lad to see that he was going to leave her.
"Thank you again, senor, for your kindness."

"It has been a great pleasure," and the young man was gone.

Polly clenched her hands nervously. Where, oh, where was Bob? Why hadn't
she telegraphed instead of trusting to a letter? At this juncture her
glance fell upon a small counter over which the sign P. O. was displayed.
Behind the counter sat a stout man in spectacles--Jacob Swartz,
undoubtedly. Polly accosted him timidly.

"Has anyone been in from Athens to-day?" she said.

"Athens? Sure, dere train come up dis morning; dey wendt back an hour
ago."

"Was Mr. Street here--Mr. Robert Street?"

"No, joost the train gang. Dey wendt back when dey got dere mail."

"Do--do they come every day for the mail?"

"No, joost twice a week. Dere mail ain't so heavy it can't wait dat long."
Swartz peered benevolently over his spectacles.

"I'm Mr. Street's sister. I wrote him I was coming, but I suppose if he
only gets his mail twice a week he hasn't had my letter." Polly bit her
lip impatiently. "I want to go over to the Morgans--Mr. Jack Morgan. Can
you show me where they live?"

"Sure can I," replied Swartz, lumbering to his feet. "You can from the
door see it."

Polly followed him in relief, when suddenly the door opened and a little
old lady literally blew in. She stamped her feet as though it were snow
instead of sand that clung to her, and disengaged her head from the thick
white veil in which she had wrapped it.

"Mein Gott, it is old lady Morgan, herself," said Swartz, nudging Polly,
pleasantly.

"What's that? Somebody wanting me?" replied the lady, still occupied with
the veil. "Where's that tea I told you to send me this morning, Swartz? A
fine thing to make me come out in all this for a pound of tea, just
because I've nobody to send and two sick children on my hands! What? Oh, I
can't hear you! Who d'you say wants me?"

She was a thin, bent old lady with straggly gray hair and a very sharp
penetrating voice. Polly felt the lump in her throat growing larger. Was
this the jolly pretty Mrs. Jack Morgan that Bob had written about so
often?

"Dis young voman----" began Swartz, heavily.

Polly stepped forward.

"Mrs. Morgan, this is Bob Street's sister. He has often written us about
you and your husband."

"Husband? She ain't got no husband," interrupted Mr. Swartz, heatedly.
"Ain't I told you dis iss de old lady--Jack Morgan's mother?"

"I'm a little hard of