"
"Well, she is your aunt," said Polly, not offering to stir.
"I can't help it." Alexia, for the want of something better to do, ran over
and twitched the table cover straight. "And I know she's my aunt, but she
needn't pick at me all the time," she added defiantly. She looked
uncomfortable all the same, and ran about here and there trying to get
things in their places, but knocking down more than were tidied up. "Why
don't you say something?" she cried impatiently, whirling around.
"Because I've nothing to say," replied Polly, not moving.
"Oh, dear me!" Alexia sent her long arms out with a despairing gesture. "I
suppose I've just got to go and tell Aunt I'm sorry." She drew a long
breath. "But I hadn't been playing; I was tired to death over that dirty
old closet and that tiresome shoe bag, and my hair all hooked up. Well, do
come on." She ran over and held out her hand. "Come with me," she begged.
So Polly put her hand in Alexia's, and together they ran out into the hall,
to the maiden aunt's room.
"It's perfectly dreadful to board," said Alexia, on the way. "I wouldn't
care how little the house was, if Aunt and I could only have one," and she
gave a great sigh.
Polly turned suddenly and gave her a big hug.
"Mamsie says you are to come over to our house just as often as possible.
So does Grandpapa," she cried hastily; "you know that, Alexia.
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