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Page 12
A slender figure, a huge picturesque hat, and a mass of curling, flaxen
hair, were all that Aunt Rose had seen, but now hand in hand, they were
coming toward the carriage.
"A lovely face, surely," murmured Great-Aunt Rose, "a sweet, and lovely
face."
"This is Princess Polly," said Rose, "and Polly, dear, this is my Great-
Aunt Rose."
Aunt Rose, as she preferred to be called, offered her hand to Polly, who
now stood beside the carriage. "I am so glad to see you, my dear," said
the gentle old voice, and so cordially was it said, that Polly blushed,
and smiled with delight.
She afterward told Lena Lindsey that she felt as if Aunt Rose were her
own aunt, and that she had ALWAYS known her.
The ride to the house was along an avenue shaded with huge, old elm
trees, and when they drew up at the house, Polly looked with round eyes
at its grand, old portico, its great pillars, its terraces, and masses
of lovely flowers.
Rose had said that the house was fine, but that had not told half the
beauty of the grand, old mansion.
They sprang from the carriage, and Rose begged that she might run
upstairs with Polly just a moment before lunch.
"I want to show her my room," she said, and Aunt Rose smiled, and nodded
assent.
"Oh, Polly, Princess Polly!" she said, when they reached the pretty
chamber, "it is so long since we've played together, and now--now I have
you, all to myself. See the queer bed, with the canopy over it. The
first night I came, I was afraid to sleep in it. Now, I like it, and to-
night we'll cuddle close together in it, and draw the curtains."
"Oh, what fun!" cried Polly, "and we can play we're in a castle, and no
one can enter, unless we let them!"
"Oh, yes, and we'll stay awake, oh, ever so long, just to talk," said
Rose.
And when Polly had seen everything in the chamber that Rose wished to
show, they ran down to the parlor to see the portraits.
"I'd like to see them all," said Polly, "but most of all I want to see
the picture of the old gentleman that sometimes smiles at you."
Together they ran down the stairway to the parlor.
How cool it was! Vines that hung upon the piazza shaded the windows, and
flickering sunbeams danced upon the polished floor, and brightened the
color of the Persian rug.
The portraits seemed to look with interest at Polly, and she smiled back
at them, and nodded as she passed them.
"They look like real people," she said, "and it doesn't seem polite to
pass them without nodding."
"I know it," agreed Rose, "and I nod and smile at them, but the picture
at the end of the room smiles more than the others do. Come, and see
him."
Together they stood looking at the little old gentleman.
Polly admired his flowered satin waistcoat, his powdered wig, and rosy
cheeks, but most of all she liked his merry, twinkling eyes.
"He DOES smile," said Polly.
"Yes, he does," agreed Rose, "but now, just for a moment, frown, and
then he doesn't SEEM to smile."
It was an odd sight, the two merry little faces puckered into an attempt
at a frown, and the old portrait looking down at them, as if in surprise
that their smiles had vanished.
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