Michael Malone - Weebly

glad to see, a warm smile on her face. "Gives me the
spooks sometimes, if I'm especially fatigable. Even after
all these years. Don't it you?"
Polly nodded ambiguously.
"Well, dear, take a seat. Oh, it doesn't matter. Take
the one there that looks like a throne." High-backed,
ornately carved, with a red velvet seat, it did make
Polly think of Ivanhoe. "Be pleasant, now," Miss
Dingley added, "to have your own smart throne,
wouldn't it? I know I always lusted for one. A real one,
I mean. Like one yourself?"
"No. Yes, I guess so." Polly had indeed made
numberless proclamations of a regal nature from a
hollow tree trunk rooted by the bank of the Rampage in
the woods behind Glover's Lane. One of her worst
humiliations had been being overheard, at age eleven, in
one of these ringing speeches by Tac and Charlie
Hayes, who had sneaked up on her and mercilessly
laughed.
"Why don't you take that chair home with you?"
"Excuse me?"
"The chair. Put it in your room. See anything else