"
Pauline's gray eyes were dancing; "No," she agreed, "I don't suppose
there will be any mail for us--to-day; but I want a walk. It won't
hurt me, mother. I love to be out in the rain."
And all the way down the slippery village street the girl's eyes
continued to dance with excitement. It was so much to have actually
started her ball rolling; and, at the moment, it seemed that Uncle Paul
must send it bounding back in the promptest and most delightful of
letters. He had never married, and somewhere down at the bottom of his
apparently crusty, old heart he must have kept a soft spot for the
children of his only brother.
Thus Pauline's imagination ran on, until near the post-office she met
her father. The whole family had just finished a tour of the West in
Mr. Paul Shaw's private car--of course, he must have a private car,
wasn't he a big railroad man?--and Pauline had come back to Winton long
enough to gather up her skirts a little more firmly when she saw Mr.
Shaw struggling up the hill against the wind.
"Pauline!" he stopped, straightening his tall, scholarly figure. "What
brought you out in such a storm?"
With a sudden feeling of uneasiness, Pauline wondered what he would say
if she were to explain exactly what it was that had brought her out.
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