Hence her delight
knew no bounds when John drove up unexpectedly late one afternoon,
between a hard day's personal canvassing and another of the innumerable
dinners he had to eat his way through. Tossing the reins to the
gentleman who sat next him, he jumped out of the wagonette--it was hung
with placards of "Vote for Turnham!"--and gave a loud rat-a-tat at the
door.
Forgetting in her excitement that this was Ellen's job, Polly opened to
him herself, and drew him in. "John! How pleased I am to see you!"
"My dear girl, how are you? God bless me, how you've altered! I should
never have known you." He held her at arm's length, to consider her.
"But you haven't changed in the least, John. Except to grow younger.--
Richard, here's John at last!--and Trotty, John . . . here's Trotty!--
Take your thumb out of your mouth, naughty girl!--She's been watching
for you all day, John, with her nose to the window." And Polly pushed
forward the scarlet, shrinking child.
John's heartiness suffered a distinct check as his eyes lit on Trotty,
who stood stiff as a bit of Dresden china in her bunchy starched
petticoats. "Come here, Emma, and let me look at you." Taking the fat
little chin between thumb and first finger, he turned the child's face
up and kept it so, till the red button of a mouth trembled, and the
great blue eyes all but ran over. "H'm! Yes . . . a notable resemblance
to her mother. Ah, time passes, Polly my dear--time passes!" He sighed.
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