"Can you come over? I'm all alone. Mother's gone to ride with the Scribners, and father's up in Forestford at a consultation." "I'll come right now. Say, this is a dandy book! Shall I bring it along?" By the time the story was finished, David reading it aloud, it was too dusky for another, and the children sat and talked, one in the hammock, the other in the lounging-chair. Presently Colonel Gresham drove out. David watched him, while Polly indulged in her usual admiration of Lone Star. The carriage was out of sight before the boy turned his eyes from the road where it had vanished. "I do wonder where he is going," he sighed. "Probably to give the poor horse some fresh air and exercise," responded Polly. "I see him go out nearly every night about this time." "Yes, I know," returned David grimly, "but it isn't just for Lone Star's health." "Maybe it's business then. Did you wish you were with him?" "Oh, no, not that at all!" David hastened to say. "Perhaps I oughtn't to speak of it--I shouldn't only to you. But I know you won't tell." "Tell what?" laughed Polly. "I don't know anything to tell, and I wouldn't tell it if I did!" "I don't know either--wish I could find out; then we'd know what to expect." "What do you mean, David Collins? Why do you care where your uncle goes?" "Because it may make a great deal of difference to mamma and me. We're dreadfully worried." Polly's face took on an anxious shadow. "You're not afraid he's--getting to gambling--or drinking, are you?" Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. David stared as if he doubted his hearing; then he threw back his head, and laughed. "Uncle David--gambling! drinking! Oh, Pollee! that's too funny! oh, my!" Polly laughed, too, out of sympathy. "Well, you said,--" she began in excuse. "I didn't say anything of that kind--oh, Polly! No, we aren't worried about Uncle David's habits." "Well, what is it, then? I'm not going to guess any more." "I wouldn't," giggled David. "Anyway I've made you laugh," exulted Polly. "You have been as grave as an owl all the evening." "Let me tell you--then you won't wonder I'm grave." "I'll let you all right," Polly chuckled. David was too seriously troubled to notice. "It is this way," he went on; "you know how Uncle David has always taken us to ride after supper, either mamma or me alone, or both in the surrey--he has ever since it was mild enough." "Why, yes, I've gone with you lots of times." "And now he takes somebody else--a lady, nearly every night!" "It is too bad," Polly returned plaintively. "We'd love to have you go with us, if we could only go ourselves; but father can't get away, and--" "Oh, I don't mean that!" David burst out. "It isn't because we're so anxious for a drive; but, Polly, don't you see? If Uncle David is taking a lady out every night, it means something!" "What does it mean?" queried Polly in a puzzled voice. "Why, that he is going to be married!" "O-h!"