"He is only ten," Mr. Westwood was saying. "Julian is fourteen. But there isn't difference enough to matter. You three will get on admirably together. "Better let her go back with me," he went on, turning to the Doctor. "Mrs. Calhoun, my sister, will fix her out in the way of clothes. You can buy anything in New York, from a shoestring to--" Nobody heard the end of that sentence, for, with a leap, Polly had the floor. Her eyes flashed, and her voice was tense with anger and determination. "Uncle Maurice," she cried, "I s'pose you mean all right; but I guess my mother knows how to get my clothes just as well as anybody, and you needn't think I'm going to New York, you needn't think so a single second! Why, I wouldn't leave father and mother for a million dollars! I wouldn't go for ten million dollars!" "Well, Miss Highflier!" Mr. Westwood threw back his head in a chuckling laugh. "Some spirit in that little frame of yours! Shouldn't wonder if you took after your father. Chester was a fiery boy. Now, come here, and let me tell you something." Polly's head went up defiantly. "I'm not going!" she insisted. "You needn't think you can coax me into it! You can't!" "Polly!" The Doctor's voice was gently admonitive. "Excuse me," she apologized. "I didn't mean to be impolite. But I shan't go!" She moved obediently towards her uncle, and he placed her on his knee, where she sat, submissive but alert. "I want to tell you what a splendid time you'll have with us," he began. "Other folks have tried to buy me," remarked Polly. "Have they, indeed! It is a good thing to be marketable," with a whimsical glance towards the Doctor. "I don't like it," returned Polly. "Well, you won't have any more such trouble after you come to New York." Polly was silent, but her lips were set, and her eyes grew ominously dark. "Now, in the first place, you shall have anything in the world you wish,--dolls, toys, and a playroom to keep them in, and a whole library of story-books. Then parties--whew, you ought to see what parties Julian and Harold have! They'd make you open your eyes with envy!" "Mrs. Jocelyn gave me a beautiful birthday party," responded Polly with dignity. "Ah? But it wasn't a New York party. You don't know what kind of parties we get up in New York. Why, the flowers for the boys' last affair cost two hundred dollars!" Polly gazed down at the rug, and followed the intricate lines of the pattern. "Then you shall have the handsomest pink silk party dress we can find in the city, all fixed up with white lace--real lace, mind you! What do you think of that?" "I don't want a pink silk party dress!" scorned Polly. "I have one already." "Ah?" Mr. Westwood looked a bit disconcerted. "I will buy you a Shetland pony," he resumed, "the very best one we can find, and you shall take riding-lessons with the boys. I'll see that you have the choosing of your riding-suit, any color and style you like."