You must have gotten off at the wrong station; it is quite a mile, even across the fields." "And what is a mile, sir?
Have you forgotten that I am a country girl ?" and she smiled up at him brightly, with a look that challenged remembrance.
"I remember that you could walk with any of us," said Edgar, thinking how the freckles had disappeared from Polly's rose-leaf skin, and how particularly fetching she looked in her brown felt sailor-hat.

"Well, if you really wish to go there, I 'll see you safely to the house and take you over to San Francisco afterward, as it will be almost dark.

I was going over, at any rate, and one train earlier or later won't make any difference." ("Perhaps it won't and perhaps it will," thought Polly.) "If you are sure it won't be too much trouble, then"-- "Not a bit.

Excuse me a moment while I run back and explain the matter to the boys." The boys did not require any elaborate explanation.
Oh, the power of a winsome face! No better than many other good things, but surely one of them, and when it is united to a fair amount of goodness, something to be devoutly thankful for.

It is to be feared that if a lumpish, dumpish sort of girl (good as gold, you know, but not suitable for occasions when a fellow's will has to be caught "on the fly," and held until it settles to its work),--if that lumpish, dumpish girl had asked the way to Professor Salazar's house, Edgar Noble would have led her courteously to the turn of the road, lifted his hat, and wished her a pleasant journey.
But Polly was wearing her Sunday dress of brown cloth and a jaunty jacket trimmed with sable (the best bits of an old pelisse of Mrs.
Oliver's).