Who wants to be taught? And besides, I'd rather have something a little fresher than this," said Jean, making no secret of her heresy. "Polly! Polly!" called a voice from below. Polly sprang up from the floor, where she had seated herself. "That's mamma; what can she want?" she exclaimed, running to the window and putting her head out. Down in the street sat Mrs. Adams in their low, two-seated carriage, while Job stood nodding sleepily in the sun, as he waited for the signal to proceed. "Don't you girls want to go for a little drive?" she called, as her daughter's head came in sight. In an instant three other heads appeared, and she was saluted with three voices,-- "How lovely!" "What fun!" "We'll be down in a minute." The minute was a short one; for the girls snatched their hats in passing through the hall, and quickly surrounded the carriage, in a gay, laughing group. Alan came sauntering down the stairs after them, and stood leaning in the doorway, watching them settle themselves preparatory to starting. Something in the lad's position struck Mrs. Adams, and she beckoned to him. "Come too, Alan; that is, if you can stand it with so many girls." "May I? Is there room?" He ran out to the carriage, then stopped, hesitating, as he saw Polly touch her mother's arm, and shake her head silently. "I don't believe I'll go," he said, drawing back. "Why not?" asked Mrs. Adams, in surprise. "I don't think Polly wants me to," answered the boy frankly. "I don't want to be in the way." And he turned back to the house. "'Tisn't that, mamma," said Polly, blushing at being caught. "I'd like to have Alan go, well enough, only I was afraid it would be too much for Job to take so many of us." "In that case, you might have offered to be the one to give up," said her mother, in a low tone, which, though very gentle, still brought a deeper flush to Polly's face. Then she added to Alan, "Nonsense, my boy! You are thin as a rail, and don't weigh anything to speak of. Get in here this minute, and if Job gets tired, I'll make you all walk home." Alan mounted to the front seat, where he made himself comfortable, with a boyish disregard of Florence's fresh pink gingham gown; Mrs. Adams shook the lines persuasively; Job waked and began to trudge along with an air of sombre patience which would have done credit to the scriptural original of his name.