"Mamsie wouldn't like it," wailed Phronsie, clear gone in distress now, and
hiding her face in Polly's gown.
"Mamsie would say--" began Polly decidedly. Then she stopped suddenly. "Oh,
what have I said!" she cried. "Oh, what can I do!" She clasped her hands
tightly together. She was now in as much distress as Phronsie, and, seeing
this, Phronsie came out of her tears at once.
"You might run after her," she said. "Oh, Polly, do."
"She won't speak to me," said Polly, with a little shiver, and covering her
eyes. "Oh, dear, dear, how could I!"
"Yes, she will, I do believe," said Phronsie, putting down a terrible
feeling at her throat. Not speak to Polly?--such a thing could never be!
"Do run after her, Polly," she begged.
Polly took down her hands and went off with wavering steps to the door.
"I'll get your hat," cried Phronsie, running to the closet.
But Polly, once having decided to make the attempt at a reconciliation, was
off, her brown braids flying back of her in the wind.
IV
MISS TAYLOR'S WORKING BEE
Looking both sides of the road, not daring to think what she would say if
she really did see Clem, Polly sped on. But not a glimpse of the tall
girl's figure met her eyes, and at last she turned in at a gateway and ran
up the little path to the door. Mrs. Forsythe saw her through the window
that opened on the piazza.
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