Polly had to trip many small steps to keep up with him.

When they reached the entrance to the cave, she was flushed and out of breath.
Mahony stood and looked down at her.

How young she was ...

how young and innocent! Every feature of her dear little face still waited, as it were, for the strokes of time's chisel.

It should be the care of his life that none but the happiest lines were graved upon its precious surface.
"Polly," he said, fresh from his scrutiny.