She can't get up new ideas quickly, you know, and she was ashamed not
to take in something nice, and so she said she didn't mean to do anything.
I couldn't bear to have her give it up, for she ought to keep with you
girls." Mrs. Forsythe's face fell into anxious lines. "She gets unhappy by
herself, with no young people in the house and only my mother and me to
brighten her up. So I talked with her a long while this morning, and at
last got her to be willing to try again. Well, it's all right now, for
she's started to find you, and go down-town to buy the things," and Mrs
Forsythe smiled happily.
Polly sank to the piazza steps and buried her face in her hands.
"Why, my dear, are you ill?" Clem's mother deserted the door-casing and
came quickly out. "Let me get you something."
"Oh, no, no!" Polly sprang to her feet and hurried down the steps. "I must
go home," she said hoarsely; and not pausing to think, only to get to
Mamsie, she sped away on the wings of the wind, not stopping until she had
turned in at the little green wicket-gate where she wouldn't be likely to
meet any one.
"Oh, dear, dear!"--and she hurried across the grass--"supposing Mamsie
isn't at home! She was going out for Auntie. What _shall_ I do?"
In her despair she raced over the greensward and plunged into the Wistaria
arbor--to stand face to face with Clem!
Polly was too far gone in distress to say anything.
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