Old Mr. King went into the little music room in a furious rage, and
half an hour afterward Polly and Jasper, pausing to look around, saw
him tossing and tumbling his letters and newspapers about on the table,
fuming to himself all the while.
"Father has had bad news!" exclaimed Jasper, turning pale; "something
about his agents, probably."
"O dear me! and here we have been playing," cried Polly in remorse,
every vestige of colour flying from her cheek.
"Well, we didn't know," said Jasper, quickly. "But what can we do now,
Polly?" he turned to her appealingly.
"I don't know," she was just going to say helplessly, but Jasper's face
made her see that something must be done. "Let's go and tell him we are
sorry," she said; "that's what Mamsie always liked best if she felt
badly."
So the two crept up behind old Mr. King's chair: "Father, I'm _so_
sorry," and "Dear Grandpapa, I'm _so_ sorry," and Polly put both
arms around his neck suddenly.
"Eh--what?" cried Mr. King, sitting bolt upright in astonishment. "Oh,
bless me, children, I thought you were playing on the piano."
"We were," said Polly, hurrying around to the side of the table, her
face quite rosy now, "but we didn't know--" and she stopped short,
unable to find another word.
"--that you felt badly," finished Jasper. "Oh, father, we didn't know
that you'd got bad news." He laid his hand as he spoke on the pile of
tumbled-up letters.
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