Two or three days of rest at Martigny put everybody in good shape, and
gave them all a bit of time to pick up on many little things that were
behindhand. Tom looked over all his floral treasures, with their last
additions made at the Riffelalp, and discarded such as hadn't pressed
well. And Jasper and Polly rushed up to date with their journals, and
wrote letters home; and Adela worked up her studies and sketches.
Tom looked on silently when Polly and Jasper were scraping their pens
in a lively fashion in the little writing room of the hotel. "That's my
third letter, Polly," announced Jasper, on the other side of the table.
"Now, I am going to begin on Joel's."
"One, two," said Polly, counting, "why, I thought I'd written three;
well, this one is most finished, Jasper."
"Yes," said Jasper, glancing over at her, "is that your last page,
Polly?"
"Yes," said Polly, hurrying away. Then she thought of what Mamsie had
said, and slackened her speed.
Tom cleared his throat, and tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come
nicely, so he burst out, "I say, I wish you'd write to my granddaddy,
both of you," and then he stood quite still, and very red in the face.
Polly looked up quickly, her pen dropping from her fingers, and Jasper
deserted his fourth letter and stared.
"Why," said Polly, finding her tongue, "we wouldn't dare, Tom Selwyn."
"Dare!" said Tom, delighted to think that no terrible result had really
ensued from his words, that after they were out, had scared him
mightily.
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